Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 66

Chapter 66:

The Jiang Clan (Part 1):

Jiang Wan Said, Here, There Are Only People and Nests…

“Why did they choose two mutes?”

“Because they have a place, a prison, where no human voices are allowed. Being mute is the easiest way to get in.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?”

“Nothing. Wait for two days, they’ll take us up the mountain, as an offering to the mountain god.”

“What exactly is this mountain god?”

“There’s no mountain god. Just restless spirits bound by the Hegemon Sword, needing appeasement. They control ghosts, enslave them. Even dogs need bones. The mountain god is just an excuse.”

“Once we’re on the mountain, we have to reach the summit. I’ll draw the Hegemon Sword, releasing the trapped souls, allowing them to return to the underworld. Then you can take the sword and fulfill your wish.”

Chen Henian recalled Jiang Wan’s words as he was pulled into a van, its windows covered with black cloth, the interior reeking of cheap leather and plastic, the seats like the shed skin of a rotting snake.

He felt a wave of nausea as the van started moving, its engine sputtering.

Zuo He sat in the front passenger seat, one man driving, the other in the back, guarding Chen Henian and Jiang Wan.

They had no weapons, no swords, no talismans, not even Chen Henian’s suitcase, all left behind at the shop. Zuo He’s backpack contained only the mirror and Xiao Bai.

The Jiang clan’s village was unique, a place of concentrated yin energy, its inhabitants sensitive to ghostly auras, Chen Henian himself a beacon, but the ghosts were controlled, their instincts suppressed, their movements restricted by chains. A dog barking at strangers was normal, wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

“Where did you find such fine merchandise?” the driver asked Zuo He.

“They worked for me, beggars,” Zuo He replied, his voice rough. “They signed a contract, but they were bad luck, my business went bankrupt, I’m drowning in debt. Now it’s time for them to repay me.”

“Debt collectors aren’t pleasant people, especially around here. People die easily,” the man said.

“Tell me about it!” Zuo He said, his voice filled with mock anxiety, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darting around. “Why else would I be so desperate?”

He sat stiffly, his body tense, his mind racing. He was worried they would attack him, and he would instinctively retaliate, ruining Jiang Wan’s plan, which required him to be captured.

This was going to be difficult.

Jiang Wan had explained that the Jiang clan didn’t differentiate between buyers and sellers. They would accept any price, because there was no payment. The offering to the mountain god consisted of three “dishes,” and the seller, from the moment the deal was struck, was already on the menu.

But their lives weren’t in danger. The “mountain god” required fresh sacrifices.

“Brother, can I ask you something?” Zuo He said.

“Go ahead,” the man replied.

“I’m worried those debt collectors won’t believe me, they’ll kill me before I can pay them back. Can I stay with you for a while? I can work for you, pay off my debt gradually,” Zuo He said.

“That’s not a problem,” the man smiled.

Zuo He knew they wouldn’t refuse. They would welcome him, seeing him as an easy target, a convenient sacrifice.

“You look tired from your journey,” the man said, his voice friendly. “After we deal with them, come to my house for a drink. How about that?”

“Sure,” Zuo He exhaled, relieved, leaning back against the seat. “Thanks, brother.”

The men laughed, their laughter loud and coarse, pleased with their good fortune, a free meal, a convenient sacrifice. Zuo He joined in their laughter, his voice a forced imitation of their boisterous mirth.

Chen Henian covered his eyes, wanting to block out the sight of them, the sound of their laughter grating on his nerves. He hadn’t spoken in three days, his clothes unchanged, his hair a tangled mess, his stomach churning.

The van climbed a steep, narrow mountain road, the only view the windshield, the trees outside bare and skeletal, the wind howling.

The Jiang clan avoided outsiders, masters not associating with servants. They only cared about news from the outside world, their sources their own, ordinary people beneath their notice, those with knowledge of the supernatural their only equals, their rivals.

November brought cold rain, washing away their tracks, so they chose July and November for their rituals.

After two hours, the light inside the van dimmed. They remained silent, ordinary humans blind to ghosts. A shadowy figure appeared on the windshield, and Chen Henian glanced at it, his expression unchanged.

The ghost’s face was veiled in black, only its pale eyes visible, its form circling the van, sniffing the air, one of the eighteen guardian ghosts, their presence a silent warning, black shadows standing among the trees, like stone pillars, their forms motionless, their eyes unseen.

The dark sky, the silent figures, a chilling scene, then it was gone.

They had entered the Jiang clan’s territory.

Jiang Wan had said there were only people and nests here.

Nests weren’t considered human, just tools. They lived in enclosures surrounded by high walls. Chen Henian and Jiang Wan were taken to one such place, the gate slamming shut behind them, a lock clicking into place.

The enclosure was large, a simple earthen structure, its floor uneven, the tiles broken and cracked, the walls stained and crumbling, the paper windows torn, a clothesline strung across the courtyard, wooden buckets stacked against the wall.

He saw people, many people, at least a hundred, but not the Jiang clan, these were the nests.

The nests that appeared before him were shrouded in black veils, only their eyes visible, some washing clothes, some working sewing machines, others sitting motionless against the walls, their gazes empty, their bodies still.

