Chapter 34: The Rules of Summoning Spirits

Firelight appeared, carrying warmth through the darkness.

ErGou first sighed in relief, but upon seeing the scene before him, his heart leapt to his throat; his back turned icy, his limbs went weak.

Ahead lay a valley, not large in area.

At the rear of the valley stood a mountain god temple, long neglected and utterly ruined; several strong, burly beggars guarded outside, all greasy and covered in pus-filled sores.

Around the ruined temple were tents of all sizes.

Bonfires blazed everywhere, with large pots set over them.

At least several hundred beggars had gathered here.

The elderly were withered, hair white as snow, eyes milky, crouching like corpses, utterly lifeless…

The young were no more than seven or eight years old, all in tattered clothes, faces blackened, some even disabled, frantically fanning the fires before the great pots…

These westward beggars had their own way of cooking.

They pooled all the food they begged—buns, steamed bread, moldy cakes, even restaurant leftovers—into one giant pot and boiled it all together.

Many items had soured; the stench was unimaginable.

Even so, the beggars crouched by the fire, swallowing saliva.

What made ErGou’s hair stand on end was what lay on the other side.

On a patch of open ground, the strong beggars had gathered, each holding a dog-beating stick, forming a large circle and striking the ground incessantly.

In the center of the clearing, a wild dog darted about in panic.

This wild dog, from a graveyard, fed on human flesh, its eyes blood-red, its size rivaling that of a starving wolf, its head swollen with calluses from years of banging against coffins—truly ferocious.

Yet now it was terrified, emitting low whimpers.

Amid the dense pounding of the sticks, it seemed to have lost its mind, circling endlessly like a ghost trapped in a maze, never trying to escape.

Around it slithered a host of venomous snakes, heads raised, fangs bared, hissing, waiting for openings to strike the dog.

Soon the dog collapsed, poisoned, stiffening and trembling.

The surrounding snakes surged forward, slithering into its mouth and orifices…

ErGou had never seen such a bizarre sight; he stood frozen, limbs icy, not daring to move.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?”

The old beggar leading the way spotted him and barked a reprimand.

“Yes, yes.”

ErGou hurried to follow, hunching his shoulders, keeping low.

He followed step by step, accompanying the old beggar into the ruined temple.

“Master, the man has arrived.”

The old beggar bowed and stepped aside.

ErGou swallowed hard and stole a glance upward.

On the stone platform where the deity statue once stood, the Mountain God’s image had been removed; in its place sat a fat, round-bellied beggar.

He was massive, chest and breasts exposed, layers of fat piled on his belly, his bald head gleaming with grease.

He lay sideways, his body likewise covered in boils.

This man was none other than the beggar chief of Xianyang’s westward faction.

He was enigmatic, having settled in Xianyang many years ago, rarely interacting with city gangs; beggars called him Mountain Master.

A pungent stench surged forth; ErGou felt sick to his stomach, but dared not show any reaction, bowing respectfully: “Your humble servant greets Mountain Master!”

“Hmm.”

The beggar chief was so obese his eyelids bulged like lightbulbs; even when he strained to open them, others saw only slits.

He glanced down at ErGou, indifferent: “Iron Knife Gang—your boss is that old monkey’s disciple, right?”

“We’ve never crossed paths. Why are you here?”

ErGou quickly bowed, cutting straight to the point: “Our boss wants you to deal with a few outsiders—they don’t know the rules…”

After explaining the situation, he pulled out several silver notes and smiled obsequiously: “For you, it’s but a small favor—this is a token of respect.”

The silver notes totaled three hundred taels.

Honestly, it was more than he’d swindled from the Spring Festival troupe owner’s son.

But now, it wasn’t about money anymore.

Zheng Heibei would rather spend silver to settle this matter.

Mountain Master glanced at the notes, showing no interest, and waved his hand: “Leave. The Poor Family doesn’t hold onto money, nor does it serve as others’ enforcers.”

“But…”

ErGou panicked: “Mountain Master, we all scrape by in Xianyang—we see each other every day. A small favor from you, and Iron Knife Gang will remember your kindness.”

The beggar chief paused, then said: “I don’t care about favors or silver—take the notes. But you must find someone for me.” ErGou frowned, chuckling nervously: “Mountain Master, you jest. Your disciples and grand-disciples spread across all of Xianyang; your information is surely sharper than ours.”

The beggar chief said coolly: “The Poor Family isn’t the Rong Family’s old thieves. Our ancestral rule forbids entering homes—we wander thousands of doors, yet dare only circle outside.”

“Besides, some places, we’re driven off the moment we approach.”

