Chapter 8: Lying to Ghosts!

Failed!

Li Yan, though unwilling, had no choice.

During the daytime ritual preparations yesterday, he had vaguely sensed the pattern and guessed the method’s principle.

In plain terms, it was deceiving ghosts and gods.

This method has deep roots and many variations.

The most common folk practice was this: if a boy or girl was born and had violated some taboo, feared they wouldn’t survive, they’d alter the child’s upbringing—raising a boy as a girl, or a girl as a tomboy.

The method Wang the widow taught was exactly this, and even went further: while the cold altar’s changbing was trapped inside the chicken’s belly, it was burned at noon to avert calamity.

Li Yan did not know the deeper principles.

But clearly, that thing hadn’t been fooled.

Looking at the chicken’s innards, churned into pulp, Li Yan felt a chill.

After being possessed, it was this terrifying.

The substitute spirit statue probably couldn’t withstand many more attempts.

He dared not slack off; he immediately burned and buried the rooster, then prepared again according to the method.

According to Wang the widow, this method required two consecutive nights.

Perhaps success would come tonight.

The waiting time always felt long.

After enduring until nightfall, when all was silent, Li Yan tied another rooster outside the door, turned back, and slipped into the earth within his room.

This night’s moonlight was even brighter.

Unlike yesterday, as midnight neared, a cold wind suddenly stirred within Li Family Village.

The wind swerved left and right, carrying dust and fallen leaves, entering from the village’s head, avoiding the local earth shrine, swirling toward Li Yan’s home.

Inside Wang the widow’s house, candlelight dimmed.

The girl had awakened but remained within the red circle, holding a fly whisk, making a strange gesture—as if listening intently.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, fixed on the door, mumbling incessantly.

Wang the widow’s face turned instantly pale.

“Bad! The child is in danger!”

………

The cold wind spun, soon reaching Li’s residence.

This wind swirled on the ground, carrying flying dust.

Ordinary folk seeing it wouldn’t be surprised—such dusty whirlwinds were common when weather suddenly turned windy.

But the large rooster tied at the door sensed impending danger; its feathers stood on end, wings flapping, hopping wildly to break free.

Yet, struck by the cold wind, it collapsed straight to the ground.

Soon after, the robust rooster suddenly floated upward, as if lifted by an invisible hand.

Crack! Its head and legs twisted grotesquely; the corpse, mixed with droppings, fell to the ground, while the cold wind rose again from the earth.

But its aura was clearly weaker.

Apparently, having been deceived repeatedly, the cold wind was furious; it spiraled in midair, swept up fallen leaves, and flew toward Li’s home from the side wall.

Yet, before it could draw near, it was repelled.

Thud!

The plaque hanging at the door, “Hundred Battles, Mighty and Fierce,” emitted a muffled sound.

This noise was far louder than the previous two nights.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

After three consecutive impacts, a new crack appeared on the plaque with a crack.

This fissure was deeper; lacquer peeled off in flakes.

And the cold wind, evidently weakened, no longer forced entry, instead circling left and right around Li’s home.

In the dark night, the cold wind howled.

Beneath the earth in the side room, Li Yan held his knife, alert and poised.

He couldn’t hear the sounds outside, but he felt it had arrived.

Because the icy chill on his back grew sharper.

What’s different tonight?

It feels… unusual…

As he wondered, a voice suddenly reached his ear.

“Boy, where have you gone?”

Faint, weary, unmistakably his grandfather Li Gui’s voice.

Damn it!

Li Yan’s hair stood on end, panic flooding his heart.

He hadn’t been unprepared these two nights; he’d added Fu Shen and Wu Wei Zi to his porridge—herbs to nourish the heart and calm the spirit.

For a time, his grandfather had been unwell, plagued by insomnia and nightmares, so he’d followed the physician’s prescription and gathered these herbs; each dose let him sleep soundly till dawn.

Though once a fierce soldier in his youth, his father’s death had shattered his spirit, and over the years his health had steadily declined—he couldn’t bear fright at all.

Naturally, he dared not speak of confronting evil spirits.

Yet now, this very moment, it backfired.

As Li Yan panicked, he suddenly recalled Wang the widow’s warning.

This method had taboos: no matter what you heard or saw, you must not reveal yourself, or all would be ruined.

Was it real or fake?

Li Yan forced himself to calm, listening closely.

Finally, he noticed the anomaly.

The voice was faint, echoing endlessly in his ears.

