78: The Butcher's Blade Severs the Cause

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Zhao Wanglong arrived. He looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink all night—his entire being was haggard and worn. With an urgency that could not be concealed, he found me and pressed, “Master, is what you said before true? Will my whole family suffer because of this?”

The turmoil on his face told me he still doubted the consequences Cao Guangshan had warned him about. I answered, “Whether it’s true or not, you should ask yourself. You can believe me, or think I’m lying—when the time comes, you’ll know for certain, won’t you?”

The truth, and how things would unfold, needed no further explanation. Nor did I wish to explain, for ever since meddling in this affair, regret had gnawed at my heart. If I could choose again, even if I couldn’t save those five innocent souls, I would not have allowed Hao Jianguo to track down the mastermind, for the price was karmic retribution.

Now, if Zhao Wanglong believed me, I would trouble myself a little further and save his relatively innocent blood relatives. But if he doubted, there was nothing more to say.

My stomach was growling, so I ignored Zhao Wanglong, who stood rooted to the spot, and went out for breakfast.

When I returned, Zhao Wanglong was standing with Hao Jianguo, his face ashen as though he were mourning a parent. He said, “I’ll confess everything, as long as you can save my family.”

For his family’s sake, Zhao Wanglong still showed some humanity. Since he agreed, I had no choice but to act. Seeing he had come alone, I asked, “Are you the only one willing to confess?”

He nodded. I replied bluntly, “There are two others. Both have blood on their hands. If they don’t come, there’s nothing more to discuss. You should know who they are.”

When I pointed out that there were two more, Zhao Wanglong’s look grew even more complex, as if he couldn’t fathom how I knew about the other two’s crimes.

He said he needed to confer and left. Afterward, Cao Guangshan asked me, “Since you’ve already given up on saving the three of them, why make them confess?”

By rights, if I didn’t intervene to help, the three would soon die violently, their ends miserable. Whether they confessed or not would make little difference.

“They still hold evidence of other matters. If they die, that evidence will vanish entirely. If they confess voluntarily, some hidden webs of connection will be severed for good. That, at least, is a good deed.”

Cao Guangshan, I thought, understood well enough. He took a deep breath, gazed up at the sky, and said, “This mess will drag in a lot of people. The town will soon be in chaos, won’t it?”

Whether the town descended into chaos or not was of no concern to me. Those steeped in sin must eventually be exposed.

Zhao Wanglong’s willingness to confess greatly changed Hao Jianguo’s attitude toward me. I took the opportunity to bring up finding Xu Buhuo. After retrieving Xu’s information, he immediately sent the photo out, asking friends in various towns to keep watch.

By noon, Zhao Wanglong returned, this time with the two others I had identified. The hatred in their eyes was unmistakable—they clearly knew it was I who had forced Zhao Wanglong to make them confess.

There was little point in locking horns with men doomed to die. I let Cao Guangshan handle them, telling them to come clean about everything before I would help.

The investigation and gathering of evidence lasted until midday the next day. By then, Zhao Wanglong’s fate was sealed—his life’s palace shrouded in darkness, he would not live to see another dawn.

While he was still alive, I told him to prepare what was needed as quickly as possible.

An hour later, everything was ready.

Ten large roosters, five pounds of cinnabar, black dog’s blood, a butcher’s knife used for at least three years, incense, yellow paper, and so on.

To halt the Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual, the first step was to target the source: Zhao Guang. He was still out playing, oblivious that his father, in trying to save him, was courting death.

Dragged back by Zhao Wanglong, Zhao Guang cursed and fumed, unhappy at being interrupted, but before he could finish, Zhao Wanglong—already in a foul mood—dealt him a hard slap that left him stunned.

Regret was etched on Zhao Wanglong’s face. If given a choice, he would never have used the Five Elements ritual to save Zhao Guang. Even if he was his own son, Zhao Guang was less trouble lying in bed than he was now.

And if not for this affair, Zhao Wanglong wouldn’t have confessed, nor would his family have been implicated.

