Chapter 168: The Beginning

Xia Jinrong said, “The seven ghosts work for me. A Taoist priest once told me a method—capture some wandering ghosts and sprinkle them with blood from my middle finger. Then they’ll obey me and work for me. After three years, I feed them a meal and send them away.”

I asked, “Was last night’s dinner meant for them?”

Xia Jinrong could only nod in admission. “I didn’t expect you to be so capable, taking on seven ghosts alone. The reason I sought out Priest Liu was because I knew he was a fraud.”

I sneered, “I didn’t fight them. They were peacefully sleeping in bed. From what I know, this forbidden art of making ghosts work for you also harms the master. Now that they’re still hungry, they’ll come after you.”

Xia Jinrong finally realized the severity of the situation. Uncle Jianguo now understood—this wasn’t about celebrating the deceased Xia Gengtian’s birthday, but about feeding the seven wandering ghosts. And when Uncle Jianguo invited me over, Xia Jinrong didn’t stop him—his plan was to provide two people for the seven ghosts.

Uncle Jianguo chuckled and asked, “What happens if the seven ghosts get their fill?”

I recalled that the *Jicheng* mentioned folk secrets of using ghosts for labor, alongside raising corpses and breeding livestock. Controlling ghosts was troublesome because their work relied on psychic energy, which greatly damaged the ghosts themselves. After three years, they had to be fed with healthy young men, absorbing all their life force and souls until they withered and died.

I said, “You’ll die.”

Xia Jinrong said, “I’ve told you everything honestly. Is that enough?”

I shook my head. “No. Who made the coffin? Who painted the mural on the wall? Are you still hiding things from me? Otherwise, I can’t help you.”

Sweat poured down Xia Jinrong’s forehead before he finally confessed. About a month ago, he was tricked into a scheme and owed two million yuan. Later, he learned it was a scam by the “Fanxi Party,” led by someone from the Eagle Flight Group.

A young Taoist priest intervened to settle the matter for Xia Jinrong. Then he asked Xia Jinrong to remodel a room into a coffin, paint murals on the walls, cover them with copper sheets, and coat them in white lime.

His goal was to get Uncle Jianguo involved.

Uncle Jianguo was stunned. “Me?”

Xia Jinrong nodded. “The young priest said exactly that—to get Liu Jianguo to help, so he’d bring in someone else to spend the night in that room.”

Damn. So this was aimed at me?

All this elaborate plotting just to harm me? Who was this young priest? And who was the one who taught Xia Jinrong to raise ghosts?

I asked, “You’re so afraid—what leverage does he have over you?”

Xia Jinrong forced a bitter smile. “He said if I didn’t obey, my son would suffer. I had no choice but to agree. Please, masters, spare me—don’t say I told you. I was forced.”

I scoffed. “Don’t play innocent. Those seven ghosts worked for you for three years. How many people have you harmed? Who helped you raise them?”

Xia Jinrong stayed silent, which was as good as an admission.

I sighed. “You’re digging your own grave. I can’t help you. I won’t ask who helped you raise the ghosts. But one last time—where can I find that young priest?”

Xia Jinrong collapsed like mud, his arrogance gone, reduced to a pitiful worm. I almost felt sorry for him.

Xia Jinrong shook his head. “I don’t know where to find him.”

I went to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of soy sauce and vinegar. Uncle Jianguo carried two bags of rice and a mop up to the coffin room on the second floor.

First, I poured the soy sauce and vinegar on the walls, then dragged the mop over the murals, destroying them. I slashed a few times with my knife, shredding the flying demonesses and eyeballs into a mess. What was once a dark and eerie work of art now looked like a dirty rag hanging on the wall.

Then I had Uncle Jianguo come in and scatter the rice all over the floor, covering it densely. The scattered stockings on the ground were also drenched in vinegar, torn to shreds.

Uncle Jianguo remarked, “Are the seven ghosts also stocking fetishists?”

I gave a wry smile. “Uncle Jianguo, must you always be so vulgar?”

Next, I had Xia Jinrong bring in several roosters and left them in the room. After fixing the door, I drew a tomb-sealing talisman on it with chicken blood.

Then, using black dog blood, black chicken blood, and aged ink, I marked a carpenter’s square and chalk line on the door, drawing a pentagram and labeling it with the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. It was a Five-Element Ghost-Trapping Seal.

Little Rascal stood at the door, barking. Soon, low, agonized cries came from inside. Though I couldn’t see what was happening, the sounds were telling enough.

The coffin’s exit—the door in front of us—was being violently rammed. It deformed several times, the chalk-line seal trembling as it forced the entities back inside, their shrieks growing more desperate.

Xia Jinrong slumped to the ground. “What kind of room is this? How did it turn into this?”

From beneath the door, a three-legged centipede crawled out, moving sluggishly before Little Rascal crushed it underfoot.

Uncle Jianguo didn’t dare breathe, just stared at me.

