Chapter 21: Liu Si Niang Returns to the Spirit Realm, Zhong Jinqiu Listens to the Wind

The man was odd, but dining together still felt quite pleasant.

The town head’s own chef cooked dishes unlike any other delicacies he’d tasted in town before.

Large chunks of braised beef were tender and flavorful, even the tendons snapping easily between the teeth.

A pot of chicken fungus with pork, sour cabbage pig’s feet, bamboo-tube chicken, mint salad, pineapple sticky rice, red bean sour soup.

Since arriving in this world, Chu Tianshu had eaten mostly heavy meats; it had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such a balanced banquet.

Especially that pineapple sticky rice.

He didn’t know the variety, but compared to modern pineapples, it was less sweet and less sour or astringent—clean, sweet, and smooth.

The town head must have inquired about Chu Tianshu’s appetite, for the main dishes on the head table were heaped high.

Tables filled the front hall and courtyard; even the bright midday sun couldn’t dampen the enthusiasm for this feast.

After noon, people gradually laid down their chopsticks but didn’t leave the table, instead chatting idly.

The town head kept trying to engage Deputy Zhou in conversation, but Deputy Zhou kept talking with Chu Tianshu about city happenings.

Nearby, the elders of the Zhu and Tan families finally found their chance to speak with the shopkeeper Ma, who had revealed his master’s identity.

Meng Lianfa and Zhong Jinqiu discussed tea.

“...Yizhou Martial Academy?”

Chu Tianshu nodded. “I saw it in the newspaper—it’s a school training new-style officers, teaching military strategy and emphasizing modern troop drills.”

Deputy Zhou had taken off his ragged clothes and donned a black robe with centipede-style buttons from the town head’s household; he sat sideways at the table, fully engaged in conversation.

“It’s not just a place to study military tactics—it might be the most deeply rooted boxing school in all of Yizhou.”

Deputy Zhou said, “Though it hasn’t existed long, it houses countless boxing manuals and weapon techniques—so many they’d fill two or three rooms. Rumor says it also holds esoteric spell texts.”

“So far, no particularly famous masters have emerged from there, but once the students graduate and train for a few years, who knows what they’ll become?”

Chu Tianshu listened with keen interest, his face betraying his fascination.

“Young brother, with your skill at your age, staying in this small town is a waste.”

Deputy Zhou said, “Our commander and I are close brothers—he can recommend you as a specialized student. If you’re interested, I’ll ask him to write a letter of recommendation when I return.”

Chu Tianshu hurriedly replied, “I haven’t earned it—I couldn’t possibly accept such favor.”

Deputy Zhou said, “In this chaotic time, everyone’s life is unstable, but if you have real ability and control military power, your heart will feel steadier than if you’re helpless.”

“At your age and with your foundation, if you return from the academy, securing a company-level post under our commander won’t be hard. This isn’t charity—it’s mutual support, and I see great potential in you.”

“Someday, we’ll build achievements together and rise as one—how exhilarating that would be!”

Shopkeeper Ma suddenly said, “If you join the military and accomplish something, it’s a decent path.”

Chu Tianshu glanced at the old man.

From Shopkeeper Ma’s perspective, given Chu Tianshu’s spirit, martial prowess, and circumstances, joining the military was clearly the best choice.

If not for the token screen showing his hope of returning home...

Chu Tianshu suspected he might have found a way into the academy—even without Commander Xu’s recommendation, he could have tried on his own.

But for now, he wasn’t ready to lock himself into a military academy in this unfamiliar Republic.

“I still feel I can’t endure military discipline and routine. Maybe in a year or two, my mind will change.”

Chu Tianshu smiled and raised his cup. “Let’s not talk of that—let’s drink.”

Deputy Zhou looked disappointed, sipping his wine slowly.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun still had an hour or two before setting, but its glare had softened.

