“A Kuman Thong?”
“Mm.”
Lu You’s gaze settled on the cigarette pinched at his fingertips, his amber pupils glimmering pale and clear under the white incandescent light. He explained, “A secret Thai method for refining Ghost Children. An orthodox Kuman Thong carries the local Buddhism’s rites for delivering and housing the souls of infants dead before their time—it’s also called the Heavenly Child. But Li Bingjun’s doesn’t look like one.”
“I knew that.” He Zhuchun couldn’t resist a quip at any time, any occasion. “His isn’t that righteous. My Senior Martial Brother said so.”
Lu You gave an accommodating “Mm,” then continued, “His is more likely a folk-reared Ghost Child—souls of children steeped in Grievance Qi, tempered through Secret Techniques, and finally sealed inside a doll’s body to serve its keeper’s use.”
He Zhuchun listened intently; some piece of information flashed through his mind, and he asked suddenly, “The elder son?”
Chen Zhuzhuo didn’t follow. “What?”
Chen Zhuzhuo didn’t understand, but Lu You did. He knew what He Zhuchun meant: the unknown child mentioned that morning when they combed the files—the one before Li Jiayuan.
—Li Bingjun’s first child.
Lu You said, “Most likely, yes.”
The Kuman Thong enshrined on Li Bingjun’s Altar Table was most probably a Ghost Child refined and sealed from his own child’s Infant Spirit.
Chen Zhuzhuo grew anxious at their riddle-playing. “What are you two even saying? Why can’t I follow?”
He Zhuchun, irritated by the noise, explained in the briefest terms: “It means Li Bingjun had another child before. He killed it at birth and refined it into a Kuman Thong. Presumably the first one underperformed and left him dissatisfied, so he immediately had a second—his present daughter, Li Jiayuan. And from childhood, Li Bingjun maintained Ritual Formations to Soul Swap his Ghost Child son with Li Jiayuan.”
Paying no heed to Chen Zhuzhuo’s shocked face, He Zhuchun exchanged a look with Lu You and added, “And we suspect Li Bingjun’s wife, Zhou Ru, didn’t die in childbirth at all. That death case likely has Li Bingjun’s fingerprints all over it.”
Chen Zhuzhuo was shocked speechless for a good long while before asking, “…Do you have evidence?”
He Zhuchun clicked his tongue. “Every one of these conclusions came from the Great Immortal Lu.”
Chen Zhuzhuo declared at once, “Then it’s nearly certain. This Li Bingjun is an even viler piece of work than I imagined!”
Lu You: “…”
He Zhuchun couldn’t hold back a laugh, and poked Lu You. “Congratulations on gaining another little fanboy.”
Half the time Lu You had no idea how to answer He Zhuchun’s conversational gambits, so he simply set them aside and asked Chen Zhuzhuo, “Any other findings?”
Chen Zhuzhuo thought a moment, then declared with conviction, “There are! Wait a moment—I’ll go find something.”
With that, he turned and charged into the Storage Room to dig around, reemerging with a colored advertisement flyer in hand.
The flyer was wrinkled and crumpled, blotted with several patches of unidentifiable stain; the whole sheet gave off an inky, yellowed tint impossible to mask—proof enough of its age.
Chen Zhuzhuo spread it open and handed it to Lu You. Lu You looked down: an advertisement for a Graduate Exam Escort Cram Class, its cover printed with a man in a sharp suit, beside him gilded characters self-proclaiming him “Gold-Medal Study Pacer.”
Chen Zhuzhuo pointed at the man. “I suspect Li Bingjun himself never knew any Thai secret arts. The one truly doing his dirty work is this man.”
He Zhuchun leaned in to look as well—and the moment the face came clear, his eyes flew wide. “I know him!”
For all three to see the paper’s contents, they were standing extremely close—especially He Zhuchun and Lu You’s positioning. He Zhuchun stood right behind Lu You, practically his whole chest pressed up against him, head craning over Lu You’s shoulder to peer inside.
Lu You drew his cigarette-holding fingertips inward a little to avoid scorching him, tapped the ash into a nearby trash bin, and only then asked, “You know him?”
He Zhuchun said through gritted teeth, “Know him? Of course I know him. He’s the one who signed me up with Li Bingjun as my teacher in the first place—and guaranteed me a full refund if I didn’t pass.”
