A portion of the barbecue was set out on the Altar Offering Table. Huang Kuaipao, impatient by nature, hopped up and called the other Little Huangs out to join.
Three people sat around the table, its brushes, ink, and yellow joss paper pushed to one side. Qin Shuheng rummaged around in some corner or other and turned up a case of beer.
Lu You eyed it twice: “I thought all we had here was Chinese Baijiu.”
Offering tributes to spirits were always made with baijiu.
Qin Shuheng laughed it off: “Got it last time at the supermarket to hit a coupon threshold with the Offering Tributes—didn’t buy it specially.”
Lu You didn’t believe a word of it, but had no intention of digging deeper. He reached out and cracked one open. When He Zhuchun reached for one too, Qin Shuheng dodged him, shooting him a fierce glare.
He Zhuchun was speechless: “…This petty?”
“It’s not about pettiness.” Qin Shuheng gathered the beers protectively at his feet. “This counts as a personal grudge.”
Lu You handed his own beer to He Zhuchun and casually opened another.
He Zhuchun glanced down at it, and Lu You said, “Not a sip drunk.”
“I know.”
“Master, what are you doing!”
Qin Shuheng was unhappy to see it, and wanted to start squawking again, but under his Master’s oppressive authority he forcibly swallowed it back, and in revenge took a lamb skewer and bit off a chunk viciously.
He Zhuchun said: “I bought the meat, and I’m letting you eat it. You bought the beer, but won’t let me drink it. See? That’s the difference in our breadth of spirit.”
Qin Shuheng choked, the piece of meat in his mouth neither swallowable nor spittable, while He Zhuchun grinned smugly, laughing as he looked over the shop’s furnishings. After a full circuit, his gaze finally landed on the Altar Offering Table. Maybe it was the angle, but Qin Shuheng, watching him, felt there seemed to be something reflected in this fellow’s eyes.
He Zhuchun asked: “What’s enshrined up there?”
Lu You answered: “Patron Spirits.”
“Yours?”
“Mm.”
He Zhuchun rose and leaned in to look. On the Altar Offering Table, the cloth was split into left and right halves, each marked off into grids. From top to bottom, the grids were densely filled with names under the four family surnames—Hu, Huang, Chang, and Mang—and further down were what looked like human names.
Between the two halves was a rather wide gap, and in that gap there was a name too—just one, in handwriting much larger than the rest. He read it out softly:
“Hu—Tian—Ba.”
“Hey hey hey!” Qin Shuheng swallowed the meat in his mouth and cut horizontally between He Zhuchun and the Altar Offering Table like a mother hen shielding her chicks: “What are you hollering for? Careful not to offend the Patron Spirits!”
He Zhuchun ignored him, turning to ask Lu You: “Who’s Hu Tianba?”
Lu You said: “The Fox Immortal who leads my hall.”
He Zhuchun blurted out the flattery: “Leader of the Hu Family Fox Clan, no wonder the disciple is so good-looking.”
Praising a Patron Spirit’s looks was fine; praising the Master’s skill was fine—but praising the Master’s looks was not fine, especially from a man angling to be his Master’s Wife! The air-raid alarm in Qin Shuheng’s head blared instantly, and he warned: “Good-looking or not, he’s not yours! Stop coveting my Master!”
He Zhuchun then sat back down beside Lu You with a smile. Over that meal, Qin and He went back and forth evenly enough, but Qin Shuheng’s brain was small and he couldn’t out-bicker a grad student, so he was generally the one losing and breaking down. Lu You endured the two of them for one meal’s worth of time, then finally left the table to get some peace at the Altar Hall.
Seeing him stop eating, He Zhuchun stopped too and followed, looking up at the roster and asking: “Why are the names on this red cloth split into two parts?”
“The red cloth is called the Altar Roster, and this spot is the Altar Hall,” Lu You explained. “The spirits enshrined in the hall are divided male and female—female spirits on the left, male spirits on the right. The gap left down the middle is called the Horse Path, and it’s the route the spirits take when they receive orders and set out to work.”
He Zhuchun had long known that Spirit Medium Shamans had a mountain of rules: “That’s actually kind of interesting.”
Lu You said nothing.
He Zhuchun asked again: “When do we deal with that Negative Yin Peach Blossom Karma on me?”
Lu You pointed a thumb backward: “Once the table’s cleared. Soon.”