Logically, if his grandfather woke and found him gone, he’d push open the door and search the room.

The pit he’d dug was obvious—right before the bed, visible at a glance.

Yet this voice echoed from all sides, yet no footsteps, no movement. It was fake!

Li Yan immediately judged it, and his heart grew cold.

Could this cold altar’s changbing even do this?

Soon after, the voice faded away.

Rustle!

Suddenly, the threshold shook violently again.

As if something was frantically shaking the door.

Then, his grandfather’s voice sounded again.

“Who’s there?”

“Ah! Help me!”

The voice was agonized, as if beset by misfortune.

Li Yan’s forehead broke into sweat; he still couldn’t be sure.

How could he dare gamble on this?!

!.

At that moment, a flash of insight struck him; he tilted his mouth upward and pushed the bamboo tube used for breathing against his nostrils.

Fortunately, the oilcloth beneath had kept the dust from entering his mouth.

Through the bamboo tube, Li Yan drew a deep breath.

His sense of smell was extraordinarily sharp—he could detect not only those peculiar things, but even ordinary scents with ease.

The smell of damp earth, the rot of old furniture, the scent of fried meatballs on the table…

Each odor was clearly distinguished.

The distinctive bloody stench of “Blind Old Three” was present too, but faint—clearly, he hadn’t entered the courtyard.

And his grandfather’s scent was not in the courtyard either.

Li Yan finally relaxed, yet cursed inwardly.

This thing could deceive the mind—truly cunning, chillingly so.

Had he not awakened his spiritual root, he’d have been fooled!

As voices came and went, Li Yan relied on his extraordinary sense of smell to discern truth, never falling for the trick—but it wore him thin, his spirit drained.

Finally, the voices faded, never returning.

After an indeterminate time, faint rooster crows drifted in.

Li Yan exhaled, broke through the earth.

But as his head emerged from the ground,

his heart turned cold.

The room was pitch dark; through the paper window seams, he could faintly gauge the sky’s hue.

Though past midnight, it was clearly not yet rooster-call time.

I was tricked!

Li Yan was filled with regret.

He never expected to be fooled at the last moment.

Thud!

At that moment, a loud crash came from outside the courtyard gate.

This time he heard it clearly—it was no hallucination, but something striking the plaque.

Li Yan no longer hesitated; he burst through the ground, sword in hand, and rushed out the door.

According to Widow Wang, this thing would leave at the end of the Chou hour, just before the first crow of the rooster.

The time was nearly up; perhaps the substitute spirit statue could hold it off.

Thud!

Another impact, louder than before.

Even the wooden gate of the courtyard trembled violently.

Li Yan stood with sword held horizontally, his eyes brimming with murderous intent.

The old saying goes: ghosts fear the wicked. After years of martial training, perhaps the foul aura in his chest could harm this thing.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”

At that moment, the family’s rooster leapt onto the wooden rack, stretched its neck, and let out a loud crow, its sound echoing far and wide.

The pounding outside the door ceased abruptly.

At the same time, the roosters in neighboring houses began to crow.

Through the crack in the door, Li Yan could smell the stench of “Blind Old Three” rapidly fading away.

Perhaps from colliding with the “Hundred Battles, Mighty Valor” plaque, “Blind Old Three”’s stench had become extremely faint; wherever it passed, the village dogs bristled and barked wildly.

Even so, Li Yan did not move.

Only when a sliver of dawn appeared on the horizon did he push open the door.

As expected, the rooster tied at the door was dead again.

Its state was worse than yesterday’s—clearly, the thing was furious after being fooled repeatedly.

Li Yan’s face was grim, showing no joy at having escaped death.

He had finally seen just how cunning and terrifying this thing was last night.

How should he respond next time?

Crack!

The “Hundred Battles, Mighty Valor” plaque finally gave way, splitting open a long crack from below, and at the same time, the incense scent rapidly dissipated.

Li Yan sighed inwardly.

Even the talisman protecting the house was destroyed—truly, when it rains, it pours.

At that moment, something fell from the crack in the “Hundred Battles, Mighty Valor” plaque, clinking and clattering to the ground—three copper coins.

Li Yan picked them up one by one and examined them closely.

The coins were round with square holes, but their patterns were entirely unlike those of ordinary currency; one side bore a raised relief of a armored divine general, surrounded by tiny talismanic script.

The other side bore, respectively, the sun, moon, and stars…

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(End of Chapter)