He saw many people, yet they were all the same, their faces and actions identical, their eyes like empty voids, mirroring the black veils that concealed them, too small to contain a human soul.

Trees lined the courtyard, their leaves rustling in the wind, the sound of wind chimes mixing with the clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of oil in a large wok, a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney.

He must have passed the kitchen.

Jiang Wan walked towards the back of the courtyard, and Chen Henian followed.

They reached another courtyard, this one filled with children, small children, dressed in ordinary clothes, boys and girls, between two and five years old, some playing in the dirt, poking at ants with sticks, some sitting on the steps, some collecting fallen leaves, their dark eyes fixed on him and Jiang Wan.

Their faces were eerily similar, some deformed, their features grotesque. Twenty children, silent and still, their movements the only sound, their footsteps echoing his own.

Jiang Wan continued walking, entering a building, more veiled figures inside, holding infants, their bellies swollen with pregnancy, some lifting their shirts to breastfeed.

Chen Henian turned away, waiting by the door.

Jiang Wan approached the women, lifting their veils, her actions a violation, but no one stopped her, the nests unresponsive, their gazes empty.

She looked at each face, one after another, her breathing growing rapid, her hand covering her mouth, then lowered the last veil.

The women, having finished feeding their children, placed them in wooden cribs, their faces veiled again, sitting motionless, their eyes seemingly on him and Jiang Wan, but they couldn’t be sure.

Jiang Wan rushed outside, and Chen Henian saw her leaning against a tree, vomiting, not food, but clear water, her eyes red-rimmed, her face pale, her features sharpened by the strain.

A child, seeing her, ran over, pulled down his pants, and urinated against the tree.

Jiang Wan recovered quickly, gesturing for Chen Henian to follow her.

He followed, his usual annoyance absent, replaced by a quiet concern.

This was her birthplace, she was looking for someone, but she hadn’t found them.

He understood.

She led him to a corner, away from the children, the ground clean.

He didn’t have to ask, he knew she would tell him.

She had said they couldn’t speak here, the guardian ghosts outside the walls listening to every sound, so she wrote on the wall, her finger tracing the characters on the faded paint: My mother used to be in that courtyard. She gave birth to my sister, then me.

I left two years ago. She’s not here anymore. She must be dead.

I was called Jiang Shisan, and my sister, five years older than me, was also called Jiang Shisan. I hated that name.

Then I learned about a woman they all cursed – Jiang Wan.

So I took her name.

…

“What is that?” Zuo He walked along a wide stone path, separated from Chen Henian and Jiang Wan by what seemed like miles, the high walls of the Jiang clan’s inner sanctum before him, red walls and golden roofs, training grounds on either side, children and teenagers practicing martial arts, wooden dummies in the center, their mouths painted red, their eyes small and narrow, their bodies clad in brightly colored robes, a grotesque and unsettling sight.

The dummies were riddled with arrows, and he watched as boys threw wooden sticks at them, a strange training method.

Every training ground had such a dummy.

Jiang Wan.

He saw the two characters written on the dummy’s belly.

He was startled, almost biting his tongue, then realized it must be referring to the historical Princess Zhaoping, not the girl he knew.

“It’s a ward against evil spirits. The mountains are full of unclean things. Are you afraid of ghosts?” a man asked him.

“A little,” Zuo He replied.

“Then you’re not as brave as my sons,” the man said. “They’re not afraid of ghosts.”

He beckoned, and the boys gathered around him, bowing respectfully. “Father,” they said in unison, then, their voices filled with youthful bravado, “We’re not afraid of ghosts!”

“More offerings?” one of the boys looked at Zuo He, his lips curled into a sneer. “Father, when will the mountain god be full?”

“Go on, get out of here! I haven’t had time to watch you, behave yourselves, and call your brothers for dinner,” the man waved them away.

“Why are they all boys?” Zuo He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Because I’m virile, I produce sons,” the man chuckled, holding up three fingers. “Three sons!”

He seemed proud of this fact, and Zuo He, though puzzled, simply nodded in agreement.

He had discreetly released Xiao Bai, now deep within the village, a place that resembled an imperial palace, the largest building at the center like a throne room, its roof less grand than the Forbidden City’s, but still impressive.

He couldn’t go any further. The man had said he needed permission from the elders, but even he rarely saw them.

The Jiang clan, clinging to their royal status, their inner sanctum far more elaborate than the outer dwellings, their hierarchy clearly defined.

That evening, the man invited him for dinner.

He offered wine, but Zuo He excused himself, feigning a need to use the bathroom.

A light rain was falling. The man, drunk, sat alone, and Zuo He stood outside, watching the rain, or rather, the shadows within the rain.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The ghosts were silent and still, like statues, their heads turning, their gazes sweeping across the village, some on rooftops, some in the fields, their dark shadows a part of the landscape.

A ghost stood by the man’s side, its eyes following Zuo He, silent and watchful, a chained guard dog, its gaze fixed on the outsider, a potential meal.

Zuo He didn’t dare meet its gaze, the ghostly aura, tinged with a dark, unnatural energy, unsettling. He walked past it, noticing the chain around its neck, its other end held by the man.

He was shocked. The ghost wore a black veil.

Most of the ghosts here wore black veils.

They were ghosts, and they were the nests Jiang Wan had spoken of.