Chapter Eighteen: The Shadow Script

He Xiangu was so furious at the fat man she could hardly contain herself, but now it seemed she was holding back, waiting to see him make a fool of himself. She endured her anger, went to close the curtains and door, and lit the candles in the room. In an instant, the whole place was as dark as night.

To be honest, I shared some of He Xiangu’s thoughts at that moment. But I also felt that the fat man, with his arrogant demeanor and the confidence to perform rituals right in front of us, must have some real ability—or else, if he failed, wouldn’t the embarrassment be unbearable?

After the curtains were drawn, the fat man didn’t do anything special. He simply pointed at the bracelet and said, “Come out.”

The three of us stared wide-eyed, eager to see how Old Lady Wang would manifest, but nothing happened. The fat man kept watching the bracelet. After about a minute, he grew impatient. “Still not coming out?”

He Xiangu was already suppressing a laugh, waiting for the fat man to embarrass himself. Chen Qingshan also looked puzzled. I had been wary of the fat man from the start, but now, instead of wanting to see him fail, I found myself growing anxious, worried that something strange was happening.

“Really? Not even giving me this much respect?” the fat man said, his tone losing its calm, tinged with frustration.

“Oh my, isn’t the great master supposed to be so powerful? Or is all that fat just for show?” He Xiangu mocked.

Chen Qingshan wouldn’t stoop to mocking like a woman, but I could see he was angry too. After all, the fat man had just called him brainless. He’d held back only out of respect for the fat man’s supposed expertise. If the fat man turned out to be a fraud, Chen Qingshan would certainly settle the score.

“Say less, don’t be so sure of yourself. What if you’re the one who gets slapped in the face?” I said to He Xiangu.

She glanced at me, muttered under her breath, “What do you know?”

I ignored her, stepped forward, and asked the fat man, “Fat Master, is something wrong?”

He nodded, his face looking grim. But then he quickly turned to He Xiangu and said, “Bring me yellow talisman paper and cinnabar ink.”

“And you expect me to just fetch it because you say so?” she replied, arching her brows.

“Go get it,” Chen Qingshan said with a cold laugh.

He Xiangu, who still cared about saving face with Chen Qingshan, fetched the yellow paper and cinnabar from the drawer. I knew Chen Qingshan didn’t really want to help the fat man—he just wanted to kick someone while they were down.

The fat man spread the yellow paper on the table, dipped a red brush into the cinnabar, and began to draw talismanic symbols. I never understood such things, but the bold, twisting strokes looked powerful. When he finished, he lit the talisman, held it with two fingers, and waved it before the City God’s statue. The talisman burned quickly, turning to ash that drifted down onto the table.

After the burning, the fat man did something that left all three of us gaping.

He slapped the table hard and shouted, “Come out!”

His manner was like an infuriated boss roaring at his staff.

But even then, nothing happened.

The bigger the show, the greater the embarrassment.

I was still tense, glancing back at He Xiangu, then giving Chen Qingshan a look, signaling them to wait.

The fat man’s forceful slap had knocked the incense burner in front of the City God’s statue to the ground, scattering ash everywhere. Just after I’d exchanged glances with them, a sudden gust of wind blew from the direction of the statue. The doors and windows were tightly shut, and yet this wind arose from the altar. That alone was strange enough. The wind swept up the incense ash, filling the room with swirling dust.

The smell of incense was unpleasant; we all covered our noses and mouths. The fat man, however, stood in the midst of the flying ash. The wind came suddenly and left just as quickly. When the dust settled, to my amazement, I noticed several characters written in the ash on the floor.

I moved closer, but realized these weren’t any characters I recognized. Or perhaps it was a script I’d never seen before; looking at it was like staring at oracle bone inscriptions. The fat man glanced at the writing, then turned to the City God’s statue and said, “You’re a pretty stifled City God, aren’t you?”

“Fat Master, you can read it? What does it say?” I asked in astonishment.

Perhaps because I’d defended him earlier, the fat man’s attitude toward me softened. He nodded, “Yes, I can read it. Old Lady Wang’s spirit isn’t here. The one who wanted her dead wasn’t the City God, but something in the water.”

