Chapter 38: Soldier

“How did you get here?”

Hearing the noise, Li Yan spoke softly without turning his head.

By the scent alone, he knew it was Wang Daoxuan and Sha Lifei.

They had feared something had gone wrong, so they had the opera troupe continue chanting while they rushed over to investigate.

“What is it?”

“Soldier’s soul…”

Li Yan lowered his voice and gave a brief account of the situation.

“Soldier’s soul?” Wang Daoxuan said, unsurprised.

More than ten years ago, during a great drought in Guanzhong, the Maitreya Sect took advantage to rebel; the court sent several armies to suppress them, and both sides clashed fiercely, turning the land red with blood.

The mass grave held many fallen soldiers.

His eyes flickered with unease as he gritted his teeth: “Dogs’ barks repel evil—this Beggar’s Sect pulled a dirty trick, scaring off all the nearby spirits, leaving only this one behind.”

“This is tonight’s only chance—if we fail now, we’ll have trouble descending the mountain, and next time we want to summon a spirit, we’ll have to go elsewhere.”

“First, let it enter the city wall—then see what happens!”

Li Yan said nothing in objection; Wang Daoxuan always acted cautiously, and if he dared take this risk, he must have a plan.

Once decided, the three retreated together.

Wang Daoxuan and Sha Lifei ran back first to prepare.

Li Yan stayed behind, using his living aura to draw the thing closer.

In the darkness, the ragged corpse staggered, lurching forward, occasionally tripping over dead branches below—its movement deeply eerie.

Though the place was only a thousand meters from the altar, Li Yan’s brow tightened further.

The reason was simple.

As the corpse walked, he could smell it drawing in surrounding yin-sha energy, which merged with its original soldier’s murderous aura, making its stench grow colder by the moment.

Even dozens of meters away, he felt a chill run through his body.

Li Yan silently cursed.

If they didn’t reach the altar soon, this thing would turn into a corpse demon!

Humans have three souls and seven spirits; souls are yin, the body is yang; the three souls are yang, the seven spirits are yin—when yin and yang unite, each remains in its proper place.

After death, yin and yang sever: the seven spirits scatter first, then the three souls depart.

After the souls depart, they first become intermediate bodies; if something goes awry and they fail to enter the underworld, they become yin spirits—wandering ghosts.

The seven spirits, being yin and rooted in earth, if they do not disperse after death and remain trapped within the body, absorb the yin-sha energy of the earth veins, causing the corpse to remain uncorrupted and haunt the living.

This beggar’s seven spirits had not yet dispersed when the soldier’s soul took over his body; revival was impossible—only zombification awaited.

Thinking of this, Li Yan quickened his pace.

Fortunately, the corpse behind him also increased its speed.

Finally, just as the corpse let out its first guttural roar, they reached the open ground where the yin-sha energy had gathered—the “Old Yin Coffin” site.

There, a fire burned from burned paper ingots and spirit money.

By the flickering yellow light, all could see the corpse trailing Li Yan—its face ashen as ice, black blood oozing from all seven orifices, body rigid, walking on tiptoes.

The sight was truly eerie.

Even with Wang Daoxuan’s warnings, the members of the Chunfeng Troupe turned pale with fear—but none dared flee; they still knelt in place, holding three sticks of incense, silently reciting the spirit-summoning chant.

And the corpse finally changed.

Its attention shifted from Li Yan; it raised its head toward the altar, tiptoeing forward, yet spinning in place—as if lost, unable to find direction.

Even as yin spirits or malevolent ghosts, each has its preferences.

Some crave blood offerings, chasing living aura; others prefer incense.

Only those who favor incense may be worshipped as yin gods.

There’s a chance!

Wang Daoxuan’s eyes lit up; he immediately stepped into the Gangbu , leaving the altar, spinning midair, and landing with his right foot extended.

Hss!

A line appeared on the ground, cutting through the three walls of incense ash—like opening a city gate, welcoming guests.

Whoosh~

Instantly, a fierce yin wind surged around them.

Li Yan smelled a surge of icy, bloody stench erupting from the beggar’s corpse, and the corpse collapsed to the ground.

The odor spiraled forward, rushing toward the altar.

Others could not see it, yet they all felt their neck hairs stand on end, the temperature dropping further.

Then they saw a strange sight:

The yin wind swept over the fire pit where paper ingots burned; the ash and embers spun rapidly like a tornado, passing through the gap in the incense-ash city walls.

Only when it neared the altar did it suddenly vanish.

Li Yan also smelled it—the icy, bloody stench had entered the statue’s body directly through the altar, beginning to consume the incense scent upon it.

He quickly signaled; Wang Daoxuan, swift as lightning, pulled out pre-made incense-ash white plaster and sealed the base opening of the statue.

Hummm!

The statue trembled slightly on the table, then fell still.

“It’s here!”

Wang Daoxuan lifted the statue and cried out loudly.

The Chunfeng Troupe had already prepared; they shouted in unison: “Catch it!”

Zhou, the troupe leader, slung the wooden box holding the statue on his back; when opened, inside was a small shrine.

Wang Daoxuan placed the statue inside, sealed the box, covered it with red cloth, then waved his hand, signaling everyone to leave quickly.

Sha Lifei hurried forward to help gather the incense burner, water vessel, spirit-rattling bell, and other ritual tools, extinguished the fire pit, and ignored the makeshift table, turning to depart.

