Chapter Seventy-Four: The Path of Ghosts

“Don’t look at me with that sarcastic glare. You know I don’t know anything. If I did, I’d have run far away already. Would I still be here waiting for Lord Guan to show up?” I shot a glance at the fat man. Truth be told, I was hoping he could clear up my confusion, but instead, he turned around and started interrogating me.

“Fatty doesn’t believe you don’t know,” he said.

“Don’t you know me by now?” I replied, a little impatient. I’d nearly been hacked to death by the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, and I was already half scared to death. I barely managed to crawl back from the brink, and now he’s questioning me? What’s that supposed to mean?

Fatty noticed my annoyance and chuckled, “Alright, alright, Fatty knows you’re just a little cabbage, you don’t know a thing, but don’t blame Lord Guan for trying to chop you down. From what he said, it’s perfectly normal. But at least you didn’t get scared for nothing—you know there’s something off about you.”

“You’re the one with problems,” I retorted.

“I don’t mean it that way,” Fatty went on. “I remember you telling me that your father, Ye Tianhua, died while you were still in your mother’s womb. Let me say something, don’t get upset—King of Thieves, your fate chart suggests it’s possible you were the reason your father died.”

I shot to my feet, staring at him. “What is that supposed to mean? What are you saying?”

Fatty took a drag from his cigarette and hooked his arm around my shoulder. “See? Getting all riled up again. Fatty’s not good with words, but what I mean is, your dad’s death might have something to do with you. For example, maybe he offended someone in order to bring you into the world, and that person killed him. It’s possible. Think about it—your dad was a skilled man; how could he die in Fudigou without gaining anything? And after he came back from that special mission in the army, he married your mom, then had your big brother. Your brother was three when your dad died—that’s at least four years, maybe more. Nothing happened in those years, but your father died right when your mom was pregnant with you. Doesn’t that seem like cause and effect? It’s a stretch, but we can’t ignore any clue. If we don’t seek answers, no one will tell us.”

As Fatty explained, I gradually understood what he was getting at and realized his theory was plausible. But if my father was killed because of me, then I must be something extraordinary—a dragon’s offspring, perhaps? If I were exceptionally talented or lucky, maybe my father died for a remarkable child. But look at me—a mere village official in Fudigou, and if not for Han Xue, I probably wouldn’t even have a decent wife. My father died for me? That’s hardly worthy of the title “King of Henan” that Chen Dongfang spoke of.

“Enough about that. What’s the story with the City God? What does it mean for a living person to manage the affairs of the dead? I saw you touch his hand and recoil—was there electricity on it?” I asked Fatty.

He had his arm around my shoulder, but at my question, his expression changed and he withdrew. “I thought he was a spirit, but his hand was warm. Scared me, honestly. I didn’t expect, in this day and age, there’d still be living officials for the dead. During wartime, when deaths were countless, the underworld’s officials couldn’t keep up, so they’d recruit living ‘Law Kings’ to fill the role temporarily. To put it plainly, the underworld hired temps from the living. These people weren’t official, but helping the underworld earned them merit, which would be recorded and benefit them in their next life. It’s considered good karma, let alone being a living person acting as a City God.”

“Wait, so it’s impossible? Was that guy an impostor?” I asked Fatty.

“Impostor in front of us, maybe, but in front of Lord Guan? That City God is genuine. Fatty has seen plenty of living temps for the underworld, but never someone holding the City God office. Still, I’ve heard tales of a sect practicing ghostly arts. Their cultivation is unique, allowing them to freely pass between the realms of the living and the dead—a kind of dual cultivation. They’d accumulate merit in both realms, achieving mysterious powers and high status in each. There are legends of generals who could lead ghost soldiers into battle—those stories refer to people like this. So, that man might be one of those legendary ghost cultivators,” Fatty said, frowning.

“Wouldn’t that make them incredibly powerful? Couldn’t their sect have unified the martial world by now?” I asked.

“You don’t know anything. This cultivation isn’t for everyone. Fatty’s heard that half who attempt it end up as ghosts, and most of the living get struck by lightning. Only a rare few survive, so the sect’s numbers are sparse, and disciples are few. Isn’t there a legend that Ghost Valley Master was one of them? It’s odd for a living man to be made a City God, but what’s even stranger is that he has a decree from Master Zhang. Even if the ghost sect exists, it would never ally with Zhang’s sect—the ghost arts are notorious for their dark reputation. Their practices supposedly go against heaven’s order. And do you know what Master Zhang’s decree means? When Emperor Huizong of Song ordered Lord Guan to slay the drought demon, he wielded Master Zhang’s decree,” Fatty said.

“How would I know? Is it like an imperial edict?” I asked.

Fatty nodded. “Yes, similar, though the decree isn’t issued by the true Master Zhang in the heavens, but by the Tianshi Mansion at Dragon Tiger Mountain, acting on behalf of heaven. Even so, the decree is feared by gods and ghosts alike. For example, if there’s a decree to kill you, ordinary people would treat it as a scrap of paper, but for those who practice Daoism, it must be obeyed.”

“That powerful?” I said.

“Otherwise, why do you think Lord Guan spared you? Now you know why Fatty was interrogating you—I’m curious how a muddled fool like you ended up with a Master Zhang decree pardoning you,” Fatty said.

“Maybe I’ll rise to glory someday?” I joked, but Fatty looked at me seriously. “What I said about Ye Tianhua dying because of you isn’t nonsense. You’re bound for a great destiny. Just that decree proves you’re no ordinary person.”

“Well, if I ever make it big, I won’t forget you, Fatty! But if you’re so sure I’ll be somebody, shouldn’t you cozy up to me now?” I teased.

“Spare me. Want me to slap you around a bit?” Fatty laughed and cursed.

Just as he finished, hoofbeats approached from outside, growing louder. Lord Guan was returning. My brief moment of confidence vanished, and I looked for a place to hide. Fatty, nervous, slapped me and hissed, “Hide? Get down and kneel! He didn’t kill you before, he won’t now!”

The hoofbeats thundered to the temple gate. Lord Guan’s commanding voice boomed again: “The drought demon has been vanquished! Guan departs!”

With that, he tossed something into the temple, landing right in front of me.

I waited until the hoofbeats faded before daring to lift my head. When I did, I nearly jumped out of my skin. In front of me lay a green infant’s head, its eyes wide open in resentment.

Beside it was the infant’s body, also green. This was the little drought demon that escaped that night.

“Have you witnessed Lord Guan’s might?” Fatty said, gathering the corpse and burning a talisman, which quickly reduced it to ashes. He pressed his palms together and murmured, “Go in peace. Fatty will chant the rebirth mantra for you; may you reincarnate into a good family.”

“That’s it? It’s over?” I asked in disbelief.

“What else did you expect? King of Thieves, I’ve been thinking, your father’s death is probably related to you. How about we find someone to ask what your father was doing before he died?” Fatty suggested.

“Let it go. The police investigated it back then. Honestly, if it weren’t for Chen Dongfang, I’d still think my dad was just a simple farmer—his life was all about hoeing and weeding, nothing else. You think someone like him would let anyone know what he was up to?”

“If others didn’t know, your mother surely would,” Fatty said, winking at me.

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