The words fell, and the room’s occupants traded glances—no one reacted at all.
He Zhuchun walked to Lu You’s side, one hand resting on the chair’s back. “Honored spirit, sir—it seems that vengeful enemy is scorning your august authority, treating you like empty air.”
He stirred the pot with relish, fearing only that the world wasn’t chaotic enough: “Really not trying to stir trouble, but if you don’t put him in his place now, I’d guess he won’t be talking nicely to you later either.”
Lu You turned his head and looked at him once. “The possession is only at the Semi-Aperture. I still have my consciousness, He Zhuchun.”
He Zhuchun startled, drawing his hand back. “Lu You?”
Lu You answered with a sound and said, “Don’t go provoking the spirits’ tempers.”
“Fine, fine.” He Zhuchun smiled; caught red-handed, not embarrassed in the least. “I wasn’t provoking the spirits’ tempers. I was merely stating facts.”
Lu You ignored him, and with one hand drew a needle from the table.
Wang Jianguo, sitting on the sofa, watched Lu You rise and approach, and couldn’t help growing tense. He swallowed hard. “Master, where will you needle me? Do I need to undress?”
Lu You said, “Not for now.”
Even as he spoke, before Wang Jianguo could react, a needle sank straight into the philtrum at the center of his face.
—First Needle Renzhong Halts Ghost Palace.
Wang Jianguo felt only a needle-prick of pain, and then a numbing, tingling current spread out from the needle’s tip, running along his blood vessels to his four limbs and hundred bones. His legs twitched involuntarily; a suffocating pressure at once coiled tight in his chest, like a wad of fog lodged there. Worse still, with the passage of time the fog only coiled tighter and tighter, expanding up to the mouth of his throat until breathing turned difficult, his mood stagnant and sullen, a nameless fire sparking up out of nowhere.
Lu You read his state from his micro-expressions and said softly, “This is his emotion welling up. Still your heart.”
Wang Jianguo startled, then immediately drew a deep breath and stilled himself.
Lu You drew a second needle from the red bundle, lifted Wang Jianguo’s left hand, and set the needle at the Shaoshang point, at the base of the thumbnail’s last segment.
—Second Needle Shaoshang Delivers Ghost Letter.
The muscle spasms in Wang Jianguo’s legs grew more pronounced; his waist felt bound by something invisible, a dense, prickling fine pain blooming across it.
Lu You watched a coil of black qi rise from his waist, surging straight for the crown of his skull.
“He Zhuchun.” Lu You called, his tone flat.
“Here!” He Zhuchun answered at once.
Lu You, without looking back, ordered, “Come hold down his arm.”
He Zhuchun bounded over in a few strides and gripped Wang Jianguo’s arm; once both hands had him firm and fast, he said, “Your orders?”
Lu You said, “Pinch.”
He Zhuchun at once twisted up a fold of flesh at the tiger’s-mouth of the hand and pinched hard.
Lu You, seeing this, frowned slightly. “Find a spot that actually hurts when pinched.”
He Zhuchun gave a short laugh, looked to Wang Jianguo, and said, “My apologies in advance.”
Before Wang Jianguo could answer, He Zhuchun pushed up his sleeve, found a tender spot on his upper arm, and dug in hard.
Wang Jianguo hissed in a great cold breath at the pain.
Lu You asked him, “Does it hurt?”
Wang Jianguo nodded vigorously.
Lu You turned to He Zhuchun: “Harder!”
He Zhuchun—a grown man in the prime of life—hearing this, rolled up his own sleeve, showed off his superb biceps, picked a fresh tender spot, and pinched down with full strength, veins standing out on the back of his hand.
Lu You asked Wang Jianguo again, “Does it hurt?”
Wang Jianguo bellowed, “It hurts!”
Lu You: “Then hurt louder. Scream it out.”
Wang Jianguo, needle still planted in his philtrum, tore his throat open bawling about the pain.
Lu You took out the third needle—not planting it yet, he asked Wang Jianguo first, “Are you angry?”
Pain pushed to its uttermost must turn to rage—especially sustained, unbearable pain. Wang Jianguo’s eyes had gone blood-red, tears glinting at their edges. He said, “Angry! I’m angry!”
Lu You said, “Then curse.”
