Chapter 503: Laughing Heartily

Several days later.

The black-clothed person respectfully guided a roughly fifty-year-old man in white robes into the study deep within that mansion in Jingcheng.

"Supreme Venerable, this is our Onmyoji Teng Qingxing, profound in Dao, formerly an official of the Onmyo Bureau."

The Masked Man glanced at Teng Qingxing, voice calm: "Please sit, serve tea."

The servant hurried in, presented the tea cup, then withdrew silently.

Teng Qingxing sat slowly, reached up to remove the black hat pressing his forehead, revealing a gaunt face with deep-set eyes.

He did not bow, merely gave a slight nod, acknowledging he had met the owner of the bronze mask.

The Masked Man said: "This tea is this year's new tribute; please try it."

"Zhongyuan tea," Teng Qingxing lifted the cup, took a sip, speaking Zhongyuan Mandarin stiffly and slowly: "It's bland, tasteless, far inferior to ours."

The Masked Man did not anger at his rudeness: "You've come far; the journey has been hard."

"Hardship?" Teng Qingxing raised his eyes, a smile at the corner of his mouth: "You gift a city in return; this hardship is worthwhile."

The Masked Man's eyes flickered: "As far as I know, your country has many Onmyoji; I wonder where you rank among them?"

Teng Qingxing smiled faintly: "Are you testing me?"

The Masked Man stared at him: "The deed for that city, I have prepared."

Teng Qingxing said: "Since you treat me sincerely, I will naturally not hide my inadequacy; what do you wish to see?"

The Masked Man's gaze scrutinized: "May I ask, what are you skilled in?"

Teng Qingxing replied: "Yin-Yang arts are divided into minor and major."

"Minor arts amuse the senses, like igniting fire in the palm without wind; major arts can harm invisibly, even summon spirits and alter fate."

"However, major arts must not be used lightly, for once cast, the consequences are unpredictable."

He paused: "Do you wish to see minor arts, or major arts?"

"Interesting." The Masked Man obviously intrigued: "I'd like to see what procedure the major art you described entails."

Teng Qingxing raised his head, looking at the bookshelf on the east wall of the study.

The shelf held countless porcelain ornaments, each exquisitely crafted, obviously priceless.

Teng Qingxing's gaze fell upon a jade lion: "Sir, how many years has that lion been with you?"

The Masked Man replied: "Several decades."

Teng Qingxing drew out his cypress fan and lightly traced a circle in the air.

The Masked Man waited a moment, but nothing happened.

He looked puzzled, about to speak, when he heard a crisp "pop," as if something had broken.

He swiftly turned his head to the bookshelf; the jade lion he used as a paperweight now had a tiny hole at its brow.

That hole actually pierced through the lion's forehead!

The Masked Man's pupils constricted slightly.

He slowly rose, walked to the shelf, picked up the jade lion, and examined the small hole against the light.

The edges were smooth, with no cracks around, as if pierced by an extremely fine needle.

This jade lion, used as a paperweight for years, he knew well: carved from a single piece of field-seed material, extremely hard; even striking it with an iron hammer might not break it.

Yet Teng Qingxing merely traced a circle in the air with his fan, and pierced a hole through the lion's brow!

Teng Qingxing softly said: "If this art were used on a person, that person's brow would now bear such a hole."

When the Masked Man turned back to look at Teng Qingxing, his eyes completely changed: "Is this major art?"

Teng Qingxing lowered his head slightly: "In our land, this major art is called 'Shikigami'."

"What I wish to accomplish can be done by an unseen entity acting for me, without my needing to lift a finger."

The Masked Man glanced at the tiny hole in the jade lion he held, then looked at where Teng Qingxing sat.

They were separated by at least several dozen steps.

He gently placed the jade lion back, returned to his seat at the desk, picked up his tea cup: "I've seen your skill, but this is still not enough."

Teng Qingxing's expression changed.

The Masked Man waved his hand: "I invited you here to deal with a person, someone extraordinary."

"Extraordinary? In what way?"

The Masked Man shook his head: "I don't know exactly how she differs, but having repeatedly witnessed her miracles, I summoned you."

"Dealing with a person," Teng Qingxing glanced around, his gaze landing on a brush on the desk.

"Sir, may I borrow this brush?"

The Masked Man nodded.

Teng Qingxing rose, walked to the desk's edge, picked up the brush, and lightly placed it in the center of the desk.

Then he took a sheet of white paper from his sleeve, extremely thin, and with a few cuts shaped it into a palm-sized human figure.

He placed the paper figure beside the brush: "For the person you wish to deal with, do you have their birth characters? Or a strand of hair?"

The Masked Man asked: "Do you need this to perform the technique?"

Teng Qingxing shook his head: "No, but if you have them, it would be faster and more accurate."

The Masked Man shook his head.

Teng Qingxing chuckled: "Then it will take more effort."

He pressed the brush onto the paper figure, then took a fine, long needle and slowly drove it into the figure's chest.

Moments later, the brush pressing the paper figure suddenly showed a fine crack on its shaft, like a thin line, silently extending.

Teng Qingxing withdrew the needle; the crack ceased spreading, but the fissure remained.

He put away the needle, folded the paper figure, and stored both in his sleeve: "If this paper figure were the person you wish to deal with, at this moment his chest would also bear such an invisible needle."

He would feel a heaviness in his chest, breathing difficult, unable to sleep at night, and no medicine would help. Only two or three months' time would pass before his pulse would be severed.

No doctor in the world could see the flaw; they would only say it was a "sudden illness leading to death."

The Masked Man silently looked at the crack on the brush, his expression changing.

That was his usual brush; the shaft was made of fine XiangfeiBamboo, very resilient.

He lightly touched that crack.

Only then did he notice that the crack looked as fine as a thread, yet it was very deep, almost cutting the shaft in half.

And Teng Qingxing, from beginning to end, never touched that brush during the procedure.

The Masked Man raised his head, looking at the Onmyoji before him, his gaze complex: "Sir, I have seen your skill; that city belongs to you."

Teng Qingxing reseated himself, lifted his teacup and took a light sip: "I don't know why you have summoned me from afar; what divine being are we dealing with?"

The Masked Man raised his hand, took a portrait from the table, and handed it to him.

Teng Qingxing unfolded the portrait; there was a girl about five or six years old, with a round face, curved eyes, smiling very openly.