At that moment, the curtain hanging on the wall began to slowly slide apart from the center toward both sides. There was no one there, absolutely nothing, yet the curtain kept moving, its heavy fabric rubbing against the rough cement wall and producing an unsettling hissing sound. At the same time, the incense burner placed before the three paper figures suddenly trembled for no apparent reason. The three sticks of incense inserted into it abruptly emitted a bewitching red glow, their brightness increasing to dozens of times what it had been before—extremely dazzling. Their burning speed also accelerated by dozens of times, so that the sandalwood incense, which originally burned halfway in half an hour, now burned completely in less than ten seconds under everyone’s shocked gaze.
Cold! So cold! Liu Dashao suddenly shivered violently. Just moments ago, he had been sweating profusely under the heavy quilt that had slipped over him, but now he suddenly felt an intense chill, which kept increasing. His every breath condensed into mist in the air. Ah-choo! Liu Dashao couldn’t help but sneeze, pulling the quilt further over himself, even though he felt guilty and inconsiderate for taking it away from Tian Guoqiang’s lap. But he couldn’t bear the bone-piercing cold any longer. Nearby, Village Chief Tian’s expression changed, and he exchanged a glance with Wang Laoshi and others, stepping back one pace simultaneously, pressing their backs tightly against the wall beside the wooden door.
The entire room was still, except for Grandma Fan, who sat facing the window. Her eyebrows slightly lifted, her expression remained indifferent. Only after the three sticks of incense had completely turned to ash did she speak in a calm tone: “It’s here…”
“What’s here?” Village Chief Tian asked instinctively.
“Could it be…?” Mother Xiaomazi suddenly seemed to remember something. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, shrinking behind the three men, her eyes filled with fear and anxiety.
“No need to be afraid. As long as I’m here, nothing will happen,” Grandma Fan said, her wrinkled face cracking a faint smile. She inserted another three sticks of incense into the burner and began bowing repeatedly with great reverence in the curling white smoke. “These children are ignorant and have offended the dwelling place of the spirits. They deserve to be punished. But they’ve already suffered enough. I humbly beg the Immortals to show mercy and let this matter rest. I sincerely apologize. In the future, I will surely bring them to personally atone for their transgressions…” Her tone sounded as if she were pleading on behalf of the young people, though her voice was dry and grating, very unpleasant to hear.
Indeed, Grandma Fan was currently trying to “negotiate peace.” As the old saying goes, every creature has its own path—cats, mice, and even spirit mediums have their own rules and traditions. Generally speaking, these yin-yang masters who had gained some reputation did possess a certain amount of ability, though not much. After all, those low-class tricks and ninth-rate illusions could only fool outsiders. When faced with someone who truly understood the craft, a single finger could expose their entire scheme. Moreover, the countryside was vast, with dense forests, deep ravines, and grave mounds scattered everywhere. You might be out for a leisurely hike or a spring outing when you accidentally step on someone’s grave. Therefore, occasional possessions by ghosts, sleep paralysis, or fox spirits weren’t rare occurrences. Hence, yin-yang masters who managed to make a name for themselves naturally had some experience and methods for dealing with real supernatural entities.
But as the old saying goes, “Ten thousand enemies slain, eight thousand lost”—this phrase fits the profession of yin-yang masters perfectly. Why? If your abilities are only mediocre to begin with and you insist on confronting the spirits directly, isn’t that practically asking for death? Once or twice might be manageable, but repeated confrontations would eventually leave even the most capable either dead or disabled. The unluckiest ones might even be driven mad for life, running around in the streets exposing themselves to young girls or urinating on old men—sadly, such cases were far from uncommon. Thus, after learning from repeated mistakes, yin-yang masters developed the strategy of negotiation. That is, whenever they encountered real ghosts or monsters, they would first try to appease them—perhaps by burning some paper money, offering apologies, or fulfilling a small request—to see if they could resolve the issue peacefully. If successful, all parties would be happy, and the yin-yang master could happily collect his fee. If not, they could still proceed with the confrontation, knowing they could always run away if things got too dangerous.
“Please forgive us, please forgive us…” Grandma Fan’s low, heavy voice continued echoing in the small room, creating faint reverberations that overlapped and alternated, making everyone’s hair stand on end and shivers run down their spines.
Only after her forehead had turned bruised did Grandma Fan finally stop bowing. With a forced smile, she said, “Have I shown enough sincerity? If you think it’s sufficient, let’s call it a deal. I, Old Woman Fan, will take responsibility for withdrawing these three paper figures, and you, in turn, should leave their bodies. Later, I’ll prepare more incense, candles, and paper money to offer you. Does that sound good?”
“Do you think it’s acceptable?” Seeing that there was still no response from anywhere, Grandma Fan had no choice but to call out again, somewhat embarrassed.
Still no reply. The glass panes of the two windows remained tightly shut, yet the curtain that had been pushed aside moments ago began to flutter upward without wind, billowing outward.
What’s going on? Grandma Fan blinked her eyes, puzzled. Normally, by this point in a ritual, the spirits would usually show some sign of approval and retreat. At most, she would have to burn some extra paper money afterward as compensation. But now, the other side gave no indication of acceptance or rejection, leaving her hanging. What could they possibly want?
Could it be that the spirit had already left on its own?
Really? But why did she still feel something was off? Grandma Fan racked her brain trying to figure it out.
Suddenly, all three sticks of incense on the altar snapped in half with a loud bang. A burst of flame erupted from the incense burner, and the three paper figures beneath it were instantly engulfed, burning completely into ashes without a trace. Amid the roaring flames, the altar began to shake violently, as if it were a tractor speeding down a bumpy road.
“Oh no!” Grandma Fan’s face, previously composed, turned deathly pale with shock. Her eyebrows twisted in distress. However, despite her average abilities, she was an experienced practitioner. Without hesitation, she quickly pulled three copper coins covered in green rust from her sleeve and placed them on the altar.
“These are no ordinary coins—they are the Five Emperor Treasure Coins!” Grandma Fan shouted, her hair seemingly standing on end. With both hands, she formed the “Sealing” mudra and pointed at the coins. But all these efforts were like trying to stop a charging elephant with a toothpick. The table calmed for only a few seconds before the force returned, even stronger than before. The altar began jumping more violently, sending the copper basin, incense, and candles flying in all directions, crashing to the floor and scattering around, causing Tian Village Chief and others to cry out in alarm, barely dodging the debris. Grandma Fan, already old and frail, couldn’t withstand the force. Her footing slipped, and she fell heavily onto the floor. Yet her expression showed no sign of pain—only fear, a deep, soul-piercing fear!
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