19: There Is an Eye

Before entering, I was still worrying about what I should do if Old Qin really turned out to be the person Jiang Yan claimed wanted to harm me. Though I carried a knife in my pocket, it was little more than a talisman to bolster my courage. But things unfolded differently—Old Qin, too, had been caught in someone’s trap. Seeing him cough up blood, I knew his injuries were grave. The assailant was formidable; no wonder Jiang Yan had been so frantic.

"Uncle Qin, do you know who attacked you?" My need to uncover the identity of this third person was urgent.

The more I thought, the more it all seemed off. Even though I had never witnessed my grandmother handling the truly bizarre, I knew from years of observation that her abilities were formidable. Then there was Old Qin, who had never revealed his own talents, and this mysterious, powerful stranger—three such people, all in this tiny mountain village. It simply didn’t add up.

A shaman like my grandmother is usually unique to a whole town, sometimes even to an entire county. Yet here, in a village of just two hundred households, there were three involved in such arts. It was odd, though I couldn’t quite articulate why; but to call it normal would be even stranger.

I remembered what my mother once told me when I was a child: our family didn’t originate here. My grandfather had brought my grandmother to this place as refugees, and only then did they settle down. At that time, the village was little more than a dozen families. Only over the years did it grow to two hundred. Clearly, the villagers hadn’t lived here since time immemorial.

If I kept pulling at this thread, perhaps I’d unravel something significant, but for now, I had neither the people nor the direction.

Old Qin was wheezing heavily, and after a long pause, he finally said, "I don’t know. This person is too well hidden. If he hadn’t suddenly appeared, I wouldn’t have known there was anyone else like your grandmother in the village."

Disappointed by the lack of new information, I remembered what Jiang Yan had said and asked, "Uncle Qin, do you think it’s possible that Wang Granny was killed by him?"

Old Qin didn’t answer right away. He pressed his lips together, thinking for a few seconds, then said, "It’s possible. In fact, I even suspect that Jiang Yan’s suicide and the chaos eighteen years ago are also connected to him."

This conjecture sent a chill through me. If Jiang Yan had been driven to her death by this person, then the word "terrifying" was no longer sufficient. Someone who could hide for at least eighteen years without anyone in the village noticing—such skill was truly frightening.

"Uncle Qin, do you have any guesses? Anyone in the village who seems suspicious?"

"I don’t know. He was dressed in black, his face covered, and he didn’t speak a word."

As Old Qin’s voice faded, I thought he’d dozed off, but suddenly he exclaimed, "Wait!"

He’d clearly remembered something. I waited anxiously, but just as he opened his mouth, a violent fit of coughing overtook him. When he finally removed his handkerchief, it was stained with fresh, dark blood. Alarmed, I quickly helped him steady himself.

After a long while, his breathing eased. "During the struggle, I can’t recall if I wounded him or not. If I did, there should be a wound on his shoulder."

A clue—I made sure to commit it to memory.

Afterward, Old Qin asked about Xu Buhuo’s recent movements. I told him that Xu had only dealt with Wang Granny, and he urged me to keep a close eye on him.

"By the way, did you put the pouch I gave you into his bag?" he asked.

Only then did I recall I’d forgotten. Embarrassed, I admitted I hadn’t found a chance to do it yet.

"Ziwu, I watched you grow up, and I know you’re a good child. After being hurt last night, I can feel my health slipping away. I want to help you in what little time I have left, but you must follow my instructions. Otherwise, even if I want to help, there’s nothing I can do."

He gripped my hands tightly, and his gaze filled me with complex emotions. "I understand, Uncle Qin," I replied.

In that moment, an indescribable warmth flooded my body, and all doubts about Old Qin vanished. I saw sincerity in his eyes—he truly wanted to help me.

Before I left, he reminded me once more to put the small pouch he’d given me into Xu Buhuo’s bag. At first, I intended to seize the first opportunity to do so. But as I walked, unease crept into my heart.

I didn’t know what effect placing the pouch in Xu Buhuo’s bag would have, but with someone like Old Qin, even the simplest object could bring death upon someone, with no cause ever discovered.

I hesitated because Xu Buhuo had always seemed upright. Even in dealing with Wang Granny, he’d been diligent, and I couldn’t bring myself to harm someone who might be innocent.

The real enemy was the third person.

After wavering, I decided to hold off on slipping the pouch into Xu Buhuo’s bag and observe him a while longer—I didn’t want to cause harm without reason.

