Ancestral Deity

Chen Zhonghai’s pupils slowly lost their focus, until his gaze was swallowed in complete darkness. Blood seeped relentlessly along the blade of the sickle, draining the life from his body; the steamed bun plugging his wound grew an even deeper, ghastly crimson, and his bloated form finally collapsed, powerless.

Lin Guichen watched Chen Zhonghai with an expressionless face. One hand steadied the sickle, the other gripped the man’s collar, lowering his body gently to the ground. Throughout, the sickle’s blade remained lodged in Chen Zhonghai’s throat.

Luckily, the sickle lacked a blood groove, and with the steamed bun blocking the wound, otherwise the blood would have sprayed out and drenched him moments ago.

Anyone with experience stabbing necks would know: in such cases, laying the body flat lets the blood flow toward other parts or pool beneath the wound, reducing the amount lost.

Not far away, Lin’s mother stood frozen, then with a dull thud, collapsed to the ground with a blank stare, her gaze darting incredulously to Lin Guichen.

She then slumped over, fainting dead away.

Lin Guichen glanced at her but paid no further mind. His mother was often malnourished and frail to begin with; it was no surprise that such a shock would make her faint. In any case, he needed time before escaping—let her remain unconscious for now.

“First, the money.”

Without delay, Lin Guichen began to search Chen Zhonghai’s body. The Chen clan dominated Kangle County, and Chen Zhonghai was a clansman within five degrees of kinship. For an outsider like Lin Guichen to kill him was certain death, should it be discovered.

He had planned to flee Kangle County as soon as he dealt with Chen Zhonghai. It was convenient that Chen Zhonghai always carried his money, which would serve as travel funds.

Soon, Lin Guichen found a layered leather wallet on the body. Opening it, he discovered seven silver dollars, a dozen or so copper coins of ten or fifty denomination, and several silver dollar notes of various values.

“That’s enough.” Lin Guichen let out a quiet breath of relief. As long as he could escape Kangle County, this would more than cover his journey.

Though Chen Zhonghai was idle and barely literate, he was gifted in calligraphy and made a decent income copying manuscripts for the county’s library and calligraphy association. Lin Guichen recalled that Chen also kept some silver hidden at home, but there was no time to search—and after the monetary reforms, it was more practical to carry these silver dollars with the President’s head.

“What’s this?”

Suddenly, Lin Guichen noticed some grayish-white powder mixed with black granules in a hidden fold of the wallet. His experience from a previous life made him recognize it at once: “Cremains?”

Why would Chen Zhonghai go to the trouble of hiding cremains in his wallet? His own predecessor had seldom left the house, had not even attended primary school, and knew little of the world—just a few superstitions overheard.

Still, Lin Guichen felt something odd about these ashes. He hesitated, left them untouched, took the money for himself, and stuffed the wallet back.

When he finished, he rose to head into the yard and dig a pit to bury Chen Zhonghai’s corpse. That would keep the Chen family from finding it too soon, buying time for his escape.

Fortunately, the elixir from the little Daoist had been effective, restoring much of his strength and easing the pain in his limbs; otherwise, he’d have lacked the energy to dig.

“Hm?”

Just then, the little Daoist boy approached, hands behind his back as he stooped over to inspect Chen Zhonghai. With a note of surprise, he said, “A mere mortal with unopened spiritual orifices, yet not only shielded by an Ancestral God but even inheriting the Ancestral God’s legacy?”

Ancestral God?

Lin Guichen glanced at the Daoist. “What Ancestral God?”

The little Daoist looked at him, eyes glistening, and replied, “You’re lucky. So soon, you’ll get to meet the Master.”

The Master?

Lin Guichen was taken aback. Wasn’t it said that only those who had destroyed heretics—“enemies on the path”—were qualified to meet the Master? Was Chen Zhonghai a heretic? Did he deserve that title? Or was it linked to this Ancestral God’s legacy?

A host of questions swirled in his mind.

A sudden, thunderous rumble filled his ears, like thunder, or the growling of an empty stomach. Then, a towering figure in Daoist robes materialized before him.

Was this the Master?

That bizarre sound, part thunder, part stomach-growl, he had heard before in his dreams, always accompanied by the Daoist child’s giggles.

Lin Guichen studied the figure intently. The Master was impossibly tall—at least two meters forty—like a small giant, clad in a voluminous blue-green Daoist robe with a black-and-white Taiji diagram embroidered on the back. Though his face was hidden, it was clear he wore a Daoist headscarf and cradled an enormous horsetail whisk.

That thunderous, growling sound emanated from within the Master.

“Greetings, Master.”

Taking advantage of his mother’s unconsciousness, Lin Guichen immediately offered his respects. If the little Daoist could concoct such miraculous pills, what powers might the Master possess?

The Master said nothing, only bowed his head to observe Chen Zhonghai’s corpse. Then, a faint hiss of inhalation, and Lin Guichen saw motes of light flicker in the air and stream into the Master’s mouth.

As this happened, the thunderous, rumbling noise became clearer.

“What is this?” Lin Guichen asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“This is thunder,” the Master finally spoke, his voice low and strained, as if suppressing great pain.

“I see...” Lin Guichen feigned enlightenment, pretending to believe.

