Chapter 109: Cold Clothes Festival

Huh~

Inside the cave, torches burned fiercely.

“Right here.”

Lu San pointed ahead and muttered.

Li Yan followed his gaze and saw two small earthen mounds buried in the center of the cave, no tombstones erected, plain and crude.

This cave was carved into the cliff face of East Mountain, hidden and inaccessible unless guided by Lu San.

Li Yan nodded, stepped forward, bowed respectfully with clasped fists, then lit incense and burned paper money before turning, torch in hand, to the cave’s corner.

The torchlight revealed traces of human carving above.

“It’s a cliff tomb!”

Wang Daoxuan’s eyes lit up as he stroked his beard: “I was just puzzled—since entering this cave, the qi flows freely, with no trace of decay or gloom.”

“Most likely, some wealthy family began carving it but abandoned it due to sudden misfortune. I didn’t expect Lu brother to know fengshui and geomancy.”

Lu San shook his head: “I don’t know fengshui. I came here because I heard birds talking about this place.”

“Then it’s confirmed.”

Wang Daoxuan smiled: “This is where the local earth qi gathers. Since the tomb was opened and never sealed, the earth qi and life qi connect—perfectly auspicious.”

He glanced around, nodded: “Yes, this is the auspicious burial spot. I doubt I could find a better one nearby.”

Li Yan agreed: “We’ll follow the Daoist’s words.”

The entire Wu Laosi family was gone; he had carried the coffin a thousand li to fulfill his earlier promise.

Cliff tombs were only for the wealthy—whether hiring a geomancer or hiring craftsmen to carve, the cost was immense.

Burying Wu Laosi here would not be an insult.

As the two prepared to leave, Lu San, who had remained silent, suddenly spoke: “Daoist, may I ask—can more people be buried here?”

Wang Daoxuan paused, understanding at once, and sighed: “Of course. This tomb is large enough to serve as a family cemetery.”

“But forgive me for saying so—the ancestral graves in Wujiagou were destroyed, the bones exposed to sunlight. Burying them here may not undo that.”

Lu San seemed unconcerned, nodded, and muttered: “Good. I’ll collect the bones.”

Saying this, he left the cave, climbed the mountain along the rope, said nothing to the two, and soon departed alone.

Watching his retreating figure, Li Yan was speechless: “This kid’s head must be a little off.”

Wang Daoxuan sighed: “He’s a bit like a dog.”

Li Yan chuckled: “Daoist, this kid may be hard to deal with, but no need to insult him.”

“A man who seeks revenge alone is brave; one who never forgets kindness is righteous. I truly admire him.”

“How could I insult him?”

Wang Daoxuan shook his head: “When I traveled through Qi and Lu, I saw a mountain village destroyed by an earth dragon’s upheaval. All the villagers moved away, except one old dog that stayed behind. Later, it was killed by other wild dogs while guarding its master’s bones.”

“The locals called it the Righteous Dog and built a temple in its honor.”

“He’s just like that dog…”

…………

Nighttime, inside the abandoned Wujiagou ancestral hall.

“Friends, you’ll have to work hard tonight.”

Wang Daoxuan said gravely: “This is the situation. I originally planned to spend silver to hire workers from Fengyang County, but now we can’t make a public show of this.”

“We’ll follow the Daoist’s lead!”

The coffin-bearers’ leader, Yue Bala, cursed: “They drove the whole village from their homes and dug up their ancestors’ graves—never seen such a vile, wicked act.”

“Tell us what to do, Daoist. We’re not skilled, but we’ve got strength to spare.”

Wang Daoxuan nodded, clasped fists: “You are all righteous!”

“Wu Elder saved my life. Though we must act urgently and cannot give him a grand burial, the proper rites must still be observed—this is my small way of repaying him.”

“Tomorrow, the first day of the tenth lunar month—Cold Clothes Festival—is a ghost day, suitable for offerings, unsuitable for burial. Everyone will climb the mountains to burn cold clothes, so it’ll be troublesome. We’ll bury him on the second day—perfect for breaking ground.”

“Shao Lidi.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to go to Fengyang County again tomorrow—buy bamboo slips, white paper, spirit paper, paper effigies, soul-guiding banners. I’ll make them myself to avoid suspicion. Also incense, candles, spirit gold—likely need several trips.”

“Got it. Leave it to me.”

“Yue Lodi, you and the others go up the mountain with Xiao Ge tomorrow. Prepare the ropes for lowering the coffin, the soil and stones for sealing it—don’t let timing slip.”

