Chapter 97: Shadow Ghost

The new clothes in her bag had all been purchased on a whim after landing in Xi’an. Gu Xianwang slipped into a silk shirt and shrugged on a casual suit jacket, concealing the cuts on her body completely.

She tidied up quickly, rummaging through her old garments to retrieve the Red Spider Brooch and the cloth pouch Long Li had left behind.

She recalled how Long Li’s face had paled for an instant upon spotting the Golden Crow in the log cabin. Was it because she recognized her own possession, or because she hadn’t truly believed Third Sister Red had done business with her?

Given that Long Li hadn’t yet demanded its return, Gu Xianwang suspected the latter was more likely. That meant Long Li assumed Third Sister Red wouldn’t trust her—or perhaps there was some agreement between them that deliberately kept her out of the loop. Whichever it was, Third Sister Red clearly hadn’t honored her deal with Long Li.

Why not? Was it simply because she had bragged so boldly about being stronger than Long Li?

No, that couldn’t be it. There had to be more to it. If Third Sister Red’s true aim was the Long Family Ancient Village, then she must carry some deeper tie to the Long Family—something even she herself didn’t realize.

Gu Xianwang turned the bloodstained cloth pouch over in her fingers as she mulled it over.

The pouch was quite worn, reminiscent of trinkets from Jiangnan. Temples around Suzhou and Hangzhou used to package peace talismans in just such pouches. Feeling it, there seemed to be folded paper inside—perhaps a slip of talisman paper from a Daoist shrine. But how had something like this ended up in Long Li’s hands?

Was she the type to put stock in ghosts and gods, earnestly seeking blessings from deities and Buddhas?

Gu Xianwang let out a helpless sigh. She finally understood the agony of knowing nothing, of being utterly at others’ mercy. Clearly, Long Li viewed the Rat-Walkers as unreliable too. That was why she had struck a deal with Third Sister Red, secured the brooch as a token of trust, and ventured into the jianghu to buy intelligence—one razor-edged step after another, surviving to this day. Had she, too, lain awake through countless cold nights?

Ever since emerging from the Yin Vortex, Long Li had grown unnaturally quiet, her explanations about how she had tracked them here and what she hoped to achieve frustratingly vague. Was she still trying to hide something? Even now, did she intend to shove Gu Xianwang aside? Or had she run afoul of some thornier trouble of her own?

Then there was Golden Hook Town. From the sights along the road, it resembled nothing so much as an ordinary tourist spot—households raising chickens and dogs, the mountain folk appearing honest and unpretentious, with little commercial bustle. The buildings looked freshly renovated, bearing few marks of antiquity. It didn’t match Ye Zhen’s description of a place “rooted deep in the earth.”

Yet according to Sister A’s account, the visitors passing through the village came from all walks of life, and more than a few kept to the shadows by day, emerging only at night. Folks spoke plainly about it: they scraped by in their mountain hollows, and around the Qinling Mountains, there were mountains aplenty and tombs to match. The scenery was nothing special; everyone knew that much. So they turned a blind eye, asking no questions about their guests’ business.

Still, seeing that they were just a few young women with kindly faces, Sister A had offered a well-meaning warning. Nearby lay the Mist Forest, a place of strange happenings. Plenty of people vanished into it every year. Youngsters shouldn’t go chasing fads or thrills by venturing close—especially not at night. If you could avoid the mountains after dark, do it. That fog had a way of swallowing people whole.

“The fog swallows people whole…”

Gu Xianwang sighed deeply and rubbed her brow. Beset on all sides.

She checked her phone. Ye Chan had flooded the group chat with pages of messages, all live updates tracking Yang Baibai’s movements.

He had left with nothing but a single-strapped shoulder bag—likely after patching up his wound and swapping into a fresh T-shirt.

From the glass window on this side of the courtyard, Gu Xianwang peered out and spotted Yang Baibai already seated in the restaurant, digging into his meal. He seemed to be keeping an eye on someone.

She fired off a quick greeting in the group and headed out, stepping into the hall at the exact moment Long Li emerged from the neighboring room.

Long Li sported a leather jacket now, paired with five-centimeter stiletto boots, her face made up to perfection. She looked nothing like her usual self, radiating a mature, sultry allure. Her lips gleamed with a matte true red, and she strode with commanding poise, like a luxury brand model on location for a high-end shoot.

Gu Xianwang stared, taken aback. So even without Yi Rong techniques, there were ways to transform one’s look. Frowning faintly, she murmured first, “How’s the wound? That cut’s low on your abdomen—why the high heels?”