The man suddenly understood: “Who are you looking for?”

Mountain Master rose slowly, scratching his greasy belly.

“A few months ago, the ancient village of Gushui was attacked by bandits; the entire village burned to ashes. Have you heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

The man chuckled: “That affair was an inside job—pathetic how Lu the merchant’s concubine sold off land and swindled several families. What a clever move.”

“You’re looking for her?”

“To be honest, we’re hunting her too.”

“Not her.”

!.

The beggar chief said calmly: “Another concubine. If I’m right, she’s still hiding somewhere in Xianyang!”

…………

As Wang Daoxuan had said, the next day the rain stopped and the sky cleared.

Early that morning, the three arrived at the Spring Festival troupe’s communal yard.

Today, Wang Daoxuan wore a clean Daoist robe; all his tools were packed into a bamboo basket resembling a scholar’s book chest, carried by Sha LiFei.

Upon arrival, the Spring Festival troupe members were already gathered.

Since the Iron Knife Gang had left yesterday, no one had returned—they’d slept peacefully—but everyone knew the matter wasn’t over.

No matter how innocent the troupe boss’s son was, the IOUs the Iron Knife Gang had forged were flawless; anywhere they took them, they held the legal advantage.

Even if they didn’t harass, taking it to the magistrate’s office would still leave them in ruin.

Anger, helplessness, rage—none of it mattered. Reality was this.

These people, who normally avoided even glimpsing a magistrate, couldn’t compare to those who walked between the black and white.

The gangsters of Jinmen even dared to steal from state granaries and extort resettlement funds from the court!

Thus, they now had only one path left:

Perform ghost opera!

Such gigs were common—places where disasters occurred, ancestral halls grew unstable, or weddings and funerals went awry, yet didn’t warrant formal Daoist rites to subdue evil spirits—so they hired someone to perform ghost opera to appease them, with generous payment.

The first step was to summon a powerful yin deity to hold the ground.

Watching the determined faces of the Spring Festival troupe, Wang Daoxuan sighed inwardly, his expression growing sterner: “All of you, do you know the rules?”

“Let me repeat them once more.”

“We depart at noon, arrive at the graveyard by nightfall; once we find the spot, everyone washes their hands. During my ritual, silently chant the invocation…”

“Remember: after climbing the mountain, never speak the names of any animals—tiger is ‘Big Worm,’ bear is ‘Old Master,’ eagle is ‘Great Seat,’ hedgehog is ‘White Second Master,’ fox is ‘Third Great Master,’ ghosts are ‘Clear Wind Master’…”

“I don’t know what I’ll summon, so be courteous—you never know which one has gained cultivation and sentience, and might come to cause trouble…”

“Also, not a single word may be spoken during the ritual.”

“When I say ‘Here it comes,’ you all shout ‘Catch it!’ then immediately descend the mountain—no matter what sounds come from behind, never turn back…”

Wang Daoxuan explained meticulously, leaving no detail unaddressed.

Honestly, this method of summoning spirits was common among opera troupes; many performed it annually, and there were interpretations and omens.

Sheep, dogs, oxen, and gentle winds were auspicious; encountering a wild boar was best—signifying good fortune in all matters.

If you saw rabbits or flying birds, it meant a year of constant travel.

Of course, many times they came alone, fled at the sound of animals, unsure if they’d summoned anything—some rituals were mere formalities.

But the Spring Festival troupe was different.

To summon a powerful yin deity without causing death, they could allow no error—even vague taboos had to be obeyed.

As Wang Daoxuan explained, Sha LiFei sidled up to Li Yan, frowning, whispering: “This morning at the teahouse, I heard some news.”

“Zhou Pan, the old monkey, has entered the Transformation Realm—he won’t act himself, but several of his disciples have reached Dark Force; they all want to kill you to win the old monkey’s favor.”

“I also heard something else: when your father, Li Hu, was alive, he was close friends with the Xianyang magistrate’s chief constable, Guan Wanchè. Why not ask him to mediate?”

“Guan Wanchè?”

Li Yan frowned, then sneered: “My father never mentioned him. In all these years, he never once visited our door. Even if they knew each other, their bond was shallow.”

“This arena—I must win on my own!”

“On your own?”

Sha LiFei was furious: “How old are you? Even with potential, you’re only at the peak of Bright Force. They raise a hand, their force pierces your organs—you’ll spit blood.”

"How do we fight? Go up and die?!"

Li Yan said nothing, but stared at his palm, then gently placed it on a small tree nearby, took a deep breath, and pressed down hard.

Rustle rustle!

All the leaves on the tree fell down...

(End of Chapter)