Chen Zhuzhuo hesitated, on the verge of words, then said anyway, “That’s exactly what he told me too.”
“No wonder he could pick his targets with such precision out of so many enrolled students. He wasn’t screening them one by one—he sourced them ready-made and delivered them right to the door.” He Zhuchun suddenly saw it all, and cursed, “What a schemer.”
Lu You asked Chen Zhuzhuo, “Then how did you escape, back then?”
Chen Zhuzhuo sighed. “The day I left Li Bingjun’s house I took such a fright I half lost my life on the spot. Back home I ran a fever for over half a month straight. My parents were worried sick, so they invited a blind old woman up from the village to perform a Spiritual Consultation for me. She burned Talisman Water and made me drink it down, and only that night did my fever finally break. If not for her, I’d never have made it through.”
A light, gentle breeze drifted through; the spark at Lu You’s fingertip brightened. He asked, “And then?”
Chen Zhuzhuo: “When I came to, the blind old woman spoke to me alone in the room. She said if I wanted to live, I had to pass the doctoral exam, then give up every job connected to my studies before graduating—better to take manual labor, work in obscurity. In a few years, she said, I’d meet a benefactor, and from then on…”
Chen Zhuzhuo’s words cut off mid-sentence. He looked up at Lu You, gaze burning, excitement kindling toward open flame in his eyes.
He murmured, half to himself, “A few years… a benefactor… Master… that benefactor—it wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”
Lu You looked back at him, entirely nonplussed.
Chen Zhuzhuo grew more worked up still. “If you hadn’t brought it up today, the old woman’s words would be long lost behind my head! But the moment you said it, it all came rushing back. Master, you must be my benefactor—is my life finally turning around at last!”
But He Zhuchun’s expression turned grave; he stared at Chen Zhuzhuo, gaze heavy. Chen Zhuzhuo, creeping out under that stare, watched the smile drain from his own face, tension creeping in.
Then he heard He Zhuchun say, “My friend, fate ought to rest in our own hands. Idly depending on others while waiting for a dead fish to flip itself over—not advisable.”
Chen Zhuzhuo: “…”
Chen Zhuzhuo said to Lu You, “Did graduate school rot his brain? Or did Li Bingjun steal his IQ?”
Lu You considered. “…He may simply be a rather abstract person.”
Chen Zhuzhuo’s verdict: “Sooner or later, someone’s going to hit him.”
He Zhuchun chuckled twice more.
While the three of them conversed, Wang Jianguo in the living room suddenly let out a few pained groans. Lu You turned—and saw Wang Jianguo finally stirring awake, eyelids not even fully open before the needles still planted in him wrung moans out of his mouth.
Chen Zhuzhuo finally remembered the needles hadn’t been removed, and asked Lu You, “Master, were these needles deliberately left in, unremoved?”
In fact, they weren’t.
In fact, Lu You had simply forgotten all about them.
Lu You stubbed out the cigarette in silence, walked over, plucked the needles out in a few motions, and returned them to the red bundle for safekeeping.
While he was occupied, Chen Lihua pulled He Zhuchun into a corner, murmured something to him, and then pressed something into his jacket pocket.
He Zhuchun peeked at it, took it out to return it—and Chen Lihua firmly pushed it right back.
Lu You, meanwhile, paid them no attention. He beckoned Chen Zhuzhuo over, ordering him to pull down Wang Jianguo’s trousers.
“Not too far. Just enough to bare the whole length of the waist.”
Chen Zhuzhuo said, “Okay.”
Trousers and binding slipped down a stretch. Lu You laid his hand on it and kneaded twice, then reached for a cigarette—suddenly recalling he’d just burned his last one—and gave up, instead beginning to murmur more unintelligible words under his breath.
Huang Kuaipao had been run off his feet trailing Lu You all day too; now he sat curled on one end of the sofa, short little legs folded, resting. Seeing his own disciple about to invoke a spirit’s help yet again, he sighed, wondering which poor immortal would be summoned to work overtime this late.
A pelt of beautiful fur showed at the window; an orange-yellow fox leapt into the room, shook out the tail behind her, and greeted Huang Kuaipao first of all.
