Chapter Seven: The Ghost-Hunting Manual
‘By rights, Old Tiger Zhang is just past forty. As a martial adept, his vital energy shouldn’t have reached exhaustion yet…’
He Chang’an quietly returned to the mourning hall, found a wooden bench, sat down, and took out the ‘Ghost Hunter’s Manual’ handed to him by the county constable, reading it slowly.
‘Common ghosts are classified by resentment, harm, and strength into six colors, paralleling the cultivation realms of the human race: gray, white, yellow, black, red, and green…
Of these, the weakest is the Grayheart Wraith, whose resentment is so faint it can scarcely harm living beings. Yet, over time, their numbers accumulate; in damp, shadowy places, Grayheart Wraiths often hide from the sun’s energy, lurking within. If they encounter a living creature weakened or deficient in yang, they swarm.
Next come White-Robed Ghosts, often recently deceased souls with shallow resentment, seldom attacking mortals unprovoked.
From Yellow-Page Ghosts onwards—Shadow Ghosts, Red Fiend Ghosts, Azure-Seizing Ghosts—their resentment grows, their power increases. Some simply delight in harming lives, some seek substitutes, others devour the yang energy of living beings to cultivate...’
‘Ghost hunting methods rely on spiritual implements, incantations, talismans, and Buddhist mantras for the departed. The former focus on destruction, the latter on deliverance…’
He Chang’an carefully perused the ‘Ghost Hunter’s Manual’, pondering and making comparisons…
At last, he gloomily concluded that the ghost haunting him—and nearly all of Weiyang County—possessed power at least between a Red Fiend Ghost and an Azure-Seizing Ghost!
In other words, it equated to cultivating the Qi Consumption Technique to the ninth pinnacle, breaking through the bottleneck, and advancing to higher realms.
The Ghost Hunter’s Manual detailed the methods to deal with each type of ghost, the required cultivation, and so on, which, for a novice like He Chang’an who had only trained for two hours, sufficed only for basic understanding.
One thing, however, He Chang’an confirmed: This Great Tang truly seemed to permit the pursuit of immortality and the study of the Dao.
According to this manual, Daoist arts, Confucian incantations, and Buddhist chants were all considered ‘unorthodox paths’…
In this Great Tang, martial practitioners alone were the only legitimate way to cultivate.
This puzzled He Chang’an, but with no way to verify, he could only keep his doubts and feel relieved that the Qi Consumption Technique he cultivated was a proper Tang method, and not a low-ranking one…
The last page listed Ghost Soldiers, Ghost Generals, Ghost Marshals, Ghost Kings—He Chang’an skipped it entirely.
Such high-level ghosts were of no concern to him now.
Just as in the past, lying on the bed at Super 8, it was impossible to invite golden beauties or curly white dogs under ordinary circumstances…
…
Hu the Fourth, Xing the First, and the other quick hands returned.
“Boss, here’s the leftover silver.” After moving the wreaths, incense, wine, meat, and vegetables, Hu the Fourth strode forward, offering a handful of scattered silver coins with both hands.
“Why is there anything left?” He Chang’an frowned. “You didn’t freeload… cough, take things without paying, did you?”
---
“No, no,” Hu the Fourth quickly explained, seeing He Chang’an’s displeasure. “They gave us a discount. The county constable’s orders—who would dare not comply, right, boss?”
He Chang’an nodded slightly, accepting the silver.
He understood well enough. Those small vendors, when faced with officials in black uniforms, would eagerly offer a ‘fifty or sixty percent discount’…
Such was the world.
“Let the neighbors handle household matters. Have the brothers eat something first. We’ll head to Black Pine Hill south of town to survey the grave.” He Chang’an ordered, and the quick hands immediately got to work, setting up tables and benches, slicing several pounds of lamb and serving it.
Hu the Fourth, ever attentive, brought over a jar of cheap wine, briskly broke the seal, and poured a full bowl for He Chang’an.
He Chang’an sat down, and the others followed.
‘Being a scoundrel in charge… isn’t so bad.’
“Eat well, everyone. Full bellies make for better work.” He Chang’an raised his bowl and drained it.
If not for the monsters and ghosts committing crimes, recklessly draining the vital energy of people for their own cultivation, this Great Tang would be quite decent.
They devoured the meal like a whirlwind—the plates of lamb and the jar of cheap wine were soon empty. He Chang’an had Hu the Fourth lead the way to Black Pine Hill south of town.
It was seven or eight miles; they walked for more than half an hour, sweating and panting heavily.
The county office had over a dozen skinny horses, but only the magistrate, constable, and chief clerk could ride them—ordinary officials never had the opportunity.
As for the image of heroic constables riding fast steeds and chasing criminals across a thousand miles, that existed only in idle tales and legends.
Black Pine Hill was vast, spanning several dozen miles, densely covered with black pine needle trees. When the wind blew, the sound of the pines was like waves, making it a fitting place to bury the dead.
The hills were neither high nor low, about thirty to fifty yards, and not particularly steep.
The only discomfort was an unusual chill, so cold that the exposed skin on their arms and necks broke out in goosebumps.
“Boss, let’s find a spot near the edge.” Hu the Fourth, with two pounds of lamb and two bowls of cheap wine in his belly, had a faintly unhealthy flush on his otherwise pale face.
Entering the black pine woods, he began to shiver, neck hunched, clearly an overworked man.
“Let’s go deeper; the edge is nothing but wild graves—not auspicious.” He Chang’an glanced at Hu the Fourth, speaking calmly.
For reasons unknown, upon entering the black pine woods, his dantian sea of spirit suddenly stirred, heating up, as if something inside was awakening…
He tried to sense it, but found nothing definite.
---
“Here will do.” After walking another hundred yards into the woods, on a slope with seemingly good feng shui, He Chang’an casually pointed out a spot.
“This place has good feng shui; I think Old Zhang will like it.”
Hu the Fourth, Xing the First, and the other quick hands were exhausted, faces pale, bodies shaking, lips tinged blue and purple. Hearing He Chang’an say they didn’t need to go further, they immediately sat down, panting heavily.
‘These quick hands are still young and martial, yet even they are so worn out. What must ordinary folk endure in their daily lives…’
He Chang’an sighed inwardly.
“Rest a bit, everyone. Then let’s dig the grave right here.” With that, He Chang’an walked aside, found a clean stone, sat down, and began studying his dantian sea of spirit.
With the first stage of the Qi Consumption Technique, he gained a brief ability to look inward, allowing him to examine his body quite clearly… much like x-ray vision.
He Chang’an’s dantian sea of spirit was small, about the size of a mouthful of saliva.
Within the spiritual fluid, there was a pitch-black object, sometimes a little stick, sometimes thin sheets…
‘Is this a millstone? Or a rod?’
‘Could it be an iron rod ground into a needle…’
It was so small, He Chang’an couldn’t tell, but he could distinctly feel that since entering Black Pine Hill, the thing had grown more active, filled with an indescribable longing…
‘Perhaps this place holds something it desires? I hope it’s not a ghost…’
Having his brow marked by a ghostly seal, He Chang’an was most sensitive to ghosts, fearful that the thing in his dantian sea of spirit might be another kind of mark.
Earlier, in Old Tiger Zhang’s mourning hall, he glanced at the corpse of Weiyang County’s third-ranked expert, so horrifically withered, all flesh seemingly drained overnight.
Only a shriveled skin stretched over the bones…
He shuddered.
He Chang’an slowly rose and looked toward a small hollow nearby.
The mysterious object in his dantian sea of spirit was eager to move toward that very spot…