Qin Shuheng might be a bit slow in the head, but his hands were quick; in the time it took the two to exchange a few words he had already wiped down the table, water marks rippling across its surface, then drew out paper towels and wiped it again, and only when it was completely dry did he set the brushes, ink, and yellow joss paper back in place.
“Master, all tidied!”
At the words, Lu You took incense by the Everburning Lamp and lit it, pinched out the open flame at the tip, and inserted the incense properly into the Incense Burner before turning back to sit at the table. The brush was already rinsed open and the ink ground in advance; his wrist flew, leaving four lines of unreadable talisman script on the octavo paper, then he wrote He Zhuchun’s name and Eight Characters of Birth in proper form. He pressed his palms together and spread them, first stamping the Altar Seal, then his palm print, before pinching the yellow joss paper by two corners and lifting it, walking in a few steps to the Incense Burner.
The yellow paper was held aloft, swaying two circles as it hastily took a mouthful of incense offerings. Lu You murmured more incomprehensible things, the process lasting about a minute; then he gathered the paper and beckoned. Before He Zhuchun could react, Qin Shuheng had already produced, from who knows where, a fire basin and set it before Lu You—just in time for him to light the yellow paper with the Everburning Lamp and place it unhurriedly into the basin.
Strangely enough, while in Lu You’s hand the paper’s flame was only the size of a coin, but the moment it entered the basin, fire shot up instantly, so lively it seemed ready to leap clear over a person’s head. The flames blazed red with an edge of Golden Radiance, clawing and snapping as they devoured the Memorial Petition, until at last only a wisp of black smoke was left, drifting up into the air and vanishing.
Gazing at the paper ash in which the characters could still barely be made out, Lu You took a cup of Chinese Baijiu and sprinkled it to scatter the ash, then suddenly seemed utterly exhausted, eyelids drooping as he said flatly, “Done.”
He Zhuchun felt a chill run up his spine from behind, goosebumps rising in another wave, and the back of his skull was struck as if by a hammer—instant splitting pain and dizziness. But once the dizziness passed, his whole body felt indescribably smooth and clear, better even than right after receiving Lu You’s talisman.
Happiness rose in him from the inside out; even his eyes had gained spirit. He Zhuchun gave a big thumbs-up: “Great Immortal, you’re damn amazing.”
Qin Shuheng knew his Master was always worn out after finishing a Ritual Service. Supporting Lu You by the arm, he ushered him back into the Executive Chair, and hearing He Zhuchun’s words now, he said with pride: “Of course. I’ve never yet met something my Master couldn’t solve!”
He Zhuchun reflexively snapped back: “Your Master’s impressive—what are you smugging about? Aren’t you still a lousy chicken yourself?”
Qin Shuheng: “Shut your mouth!”
Lu You relaxed and leaned back, body exhausted but mind unusually clear.
He was thinking.
He Zhuchun, the sole figure the clues on the Paper Slip had pointed to, had just had his exorcism done—yet the Patron Spirits had given no hint whatsoever about the task’s progress. Combined with the inspirations flickering in his mind, all of it pointed to one fact:
Wrong direction.
Loose strands of hair fell forward over his eyes. Lu You couldn’t be bothered to brush them aside; his fingers tapped rhythmically on the chair arm a few times, and then, as if sensing something, he looked through the ends of his hair back toward the Altar Hall—there sat a white fox, lines graceful and sleek, glowing faintly, having emerged from the Altar Roster at some unknown moment, head tilted as it watched him.
Hu Xiuying.
Lu You called her name softly in his heart.
Hu Xiuying hopped down from the Altar Offering Table and bounded lightly to her Disciple’s side.
Qin Shuheng saw her too, and wanted to greet her, but with He Zhuchun present he forcibly swallowed the greeting, and his face naturally turned even less friendly toward the outsider.
He Zhuchun noticed, and gave him a puzzled glance.
Setting aside the undercurrents swirling over there, Lu You sat up straight, looking directly into Hu Xiuying’s eyes.
Hu Xiuying said: “My Disciple has doubts?”
Lu You told her, honestly and within his mind, the matter of the Paper Slip.
Hearing it, Xiuying laughed: “What romance? That rascal Kuaipao tricked you again.”
Lu You froze: “Didn’t you all tell him?”
Hu Xiuying shook her head.