Wang Jianguo instantly began cursing—his parents and maiden aunts, his ancestors eighteen generations back, male and female genitalia—whatever sounded foulest he cursed, from the eighteenth generation before to the eighteenth after, filthy enough to put street brawlers to shame.
He Zhuchun rather wanted to cover his ears.
In the very midst of that peak-pitch cursing, Lu You beckoned Chen Zhuzhuo over and ordered him to strip off Wang Jianguo’s shoes and socks, planting the third needle at the Yinbai point on the tip of the big toe.
—Third Needle Yinbai Enters Ghost Rampart.
The long silver needle slid in. Chen Zhuzhuo looked at the needle in his own father’s hand, then the one in his foot—recalling the vicious face of Rong Momo jabbing needles into Ziwei in that old drama—and winced in sympathy.
It truly did hurt. Wang Jianguo’s howls broke register at once; his legs curled and kicked Chen Zhuzhuo away, and his whole body, waist as the pivot, leapt upward—head and heels as fulcrums—half his torso convulsing twice in midair before crashing heavily back down.
Chen Zhuzhuo startled: “Dad, your waist can exert strength now?”
Wang Jianguo had no leisure to answer him; his whole frame wrenched violently twice—then abruptly listed sideways, hunching over the sofa’s edge, retching.
At first he only spat up saliva and stomach fluids; a little later he brought up the last scraps of undigested food in his stomach, mixed with the Chinese Baijiu he’d been knocking back all day, scorching his throat raw and aching.
The sour stench hit He Zhuchun like a slap; he abandoned pinching altogether and scurried aside, and, fumes and all, couldn’t help dry-heaving a couple of times himself. Chen Lihua hurried to take his place, patting Wang Jianguo’s back to ease his breath.
Nauseated through and through, He Zhuchun avoided looking in that direction entirely, fixing his gaze on Lu You instead. “This reaction of his—is it really okay?”
Lu You, for his part, seemed quite unbothered. He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs again, fingers feeling out the unique texture of the red velvet, and at the question his lips curled into a smile. “Wait and see.”
The Lu You of ordinary days, with no spirit in residence, would never have struck poses like leg-crossing and lazy smiling. Lu You himself, whether standing or sitting, was always perfectly squared away—just like his handwriting.
—At first glance, all of it the swagger born of genuine skill; look closer and every stroke lands rock-solid; and should one have the leisure and the inclination to study it front to back, one would find Lu You’s characters in fact perfectly upright—exactly like the man himself.
Clear and handsome, beautiful, exquisitely devoted to rules—devoted to the point of provoking the wicked into wanting to snap them.
He Zhuchun was lost in just such thought when the Chen mother and son across the room suddenly cried out. He looked over instinctively—and saw Wang Jianguo clawing at his own throat, fingers straining to pry his airway wide, before retching up a translucent, black, long strip of something unidentifiable.
…It was a Shed Snake Skin.
He Zhuchun wanted to vomit again.
He had seen it; naturally Lu You had too. The Great Immortal brushed off his robe, rose, picked up another needle, and walked over. “Going to talk? If not, I’m administering the fourth needle.”
Wang Jianguo had no leisure to answer; only after the snake skin had come up whole and he’d retched twice more did he finally stammer, “Talking! I’ll talk!”
“Then talk. How shall we negotiate?” Lu You’s amber pupils held a fleck of crimson; his gaze came down cool and level from on high, carrying a pressure that forbade direct meeting. He paused, then added, “But I dislike chatting with the nameless. Give me your name first.”
Cold light flashed before the eyes of the one in Wang Jianguo. He hauled in two rough breaths and finally said, “I am called Mang Tianzheng.”
Lu You smiled. “Impressive. A member of the Tian Generation, no less.”
Among the immortal clans of the Four Great Families Hu Huang Chang Mang, names were ranked by ability and Dao Attainment—and those of the highest attainment belonged to the Tian Generation.
The one in Wang Jianguo gave two sheepish laughs. “I cannot compare to the weight of your attainment.”
Lu You’s smile bloomed halfway—then plummeted. Fingertips pinching the needle, one hand clamped Wang Jianguo’s wrist in a flash while the other drove the needle hard into the Daling point at his wrist.
—Fourth Needle Daling Strikes Ghost Heart.
The one in Wang Jianguo shrieked instantly.
So shrill the scream that Chen Lihua’s face filled with pity; she moved without thinking to touch the needled spot—and He Zhuchun’s quick hand caught hers just in time.