An old man arrived, wearing a black hat with a brilliant jade ornament on his forehead, his pale face flushed, his goatee fine and soft, holding a snuff bottle as he sought Deputy Zhou.

“Master Chen!”

Deputy Zhou greeted him. “Has the old master settled in?”

Master Chen, even before entering, already wore a smile: “The old master has rested. The troupe has regained its energy. Since there’s no city’s bright lights here, we’ll set up the stage outdoors and start early.”

Deputy Zhou agreed: “To share joy with the people—we do need a spacious spot.”

Master Chen said, “I’ve found the place—a stretch of grass by the river west of town. We just need hands to help build the stage.”

Deputy Zhou laughed. “So you’re borrowing labor.”

“You!”

He waved his hand toward the soldiers, who were resting after their meal. “All of you—follow Master Chen to build the stage.”

The soldiers responded in unison and followed Master Chen out.

No one paid much attention to the time, but soon enough, someone came to announce the stage was ready.

Chu Tianshu and the others went west to see it.

The stage stood over three feet high, roughly ten paces square, its roof supported by thick bamboo poles holding up heavy canvas.

The front was open for viewing; the back was draped with canvas, hiding all activity behind the scenes.

Many townsfolk had already gathered on the grass, waiting for the show. The front-row chairs remained empty—clearly reserved for the town head and Deputy Zhou.

Deputy Zhou pulled Chu Tianshu to sit up front.

At that moment, people could be seen carrying items from a nearby carriage to the back of the stage, moving with solemn care—especially the last item.

Before lifting it, the troupe master bowed three times toward the carriage, then carefully carried it out, each step measured precisely as if pacing, heading toward the rear.

It was a colored porcelain statue, about a foot tall, dressed as a martial general in opera attire, stern-faced, seated majestically on a throne.

“It’s the Huaguang statue.”

The town head praised, “Though Huaguang Dadi is also called the Five Manifestations Dadi, revered as the troupe’s wealth god and ancestral patron, bringing a statue to worship outdoors is rare indeed.”

“No wonder it’s the old master’s troupe!”

Deputy Zhou laughed. “True. Though the troupe has only twenty-odd members, each has unique skills—they can perform all five robes, four pillars, and the eighteen classic martial operas.”

He called out, “Master Chen, what will you perform tonight?”

Master Chen peered from behind the curtain. “Since we start at sunset, we’ll perform the Mulian Opera.”

The town head slapped his armrest. “Mulian Opera, with red at both ends—excellent!”

The Mulian Opera tells the story of Mulian rescuing his mother, but it has diverged greatly from the original Buddhist tale, reshaped by folk adaptation.

“Red at both ends” means the performance begins at sunset and ends at sunrise—both opening and closing under the red sun.

Chu Tianshu had no interest in opera; he felt restless if he missed daily practice. He’d been fine during the meal, but now that night was falling and he was still stuck here, it felt like wasted time.

Yet he noticed—not just Deputy Zhou and the town head, but also Shopkeeper Ma, Zhong Jinqiu, and Meng Lianfa—all were eagerly attentive.

He turned again and spotted cooks and servants from a local restaurant among the crowd.

Fine. He’d watch.

The Mulian Opera was too long to finish in one night; usually, only its most thrilling segment was performed, growing more intense as it went.

Tonight’s opening began with a burst of gongs, drums, and clappers. A woman stepped onto the stage—black robes with long sleeves, tiny steps, a ghostly face painted with green ink, reciting a few lines to summarize the tale.

She was Liu Si Niang, mother of Mulian—the opening scene was “Liu Si Niang Returns to the Spirit Realm.”

It told how Liu Si Niang vowed to follow the Buddha but broke her oath by eating meat and killing, violating the Five Precepts, and was cast into hell. Tonight, with the Ghost Gate open, she returned home with two ghost officers.

Another gong sounded. A haunting melody rose. Two ghost officers, standing on stilts, swayed onto the stage.