Meanwhile, Huang Kuaipao, stuffed full and satisfied, was squatting outside by the manhole cover watching birds, when suddenly a chill came from behind and his fur bristled down his whole back. He rubbed at his fur, thought nothing of it, and looked up—only to see every last bird flap its wings and flee, the whole tree empty, just a few lonely feathers remaining.
In front of the Patron Spirits, Lu You always let slip a little grievance without meaning to. He complained: “Isn’t the content of the Paper Slip too vague?”
“You’re somewhat impatient, Little Disciple,” Hu Xiuying hinted. “And you’ve already touched the edge of the task, haven’t you?”
“We spirits in this world do nothing more than save and ferry across; there is no talk of Merit. The task is no different from the first half of your life spent aiding the world and saving people, Little Disciple—only it will be more troublesome.”
A flash of insight struck Lu You, and he said with realization: “You always spoil me, clearing up my doubts anytime, anywhere.”
Hu Xiuying transformed into human form—a Fox Immortal of beautiful, loving countenance.
She said nothing, only gently ruffled Lu You’s hair. He felt his scalp go soft, and when he looked again, Hu Xiuying had already returned to the Altar Hall, gone without a trace.
Qin Shuheng heard nothing of the private exchange between Lu You and the spirit. Seeing Hu Xiuying return now, he dreaded some new trouble and leaned in: “Master?”
He had meant to help.
Lu You shook his head to signal all was fine, then turned to He Zhuchun.
He Zhuchun was again studying the Altar Roster’s entrance; he seemed to have a special interest in this spot. Sensing Lu You’s gaze, he turned with a questioning look.
Lu You said: “I want to see your junior sister.”
“The one we ran into today?” He Zhuchun asked.
Lu You nodded.
He Zhuchun’s lip curled: “And here I thought ‘gay’ meant you didn’t like women.”
Qin Shuheng, evidently unaware of who was leading and who was following between these two, still muttered under his breath: “You’re the gay one.”
Lu You didn’t bother explaining: “I want to see her. Now.”
“……”
He Zhuchun went outside to phone Liu Yingying, while Qin Shuheng stared at his retreating back, then after a moment turned and said: “Master, I’m starting not to understand you.”
Lu You’s glance slid past him, cool: “If you don’t understand, go brew tea. We’re having guests shortly.”
“Fine.”
By the time a pot of tea came out steaming, He Zhuchun was just stepping back through the door: “She’s still helping the professor watch the kid. She says she’ll bring the child along. I lied and told her your massages are amazing.”
Lu You took a sip of tea: “Fine.”
He Zhuchun sat down across from him, poured himself a cup as well, weighed his words a moment, and then said:
“My junior sister has it rough. Her family’s poor, and she only scraped past the admission line, so ever since joining the professor’s group she’s been insecure. She’s terrified the professor will hold her background against her, so she keeps fawning and thrusting herself forward. A perfectly good grad student has practically become the professor’s live-in nanny—the unpaid kind.”
Lu You listened, then said: “She’s very warm to you as well.”
“Because this cohort the professor only took two students.” He Zhuchun’s phone buzzed twice; he swiped it open, glanced, then turned it sideways to show Lu You—Liu Yingying reporting her real-time location.
“Actually, plenty of people wanted to join our professor’s group back then—tons of them with higher scores and prettier résumés. But he picked the two of us, and that’s why Liu Yingying is especially grateful to him.” He Zhuchun rubbed the rim of his teacup.
“It’s bothered me for the longest time, why. But the professor doesn’t usually reach out to me, and we don’t interact much. I don’t know why you want Liu Yingying, but if there’s something you can’t get out of her, I can tell you.”
Lu You understood He Zhuchun was repaying the exorcism with information, and simply went along, nodding now and then.
While the two were talking, a splashing of footsteps on water sounded outside. The glass door was pushed open, and Liu Yingying entered, the child held in one arm, a folding umbrella hooked over the other, having scraped the rain from her shoes at the threshold. Entering, she first called out “Senior Martial Brother,” then, seeing Lu You, hesitated, reflexively recalling his unfriendly attitude, and said nothing.
The three of them faced each other for a moment. Before He Zhuchun could respond, the always-quiet child in Liu Yingying’s arms suddenly burst out wailing—waah—crying and trembling, struggling violently and making a terrible fuss. Liu Yingying lost her grip for a moment and the girl slipped from her arms. The young student couldn’t catch her, and was standing there helpless, about to reach down, when they saw the child crawl twice toward the door—and then faint.