Long Li’s gaze drifted from the lower edge of her square sunglasses to the clean line of Gu Xianwang’s shoulders. She smiled coolly. “After the Yin Vortex, it’s nothing to worry about. I’ve already applied the salve you gave me. Relax.”

Gu Xianwang replied, “I asked around—the village clinic’s not far. You should still let me take you there shortly.”

Long Li nodded. “You’re right. Can’t risk tetanus.”

Gu Xianwang was left speechless by her retort. Then the door to another room burst open with a loud bang. “What are you two muttering about? Come on, let’s eat—I’m starving to death here. Don’t let that kid Yang Baibai eat all the good stuff by himself.”

~~~

The restaurant operated on a buffet system. By now, Yang Baibai had already taken a seat. He’d gotten himself a bowl of sweet soy milk to go with his youtiao. His spot was on the right side near the entrance, directly facing the hall’s only other occupied table.

Those guests looked like they were about to check out. Several suitcases leaned against their table. At the head of the table sat two middle-aged men dressed in suits of different styles—one resembling a businessman, the other a government official. Flanking them were a young woman who appeared to be a secretary and a scholarly-looking young man.

Sister A seemed quite familiar with them. The kitchen had specially ladled out lamb soup just for their table, and the twisted dough sticks in their oil tea had been refried in hot oil. As Gu Xianwang walked past with her tray, she made a point of eavesdropping. These people were apparently from the provincial capital, here to inspect a project for developing the village’s unique hot springs.

Ye Chan loaded up with two arm-thick crispy youtiao, a plate of halved roujiamo, a bowl of lamb vermicelli soup, and a bowl of meatball hulatang. The table thudded when she set her tray down. She plopped down contentedly beside Yang Baibai, eyed his chick-feeding portion of breakfast, and shook her head. “Tsk tsk tsk, kid, your appetite leaves something to be desired.”

Dressed like students, the two of them looked like the family pets two big sisters had brought out for some holiday fresh air when they sat down with Long Li and Gu Xianwang. Once all four had settled in, the neighboring table sent a few appraising glances their way. Ye Chan, however, remained blissfully oblivious, devouring her meal with relish while debating whether to grab another bowl of sweet soy milk to fill in the gaps.

Gu Xianwang buried her head in her steamed pork bun, focusing intently on the low conversation from that table.

“No worries, they’re just some students. We… don’t need to bother with them.”

“First, let’s load the luggage onto the car in a bit, then take that small road… up from where he said.”

“Then… what do we do?”

“Why worry about them? Things… have changed a long time ago.”

From their accents, the four came from at least three different regions—the most obvious was the Northeastern twang, with the other two sounding like one from Sichuan and the last from somewhere in the South. The female white-collar worker in red high heels hadn’t spoken yet, but from the corner of her eye, she seemed to be sizing up Long Li.

They ate and talked, finishing at an astonishing speed. Soon they stood, said goodbye to Sister A, and dragged their suitcases out to check out.

Yang Baibai slurped up the last of his soy milk from the bowl’s bottom, added another spoonful of sugar, then dipped the remaining half of his youtiao in. Half soggy, half crisp, he popped it into his mouth. Only after swallowing did he speak. “Those people are probably here under false pretenses to prospect for soil.”

Ye Chan had just been about to ask if dipping youtiao in sweet soy milk was any good when the topic shifted so abruptly. “Huh?”

Gu Xianwang glanced toward the door and asked in a low voice, “Xieling folks?”

Yang Baibai replied, “Sort of North Faction, but you can’t really call them Xieling or Move Mountain anymore. Move Mountain’s basically gone, and Xieling fell apart ages ago. These underlings would bow to anyone as their ancestor as long as there’s money in it—even light incense for a dog.”

“There are still plenty of people upstairs, but they’re not together. I just took a quick walk around. This village doesn’t have any real dirt farmers left.”

With that, he lifted his bowl and drained the oil-flecked sweet soy milk in one go. “You’re not here to find your master—you don’t even know where he is.” He turned to Long Li. “And you’re not with the Rat-Walkers either.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question, clearly some detail had convinced him beyond doubt.

This time, Gu Xianwang didn’t rush to respond. She exchanged a glance with Long Li, then calmly listened as the latter countered, “Just because you didn’t spot any Walking Rat road markers nearby?”