These ritual tools had long been enshrined before the Ancestral Altar, consecrated by incense and worship.

Though made of ordinary materials, far inferior to Li Yan’s Three-Cosmos Spirit-Sealing Coins, they had consumed much of Wang Daoxuan’s effort—certainly not to be abandoned lightly.

The descent was harder; everyone stumbled, none daring to look back. Especially Zhou, burdened by the box behind him, moved with extreme care, terrified of stumbling and shattering the statue.

Fortunately, he had trained in martial forms; his stance was solid, and no mishap occurred.

As for Li Yan, he walked at the rear of the group.

Wang Daoxuan had warned him: if he sensed anything approaching to harass, never turn back—just activate the Three-Cosmos Spirit-Sealing Coins to scare it off.

Yet strangely, until they reached the foot of the mountain, nothing unusual followed.

The Chunfeng Troupe all sighed in relief, collapsing to the ground.

That night had worn them out thoroughly.

Sha Lifei wiped sweat from his brow and joked: “Master, you’re too cautious—nothing happened at all!”

“What do you know!”

Wang Daoxuan turned to look up the mountain, his face filled with doubt.

!.

Li Yan spoke up: “Master, rest easy—the beggars have already driven off the wandering ghosts with their dogs; even if anything comes to bother us, we can handle it.”

“I’m not afraid of wandering ghosts…”

Wang Daoxuan shook his head slightly, whispering: “In any mountain or river where primordial Gangqi and sha energy converge, there may be mountain gods or river lords—these yin spirits and yin soldiers are kept in check by them, like their troops.”

“Summoning a spirit is like stealing one of their subordinates; naturally, they’ll intervene—especially a soldier’s soul.”

“This mass grave is old—no mountain god overseeing it is unusual…”

Sha Lifei scratched his head: “Well, the yin god’s been summoned—why overthink it? Let’s hurry—back in Xianyang, we can get a bowl of hot mutton soup to warm up.”

“True—you’ve made me hungry.”

“Master Wang, this meal’s on me!”

“You’ve summoned the spirit—hurry back. Remember: daily, morning and evening, incense must never cease; on the first and fifteenth of each month, offerings must be made…”

“Master, we’ve all remembered…”

The group rallied their spirits and hurried away, vanishing into the night.

What they didn’t know was that shortly after descending the mountain, torches blazed to life in the dense forest; a crowd of beggars gathered around their leader, Shan Ye.

Looking at the corpse on the ground, the fat Shan Ye reached out, touched it, then immediately pulled back his hand, his face darkening: “Burn this corpse—otherwise, the mountain won’t be peaceful again.”

“Shan Ye, five good men are dead.”

“They ran fast enough…”

Several beggars around him glared fiercely down the mountain.

But Shan Ye had calmed now; he rubbed his greasy belly and said: “Thought they were all fakes—underestimated them.”

“Send word to the Iron Knife Gang—their intel was wrong. These five lives are on them. If they don’t find the culprits, this isn’t over!”

“Also, keep watching that group—don’t provoke them. Wait for the right chance, then teach them a lesson!”

“Yes, Shan Ye!”

…………

Xianyang had no shortage of mutton soup shops.

To survive here without two tricks up your sleeve meant closing within days.

Past Wei Family Street beyond Ma Wang Temple stood one such shop: Wu’s Old Shop, passed down through generations, open for nearly a hundred years through wind and rain.

His family’s large soup pot never stopped boiling.

Every night they kept a low fire burning, and the next day added fresh lamb spine to simmer—its broth white and flavorful, most famous of all.

Even more praised was that this old shop never forgot its roots.

Some old shops, the moment they gained a little fame, rushed to renovate, turning themselves fancy and grand to chase the money of high officials and nobles.

But Wu’s Old Shop remained a large, open storefront, with several big pots squatting outside, boiling lamb broth churning, and long benches and tables stretching from inside to outside.

Crucially, prices hadn’t changed in decades, and the food was always clean.

Thus, there was always a crowd squatting to drink lamb soup.

Wang Daoxuan and the other two had already drunk three bowls and eaten four or five flatbreads, sweat breaking on their foreheads, before setting down their bowls, feeling as if they’d regained their souls.

It was now morning, and the street was growing busier.

Watching the passing commoners and donkey-carts, Sha Lifei felt last night’s ordeal had been like a dream, sighing: “Damn it, I’m starting to regret this.”

“Master, will all our future jobs be this life-threatening?”

“Not at all.”

Wang Daoxuan chuckled: “Last night’s situation—ordinary sorcerers wouldn’t dare take it. We pulled it off, and word will spread fast.”

“From now on, take on calmer jobs—you just run errands.”

“That’s good—do you really mean it?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know why, but it sounds a bit hollow…”

As the two were bantering, a man walked up from afar.

He was short and stocky, dressed in a black jacket, wearing a square cap, with dead-fish eyes that looked utterly listless.

Arriving before them, he clicked his tongue:

“Who’s Li Yan?”

Li Yan set down his bowl and glanced sideways. “That’s me.”

The dead-fish-eyed man stared at him, sizing him up, and sneered: “Kid, just stepping into the Jianghu and already risking your life? Are you joking?”

“You want to enter a Shengsilei ? Do you know the rules?”

(End of Chapter)