Chapter 7: Yang Liugen and Shentong

The light was dim, the drumbeat urgent.

The candles on either side of the incense burner seemed to gain sentience, leaping in time with the drum.

Widow Wang squinted her eyes, swaying her head, her expression gradually shifting.

First solemn, then frenzied, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead.

Her head shook incessantly, the divine chant accelerating rapidly.

“Bind the immortal chains, tie the immortal ropes, attach the soul-capturing flask to the horse’s rear. Toss the three treasures onto your disciple’s body—if the grasp is weak, kick it; if the binding is loose, stomp it—let a lamp shine bright in heart and eye…”

Meanwhile, the girl on the ground trembled more violently with each limb.

Accompanied by the divine drumbeat, her body curved, yawned, stretched lazily, then rose upright in an unnatural posture.

After rising, her eyes remained tightly shut, her head nodding up and down.

Li Yan’s pupils contracted slightly; he unconsciously gripped the hilt of his blade.

In the past, he would have thought the mother and daughter were faking spirits and ghosts.

But times had changed.

Now he could distinctly smell the stench of incense and decay contracting from all directions, converging into the girl’s body.

The fusion altered her aura.

Boom!

Finally, the drumming ceased.

The girl’s eyes snapped open.

She shook her head, picked up the fly whisk beside her, swung it left and right as if shooing away something.

Then she crossed her right leg over her left, balanced on her toes, leaned back—and sat as if on an invisible chair.

Li Yan’s face remained calm, yet he found it utterly unbelievable.

He had trained in martial arts since childhood, honing his body’s control through spirit effigies—he could replicate those movements himself.

But a four-year-old girl? Impossible.

And her expression—eyes half-lidded, smiling without smiling.

Lazy yet icy; where was the innocence?

She gave off an unmistakable fox-like aura.

Unconcerned by Li Yan’s wariness, the girl flicked her fly whisk.

Swish!

The wine jar on the altar table flew straight into her hand.

Li Yan’s eyelids twitched again.

Using a fly whisk as a weapon was not uncommon.

Its handle could serve as a short club or dagger—crush, block, jab, sweep, thrust; the horsehair could act as a soft whip—twist, sweep, bind—hard and soft intertwined, like yin and yang merging.

Only experts mastered such a tool.

The wine jar was sealed, weighed at least five catties, yet she had coiled it effortlessly with horsehair, not a single drop spilled—the force was perfectly controlled.

For a moment, he was at a loss.

If a spirit possessing a four-year-old girl could do this, what was the point of their grueling martial training?

The girl, unaware of his thoughts, wound the wine jar with her right fly whisk, lifted the bottom with her left elbow, tilted her head back, and drank—gulp, gulp, gulp.

Burp~

After draining the entire jar, she let out a loud belch, tossed the jar aside, wiped her mouth, then squinted at Li Yan.

A faint glimmer flickered in her eyes—as if scrutinizing him.

Then she spoke, rattling off a string of gibberish.

Her voice was shrill, layered with age.

More bizarre still—no word was intelligible; it sounded like animal growls mixed with muttered human babble, rapid and chaotic.

Hearing this, Li Yan felt slightly relieved.

He had heard of this before—it was called Shangfang Speech.

In plain terms, it was the language of spirits, akin to a mother tongue.

But if the spirit spoke human language, that was an entirely different matter.

It meant the spirit’s cultivation was shallow.

Beside him, Widow Wang’s state was also strange—her eyes glazed, she leaned close in reverence, then turned to Li Yan and said:

“The spirit says you’ve stirred up great trouble—you’ve drawn the attention of the Cold Altar’s Rampant Soldiers. Last night was merely a test. When the house’s protective talisman breaks, disaster will strike!”

They truly knew a lot!

Li Yan narrowed his eyes. “What are Cold Altar Rampant Soldiers?”

The girl chuckled, then rattled off more gibberish.

Widow Wang continued translating: “You’re not yet of the Xuanmen. Even if we told you, you wouldn’t understand. When the time comes, you’ll know. The spirit asks you—what root do you possess?”

What root?

Li Yan grew even more confused.

As if sensing his bewilderment, Widow Wang explained directly: “Humans have six roots—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—corresponding to six perceptions: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought.”

“The six roots are divided into yin and yang. Most people possess only yin roots, but some awaken yang roots, perceiving spiritual entities—this is the true gateway into the Xuanmen.”

Li Yan became interested. “Like yin-yang eyes?”

Widow Wang nodded. “Precisely. Some things are visible to mortals only when dying, colliding with malevolent qi, or drowning in misfortune. Those with yang roots perceive them directly. Some call this shentong.”

“But possessing shentong is both blessing and curse.”

“Some children with yin-yang eyes are so terrified they lose their souls; others with ear-shentong hear ghostly whispers and go mad…”

“Worse still, those with yang roots are watched by malevolent spirits. Without guidance or protection, they rarely survive in peace.”

So that was it.

His strange sense of smell had nothing to do with the spirit effigy.

Li Yan suddenly understood. He didn’t hide it: “I can smell unusual odors.”

Widow Wang’s face darkened. She looked at the girl, her eyes filled with tenderness, and said: “You needn’t be wary. We mean you no harm. We speak plainly because we must.”

“My ancestors ran a spirit altar, but I lacked fortune and destiny. Though I awakened a spiritual root, I could never enter the path—so my mother sealed my root, forcing me to live an ordinary life. Later, enemies came. I alone escaped, but was kidnapped to Guanzhong, fell into bad hands, and lived like a beast.”

“Poor child—she suffered with me. When her father died, she was terrified and awakened her mind-root, drawing the attention of mountain spirits and lost souls.”