Chu Tianshu noticed something intriguing: the stilts were over a foot tall, yet the officers moved with staggering, swaying steps—dangerous, yet never falling—perfectly embodying the ghostly drift.

He’d heard that old opera troupes often concealed real martial skill.

This troupe, though small, showed unexpected depth.

But compared to Liu Si Niang, the two ghost officers paled.

According to the script, the ghost officers feasted on the full table of offerings, while Liu Si Niang, starving, grabbed two candles and bit into them.

Normally, this was just a quick bite to nibble off the candle ends, with a touch of fire-swallowing.

But this Liu Si Niang bit off the candle tips in one gulp—her tongue seemed wrapped in flame, then she spat it out, igniting the remaining wax, then bit again and spat again.

Flames flickered unpredictably; candles guttered and flared; the drumbeats grew faster.

Chu Tianshu saw clearly: from the first bite, Liu Si Niang never breathed—she bit through two long candles, swallowing and spitting fire dozens of times, all on a single breath.

This skill far surpassed the ghost officers’ by a wide margin.

Soon, Mulian appeared. Liu Si Niang, unwilling to let her son see her ghostly form, covered her face with her sleeve, dodging left and right.

She didn’t have bound feet—instead, she wore wooden foot covers on her forefeet, making movement awkward, yet she leapt nimbly between tables and chairs.

Standing on one foot atop a chair, the chair spun beneath her, while her other leg rose slowly overhead, her sleeve half-covering her face, her gaze sweeping the audience.

The crowd erupted in loud cheers and applause.

Chu Tianshu met her gaze.

Her eyes were sorrowful, but as they curled at the corners, they suddenly shifted—true to a ghost’s seven parts of bitter resentment, her voice singing with mournful grace.

“Incredible!”

Chu Tianshu clapped. She carried no dark aura, but that gaze—so truly ghostly—he understood it well.

The troupe likely doubled as the old master’s bodyguards, hence so many skilled performers.

This Liu Si Niang must be an expert in hidden leg techniques like qunli leg or cuojiao—cold, vicious, deadly.

The night passed. Others watched the opera; he watched too—and everyone was satisfied.

Only Chu Tianshu himself knew what he’d been pondering all night.

When dawn broke and the show ended, Deputy Zhou invited them to return in seven days for another performance, then everyone went home.

Chu Tianshu returned to the inn, still distracted as he walked toward his room.

Behind him, Shopkeeper Ma and Zhong Jinqiu stopped in the courtyard.

Wind stirred the small trees. Shopkeeper Ma watched the yellow leaves on the branches and sighed.

“I’m truly old—my energy’s gone. After one night of excitement, my heart feels unsettled, uneasy.”

"Your build makes it normal to feel palpitations from staying up late; my constitution isn’t that weak, but I can relate a little."

Zhong Jinqiu reached out and caught a leaf, then suddenly changed the subject: "That thing you mentioned yesterday—were you thinking of giving the Spirit Yang Gallbladder to Chu Tianshu?"

Ma Zhàngguì blinked: "Wait until the two of you get along..."

Zhong Jinqiu declared firmly: "You’ve always been better at reading people—just decide. Back in the day, when we roamed the Jianghu, you were the brain and I was the hands."

Ma Zhàngguì smiled: "I’m just the eyes, but you bear the ears, limbs, and weapons on your own shoulders. This matter requires your effort—I still want you to take another look before we act."

"Hmm... then trust me. I’ll sleep four hours, then bring the item over."

Zhong Jinqiu frowned in thought, raised his palm, and with a gentle undulation like a wave, the small, dry, yellow leaf drifted silently to the tip of his middle finger, where it would spin helplessly at the faintest breeze.

If he was the ear, then from this half-day and night, he had already faintly heard the troubling wind.

He still couldn’t say exactly how troubling it would be.

While the wind was still mild, since his old friend had a thought, let’s just get it done now!

(End of Chapter)