Wang Daoxuan, experienced in funeral rites, arranged everything swiftly and orderly.

Since they’d be busy all day tomorrow, everyone went to bed early. Li Yan, having not slept for two days, simply stabilized his spirit before falling asleep.

On the southwest mountain, at Wujiagou’s ancestral graves.

Under the moonlight, the sound of digging earth continued.

Lu San bent low, picking up bones one by one, sweat dripping from his brow, muttering to himself:

“Uncle Wu, you were kind once, wanting to take me in as your grandson. Though Big Brother Wu refused, I still remember your kindness…”

“Aunt Liu, you spoke harshly, but your winter cotton coat was warm—that was my first new garment…”

“Brother Wu San, you died early, but I heard you stood up for me and my master when the village ruffians bullied us…”

“Uncle Wu Liu, you were a real scoundrel—always tricking me into playing…”

“Everyone’s gone. The home’s gone. I’m the only one left…”

…………

The Cold Clothes Festival, also called the Spirit Yin Festival or Autumn Offering, ranks with Qingming and Zhongyuan as one of the three major ghost festivals.

It falls on the first day of the tenth lunar month, the first day of winter.

In ancient times, women prepared warm clothing in advance to send to relatives far away guarding borders or serving corvée labor—this was called cold clothes.

Later, offerings were also made to ancestors and the dead.

Of course, they didn’t send real cotton coats, but paper cut into colorful garments, burned to convey grief to the departed.

Early that morning, Fengyang County was packed with people.

Citizens, old and young, carried offerings and paper cold clothes, leaving the city to climb nearby mountains and burn paper for their ancestors.

The great affairs of state are war and sacrifice.

No one dared neglect ancestral rites.

The poor scraped together silver to buy spirit paper, folded into clothes, and burned them so their dead wouldn’t freeze in the afterlife.

The wealthy went all out.

For example, Qiao Sanhu, known as the “Tiger of Fengyang,” brought ten massive carts of paper effigies alone, not to mention the countless other offerings—including roasted pigs and whole grilled lambs.

At the front of the procession, Daoists and monks chanted sutras.

In the center, a large group of burly men, each heavily tattooed, wore mourning clothes yet glared and barked orders at passersby to clear the way.

At the rear, several carts carried Qiao Sanhu’s wives, concubines, and children; his retainers numbered even more.

As this massive procession passed, the entire street fell silent. Citizens scattered, even Jianghu types dared not speak.

Qiao Sanhu’s backing was far stronger than Yuan Qu or Zheng Heibei’s had been.

Though his cousin Yue Fachong feared he’d cause trouble in the treacherous capital of Chang’an and forbade him from settling there,

in this small Fengyang County, no one dared challenge him—he was a local emperor.

After the procession departed, the people finally breathed easier. The previously frozen street buzzed back to life. “Pah!”

Among the crowd, Sha Lifei, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, spat, then turned into a nearby incense shop.

“Boss, give me white paper, colored paper, bamboo slips.”

“Oh sir, you want them made fresh? Too late! Buy ready-made—our shop’s craftsmanship is…”

“No nonsense. Just bring them.”

“Also, incense and candles—get these items from the list…”

Funeral processions required soul-guiding banners—no telling if these shops had Qiao Sanhu’s men. Buying directly might expose them.

……

“Zhao Kui!”

Outside the city, the grand procession hadn’t gone far when a deep voice came from the luxurious carriage behind.

“Sir, I’m here.”

!

Beside the carriage, a bearded man immediately ran forward.

He was Zhao Kui, Fengyang County’s chief constable.

Qiao Sanhu held power and influence; nearly every key post in Fengyang County was filled with his own men. County magistrates were all but powerless.

Zhao Kui had once been a thug, but his skill with the blade caught Qiao Sanhu’s eye—he became his henchman.

He was diligent, willing to do any dirty work.

The people of Fengyang privately called him “The Chang Ghost.”

The carriage curtain slowly parted, revealing a broad face: wide forehead, prominent facial features, narrow eyes, thick lips. One eye larger than the other, yet radiating authority.

According to physiognomy, this was the White Tiger Face—born with immense ambition, fearless, ruthless.

This man was Qiao Sanhu.

He gently stroked his mustache and said calmly: “Send a few men to check the Wujiagou ancestral graves.”

“The Chang Ghost” Zhao Kui blinked, flattered: “Sir, rest assured—we handled it cleanly. Those peasants’ ancestral graves were long ago overturned.”

"Fool!"