The Master endured his pain and rumbled, “By rights, for purging evil and upholding the Dao, I ought to prepare three treasures of the Daoist path for you, from which you may choose one.”

“A choice of three?” Lin Guichen’s eyes brightened. A pill from the child, a treasure from the Master—the Daoist benefits were not bad at all.

But if there was a “by rights,” there must also be a “however.”

“However...” As expected, the Master continued, “This heretic’s spirit is severely damaged—a rare occurrence. I can only prepare three damaged Daoist treasures for you, from which you may select one.”

Damaged? Lin Guichen was taken aback. Well, damaged was better than nothing.

The Master proceeded, “First, a broken peachwood sword. This tool is effective against wandering spirits; strike them with it, and their soul will be wounded. However, you must first open your spiritual orifices to use your own spiritual power to activate it.

“Second, a tattered Tunneling Talisman. It allows you to use Daoist art to pass through any dead object. But since it’s damaged, it works only once and lasts no more than ten meters. Likewise, you must awaken your spiritual power to activate it.

“Third, a fragment of warm jade. It can replenish your yang energy when it wanes, providing a trace of true yang without needing spiritual activation.”

Lin Guichen considered this. Each seemed potentially useful.

He thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll take the Tunneling Talisman.”

“Very well.”

With a sweep of the Master’s sleeve, a gust of wind arose and the towering figure vanished.

At the same time, Lin Guichen found in his hand a damaged piece of yellow talismanic paper, inscribed in cinnabar, barely an inch long.

So this was the Tunneling Talisman?

“It still requires the opening of spiritual orifices...” Lin Guichen gazed at it with curiosity.

“Of course,” the Daoist child piped up from the side, as if it were only natural. “These are Daoist treasures, not something any common mortal can use.”

Lin Guichen nodded and tucked the talisman safely away. For now, the damaged Tunneling Talisman was of greatest use. If the Chen clan sealed the city gates, he could use it to slip through the wall and escape.

He still needed to open his spiritual orifices to channel spiritual power, but with three days and a pill from the Daoist child, he would manage.

Suddenly—

A chill like a winter wind swept through the lightless woodshed, making his scalp prickle and a sense of foreboding creep over him.

What was happening? A vague, unsettling premonition stirred in him.

“Hm?”

The Daoist child glanced at him, sighed softly, and said, “You really can’t catch a break, can you...”

What did he mean by that? Lin Guichen was bewildered.

Just then, a metallic scraping noise caught his ear. He turned and saw his mother, awake and huddled in another corner of the woodshed, rummaging through the tools. She seized the other sickle, stood on trembling legs, and pointed it at him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears as she stared at him, lips moving, her gaze a blend of terror and hatred.

“You want to kill me?”

Lin Guichen was puzzled, then imitated his predecessor’s usual tone, feigning confusion: “Mother, what are you doing?”

There were two sickles in the woodshed. He had hidden one earlier to kill Chen Zhonghai, both to be cautious and to keep his mother from interfering, fearing her motherly instinct would prevent him from taking the risk.

But surely she, too, had long suffered under Chen Zhonghai. Killing him was a relief—why would she threaten her own son?

Stockholm syndrome? Or something else?

When she heard him call her “Mother,” her grip on the sickle faltered.

“Mother, haven’t you suffered enough under Chen Zhonghai?”

He looked at her and said, “Let’s run. This isn’t much money, but it’s enough to live elsewhere for a while. We’ll figure things out. What do you say?”

His mother’s hands trembled even harder, hesitation flickering in her eyes, but her look grew all the more wary.

“Mother, I only acted to save myself.” Lin Guichen continued, “That beast Chen Zhonghai wanted me dead—killing him was my only choice. Whose side are you on?”

His mother wiped her tears, shook her head, then signed something with her hands.

What did that mean? Lin Guichen couldn’t decipher her gestures and was about to ask when a clamor arose outside the yard.

“Hurry, go see what’s happened in Chen Zhonghai’s house!”

“The Ancestor has shown a sign—Chen Zhonghai must have been slain by an outsider!”

“The murderer is surely still inside!”

“Siyuan, unlock the door!”

The commotion outside made Lin Guichen’s face pale, his heart dropping into an icy abyss.

Impossible...

How could this be? Chen Zhonghai had only just died, his corpse still unburied in the woodshed, and yet the Chen clan was already certain he’d been killed—without even seeing the body?

Even if someone had witnessed it, how could word have spread so fast?

In that instant, he understood his escape was hopeless.

“My, so many people...” Amid the mounting tumult, the Daoist child’s laughter sounded delighted.

Lin Guichen whirled on the child, recalling her earlier words.

“Ancestral manifestation... the Ancestor’s protection?”

“Is that why Chen Zhonghai’s death was discovered so quickly?”

He began to understand. This must involve some unknown, supernatural realm.

But for his predecessor, the world had extended little beyond this small courtyard; any news of the outside world had come only in scraps from visiting guests. To him, the world was full of mysteries.

“There’s no way out...”

Lin Guichen drew a deep breath and looked at his mother. She was flustered, but not surprised—almost as if she had known this would happen.

Bang!

Before he could react, the courtyard gate shuddered under a heavy blow. Immediately after, a surge of footsteps and voices swept in like a tide.