Huang Kuaipao waved. “Sister Tianfeng, you’re still up this late?”
Hu Tianfeng answered with a smile. “I was only waiting for my disciple to call on me.”
Even as she spoke, she bent down and took the apertures of Lu You’s body, breath gathered, spirit focused, sensing out the condition of Wang Jianguo’s body.
Lu You opened Telepathic Channeling and asked her, “Is it curable?”
Hu Tianfeng said, “Manageable. But it needs a very long, quiet recovery.”
Lu You turned back for more needles, measuring with his left hand inch by inch, right hand pinching a silver needle, carefully planting it point by point.
Wang Jianguo felt only a spreading warmth across his lower back; the needles didn’t even hurt much. That stiff, deadened waist—rigid for years—sensed at long last a warm current pouring in along the needle tips, deep into the lumbar spine, healing away the better part of the chronic ills stockpiled over the years.
For a moment he was so comfortable his eyes narrowed in enjoyment.
Until a soft “Done.” At the word, Wang Jianguo turned his head—and saw Lu You with brow creased, tucking the silver needles away again, stowing them snug inside his clothes.
Lu You was now truly exhausted, truly spent. It had been a long while since he’d output at such intensity. He took two heavy-headed steps and nearly staggered into a fall.
He Zhuchun caught him half into his arms, brow knitting as he asked, “You all right?”
Lu You shook his head, forcing his body upright. “I’m fine. Let’s head back.”
He Zhuchun still wasn’t reassured; his arms hovered around Lu You, wary of him stumbling anywhere, ready to catch him at any moment.
Fortunately, from the door all the way to the e-bike, Lu You’s walk stayed fairly steady.
He sent Chen Zhuzhuo off at the gate, and Lu You tossed the keys into He Zhuchun’s arms.
He Zhuchun asked, “And this is?”
Lu You answered, “You drive. I’m out of strength.”
He Zhuchun kicked up the stand briskly and mounted—and this time it was Lu You curled into the rear seat with his long legs folded.
Lu You held his lids half propped, watching He Zhuchun’s back a while—then, as if he could no longer hold out, leaned his forehead against it.
He Zhuchun’s heart fluttered; terrified he’d fall asleep and pitch off, he called back hastily, “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep! If you nod off back there and dive headfirst, you’ll crack that face of yours wide open!”
Lu You answered blearily, “Okay.”
Still uneasy, He Zhuchun tried, “How about we chat, then? Talking will keep you awake.”
Lu You again: “Okay.”
“Then I’ll pick the topic, alright?”
He Zhuchun racked his brains, and asked, “What made you decide to take Qin Shuheng as your disciple back then? Did your Patron Spirits tell you?”
Lu You was so drowsy he could barely keep his lids up; hearing the question, he rallied his spirits and told him, “No. I wanted to take him myself.”
He Zhuchun asked, “Why? Don’t tell me it really was to hire an all-around live-in housekeeper.”
Lu You answered, “Because of loneliness.”
He Zhuchun’s mind went white—he apparently hadn’t expected that answer—and he managed a delayed “Ah.”
Lu You then said, “I fear loneliness. I fear that after death no one will remember me. With Qin Shuheng here, then when I die, at least someone will think to burn Paper Money for me.”
He added, “I don’t want to live poor down below. And I don’t want to go unremembered.”
“So you’re not as incorruptibly clean as you make out.” He Zhuchun opened his mouth, then asked, “Loving money this much, yet freeloading Ritual Services for people every single day. But you and Qin Shuheng aren’t that many years apart—by the time you die, Qin Shuheng won’t have long left himself. Who’s going to burn your paper?”
He didn’t know about Lu You’s thirty-year lifespan. And clearly, Lu You didn’t intend to tell him.
Huang Kuaipao, for the pleasure of the wind, had climbed up to sit on He Zhuchun’s shoulder again, his fluffy yellow tail whipping messy in the breeze. Lu You watched and watched—and suddenly laughed.
The laugh wasn’t loud, but He Zhuchun heard it clearly. He asked, “What’s so funny, out of nowhere?”
Lu You answered, “I’m laughing that today, I didn’t live poor. And that today, someone still remembers me.”
Lu You said, “He Zhuchun, do you know? The feeling of being remembered—it truly is wonderful.”
