Chapter 224: Imperial Decree: Burn the House of Flames, Incinerate the Yin!

The moment those four words left his mouth, the candle flames beneath the giant stone suddenly drew inward.

The two steady flames, which had been standing tall, seemed as if an invisible hand had clamped around their throats. The fire instantly shrank by half, its color shifting from dull yellow to a sickly green.

The ring of ash at the edge of the yellow cloth trembled all of a sudden.

Grains of ash, as if alive, crawled outward across the ground, only to be pinned down by the lightning-struck jujube wood nails, piling up into a thin gray line at the circle’s edge.

Lu Yuan’s face darkened.

“They saw us.”

Xu Erxiao’s Adam’s apple bobbed; his voice came out dry.

“Brother Lu...what do we do?”

“Return to the altar.”

The three of them didn’t dare linger by the giant stone. They crouched and hurried back to the side of the ritual altar.

Almost the same instant they retreated, the gong and drum began again on the stage deep in the valley.

Only this time it wasn’t that scattered, uncanny singing from before. Instead it turned into a rapid series of striking drum beats.

“Dang dang dang dang dang—”

Each gong strike came faster and higher than the last.

It felt like it was urging death.

The eight pallid lanterns all shook at once. Dark red stains slowly seeped through the lantern paper, following the pasted seams downward in streaks.

On the stage, the old dan, the hua dan, the wusheng, and the laosheng all stiffly raised their hands.

Their water-sleeves, long spears, beards, and robe hems all pointed straight at the giant stone.

In the next moment, from the bottomless blackness beneath the stage came a dense rustling of footsteps.

“Shh shh...”

“Shh shh shh...”

It sounded like many people dragging their feet, shuffling over dry leaves and broken bones.

Xu Erxiao whipped his head around and stared hard into the darkness beyond the altar.

Outside the incense haze, nothing was clear within three feet.

But the footsteps were closing in.

From all directions they closed in.

Cold sweat broke out on Wang Cheng'an’s forehead. He grabbed the brass bell on the ground and whispered,

“Brother Lu, something is surrounding us.”

Lu Yuan didn’t look back.

He stood in the center of the altar, left hand forming a seal, right hand pressing on the ritual sword’s hilt, eyes fixed on the compass.

The coin on the compass no longer rotated slowly.

It seemed yanked by some force, suddenly tilting sharply to the true south.

The red cord snapped taut. The coin trembled violently in midair, buzzing with tiny hummed vibrations.

The needle at the compass’s center began to spin against the dial, circling round and round,

faster and faster.

Faster and more frantic.

Lu Yuan’s gaze hardened.

“They’re not here to probe.”

“They want to break the altar first.”

No sooner had he spoken than a hand shot out of the darkness.

It was a ghastly white hand, swollen flesh, blackened nails, a faded red silk strip still wrapped around the wrist.

It slid silently out from the incense cloud, fingers splayed, reaching straight for one of the sealing stones at the yellow cloth’s edge.

Xu Erxiao’s reflexes were quick; he grabbed the wooden sword at his side and swung to chop.

“Don’t touch it!”

Lu Yuan barked.

Xu Erxiao’s blade froze midair.

The gray hand had already touched the sealing stone.

But the instant its fingertips brushed the stone, the talisman pattern under the stone on the yellow cloth flared brightly.

Cinnabar lines blazed like heated iron, emitting a red light.

A black smoke puffed from that hand.

The white palm shrank back in an instant, as if burned by a branding iron, snapping away into the darkness.

Immediately a sharp, high-pitched shriek rang out.

The scream wasn’t human; it was like a hua dan’s singing voice suddenly breaking—so piercing it made the eardrums ache.

Xu Erxiao’s face went pale, and he swore involuntarily.

“Damn, they really dared to reach!”

Lu Yuan said in a low voice,

“Guard the four corners.”

“Cheng’an watches north, Erxiao watches west.”

“Don’t chase, don’t step outside the circle. Any hand that reaches out—smack it back with a cinnabar talisman.”