After Zhao Wanglong confessed, I made it clear: even with secret arts to intervene, the Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual was already set on a path of death. Though the unseen forces would not take the lives of his wife, sister, and other blood relatives, their fortunes would suffer—illness and loss would be frequent.

“Say another word, and I’ll put you back in bed for good.”

Zhao Wanglong was truly enraged now; his presence cowed every family member into silence.

Zhao Guang knew about the Five Elements ritual, knew his father had spent a fortune hiring a master to help him stand again. Unwilling to give up the pleasures of nightlife, he now had no choice but to comply, sitting as I instructed and stripping off his clothes.

As expected, a ritual array had been painted on his body in blood. Though just two or three days had passed, the bloody array was already merging into his skin.

Cleansing with black dog’s blood was the first step.

Black dog’s blood has the power to break evil. The Five Elements Life Borrowing is a dark art, borrowing the elemental life force of five dead people to extend another’s life. The array’s mysterious power could be weakened by the purifying force of black dog’s blood.

Once the blood was washed away, the array on Zhao Guang’s body was fragmentary. The parts that could not be cleansed had already been absorbed into his skin.

With the array broken, Zhao Guang began to suffer backlash. He shivered, as if his soul had fled; even anger was beyond him.

Mixing cinnabar with rooster’s blood, I drew a new array around Zhao Guang, with smaller circles at the periphery. His blood relatives were positioned in these, each holding three sticks of burning incense.

Meanwhile, I handed out pre-drawn talisman papers, instructing each participant to affix one to their forehead.

As for the three whom I had refused to save, I acted as if they did not exist. They received no place in the ritual, and could only stand aside, watching helplessly.

Next: the seven-star stride. This was the second step.

Circling the people seated on the ground, I walked the seven-star pattern, scattering yellow paper as I went.

With each step, a wind rose up.

In the sealed room, the yellow paper did not fall, but circled the seated figures as if blown by invisible currents.

Seven stars, seven times seven, forty-nine steps to completion. I picked up the butcher’s knife, its blade already inscribed with runes, and pressed its tip to Zhao Guang’s brow.

With a deft flick, blood welled forth.

Yet instead of red, the blood that oozed from his brow was black as ink, and fear finally registered on the faces of Zhao Wanglong and his two companions.

By now, Zhao Guang was unconscious. Even as I repeatedly pierced his brow with the knife tip, drawing more and more blood, he showed no response.

The black blood was not wasted; I caught it in a small bowl containing cinnabar.

Before long, the blood flowing from Zhao Guang’s brow turned red again.

Red blood meant the spell was broken.

At this moment, the Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual on Zhao Guang was finally destroyed.

A sudden, keening wind arose outside the house, rattling the window panes with a shrill, eerie vibration.

The change on Zhao Wanglong’s face was unmistakable—panic deepened as he stared outside, his whole body trembling.

I knew that what Zhao Wanglong saw then was not wind, but a gathering of resentful spirits.

Five people, victims of the ritual, had their grievances amassed around the house. Step by step, their wrath was poised to avenge itself upon the Zhao family. Now that the ritual was broken, the pent-up resentment of the five dead could be felt by all, desperate to vent its fury after being denied revenge.

I stirred the mixture of black blood and cinnabar in the bowl with the butcher’s knife, then approached Zhao Wanglong. “Now do you believe I was telling the truth?”

His face had gone deathly pale. He nodded, and tears sprang from his eyes as he sank to his knees, clutching my legs. “Master, I beg you, save me, I don’t want to die.”

The force of that resentment had finally shattered Zhao Wanglong’s last thread of faith—his tears of desperation streamed unchecked.

But the debt of lives taken could not be avoided.

Ignoring his collapse, I took a calligraphy brush and drew charms on the foreheads of everyone seated within the array.

These symbols were to remain on their faces for three days.

Then, raising the butcher’s knife, I slashed the array on the floor, severing the karmic ties between them and Zhao Guang.

The blade fell.

Zhao Guang’s eyes bulged wide, and with a howl he collapsed, convulsing as if in an epileptic fit, black, foul-smelling pus oozing from his mouth.

Outside, the fierce, resentful spirits battered at the windows, as if seeking a way in.