Chapter Forty-Three: The Maoshan Sorcery

“Ever since I joined the army, I lost all contact with everyone here. Meanwhile, Little Ning caught the eye of the local landlord. But Little Ning had already lost her innocence, which was a grave matter in those days. The poor girl was burned alive, yet her skull remained…” The old man’s voice was tinged with sorrow, his hands trembling. Though it was just an ordinary story, it moved Song Nianqiang and his companion deeply. The old man paused, then went on, “A black skull was considered a bad omen in those days. The landlord’s family was terrified, but to avoid further trouble, they chose to conceal the truth.”

At this point, the old man’s eyes suddenly shone with a profound light that suggested wisdom. “Five years later, I returned from the army, but by then, everything was already too late. Too late!” The old man let out a long sigh. “When I finally learned that Little Ning had been murdered by the landlord, I was filled with outrage and tried to seek justice for her with my bare hands. But how could two fists fight four? I was captured as well.”

“But then, something strange happened that night. The entire village heard Little Ning’s agonized screams before her death. At dawn, a thick fog shrouded the village. Many people died. So many! Only children under the age of ten survived. I knew it was Little Ning’s wrath at work!” At this point, the old man couldn’t help but weep, showing that Little Ning still held an important place in his heart, even after more than eighty years. “Afterwards, I found that patch of lowland. It had once been a place of auspicious energy, able to suppress evil, but Little Ning’s resentment was so intense that she transformed it into an accursed land.”

Clearly, the old man understood certain esoteric matters, or he wouldn’t speak of the lowland as a site of great misfortune. “Now that Little Ning’s skull has been dug up, perhaps this is the cycle of fate; what must end will end.” With those words, the old man gently stroked the blackened skull one last time. Suddenly, he coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood, which landed directly on the skull.

“Let me do one last good deed for the village!” With that, the old man’s vitality faded away entirely. The blackened skull, now stained with his blood, glowed faintly with a dark light before bursting with a soft “pop” into a pile of white powder, slowly sliding from his fingertips.

Just as Song Nianqiang realized something was wrong, a man in a Taoist robe burst into the room. Glancing at the floor, he spotted the useless mound of bone dust and let out a cold snort. He kicked a chair across the room, sending it flying straight toward Song Nianqiang.

Dodging to the side, Song Nianqiang narrowly avoided the flying chair. He and the chubby man beside him immediately recognized that the robed figure was the mastermind behind all these events, and knew they must capture him.

The two wasted no time. Song Nianqiang lunged for the Taoist-robed man, while the fat man circled behind him, first locking the door and then waiting for an opening to attack. But Song Nianqiang underestimated his foe. The robed man was incredibly agile, sidestepping deftly so that Song Nianqiang’s punch hit nothing but air.

It didn’t end there. The man in the Taoist robe grabbed Song Nianqiang’s arm, gave a sharp tug, and then hooked his foot around Song Nianqiang’s ankle, sending him sprawling face-first to the ground in a most undignified fashion.

“Damn it!” Song Nianqiang cursed, scrambling to his feet without a thought for the dirt on his clothes, and charged at the man again. Meanwhile, seeing Song Nianqiang thrown down, the fat man seized his chance and tackled the robed man from behind, locking his arms around him. But he was startled by how thin the man was—he was little more than skin and bones.

Yet for all his frailty, the Taoist’s strength was astonishing. With a sudden bend, he flipped the fat man onto the uneven floor, slamming him down hard. It was a moment before the fat man managed to get back on his feet.

Tonight, Song Nianqiang had finally met a true master. Even together, he and his companion were no match for this man, but Song Nianqiang refused to give up.

He lashed out with a kick, aiming for the man’s chest, but was shocked—he felt as if he’d kicked empty air, nearly doing the splits from the momentum. Fortunately, Song Nianqiang was flexible, or he might not have gotten up from that alone.

The Taoist didn’t let him go. With a chilling laugh, he sent Song Nianqiang flying with a single kick, slamming him hard against the door.

The ruckus in the room was impossible for the villagers to miss, but the Taoist had come prepared. Before entering, he had spent a great deal of effort drawing a Maoshan formation outside their rooms. It couldn’t block all sound, but it dulled it enough to keep them isolated.

“Fatty! Are you alright?” Song Nianqiang called, rubbing his chest, feeling the effects of that kick. The fat man got up and joined him, glaring at the Taoist. “Be careful! Don’t be fooled by his big robe—he’s as thin as a stick!”

At this, the man threw back his hood, revealing a grotesque face. Aside from his large eyes, the rest of his features were barely visible. Song Nianqiang could hardly believe such a gaunt person could exist; calling him “skin and bones” was too generous.

“Ha! You brats ruined my plans. Tonight, I’ll kill you both, then devour your souls!” the man crowed madly. With a flick of his wrists, a bolt of lightning flashed near Song Nianqiang and his friend. If not for their own sensitivity to magical energy, they would have been struck down on the spot.

“You’re a Taoist priest?” Song Nianqiang exclaimed in disbelief. “That’s right, the Maoshan Warlock is me. Tonight, you two are simply unlucky to have met me!” As he spoke, his hands formed rapid incantations, sending bolts of lightning raining down, but Song Nianqiang and his companion dodged them all.

“Maoshan Warlock—Fatty, have you ever heard of that?”

“How the hell would I know? Today’s my first time!” the fat man snapped back. The two quickly flung open the door and bolted outside, where there was more space to maneuver.

“Hmph, you can’t escape!” the Maoshan Warlock’s eyes gleamed as he chased after them.

“Heavenly Thunder Strike!” Song Nianqiang had anticipated this and prepared his own attack, but its effect was negligible. The thunderbolt crashed beside the Warlock, tearing his robe to shreds. When he saw that Song Nianqiang and his friend were also Taoists, the Warlock finally understood why his spells hadn’t landed.

Taoists don’t duel with fellow Taoists—that’s the first lesson in Maoshan magic. Anyone who has learned Maoshan arts is intimately familiar with such spells and can anticipate them before they are even cast. Fighting a Taoist with Taoist magic was a waste of time and energy.

“No matter. It’s been a long time since I’ve fought hand-to-hand. Tonight, I’ll make an exception and twist your heads off!” He cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the night air. Watching him, Song Nianqiang almost worried the Warlock would break his own neck.

Before the fight could resume, two more middle-aged men emerged from the darkness, also dressed in Taoist robes. Unlike the Warlock, these two looked much more ordinary. They took their places beside him. Though the moonlight was soft tonight, Song Nianqiang and the fat man felt a heavy sense of dread—this Maoshan Warlock was far beyond their ability to handle.

“Don’t bother calling for help. Just look at the formation at your feet—it’s useless!” The Warlock smiled, advancing on them step by step. Song Nianqiang glanced down; though he didn’t recognize the pattern, the Warlock seemed confident enough. They didn’t bother wasting their breath with a shout.