Chapter 24

In the more northern parts of the country, there’s long been talk of Guardian Immortals. Among them are the five—Fox, Weasel, Porcupine, Snake, and Rat—each corresponding to one of those animals.

Many families plagued by strange happenings or bad luck with money would seek out someone knowledgeable to secure a Guardian Immortal for their home. There was also a special circumstance: if a household had crossed one of those five half-immortal creatures and suffered vengeance across three generations, they might have no choice but to find an intermediary to negotiate with it. In exchange for sixty years of incense worship, it would become their family’s Guardian Immortal, guaranteeing plentiful harvests and prosperous fortunes.

Back when Song Fu’s great-grandpa was young, he had slain a giant python on the mountain. The python, on the cusp of immortality, bore a grudge after being so rudely interrupted. Night after night, it slunk to the doorstep of Song Fu’s great-grandpa’s home, disguised as a human, and wailed without cease. Everyone knew a ghostly cry brought ill fortune, and sure enough, from the first night of its howling, Song Fu’s great-grandpa fell deathly ill and took to his bed. On the brink of passing away, his neighbors rushed him to the local expert.

“Good thing you brought him here today. Let it cry for a full seven days, and his life is done for.”

That very night, as the python arrived for its mournful wail, the expert went out to parley with it. When he returned, he clutched a sheet of yellow talisman paper. He folded it carefully, tied it with a string, and placed it in Song Fu’s great-grandpa’s hand. “This talisman mustn’t touch water or anything unclean. Have the youngest child in your family wear it until the youngest of your third generation reaches twenty. Then it will become your household’s Guardian Immortal. Never let the incense offerings lapse year after year—holidays especially. Go home and set up a spirit tablet inside.”

Once they brought the talisman back, Song Fu’s great-grandpa made a full recovery. The following year, his wife bore him a strapping son, and the talisman was passed down the line. Now it had reached Song Fu—the third generation.

“What do you mean, the Guardian Immortal scattered?” Lin Qing had never dealt with anything like Guardian Immortals; it sounded nothing like what he knew, and he nearly blurted out that it was all feudal superstition.

Song Fu’s Mom overheard and promptly burst into tears. “A few days ago, I was offering incense to the Willow Immortal like always when I noticed the spirit tablet had cracked. I called Song Fu and learned he’d lost that life-saving talisman seven or eight years back.”

Lost it seven or eight years ago, and only now the trouble starts?

“Last year, when his dad broke his leg, he dreamed the Willow Immortal came to him at night, saying we weren’t sincere and it wouldn’t serve as our Guardian Immortal anymore. He woke up terrified, saw the tablet was intact, and brushed it off. Who knew this boy had ditched the talisman.” As Song Fu’s Mom spoke, she broke into loud sobs and laid into Song Fu with slaps that looked anything but gentle.

Song Fu had never put much stock in ghosts or gods, but the eerie events on the train—and what he’d just witnessed—had him questioning everything. Were all the family’s years of misfortune really his fault?

“Here’s the plan. Take these talismans home and stick them on the doors and windows. That cracked Guardian Immortal tablet? Toss it out. Tonight, I’ll stand vigil and have a chat with this Willow Immortal.” Lin Qing wasn’t one to hold back; he emptied his pocket of every talisman he’d prepared, keeping only a few blanks for himself.

“Wonderful! Thank you, Master!” Song Fu’s Mom grabbed Song Fu and dragged him away with effusive thanks before rushing home.

Lin Qing watched them go and let out a sigh. One village, and already so many bizarre incidents in a single day. He still hadn’t laid eyes on that rumored female corpse at the bottom of the well.

“Young fellow, not bad for someone your age.” Ji Jiusheng, having observed the entire exchange, couldn’t resist clapping in admiration.

“M-Master, could you spare us a few talismans?” Wang Dachuan steadied his wife with a fawning grin.

Lin Qing checked his pocket and hesitated. “Just gave the last ones away.”

“Th-then if she comes back…” Wang Dachuan’s face crumpled. “What about Xiuhe and me?”

“By ‘she,’ you mean the female corpse?”

Wang Dachuan glanced at Song Qian, who had voiced the question, and nodded grimly. “Yeah.”

Grandma Song, standing next to Song Qian, ventured cautiously, “Sensen, when did you… get mixed up in all this?”

With her grandma there, Song Qian let her guard down and answered honestly. “About two months ago.”

“So you can see… those things?” Grandma Song pressed, eyeing her. The summer heat meant light clothing; Song Qian’s shirt clung with sweat, faintly outlining the jade pendant at her chest.

Without waiting for an answer, Grandma Song shifted gears abruptly. “That jade—Uncle Ji gave it to you, didn’t he? You’re still wearing it.”

Song Qian and Lin Qing both perked up at the word “jade.” Lin Qing caught how Uncle Ji’s eyes flickered when Grandma Song mentioned it—like a still pond suddenly roiled by a frenzy of surfacing fish.

These two… they had a real thing for that jade.

Song Qian picked up on it too. She fished out the jade, watching Ji Jiusheng sidelong. Sure enough, the instant it emerged, the man’s usual calm shattered. He trembled, barely containing his excitement, joy warring on his face.

Ji Wuxin had dwelled in that jade for as long as she could remember. To her, it was hers by right—how had it ended up with Song Qian? And now all these eyes on it? She fumed.