“Black Tortoise hangs its head low, Vermilion Bird dances in flight, Azure Dragon winds its way, White Tiger crouches in submission. You think the east head and west tail circling inward makes this the deep, hidden navel curve of the Dragon Belly—a spot where the Rat-Walkers would surely plant a marker by their usual habits as a backup base. Yet there’s not a trace within a li all around, which means the Rat-Walkers never took this route at all.”

Long Li removed her sunglasses and let out a light chuckle. “What you’re seeing is the Azure Dragon Harnessing Qi Formation. As the saying goes: faintly swelling, subtly profound, momentum flows with form, cycling back to the origin. The lair hides within—ever auspicious, free of peril.”

“But—” She finished her last sip of milk. “I suggest you don’t jump to conclusions just yet. Why not go take a look at that so-called Wild Hot Spring first?”

Yang Baibai fell silent at her words, pondering deeply.

Ye Chan suddenly piped up. “Hey, you’re acting real strange. What business is it of yours what we’re here for? You’re getting way too nosy, don’t you think? What about you? Didn’t you say that acupuncture point on the map led straight to Golden Hook Town? So where the hell is it now? You lost or something?”

She laid on a thick, playful Southern drawl just to rile him up. “Listen here, little comrade, you can’t go around being so full of yourself. Gotta stay humble—humility’s what makes a person grow. And quit yapping about dragon-hunting and acupoint-spotting all the time. Folks might get the wrong idea and think we’re up to no good. We’re all upstanding citizens here; we don’t mess with anything illegal.”

“You—”

Gu Xianwang seized the moment to press him. “That’s right. Sure, treasure spotting has fallen out of fashion, but I doubt you’d dare defy your Yang family ancestors’ teachings. We went through thick and thin together in the Yin Vortex, after all—why keep assuming the worst of us? Be straight with me: I don’t buy that you’re just here digging dirt. My master wouldn’t sully his hands for pocket change either. We’re all after the same thing, aren’t we? Investigating the Long Family.”

“The Long Family Ancient Village—that business from back then. Is there more to it?”

Gu Xianwang knew full well that Yang Baibai might look like a grizzled old hand in the trade, but he didn’t actually deal with people much. He operated solo, just like her—relying on no one but himself—which made him come off as prickly and self-absorbed. But get him riled up emotionally, and his mind went to mush. It was easy to lead him by the nose, steering him right into your line of thinking. And the guy was hopeless with women. With three of them ganging up on him now, it was working way better than their one-on-one chat earlier.

She just wanted to test the waters: for those who had lived through the Long Family Ancient Village affair, how much of a taboo was the Long Family—and Long Li—in the eyes of their descendants?

Yang Baibai did feel cornered, his face flushing a mottled red and black. “So what if I’m chasing down leads on the Long Family? What’s that got to do with why you’re here? What do you even know about what happened back then?”

“If it wasn’t for your mom—damn it, do you have any idea how many of us Yangs we lost in there? If she’d just gone, or hell, even if she hadn’t, if she’d only returned the Turtle Pearl to us, maybe we wouldn’t have lost so many.”

His words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, veins bulging at his temples. “Yang Qingcheng, Yang Qing’en, Yang Qing’er, Yang Qingtong… the best of that whole generation. Yang Baimo’s dad, Yang Baixin’s dad, Yang Baizhi’s dad—they were people, the backbone of the Yang family! And poof, all gone in an instant!”

If not for that devastating blow, Yang Baibai might never have been accepted back into the main branch. He was from a side line, never meant to carry the “Bai” generation name. But his parents, out of gratitude and duty, swore they’d bring every Yang family member back—dead or alive. And then? Ha. They chased after so-called Long Family leads and died without a trace. To this day, he didn’t even know where their bodies were.

The Yang family had crumbled. Not a single one from the Bai generation had risen up. Of those still wandering the hills, he was the last. The others had washed their hands of it, even tried talking him out of it. Times had changed, they said—don’t throw your life away on the past.

What was Yang Baibai even after? He couldn’t say himself. He just felt rootless, like everything had been stripped away, leaving him with nothing but a sharp pair of eyes and a sturdy set of feet. All he could do was keep searching.

He didn’t even have the conviction for real hate. Was that Turtle Pearl truly so important to him? Not really.

He just needed an anchor—something to tether himself to. Hatred for Yang Liu would do, or the Long Family Ancient Village. Otherwise, he’d drift like a tattered rag, nothing more than an empty mourning shroud draped over the corpse of the Yang family’s treasure-spotting legacy.

“The Long Family,” he growled through gritted teeth, “I’ll chase them to my dying breath.”