Qiao Sanhu glanced at him and rebuked, "What good is digging up a few rotten graves? I want Lu San to show himself."

"This brat has awakened a divine ability—he controls beasts, and even the Canal Guild treats him with respect. Though he can't harm me now, keeping him alive will only bring trouble later."

"Today is the Cold Clothes Festival; he might return to pay respects. Take men and scout the area. If you spot any trace, come back and report to me at once."

"Yes, my lord."

"Wait!"

Zhao Kui was about to leave when Qiao Sanhu suddenly called him back and said sternly, "Go, bring Master Lu along too. Lu San knows some sorcery—don’t risk your men failing to capture him."

"Yes, my lord."

Zhao Kui bowed and departed, then walked to the very end of the group and respectfully bowed before the carriage: "Master Lu, my lord requests your presence to lend your authority."

"What a nuisance..."

A hoarse voice spoke. A man in black robes pulled back the curtain, leapt down from the carriage, and picked up a long, black cloth bundle.

His hair was wild, his beard unkempt, yet his face was terrifyingly pale—almost gray, like that of a corpse.

Zhao Kui shrank back, daring not to speak.

This man had joined Qiao Sanhu’s side years ago, rarely left his home, and spent his days locked inside, doing who-knew-what.

Especially, his body emitted the stench of rotting corpses.

Zhao Kui had always felt,

This wasn’t a man!

…………

Rustle-rustle!

Lu San’s face was pale. He heaved the last large sack of bones onto his back, cast one final look at the Wu family ancestral graves, then turned and descended the mountain.

After descending, he headed straight for the Cliff Tomb.

After a night of collecting, he had gathered every exposed and severely damaged skeleton from the Wu family ancestral graves.

Some bones were ancient, rotted away, even the mounds gone—these he left untouched.

He didn’t understand burial customs, but he knew these bones couldn’t be placed directly into the cliff tomb; they had to be moved in with Wu Laosi’s burial.

It was at least a proper procedure.

Of course, he was naturally reclusive and would never ask for help.

He always did everything alone.

……

"My lord’s foresight is uncanny!"

An hour after Lu San left, Zhao Kui led men up the mountain from the other side. Seeing the vanished bones and the flattened graves, he burst into joy.

But then his face fell into bitter regret. He sighed, "Looks like he’s gone. If only we’d camped here these past two days—we’d have caught that brat!"

He glanced cautiously at the black-robed man beside him, whose face resembled a corpse, and bowed respectfully: "Master Lu, do you have any way…"

The "Master Lu" glanced over. "I only know killing arts. Tracking is not my skill."

Zhao Kui had no choice but to search everywhere.

But he was ignorant and unskilled, a thug in service to power—he had zero ability in tracking criminals or solving cases, and neither did his men.

Finding no trace, they descended the mountain to report.

"Captain Zhao, look over there!"

Halfway down the mountain, one of the men suddenly pointed ahead.

From here, they could see the abandoned Wu Family Gully far below.

On their way up, they had avoided the village entirely, taking a detour straight to the mountain—after all, a deserted village held no interest.

Yet now, a wisp of smoke rose from the village’s center.

Though only one strand, it was strikingly visible from this distance.

Zhao Kui’s eyes lit up with excitement.

"Quick, hurry down the mountain!"

"Hurry? Why the rush?"

The "Master Lu" suddenly rebuked: "Though I’ve never fought Lu San, I know he understands the speech of beasts and birds. You won’t get close before he flees."

"That’s true—this brat’s slippery as an eel."

Zhao Kui suddenly understood and bowed quickly: "Then what do you suggest we do, Master?"

The "Master Lu" spoke sternly: "Go back, gather more men, seal off every exit of the village. When night falls, I’ll perform a ritual to eliminate him."

"Your wisdom is unmatched!"

Zhao Kui was reluctant—such a plan would split the credit—but he knew Qiao Sanhu greatly valued this "Master Lu," and he dared not offend him.

One of the men scratched his head: "Captain, shouldn’t we send someone to check first? Maybe it’s just a traveler camping out."

SLAP!

Zhao Kui struck him across the face, glaring: "Who gave you the right to speak? If it’s a passerby, they’re just unlucky—lock them up in the county jail as bandits."

As for the "Master Lu," he said nothing. He walked behind the group, touching the rotting scar on his chest, his eyes flickering with excitement as he murmured: "It’s the Soul Ledger. It’s the Soul Ledger."

"Younger Brother Wu… I’ve finally found you..."

(End of Chapter)