“Song Sensen! Put that jade away! Who said you could show it? What if you lose it?” Ji Wuxin flung herself onto Song Qian, bellowing right in her ear.

Lin Qing: “…”

Song Qian winced at the volume in her ear. She’d barely gotten the jade out before shoving it back in.

“It’s beautiful. I love it. Thanks, Uncle Ji.”

Ji Wuxin, mistaking the praise for herself, wheeled around and smooched Song Qian’s cheek—complete with sound effects.

No one else could see Ji Wuxin, but Song Qian flushed crimson anyway, heat flooding her from head to toe.

“Sensen, you alright!? Your face is beet red all of a sudden! Allergic reaction? Too hot?” Grandma Song spotted it first, jade forgotten as she tugged Song Qian toward the village clinic.

“Uh… what about us?” Wang Dachuan piped up.

Lin Qing mulled it over. “If you’re not too scared, keep watch with me tonight at Song Fu’s place.”

“Deal!” Wang Dachuan beamed at the prospect. It wasn’t until they were out the door that it hit him. “Wait—huh???”

Grandma Song hustled Song Qian along. “Grandma, really, I’m fine. No doctor needed,” she said, exasperated.

She shot a glare at the yawning Ji Wuxin. The instigator yawned again, met her eyes, then zipped back into the jade.

“Exhausted. Napping now.”

Song Qian: “…”

Once they’d walked far enough for the blush to fade, Song Qian caught Grandma Song’s hand. “See, Grandma? All good.”

Grandma Song, shorter than her granddaughter, peered up as Song Qian stooped down.

Satisfied, she exhaled softly and pinched Song Qian’s cheek. “You gave Grandma quite the scare.”

Song Qian grinned sheepishly and led her home. Glancing back, she saw Lin Qing deep in serious conversation with Ji Jiusheng, both wearing solemn expressions.

Once home, Song Qian retreated to her room and texted Lin Qing.

“Learn anything?”

The reply came fast: “Nada. He just hit me with a weird question.”

Song Qian frowned. Weird how?

Another ping: “Can a person live on in another form?”

What the hell?

Summer evenings lingered late, but Grandma Song turned in early. After dinner around six-thirty, she headed to bed, reminding Song Qian not to venture out and to sleep soon.

Lin Qing planned to confront the so-called Guardian Immortal that night. Song Qian had no intention of tagging along, but he spread his scant remaining talismans on the table. “This is it. Might not cut it.”

Song Qian gaped. You can’t handle it, so I can? She was your standard helpless good girl.

Lin Qing nodded at her jade—he wanted Ji Wuxin’s help.

Ji Wuxin tossed her chin up haughtily. “Not going. Where Song Sensen goes, I go.”

Second time today she’d used that nickname. It grated on Song Qian—no, hold on…

It clicked: hadn’t she called her Song Sensen during that mountain hike? She’d blanked on it after the run-in with that provocatively dressed woman at the door.

“How’d you know my baby name’s Sensen? Didn’t even tell Yuan Yuan.”

“Eh?” Lin Qing blinked, confused. “Grandma and Uncle Ji call you that, don’t they?”

“Exactly.” Ji Wuxin stared back, utterly unapologetic. “So why can’t I?”

“No—that time the Ghost Mother thrashed you, you called me Song Sensen. How’d you know then?”

“Who got thrashed!!!???” Ji Wuxin shot to her feet, livid. That was ages ago—still harping on it!

Song Qian: “…”

The sky was darkening, and Lin Qing gazed at Song Qian with a pitiful expression. “Please, please! You can just watch from nearby. I promise I’ll keep you safe!”

“Alright. Good thing I still have a few talisman papers left over from before.”

Lin Qing’s eyes went wide. “How many did Shishu Li Jiang give you exactly!? You still have some left?!”

Others would have to pull endless strings just to get their hands on a single talisman paper drawn by Li Jiang, but Song Qian whipped out a whole fistful!

“I don’t know. She just handed me a stack offhandedly.”

Lin Qing: “…”

Song Fu’s household sat near the village entrance, right by a pond. A pavilion stood in the pond’s center, offering a clear view of the place. Lin Qing laid down a formation around the pavilion and slapped several talisman papers onto it for extra protection. Song Qian, Wang Dachuan, and his wife Xiuhe stayed inside.

The formation kept even Ji Wuxin shut out of the pavilion. When Lin Qing edged closer to Song Fu’s household to set up defenses, he glanced back and found Ji Wuxin floating on the water’s surface, arms crossed as she stood right beside Song Qian, her gaze fixed intently on him.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Lin Qing rubbed his nose and pressed his palms together in apology toward Ji Wuxin.

“I’ll make sure to set up one you can enter next time. Hurry over here.”

Song Qian couldn’t resist chiming in. “Yeah, you should get going. Knock it out quick and call it a night, right?”

“Who… who is she talking to?” Xiuhe startled at Song Qian’s sudden outburst and reached for Wang Dachuan beside her—only to grasp at empty air.

She whipped her head around. The man who’d been sitting right next to her moments ago was now huddled under the bench, butt in the air, trembling like a leaf.

“…” What on earth had she married?

In the pitch-black night, no one spotted the two figures standing silently on the narrow path to the pavilion’s left, watching as Lin Qing and Ji Wuxin gradually drifted farther away.

“Master, should we make our move now?”

“No. Wait until they’ve worn themselves out battling that giant python. Then we go in.”