“To save her, I had to re-learn the path. Luckily, my third aunt never left me—she protected the child. But she’s too young. Only after enduring the twenty-four solar terms, one full cycle of the year, will she escape this calamity.”

“The thing clinging to Blind Old San is called a Cold Altar Rampant Soldier. Freed from its bindings, it’s bloodthirsty. We can’t fight it, dare not provoke it.”

“If you were an ordinary person, destroying its vessel would make it scatter, seeking another host. But you’ve awakened a spiritual root—it has marked you with a curse.”

“It won’t stop until it devours your three souls and seven poisons, seizing your body!”

Hearing Widow Wang’s tale, Li Yan’s heart chilled, yet he remained calm. “Why tell me this?”

The girl, upon hearing this, rattled off more gibberish—seemingly furious.

Widow Wang sighed. “My cultivation is too weak. My protective methods are inadequate. If you’re possessed, the thing will sense the girl—and then we won’t escape either.”

So that was it.

Li Yan said gravely: “Is there a solution?”

!.

Widow Wang spoke: “In Chang’an City, there are countless temples and shrines, many guarded by Xuanmen cultivators. If you reach there before nightfall and find a master for protection, you might escape this calamity.”

“But your grandfather will likely face retaliation.”

Li Yan shook his head. “This won’t work.”

With current travel conditions, he couldn’t possibly reach Chang’an. Even if he could, he’d never abandon his grandfather.

Widow Wang seemed to expect this. After whispering with the girl, she spoke again: “There’s another way. It might work—if you have the courage.”

Li Yan’s expression turned serious. “Tell me.”

At this point, he had no choice.

Widow Wang and the spirit might be hiding something, but their goals aligned—for now, both sought to dispel the calamity. He had to trust them.

Widow Wang said: “Prepare two large roosters. Soak rice in your own blood, then mix in peach wood shavings and your own ashed hair. Feed it to the roosters.”

“The Rampant Soldier will strike at Zi Hour. Tie the roosters to your door with red rope, then dig a three-foot-deep pit in the ground and bury yourself inside.”

“The soldier, unable to find you, will mistake the roosters for you. At dawn, cut open the dead roosters’ bellies and check if black fluid flows from their organs.”

“If black fluid flows, at noon, burn the roosters on a willow wood pyre.”

“What if it fails?”

“If it fails, repeat the ritual the next night.”

“Remember—this method has taboos. No matter what you hear or see, hide yourself. Do not break the soil!”

As she finished, the girl yawned, snot and tears streaming down her face—like a deflated ball—she collapsed onto the floor, snoring deeply.

Clearly, speaking those words had exhausted her utterly.

Li Yan naturally prepared to take his leave.

As he stepped outside, the stench hit him again.

Li Yan covered his nose, staring at the foul-smelling pottery jars, and asked: “Can these ward off ghosts and demons?”

Widow Wang’s face contorted in pain. She shook her head:

“They can’t ward off ghosts or demons—but they can repel something far worse.”

"And it can also keep unwanted people away..."

………

In the village, roosters were not hard to find.

Li Yan’s family kept a few, but to avoid arousing his grandfather’s suspicion and questions, he still bought two more from other households in the village.

Both had red combs and colorful feathers, dignified and imposing.

Roosters crow at dawn, ward off the five poisons; folk tales say they can drive away evil and avert misfortune.

But Li Yan stared at these two chickens and detected no unusual scent; the method given by Wang the widow required no magical artifacts or tools.

What was the principle behind it?

Though he did not understand, Li Yan still followed the procedure strictly.

He crushed peach wood branches, burned his hair to ash, mixed it with millet and fresh blood; first he starved the roosters for a day, then fed them just before sunset.

As for the pit, he had dug it beneath the floor during the day while his grandfather was out sunbathing, lined it with oilcloth, and covered it with loose soil.

Soon, night fell.

Before midnight, the entire Li Family Fortress had plunged into darkness, utterly silent.

The fifteenth was nearly here; the moonlight was bright, spilling across the ground like frost.

Li Yan wore a short tunic, wrapped his leg bindings tightly, and tied the roosters to a small tree outside the door with red ropes soaked in blood.

Then he shut the main door tightly and returned to his room.

The loose soil he had dug out was piled on both sides of the pit; when he pulled the oilcloth away, the soil collapsed with a rustling sound, burying him.

Li Yan held the Guanshan Dao, breathing only through a single bamboo tube.

The feeling of being buried alive was unbearable; though only a thin layer of earth covered him, it felt like drowning—darkness, helplessness, fear, rising uncontrollably in his heart.

Not to mention he still had to face the unknown Cold Jar Demon Soldiers.

Fortunately, Li Yan had trained in martial arts for years; his mind was resolute. He held his breath, calmed his spirit, and waited in silence.

Another problem with being buried was that his hearing was impaired—he could not hear faint knocks like those from last night.

All Li Yan could do was wait.

Before he realized it, the entire night had passed.

After the second half of the night, when he faintly heard the roosters crow, he immediately pushed with both arms, tore through the oilcloth, burst out of the earth, and charged toward the door with his blade.

Dawn had not yet broken, but the scene outside the door was clear.

As Wang the widow had said, the rooster tied outside the door was dead beyond doubt, its droppings scattered everywhere, its neck twisted at a bizarre angle.

Without a word, Li Yan slit open the rooster’s belly—his face darkened instantly.

Inside the rooster’s belly, its five viscera and six bowels were twisted into a single mangled mass.

Flesh and blood were shredded, yet no black fluid oozed out...

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(End of Chapter)