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao answered in unison, each grabbing a stack of yellow talismans and taking positions at the altar’s sides.

Lu Yuan bent down, grabbed a fierce writing brush, dipped it thickly in cinnabar ink, and painted a talisman on the already-laid yellow paper in one swift motion.

His brush moved extremely fast, the tip dancing on the talisman paper like a dragon and serpent.

When he finished the final stroke he shouted low,

“Rescue!”

The instant the talisman was complete, the yellow paper rose as if on a windless gasp. The cinnabar lines on the talisman flashed with a dark golden glint.

Lu Yuan pressed the talisman onto the ritual sword, then flicked the sword tip to lift the talisman, pointing it straight at the front of the altar.

“Nine Heavens Thunder Bureau, purge filth and dispel vapor.”

“Founders borrow the law—subdue!”

The talisman flew from the sword tip and pasted three inches outside the ring of incense ash.

With a muffled boom,

no fire burst, but a visible ripple of air surged outward from the talisman, forcing the black mist before the altar back by half a zhang.

As the black mist receded, the three of them finally saw what surrounded them.

It was a crowd of “theater-goers.”

Packed so thick their number couldn’t be counted.

They stood in the dark; thin, tattered clothing, men and women, old and young.

Some wore long robes from decades past. Some still had rotting cotton jackets hanging on them.

Some had only half a body left, dragging a trail of black-red filth as they stood.

Every “person” had a face frozen in misery.

Their eyes were empty black hollows.

No pupils, no spark, yet all of them pointed obediently at the ritual altar beneath the giant stone.

Like an audience who failed to get seats, standing silently under the stage, waiting for the show to start.

At the front was an old man whose half face had rotted away to bare bone, still holding a smoked tobacco tube between his teeth long burned out.

He slowly lifted his head, the black eye-sockets fixed on Lu Yuan, and the corners of his mouth crept open.

“Watching the show...”

“Come watch the show...”

At that low whisper from the old man, those lifeless “spectators” around him all began to speak in unison.

“Watch the show...”

“Come...come watch the show...”

The voices layered and swelled from every direction, like people speaking underwater, heavy and constricting in the chest.

Xu Erxiao’s face twitched; the veins on the back of his hand gripping the yellow talismans stood out.

“Brother Lu, how...how many of them are there?”

Lu Yuan’s eyes were cold.

“Not stray souls.”

“They’re lingering remnants of grudges trapped in this Wildman Ditch.”

“The Willow nurtures malevolence in its corrupt form; the stage gathers yin; dead bones make seats. These things are its pilgrims.”

Wang Cheng'an ground his teeth.

“So the troupe performs for them?”

Lu Yuan shook his head.

“Not performing for them.”

He raised his eyes to the darkness beyond the altar, voice low.

“They perform for that willow tree.”

“These ‘spectators’ are the offerings.”

At those words, the gong and drum on the distant stage suddenly changed.

The quick gongs halted.

The huqin drew out a piercing, mournful note.

That long tone seemed to crawl out from between human bones, instantly drowning out every surrounding whisper.

Following it, the laosheng’s singing drifted across.

“Cold moon over barren hills lights a lone grave—”

“Deep in the Wildman Ditch, resentful spirits are bound—”

“Under the willow a thousand-year guest is beckoned—”

“Tonight the altar opens...summon the god—”

When the last three words were sung, the entire valley trembled sharply.

Not an earthquake.

But the earth’s energy moving.

The yellow cloth beneath Lu Yuan’s feet swelled slightly, as if something were pushing up from beneath the ground.

The true-subduing incense in the censer bent.

The smoke that had risen straight up was pressed by an invisible force and tilted toward the south, flying almost along the surface of the yellow cloth.

Both white candles flared with blobs of wax simultaneously.

Snap!

The wicks split.

The green flames rose another inch.

The compass needle made a clicking sound, and then, shockingly, snapped clean in two.

Wang Cheng'an’s face changed drastically.