“Anyone could say that. Everyone knows my mother-in-law drowned herself. You’re just making things up—who can prove you wrong now?” He Xiangu sneered.

“I can’t stand women who talk too much. If it weren’t for your dead mother-in-law, I’d have slapped you already—believe it or not!” the fat man shot her a glare.

“You dare!” she shot back, no pushover herself.

“Enough from you. Unless you can get the City God to write for you too!” I snapped at her.

Chen Qingshan finally snapped out of his shock. Even though none of us had seen Old Lady Wang’s spirit or the City God himself, a sudden wind writing incomprehensible symbols in incense ash was proof enough that the fat man had real skill. Seeing the argument about to erupt, he said, “Let’s not argue. If word of this gets out, it won’t do you any good.”

If it became known that the fat man had exposed He Xiangu as a charlatan, she’d never make another cent at this line of work. So, after Chen Qingshan’s warning, she shut her mouth, albeit reluctantly. I found myself looking at the fat man with new respect. The more I thought about it, the more sense he made. For instance, he hadn’t denied He Xiangu’s skills outright—he’d only pointed out that, after Old Lady Wang’s death, all her merits came from the old woman’s lingering virtue. In fact, He Xiangu had handled her share of affairs since Old Lady Wang passed.

“Let’s go. Let’s see what’s in the river—what could be so fearsome that it would scare even the City God into silence,” the fat man said.

Once outside He Xiangu’s house, Chen Qingshan asked me, “Ye Zi, I don’t have much education. You’re the scholar—what kind of writing did the City God use in the incense ash?”

Embarrassed, I admitted, “To tell the truth, village chief, I couldn’t make it out either.”

The fat man said, “It would be strange if you could. The City God is a deity of the underworld. He writes in the language of the dead—the script used in the afterlife.”

“Incredible!” Chen Qingshan gave him a thumbs up.

“Weren’t you just hoping to see me make a fool of myself, to get back at me for calling you brainless?” The fat man was blunt as ever, leaving Chen Qingshan looking awkward.

We followed the fat man to the riverbank. When we arrived, he didn’t say a word, just walked along the river’s edge, on and on. Instead of reaching Jiuyuejiu, we ended up at Sanlitun—the village where my eldest brother lived.

There, by the river, stood the Twelve Ghost Grottos, rising from the middle of the Luo River. A single mountain, twelve grottoes, severing the river in two.

The fat man finally stopped, staring at the grottos. “A dragon cut at the waist… When Tang Ranjie told me about these Twelve Ghost Grottos, I didn’t believe him.”

“What?” Chen Qingshan was curious, never shying away from a chance to ask questions, even if the fat man kept mocking him.

“The Luo River is a dragon, and these twelve grottos sever it at the waist—a place of great evil. It was something from here that took Old Lady Wang’s life,” the fat man said.

“These Twelve Ghost Grottos are forbidden ground in our area—no one dares approach. Anyone who goes in never comes out. It’s a dead zone for the living, and who knows how many corpses lie within. In the past hundred years, only one person has ever entered and returned—that’s Ye Zi’s brother, Sun Zhongmou,” Chen Qingshan explained.

“The Bandit King’s brother is surnamed Sun?” the fat man asked, surprised.

“My brother was adopted out as a child. After he returned, he kept using his adoptive family’s name,” I explained. I’d wanted to stop Chen Qingshan when he mentioned my brother, but considering the fat man had come on Tang Ranjie’s recommendation, I figured he must already know about my brother.

“Meeting your brother is exactly why I came this time,” the fat man said, looking at me.

Noticing my expression, he actually took the trouble to explain, “Tang Ranjie told me someone remarkable had appeared here, so I came to see for myself. Otherwise, I’d never have bothered with such a remote place. But it seems Tang Ranjie didn’t lie. For someone to come and go from this place unscathed—they must have real talent. My trip wasn’t wasted.”

“A contest of skills?” I blurted out.

The fat man didn’t answer. He simply stared solemnly at the Twelve Ghost Grottos, his face grave.