Chapter Forty-One: Lighting Incense and Opening the Altar, Cherished Loved Ones and Friends

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Carrying with it the baleful force of the “Greed for Wealth, Madness for All Ills” curse, such an object was, without question, an affront and blasphemy against a righteous and properly venerated deity. Even one lacking any talent for communing with spirits would provoke a divine, instinctive reaction—one that would follow the caster’s lingering aura straight back to their altar. And then, with the casual flick of a divine hand, mete out a punishment so unforgettable that the reckless fool would bear its mark forever.

As the agonized screams echoed through the air, Wang Cheng found them impossibly sweet to the ear, as refreshing as biting into a chilled watermelon on the hottest summer day. “You may be as sly as a devil, but in the end, you still drank my foot-washing water. Enjoy it slowly.”

In a gesture of gratitude to Lady Tianfei, he even tossed into the offering box the five taels of silver he’d won from the counterfeit-hand thief Zhou Sanpao. If ever there was an example of spending little to achieve much, this was it!

Watching the surging incense and the power of fulfilled wishes, Wang Cheng’s mind was already wandering to other prospects. Once he assumed the post of Attendant Gentleman, could he perhaps partner with Lady Tianfei to open a money house? She could supply the incense and prayers, he the talismanic treasures—using his own sigil silver—to together grow their heavenly bank into a formidable institution.

But...

He had barely turned to leave, body and soul basking in satisfaction, when he saw a withered hand clutching a bronze key and fitting it into the lock of the offering box. In an instant, the box was opened, and with a sweep of his sleeve, all the silver and offerings inside—devoted by the faithful—were gone. The talisman, now tinged with a faint scorched yellow, also landed in his palm.

Turning, Wang Cheng saw his master, Shen Yuting, had somehow appeared behind him, holding the talisman and smiling with narrowed eyes. “Fourth child, gotten yourself into trouble again? Why didn’t you come to your master for help?”

The old man, in charge of guarding Baoshan’s beacon tower, also doubled as the temple keeper here. In theory, all the money “cleansed” by Lady Tianfei could be taken back and pocketed by him.

Wang Cheng hurriedly bowed and flattered him, “Master! Just some petty thieves and chicken-hearted rogues—not worth troubling you to intervene.”

Being the youngest of four disciples, Wang Cheng’s upbringing had left him less wary and more naturally ingratiating than the others—a trait Shen Yuting greatly enjoyed.

He hefted the talisman in his palm, and Wang Cheng could still faintly hear the muffled wails within. Evidently, the brief burning of incense had already inflicted serious harm, but had not fully purified the curse. Shen Yuting looked at Wang Cheng, a little exasperated, and chided him: “Fourth child, your problem is you’re too soft-hearted! Just tossing the thing into the offering box may have solved the assassination attempt for now, but can you guarantee that divine retribution will really finish off the dark hand behind this? Or wipe out his entire line? I wager the most he’ll get is three days of howling, a twisted mouth and blinded eyes, maybe hemiplegia, a sharp drop in cultivation, and if you really push it, a few more minor curses. That’s hardly clever work.”

“Uh...” Wang Cheng thought to himself, Master, do you hear yourself? Tossing it in the offering box makes me soft-hearted? Every time I think I’m ruthless enough, you show me how naïve I still am.

Aloud, he replied dutifully, “Your disciple is enlightened. Please instruct me.”

“Mm. When fighting for your life, use knockout powder, quicklime, or a deadly ghost pellet. If you run afoul of a powerful evil spirit, hide in a temple dedicated to heroic spirits and national guardians. When faced with a cursed object, toss it into Lady Tianfei’s or the Bodhisattva’s offering box... Keep your mind open! Every one of these choices is valid.”

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“Your three older siblings are not as quick-witted as you. But there is one thing in which you fall short of them.”

Wang Cheng was taken aback. “What might that be?”

Shen Yuting laughed heartily. “That would be: shouting, ‘Master, save me!’ Today, let your master show you how it’s done.”

He led Wang Cheng to a small room serving as a secondary hall. On the table he spread out a sheet of silvery fish skin, its surface densely patterned like a splendid starry sky, with subtle constellations visible on closer inspection. He briefly set up an incense burner, lit a stick of incense, arranged candles—a miniature altar took shape.

At the center he placed a blank yellow talisman paper, pinned down by the mutton-fat jade amulet. As he worked, Shen Yuting explained, “Fourth child, only mid-ranked third-class officials in the Three Orders of the Divine Path are allowed to burn incense and open an altar, thereby enhancing the power of their magic. Every school has its own unique altar: the Five Thunders, Dragon-Tiger, Six Ding Six Jia, Three Yuan Generals, Water Lady... the list is endless. My lineage, the Waterborne Star-Caller, uses the Grand Celestial Image Altar, which encompasses the charts of the three enclosures, four symbols, and twenty-eight lunar mansions.”

