Heaven-Subduing Scripture

Next morning, at dawn.

Li Daoxuan sat cross-legged on the roof, bathing in rosy light, breathing purple qi; his ink-black hair seemed to flow with a crystalline sheen, his bearing more graceful and otherworldly than before.

His master had gone into the mountains before first light; the temple now held only Li Daoxuan and Chen Ziyu.

That oil-paper umbrella leaned quiet in the corner, untouched by dust.

A commotion at the gate; many rushed in, escorting a sweating middle-aged stout man.

Had Li Daoxuan opened his eyes, he would have seen this stout man was Squire Huang, met yesterday.

Now Squire Huang was panic-stricken; he looked up at Li Daoxuan on the roof and cried, ”Daoist — Daoist, come down at once!”

But Li Daoxuan was unmoved; a cultivator prizes composure above all — though Mount Tai crumble before him and a tiger maul behind, he rests untroubled.

Was not this rosy light and purple qi far more important than the world’s petty scrambling?

Seeing the Daoist ignore their master, a household man volunteered, ”Master, let me climb up and slap him awake!”

Little did he know that the moment he spoke, the oil-paper umbrella in the corner stirred faintly, as if to open.

”Slap awake? Believe I won’t slap you dead!”

Squire Huang, furious, rapped the man’s head. ”All of you stand here and wait, properly!”

The umbrella within stilled again.

The party stood in the courtyard, quietly watching Li Daoxuan train.

Squire Huang looked at that figure bathing in light, wreathed in purple qi, and his gaze grew ever more reverent; he found he had misjudged yesterday — this was the true immortal master!

After a long wait Li Daoxuan finished his practice, opened his eyes, and lightly leapt down, landing like a willow leaf on the wind.

”So it is Squire Huang. Do you seek my master? Unhappily he went into the mountains for herbs today; come another day.”

Squire Huang shook his head. ”Not your master — you!”

Li Daoxuan wondered, ”What matter?”

In truth he had a vague guess: yesterday’s old Daoist had most likely met trouble.

As expected, Squire Huang said with lingering dread, ”Daoist, last night that Maoshan Daoist lodged in my house; fearing, I went to a friend’s to sleep, and at dawn the servants told me…”

His voice trembled. ”Dead — all dead. That Maoshan Daoist and his boy are dead, and besides, several of my concubines…”

Li Daoxuan’s gaze sharpened; what a fierce ghost!

That old Daoist’s cultivation was no towering thing, but he was no charlatan either — likely an outer disciple of Maoshan; even so, subduing an ordinary vengeful ghost should have been within his power.

Yet he not only failed to subdue, but lost his own life.

An understated source note: the author publishes this chapter on the official page, while this copy was unauthorized.

”Squire Huang, I can go look — but whether I succeed or not, my fee is no small thing.”

For a rich man delivered to the door, one would be a fool not to fleece him.

”On that, easily!”

Squire Huang, hearing Li Daoxuan would go, at last relaxed, and quickly took a bulging pouch from his breast and offered it.

”This is but a deposit; if the Daoist can take that dirty thing, I shall add a hundred taels of gold!”

Li Daoxuan hefted the pouch; it was heavy. Opening it, he found it full of broken silver — no less than a hundred taels.

A hundred taels silver plus a hundred taels gold should keep him long.

”One moment — I’ll fetch some things.”

Li Daoxuan put the silver into the Three-Realms Gourd, turned into the room, and moments later came out again, an oil-paper umbrella in hand, a plain short sword at his waist.

”Come — your poor Daoist will meet that dirty thing.”

…

The Huang residence, a room draped all around with black cloth.

Within lay five corpses: yesterday’s old Daoist and his boy, and three of Squire Huang’s concubines.

One must say, the ancient landlord was truly blessed — the youngest of these three concubines was but fifteen or sixteen, the eldest under twenty, all comely and fair-skinned; in later ages they’d have been celebrated beauties.

But now they were cold corpses.

Li Daoxuan’s gaze rested on their necks, where a green handprint showed — plainly choked to death.

Yesterday’s old Daoist and boy were no exception; Li Daoxuan also noted the old Daoist’s peachwood sword was snapped, his pupils wide — plainly he died with eyes unclosed.

Having viewed the corpses, Li Daoxuan said to Squire Huang, ”When did this dirty thing first appear?”

Squire Huang hesitated, then said, ”Some five or six days ago. My principal wife was plagued by nightmares — dreamed someone throttling her neck. I thought to find a mage for a rite; pity I found a fraud!”

So saying he even glared at the old Daoist’s corpse.

Had he not been cautious and slept abroad, perhaps he too would lie there!

A strange light crossed Li Daoxuan’s eyes.

”Is the principal wife unharmed?”

The ghost’s first target was the principal wife; why, with so many dead, was she unharmed?

”She cannot sleep night after night, her mind wandering; already… somewhat not right in the head.”

”Might I see the principal wife?”

Squire Huang nod, and led Li Daoxuan before a red house.

To be precise the house was not red, but smeared without with much dark-red blood, rank and foul.

”This is black-dog blood and rooster blood; she heard these ward evil, and had the servants prepare some.”

Li Daoxuan frowned; the whole house smeared red — how many dogs and chickens must be killed?

He shook his head. ”Black-dog blood and rooster blood are rich in yang-qi and do indeed ward evil — but with time the yang in the blood drains; left a few days, the effect is small.”

This too is why many mages, opening an altar, must slaughter a live chicken for blood.

Li Daoxuan stepped forward to push the door.

Squire Huang then entreated, ”Daoist, whatever you see within, pray do not spread it — it is, after all, a family matter.”

Li Daoxuan nodded, then pushed the door open.

The instant he opened it, a foul stench rushed out; the floor held much black filth, nauseating.

Within it was very dim; windows and walls were pasted with apotropaic talisman-paper, some fallen to the ground.

A figure crouched under the bed, hair in disarray, trembling, as if gripping something tight.

Squire Huang sighed. ”At first I sent servants to attend her, but she bit and struck them; now none dare.”

Then the principal wife under the bed roared, flailing, and charged Li Daoxuan.

Li Daoxuan already held a Paralysis Talisman, and in his heart swiftly intoned:

”Sun rises in the east, darkness blazes; eyes bewildered, heart astray; hands and feet unfit to move; primal qi, heavier than a mountain’s fall — swiftly, swiftly, as the law commands: Fix!”

The Paralysis Talisman turned to golden light and in an instant stuck the principal wife’s brow.

The principal wife froze there, motionless, both hands halted in the air.

Of her whole body, only her eyes could still move.

Li Daoxuan took out another talisman — the Longevity Talisman.

This talisman he had not drawn, but his master had given him: the Longevity Talisman, with the effect of calming the heart and focusing the spirit, healing and mending illness, and dispelling yin-qi and filth.

”Squire Huang, trouble me for a bowl of clear water.”

Squire Huang hastily had a servant bring a bowl.

”Away with sickness, lengthen the years; pace the Five Peaks, known to the Eight Seas; demon kings bowed in submission; guard my dwelling; misfortune gone, filth scattered; Dao-qi endures ever — swiftly, swiftly, as the law commands!”

Finishing the incantation, the Longevity Talisman in Li Daoxuan’s hand caught flame and burned to ash that fell into the bowl.

”Quick, have the principal wife drink this talisman-water!”

Squire Huang himself bore the talisman-water, meaning to feed his wife.

Yet a yin-wind blew; the door slammed shut with a bang, and the talisman-papers all around fluttered violently…