He shook his head at her; Chen Lihua came to her senses, apologized, and snatched her hand back.
The look Lu You gave the one in Wang Jianguo was pure contempt. A snorting laugh: “I said from the start—no false reports, no lying. After all these centuries of cultivation, you still can’t understand human speech?”
The one in Wang Jianguo ground his teeth; his pupils were jammed against the top of his eye sockets, baring vast sheets of bloodshot white, and he fixed Lu You with a cold, shadowed stare, hatred pickled into every syllable: “You dare harm me?”
Lu You strolled back to his seat; only once seated and squared away did his tone ease. “I also dare to cripple your Dao Attainment and send you crawling back to the mountains to start your cultivation over.”
The one in Wang Jianguo abruptly fell silent, saying nothing for a long moment.
Lu You and the vengeful enemy stood in confrontation, and everyone else in the room held their breath, spirit gathered—no one spoke for a time.
Into that silence, from the incense burner came a sudden tiny crack. Chen Lihua, unable to bear watching Wang Jianguo’s state, turned her head toward the burner—then involuntarily widened her eyes, arm shooting out, pointing: “It’s cracked—it’s cracked!”
He Zhuchun and Chen Zhuzhuo turned at the sound—and indeed, a fissure had split open at the burner’s base, still thickening, crawling its way upward; by now it had climbed a third of the way up the burner’s body, and through the gap one could see the ghastly white of the plant ash within.
Lu You, though, remained utterly calm, not sparing it half a sliver of attention. His arm rested on the armrest, fingers tapping it now and then in rhythm, the crisp tick of clean, rounded nails against wood.
The lotus-shaped ash burned to a certain length, drifted down lightly beside the burner, and slowly opened into another fresh lotus.
Crimson light surged in Lu You’s eyes.
Dusk was deepening. Chen Zhuzhuo came back to himself, glanced out the window, and switched on the household’s brightest lamp.
“What is it you actually want!” the one in Wang Jianguo roared.
Lu You said, “Dissolve this feud. You will harm no one in this family again.”
“On what grounds?” the one in Wang Jianguo demanded.
“Mang Tianzhong.” Lu You couldn’t be bothered with games any longer and called out the name outright.
Mang Tianzhong asked, “Who told you? Mang Tianqing?”
Lu You said, “When I want to know something, I investigate directly. I have no need of informants.”
Mang Tianzhong said, “You too walk the immortals’ path—you must know the ten thousand hardships of animal cultivation. So why can you not understand me?”
“I have understood you all along.” Lu You let out a breath. “From the moment you killed Wang Jianguo’s father, I understood. When you wrecked Wang Jianguo’s health, I understood that too. What I do not understand is this: having come this far already, why refuse to let go—why go on plaguing his children and grandchildren?”
Mang Tianzhong’s voice pressed heavy: “Because my descendants are all dead! So his descendants will pay for my son and grandson with their lives!”
Lu You said, “If that’s how it is, then what difference remains between you and them?”
Them—of course, meaning that crowd who slaughtered living creatures without a thought.
Mang Tianzhong startled—and then, borrowing Wang Jianguo’s face, displayed a fury of pure incomprehension: “Do not liken me to those villains!”
“Wang Jianguo and his father held the life of a snake as no life at all, slaughtering your kin at their pleasure—so you took your revenge on them. That is justified.” The fingertip’s rhythm stopped abruptly. Lu You raised a hand, lightly propping his chin:
“But what of you? You killed Wang Jianguo’s father, crippled Wang Jianguo’s body, led Wang Jianguo’s son astray—and now you move against Wang Jianguo’s grandson. Set beside humans, you are the less decent creature of the two, wouldn’t you say?”
Lu You gave a cold laugh. “To everyone you meet, you protest that you’re avenging your children’s lives. But as I see it, you’ve simply taken karma and Samsara for a banner, harming people far and wide to sate your own bloodthirsty appetite.”
“How long has it been since you last looked at what your cultivation has produced, Mang Tianzhong?” Lu You’s chin lifted slightly, his tone cold as he pronounced the verdict:
“The Underworld Judge has likely been waiting for you in the Netherworld a good long while. The moment you die, Black Impermanence will drag you in and dump you before the bench—judged this way and that, and sentenced to a full hundred years of harsh punishment.”