“Brother Lu!”

Lu Yuan slammed his palm on the compass; the broken needle sliced a bloodline across his hand. Blood beaded and fell onto the brass, seeping swiftly into the engraved grooves.

He didn’t even frown.

“It’s waking.”

From beyond the giant stone, in the direction of the willow, came a faint, almost weightless laughter.

It was impossible to tell age or gender, or distance.

It sounded as if it came from every willow leaf.

“Tee hee...”

“Tee hee hee...”

“Tee hee hee hee...”

Immediately the huge old willow in the valley’s center began to shake violently.

Countless drooping willow branches whipped up like long hair, wildly thrashing in the dark.

Burls and lumps on the trunk split one after another.

What oozed from the cracks wasn’t sap but a black-red viscous fluid.

The goo dripped down the bark onto the bones at the root, hissing as it corroded them.

Right in the center of the trunk, the twisted bark slowly peeled apart.

Like a face that had been shut for years finally opening its eye.

It was an eye.

An eye grown on the trunk of the willow.

Huge, cloudy, bloodshot.

The eyeball rolled once, then turned and stared straight at the Three Purities altar beneath the giant stone.

Lu Yuan felt a sudden pressure in his chest.

The protective talisman on his chest cracked with a sharp pop.

Xu Erxiao made a choked sound, stumbled back half a step, almost collapsing onto the yellow cloth.

Wang Cheng'an hurried to steady him, blood starting to bead at his own lip.

Just from that one glance from the tree-eye, the three men’s protective aura had nearly been crushed.

“Don’t look at that eye!”

Lu Yuan barked.

He seized three sticks of true-subduing incense in his left hand and the sword in his right, then swept the sword down through the smoke.

The sword blade cleaved the white smoke as if cutting. The vapor parted into two currents that skirted the altar left and right and formed a thin protective veil of white mist.

The tree-eye’s line of sight was blocked by the mist, and the oppressive weight on the three chests eased a little.

But the “spectators” outside grew agitated at that moment.

They didn’t stand still anymore. Step by step, they advanced on the altar.

Outside the ash ring, ghastly white hands, rotted feet, and half- faces kept pushing out of the black.

Mouths opened and closed, repeating only one phrase over and over:

“Come...watch...the...show...”

Xu Erxiao gritted his teeth and slapped a yellow talisman onto a stretching hand.

Whoosh!

The talisman flared and the hand shrank back.

But in the next instant three more hands shot out from different directions.

Wang Cheng'an shook the brass bell.

“Ding ling!”

The bell’s clear tone carried righteous energy, rippling around the altar.

The “spectators” nearest froze; flaky flesh fell from their faces like dust.

But more of them surged forward to replace them.

They were too many.

Like a tide.

Impossible to kill them all, impossible to drive them off; the willow and the stage pushed them forward, layer upon layer pressing on the altar.

Lu Yuan knew they couldn’t wait any longer.

The first act had already reached “summon the god.”

If they waited, and the willow fully absorbed the stage’s offerings,

even with the earth veins loop lending energy, this temporary altar would not withstand the flood of Yin Malevolence from the entire Wildman Ditch.

A decisive glint crossed Lu Yuan’s eyes.

A flash of light appeared in his hand and a black cloth pouch materialized.

The pouch was only palm-sized but bound with seven red cords, each cord pressed down with a cinnabar talisman as fine as a fly’s leg.

Lu Yuan drew a deep breath, pressed the pouch with his left hand, and drew his right hand’s two fingers like a sword, slicing across his chest.

“Erxiao, Cheng’an.”

His voice was low yet steady.

“I will call forth the Founder’s true implement.”

“You guard the altar’s corners. Do not retreat half a step.”

The words made Xu Erxiao’s heart jump.

Wang Cheng'an’s face shifted; he bit the tip of his tongue and spat a mouthful of blood onto the brass bell.

The bell drank the blood; the fine talisman lines on it flared with a thread of red light.

“Brother Lu, rest assured.”