His tone brimmed with pride. “Whatever the altar, you need a ritual sword, command token, altar wood, five-colored flags, celestial measuring rod, imperial bell, nectar bowl, ritual whip, and so on. At my level, such fuss is unnecessary. Were it not for demonstrating to you, I could conjure an altar from nothing. But remember: among all the essentials of our Water Division’s thirty-six halls, nothing is more indispensable than this—Master Wu.”

He drew from his sleeve an object resembling a snake-shaped idol, its head carved from peach wood as a handle, its body twisted from ramie fiber into a coil.

“The Master Wu—also called the ritual whip, purifying whip, magic rope, spirit cord, or the mighty Dragon Army—is used to summon the spirit troops at the opening of the altar.”

Forming a sword-hand seal, he pointed to the altar and thundered, “Heaven’s Image, arise! Commanded!”

Standing obediently behind him, Wang Cheng suddenly saw something emerge from within his master, swelling to fill the entire room. It was as if a demon had descended and a chill stabbed straight into his bones; had he not already lit his heart’s lamp, he would have fallen deathly ill afterward. His eyes teared up, unable to bear the sight; only through the corner of his eye did he glimpse a figure, ten feet tall, clad in gold and crimson robes, riding a golden leopard, with four arms bearing a gold mace, gold saber, gold compass, and gold sword—its features indistinct.

A cold, emotionless gaze landed on his head, and goosebumps exploded down his back. He quickly averted his gaze, staring fixedly at the floor.

“Dragon Army—seize them!”

At that moment, a voice of such authority—utterly unlike his master’s—rang out, and Wang Cheng’s ears filled with the clatter of iron chains. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed two tall figures in black flashing by.

Crack!

With a sharp report, all the manifestations vanished.

Wang Cheng looked up to see his master wielding a hammer in one hand, a large, rusted coffin nail in the other, driving it hard into the jade talisman.

“Aaagh—!”

A shriek of utmost agony rang out once again.

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In the vision granted by his heart’s lamp, Wang Cheng saw crimson blood oozing from cracks in the talisman, slowly tracing out a line of birth characters and a sigil on the yellow talisman paper below.

Shen Yuting casually pulled the paper free, stuck it onto a little straw figure, and handed it to Wang Cheng along with seven sewing needles and a brazier.

“Here, Fourth child—do it yourself. Seek revenge for grievances, justice for wrongs.”

A single glance told Wang Cheng all he needed to know about what had just transpired. This time, with his master personally intervening, the result was worlds apart from merely tossing the object into the offering box. With the Grand Celestial Image Altar and the Dragon Army, his master had actually seized the very fate of that Lu Ban sorcerer.

Wang Cheng made no ceremony of it. Taking the straw man, he plunged the seven needles into its eyes, heart, and lower abdomen, one by one.

With each jab, the straw man let out a hoarse, agonized scream.

Then he tossed it into the brazier, burning it to ash.

The last desperate shriek faded into silence with the winter wind, carrying away the final trace of scorched stench.

...

At that same moment, somewhere in Yue Harbor.

Pu Shouying gazed at the suddenly extinguished life-lamp before him, his eyes darkening. “That old relic actually made a move?”

He didn’t know the details, but could only blame the failure on the ritual officer, Shen Yuting. What he couldn’t understand was why anyone would turn in such a precious piece of mutton-fat jade to a so-called master. Was he hoping the ritual officer would help him find its owner? What sort of person would do that?

After a moment’s lapse, Pu quickly regained his composure. “Just as well—I was planning to deal with ‘River-Turning Rat’ Han Zechang; I’ll simply take care of this brat at the same time.”

He lit a stick of azure ‘Heavenly Message Incense’ and placed it in the censer before him. Blue smoke rose, merging three feet above his head and writhing like a dragon or serpent before coalescing into a blurred human face.

The face opened its eyes and snapped, “Pu Shouying, what do you want?”

Pu, unruffled, maintained his trademark smile. “You command great power at sea. I want you to kill two people for me.”

The blurred face refused at once, “Not interested! I’m about to summon all the flagship captains under Five Peaks Banner under the banner of avenging Wang Zheng, so I can wipe out all his loyalists at the start of next year and fully seize control of the banner. Why would I bother with your petty vendetta? If you can’t even kill someone yourself, I doubt your worth as a partner.”

Pu Shouying showed no irritation, only letting out a slow breath. “Chief, if we can’t take Yue Harbor, we can’t devote ourselves to tracking down that escaped ‘sacrifice.’ We need to recover all the flood-dragon energy to complete our ritual, but the one who most wants the Heir of the Sea-Calming Prince dead isn’t us—it’s you, his dearly—”

He was cut off coldly. “Time and place.”

Pu Shouying’s smile didn’t waver. “Heh. I’ve already placed my agents. Wait for my word.”