As for the tampered jade pendant, I started to wonder if Xu Buhuo had lied to me about its effect. Perhaps it didn’t actually protect the soul, and served another purpose. But since my soul was lost, he had to offer a plausible explanation.

Otherwise, why would he have had no further reaction after I told him it was Old Qi who’d meddled with the pendant? He didn’t even seem to care who Old Qi was.

The more I thought about it, the more I felt his previous questioning was unnecessary.

After these past few days together, I thought I understood Xu Buhuo a little. But thinking carefully, I realized I knew nothing about him—not even his real name. "Xu Buhuo" was only a nickname I’d given him.

Who was the third person, after all?

Recalling Old Qin’s suggestion that the man might have a shoulder wound, I went straight to the village clinic before going home, hoping to find out if anyone had come in for treatment.

The village doctor told me that, aside from a few who’d come for injections, no one had come in with an injury.

Disappointed, I returned home and fell into a deep sleep. But suddenly, a commotion erupted outside, followed by the sound of crying.

When I got up to investigate, I found the village chief’s wife, Sister Hu, sitting on the ground in my courtyard, weeping. As soon as she saw me, she scrambled over, and instead of attacking me as I expected, she fell to her knees and kowtowed.

"Ziwu, I know I was wrong. Please, please save my husband. I know I was wrong, please, please save him. He’s the village chief. Without him, the village is lost."

She was crying so bitterly that I helped her to her feet and explained that I hadn’t inherited my grandmother’s abilities—even if I wanted to help, I wouldn’t know how.

"You can help, I’ve heard all about it. When your Uncle Liu’s soul left his body, you called it back. And Mister Xu is still staying at your house. Please, beg him for me—have him save my husband."

Faced with her pleading, I finally agreed to ask Xu Buhuo to take a look. I felt responsible—after all, the village chief had become a victim of the third person’s schemes, all in order to get at me.

As soon as Sister Hu left, Xu Buhuo emerged from his room, as if he’d been awake all along but was avoiding coming out to dodge the commotion.

"You heard everything?"

He nodded.

"Will you help?"

Xu Buhuo chuckled, looking at me. "You made the promise, not me. I’m only still here to repay a debt I owe your grandmother. Anything else is none of my business."

Watching him walk away, I felt helpless. From his tone, I could tell that no amount of persuasion would move him.

As for myself, though I’d read through my grandmother’s collection of books, there was still much I didn’t understand—far too risky to attempt on my own.

I’d thought that summoning a soul was simply a matter of calling, but the books revealed many taboos—directions determined by birth charts, incantations, and all sorts of complexities.

With so much already weighing on me, I’d brought even more trouble upon myself. I almost wanted to slap myself—truly, I was inviting disaster.

At dusk, Sister Hu returned. When I told her Xu Buhuo refused to help, she wailed so loudly that the neighbors were soon gathered at our door.

The village chief was well-liked, and the villagers pleaded with Xu Buhuo to help. He lay half-dead on a wooden chair, as cold and indifferent as if he were deaf.

As more and more people crowded in, my mother called me aside. She reminded me that this was my grandmother’s mourning hall, and such an uproar was inappropriate. She urged me to persuade Xu Buhuo to help—after all, we weren’t exactly busy.

I had no choice but to shake Xu Buhuo awake.

"Are you really going to be so heartless and refuse to help?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "You’re the one who got yourself into this. Why should I clean up your mess?"

"I beg you," I said, truly at my wit’s end.

I’d thought about asking Old Qin, but if he helped, the villagers would learn of his abilities.

"Helping isn’t out of the question," Xu Buhuo suddenly relented, "but you’ll have to agree to one condition."

"What condition?" I asked eagerly, prepared to accept as long as it wasn’t too outrageous.

Xu Buhuo stood and clapped his hands. "Now’s not the time. We’ll settle it after your grandmother’s business is done. Don’t worry, it won’t cost you your life or force you to do anything immoral."

I could only nod.

Xu Buhuo told the villagers to bring the chief into the courtyard and listed the items he’d need, telling them to gather everything.

"Come with me," he said when he was done, leading me into my grandmother’s mourning chamber and signaling for me to take off my shirt.

"His soul is still clinging to you. If you want him to wake up immediately, we’ll need to build a bridge to transfer it, and I’ll have to draw a ritual array on your back."

He took out cinnabar and a brush from his bag and began painting on my back.

I waited quietly, a bit bored, and my gaze wandered around the room.

Unintentionally, I looked up at the ceiling.

And when I did, I leaped up with a cry, pointing at the boards above my head, my mouth open but unable to form words.

What I wanted to say was: there was an eye staring at us through the ceiling.