“As long as the altar stands, so do we!”

Xu Erxiao slapped three yellow talismans onto his arms and chest and bared his eyes, shouting,

“If anyone dares come closer, I’ll fight to the death!”

Lu Yuan said no more.

He glanced at the black cloth pouch in his arms and slowly untied the first red cord with his fingertips.

No sooner was the red cord slackened than the three sticks of true-subduing incense on the altar shot upward.

The smoke rose straight and, astonishingly, condensed midair into a faint thunder pattern.

The second red cord loosened.

The names of the Twenty-Eight Mansions written on the yellow cloth flashed to life together, then dimmed together.

The third red cord was released.

Those “spectators” outside the giant stone seemed to sense something; the numb, scattered expressions on their faces twisted into a shared look of warped terror.

Even the drumbeats on the distant stage momentarily fell out of rhythm.

The laosheng at the center of the stage who had been chanting with closed eyes suddenly turned his head, pure white eyeballs fixed hard on the black pouch in Lu Yuan’s hand.

His mouth cracked open and his voice sharpened fiercely:

“Block...him...!”

“Do not let him summon...!”

“Do not let him summon him!”

The moment those words rang, the crowd around the altar exploded.

They stopped approaching slowly and hurled themselves forward, snarling.

Some crawled on all fours like wild dogs.

Some stretched their necks until their heads skimmed the ground as they slid forward.

Some split open at the abdomen and thrust out multiple blackened arms to grab at the ash circle.

In an instant, a foul wind whipped around the altar; the stench of rot assaulted their noses.

Xu Erxiao roared and hurled three yellow talismans at once.

“Screw you!”

The three talismans stuck to the three nearest corrupt faces and detonated in bursts of red flame.

Those three abominations screamed and toppled back, but the things behind paid them no mind and continued to press forward over their ruined bodies.

Wang Cheng'an shook the bell fiercely.

“Dinglingling—”

The ringing fell like a sudden hard rain, sending ripples beneath the giant stone.

The corrupted that neared the altar stiffened, slowed, but only for a moment.

In the next instant, a dozen ghastly white, rotting hands clutched the ash ring at once.

“Huff—heh—”

Black smoke exploded up.

The ash ring trembled violently; the faint golden light stuttering in and out.

The sealing stones at the yellow cloth’s corners began to jump; the lightning-struck jujube wood nails gave off tiny cracking sounds.

Xu Erxiao’s face drained of color.

“Brother Lu!”

“Hurry!”

Lu Yuan had reached the fifth red cord.

The black cloth pouch gave off no light, but a heavy, indescribable aura slowly seeped out.

That aura wasn’t sharp like ordinary ritual implements, nor nimble like talismans. It was weighty—

as dense as an ancient mountain pressed atop the underworld.

The air around the pouch seemed slightly caved in.

Cold sweat beaded at Lu Yuan’s temples.

He actually didn’t yet have the cultivation to wield this thing at will.

Forcibly summoning it would injure his vital energy.

But there was no other way.

The sixth red cord was about to be loosened.

At that moment,

“Qianyuan stabilize the cosmic stems, let the sword fall and banish evil!”

A clear shout suddenly exploded from the darkness on the east side of Wildman Ditch.

The voice wasn’t deep; it carried the keen edge of youth.

As the shout came, a bluish-white light sliced through the darkness, like a long rainbow, slanting down from beneath the cliff on the east side into the mass of corrupted creatures.

“Voom!”

The sword light struck the ground.

But it wasn’t a physical sword.

It was a line of force condensed from talisman-light.

The line swept the ground, and where it passed the outer row of “spectators” seemed cut by an invisible blade and froze as one.

In the next instant, they were severed at the waist, disintegrating into great puffs of black smoke.

Xu Erxiao stared blankly.

“What the hell is that?”

Before he could react, two more voices sounded simultaneously from the southwest.

“Order of the Fire Bureau, burn the Yin!”

“Thunder talismans, clear the way, break!”