Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Elder

The matter was far from over. On one hand, Song Nianqiang was waiting for the arrival of Special Ops Team 7; on the other, he had the police chief pull up last night's surveillance footage. He was determined to find out who had coughed during the night. The police bureau was filled with cameras, a basic requirement for a government law enforcement agency. Perhaps the person behind that cough had never realized there were cameras everywhere, so he had swaggered right into view. With one glance, Song Nianqiang recognized him—it was the very same old man who had sold him the Ghost King’s Token the previous day. Clearly, this elderly man was no ordinary figure. An impulse took root in Song Nianqiang’s heart: he wanted to seek the old man’s advice on matters of exorcising spirits.

The Skinning Ghost’s power had far surpassed Song Nianqiang’s expectations. He had never imagined that the specter had already climbed to the peak of the second class of ghosts, and would soon break into the third. Fortunately, it was still held back for now—otherwise, Song Nianqiang’s life would have ended last night.

The colonel had already explained everything in detail to Special Ops Team 7, who would arrive the next day. Song Nianqiang was not worried about that. The big fellow had already gone home to sleep. Although Song Nianqiang was exhausted, a lingering thought compelled him to seek out the old man he had met yesterday.

He made his way alone to the flea market, arriving with practiced ease at the old man’s stall. He took out the Ghost King’s Token, grinned, and said, “Grandpa, this is a fine item! Where did you get it?” Song Nianqiang deliberately put on this act, wanting to see what tricks the old man would play.

To his surprise, the old man let out a long sigh. His cloudy eyes regarded Song Nianqiang with a look that mingled melancholy, confusion, and a hint of regret. “Once, I was a renowned figure in the world of exorcists, my spiritual power immense. But one day, during a hunt for spirits, something happened. I lost all my cultivation! Alas…”

He sighed again, and with that sigh, Song Nianqiang felt a wave of sorrow emanate from the old man, unconsciously drawing him into a somber mood.

“That accident separated my soul from my body, and I lost one soul and five spirits from the three souls and seven spirits that make up a person. They formed another me, while I became nothing but a disheveled old wretch! Alas…” The old man sighed a third time.

After three heavy sighs, Song Nianqiang was thoroughly taken in. He himself could now split his soul in two, and he knew that those with truly powerful souls could have as many as ten avatars. For some reason, he simply believed the old man’s story. He bought a few trinkets from the stall, threw down several hundred yuan, bowed deeply to the old man, and left.

“Heh, the kid’s soul can already split in two. Looks like that child’s son isn’t bad at all!” The moment Song Nianqiang left, the old man broke into a grin. His eyes narrowed as he watched Song’s departing figure, then suddenly flashed with a keen light, as if he could see right through Song Nianqiang’s secrets.

The old man had referred to the contemporary master exorcist—Song Nianqiang’s own father—as “the child,” which hinted at just how senior this old man truly was. It was a reminder not to underestimate any passerby; you never knew when one might be a hidden master of some rare art.

“Hey, old man, how much is this mirror?” Following the voice, the old man turned to see a slick, well-dressed man in a suit examining a mirror. The old man sighed yet again. The man’s cocky attitude vanished instantly, replaced by complete deference.

“Eight thousand,” the old man replied without even looking. If you were to buy such a mirror at a cosmetics shop and then have the old man age it, the total cost would be no more than a couple hundred, most of it for the handiwork. The old man had been in a decent mood, pleased at finding a successor to his soul techniques, but the slick man had an irritating face, so he decided to fleece him. With people like this, you didn’t hold back unless you wanted to let them off too easily.

Back in his rented room, Song Nianqiang lay down on his bed, but the more he thought about what had just happened, the more uneasy he felt. He had meant to probe the old man for information, yet all he got was a story and nothing more. His fatigue faded, and sleep eluded him as he replayed the conversation in his mind.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his head, causing him to grit his teeth and sit up abruptly. Feeling thirsty, he went to the water dispenser to pour himself a glass of cold water. As he shifted his attention, the pain vanished without a trace.

He sensed something was off, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Too tired to dwell on it, he soon fell into a deep sleep.

Oddly enough, Song Nianqiang, who rarely dreamed, had a long, vivid dream that night. In it, he found himself battling a Ghost King from the underworld amid a post-apocalyptic landscape. Though he didn’t lose right away, defeat seemed inevitable.

In the dream, his power was magnified; he unleashed ten soul avatars to attack from all sides. But a Ghost King was a Ghost King—even if Song Nianqiang had ten more avatars, he was still no match. One by one, his avatars were destroyed, until only his true self remained.

Although his physical strength surpassed that of his soul, without the full complement of his three souls and seven spirits, he simply couldn’t withstand the Ghost King’s assault. The Ghost King seized him by the throat, and at that moment, it finally revealed its face. Song Nianqiang’s expression changed instantly—how could that face look so familiar, as if it were his own?

Just as he was about to recall whose face it was, Song Nianqiang woke with a start. He lay there staring blankly at the spiderwebs on the ceiling, puzzled by the strange dream. Was it a sign of things to come? He had never believed that dreams could foretell the future, but since he began learning to exorcise ghosts, his skepticism had started to waver.

“Hey! You woke up at just the right moment. I just finished making instant noodles! That nose of yours is something else!” The big guy pressed the steaming noodles to his nose and inhaled deeply. Song Nianqiang, already in a foul mood, felt even more annoyed at his words. “You’re the one with the super nose. Your whole family has super noses!”

The big guy burst out laughing, circling Song’s bed with wide eyes, clicking his tongue. “Well, look at you! What’s wrong? Did the she-tyrannosaurus rough you up again? I told you not to fool around out there, but you wouldn’t listen. Now look at you!”

He gestured wildly as he spoke. Song Nianqiang shot him a glare and barked, “I’m giving you a serious warning—bring those noodles over here before I starve to death!” He waved weakly from the bed.

“I have to say, you’re the most unambitious fool I know!” the big guy retorted, but he brought over the noodles all the same. The two of them wolfed down their meal, then got ready to go out for a proper feast.

After a night of hard work and a morning’s sleep, they were ravenous. They stopped at a roadside food stall, ordered three dishes and four bottles of beer. Though it was already September, the temperature was still high—a little beer was just the thing to cool off.

“Fatty, the colonel gave me a tip—this time, Li Runze from Team 7 will be among those arriving. We should have a good get-together. But, heh, how should we fleece him?” Song Nianqiang asked.

Fatty shot him a look. “You really are uncouth—but I like the sound of that last part. What do you have in mind?” The two of them put their heads together, plotting mischief with great enthusiasm.