I looked at Xia Jinrong. “The priest who helped you raise ghosts three years ago—was he a freak who wore a black robe, carried a black briefcase, sometimes a pouch, and loved centipedes?”

Xia Jinrong sighed. “So you already knew.”

By noon, I opened the door. The room was covered in footprints on the scattered rice, the stockings completely shredded. Handprints of all sizes stained the walls.

Uncle Jianguo looked around and sighed. “Xiao Qi, how could you be so ruthless? Was this a merciless annihilation of their souls?”

I replied, “Don’t you know me by now?”

The vinegar bottle left by the door now contained a swirling black mist. I sealed the lid.

Pointing at it, I said, “They’re all in there. I’m too soft-hearted to destroy them completely, so I left them a bottle. Uncle Jianguo, you still don’t understand me.”

Uncle Jianguo looked somewhat apologetic. “Maybe I don’t. Or maybe even you don’t understand yourself.”

True. People long to be understood, but if they don’t understand themselves, how can they expect others to?

As the philosopher Zhang San once said, “Only one person in the world understands my thoughts—Li Si. But even his understanding is wrong.”

I sealed the vinegar bottle, stepped back, and closed the door.

Xia Jinrong begged me to save him.

I refused. “Those who do evil will meet their end. If Heaven wants you, who am I to interfere?”

With Little Rascal and Uncle Jianguo, I prepared to leave.

Xia Jinrong watched me go but didn’t chase after us. Was it really for his son’s sake that he wouldn’t reveal the young priest’s whereabouts?

Just outside Green Harbor, a toothless old man hobbled across the street, his clothes filthy—clearly a local beggar.

I braked hard. If the old man fell, I’d hesitate whether to help him up.

The old man glanced at me and called out, “Young master, come here. I have something to tell you.”

I hesitated. Why me?

Following him into an alley, he stammered, “Listen… people have turned into beasts.”

Two punk-haired youths flashed past the alley entrance, and the old man shuffled away with his bamboo pole, muttering, “Spare some change, spare some change…”

“People have turned into beasts”—was he saying people’s hearts had been eaten by dogs?

The old beggar’s accent sounded like he was from Anhui, definitely not a local.

Did he mean…?

I urged Uncle Jianguo to hurry, and we sped off on the motorcycle.

After a while, Uncle Jianguo suddenly shouted, “Gotta piss!” He pulled over near a pig farm, squatted by the wall, and relieved himself.

As soon as I stopped, Uncle Jianguo punched me in the face. “Xiao Qi, you little bastard! Xia Jinrong deserves to die, but his son is innocent!”

I fell to the ground, my teeth loosened, spitting blood. The pig farm had a new breeding boar that occasionally grunted, probably feeling mighty proud.

I got up silently. “Liu Jianguo, don’t think I can’t take you. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead by now.”

Uncle Jianguo stayed quiet for a long moment before softening his tone. “Master Xiao, let’s not fight. Xia Jinrong’s a bastard, but the kid’s innocent. We should still help.”

I patted the motorcycle. “Get on. I know what I’m doing.”

Once moving, the cold wind made my nose run. My mouth ached even more.

Damn, Uncle Jianguo hit hard. Am I really that heartless?

I called Shen Yihu, saying I had a case to discuss. He arrived in the afternoon, and Uncle Jianguo and I waited for him at a hotpot restaurant.

Shen Yihu tossed his black bag aside. “What’s up? Make it quick—I’ve got places to be.”

He glanced at Uncle Jianguo. “You’re Gao Mo’s master?” Then he offered cigarettes—soft Chunghwa, meaning his wife must’ve given him some spending money lately.

Uncle Jianguo nodded. “Yeah.”

Soon, all three of us were puffing away. Shen Yihu spoke first. “Seven bodies disappeared from the city hospital morgue. The families are raising hell, but we can’t find who stole them. It’s bizarre.”

Uncle Jianguo blew a smoke ring and passed his cigarette to Little Rascal. Shen Yihu tossed over a Chunghwa, but Uncle Jianguo pushed it away, pulling out a cheaper brand instead. “I’m used to the cheap stuff. Can’t handle the good ones.”

Shen Yihu magically produced two packs of the cheaper brand. “Should’ve said so earlier. I thought a master like you wouldn’t smoke this.”

Little Rascal, exhausted, took a few puffs and perked up.

Damn, a dog that smokes and drinks—only missing prostitutes.

Shen Yihu was stunned, clearly not expecting Gao Mo’s master to be so… unconventional.

I asked, “Seven bodies?”

Shen Yihu nodded. “Yeah. Got any leads?”

I shook my head. “I called you about Xia Jinrong. You know him?”

Shen Yihu took a drag. “Heard of him. Local bully in a small town, not on our radar. Shows up in Jiangcheng sometimes, but just as a lackey. Why?”

I frowned. “Something might’ve happened. Xia Jinrong runs coal mines where people disappear. Today, an old beggar stopped me and said people have turned into beasts.”

Uncle Jianguo said, “You think he meant the miners who died became livestock?”