68 The Jiang Family’s Secret

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Jiang Ziyun walked into the ancestral hall, exuding an air reminiscent of a mafia boss. The others stepped aside to make way for him, including the six portly middle-aged men who had been in discussion just moments before; they all rose to greet him.

“Please, be seated,” Jiang Ziyun said, taking his place at the center and scanning the room.

Only then did the six middle-aged men dare to sit down.

“I know many among you are privy to quite a few things,” Jiang Ziyun began, “but I can assure you, the negotiations with Magistrate Zhang have been settled. You needn’t concern yourselves further. All I ask is that, from this day forward, our Jiang family stands united in heart and mind, working together to bring honor and prosperity to the Jiang clan. Is that understood?”

Rising to his feet, Jiang Ziyun circled the room before resuming his seat at the center.

“I believe it would be prudent to address the rumors of haunting,” one of the portly men ventured, “lest we invite idle gossip.”

“Very well.” Jiang Ziyun nodded. “Steward.”

“Master,” the steward answered.

“Go find the best Daoist priest available and have him perform a ritual at the side estate. I want no more talk of ghosts.”

Jiang Ziyun glanced askance at the portly man as he spoke.

“Yes, Master.” The steward, having received his instructions, left at once to seek out a suitable priest.

Jiang Ziyun too rose and left the ancestral hall, prompting the others to disperse as well.

Meanwhile, at the Temple of Heavenly Dao, Daoist Tian was conducting a ritual, with a mourning son kneeling at the door. Sprinkling some unknown substance, flames flared up, blackening his face, and he exhaled a puff of white smoke before calmly approaching the kneeling son.

“Are you all right, Daoist Tian?” the mourner asked with concern.

“The ritual is complete. That will be three taels of silver,” Daoist Tian replied, extending his hand.

“What? Three taels?” The son, holding the memorial tablet, sprang to his feet as if on springs.

“Even you think it’s cheap? Hand it over,” Daoist Tian said, eyes wide, persisting in his demand.

“Oh, never mind. For peace of mind, just pay him,” another mourner said, taking out three taels of silver, placing it in Tian’s palm, and hurrying away with the others.

At that moment, the Jiang family steward entered the temple. “Excuse me, is Daoist Tian here?”

“I am he—never changed my name, never changed my surname, third-generation heavenly master, sole heir to the world’s greatest Daoist tradition—that’s me!” Daoist Tian boasted, his face alight with excitement. But the steward’s next words cut his bravado short.

“Then who is Daoist Tian, really?” the steward asked with a puzzled look.

“It’s me!” Daoist Tian shouted.

“So it’s you, after all. Such grand claims,” the steward remarked. “The Jiang family seeks the most accomplished Daoist for a ghost-expelling ritual at the side estate. That’s why we’ve come to invite you.”

Upon hearing this, Daoist Tian straightened his robes, gathered his ritual implements, and followed the steward. Li Xintian and Hu Qiuyan followed as well; after all, they had questioned many people who shied away from the topic, until they happened upon the Jiang steward.

They arrived at the Jiang family’s side estate, where Jiang Ziyun and several servants awaited.

“Qiuyan, any way to make us invisible to others?” Li Xintian, waiting outside, wanted to sneak a look inside the estate.

“I can use my demonic powers to hide myself, but you can’t,” Hu Qiuyan replied, eyeing the overgrown, abandoned estate, where the weeds reached over two meters high.

“All right, go in and see what’s happening, but don’t let them discover you,” Li Xintian said, aware of his own limitations.

“Fine.” Nodding, Hu Qiuyan activated her powers, transforming into a streak of light and vanishing into the estate.

Inside the Jiang side estate.

“Steward, is this the Honorable Jiang?” Daoist Tian asked, gesturing to Jiang Ziyun.

“That’s right,” the steward confirmed.

“Sir Jiang, it is your great fortune to have secured my services! As the saying goes—” Daoist Tian began, only to be cut off by Jiang Ziyun’s raised hand.

“That’s enough talk.”

“In my view, this place is indeed teeming with—” Daoist Tian feigned contemplation, glancing around.

“Teeming with demonic energy!” he declared.

“Master Jiang,” a fat Daoist entered, “in my opinion, the first thing to do is—” he shook his bell for effect.

“We should set up the altar and begin the exorcism in the main hall!” he concluded.

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Just then, a bearded Daoist approached to interject.

“Steward, didn’t you say you were seeking the best Daoist? Why are there two others?” Daoist Tian pulled the steward aside to question him.

“We were just wondering the same,” the fat and bearded Daoists chimed in, moving closer.

“Since all three of you are quite capable, why not perform the ritual together? That way, the results will be even more effective,” the steward said, dropping any pretense.

“I object, I object!” Daoist Tian protested immediately.

“You’re free to leave if you wish,” the steward replied impassively.

The other two Daoists quickly stepped away from the steward and headed for the main hall, bells jingling. Seeing this, Daoist Tian hurried to join them, bell in hand.

Hu Qiuyan watched the entire scene unfold.

“Look at yourself—do you even call yourself a Daoist?” the fat Daoist taunted, holding a compass as he entered the hall and glanced at Daoist Tian, both of them now pointedly silent with their bells.

“What do you know?” Daoist Tian retorted.

“And you call yourself the world’s number one Daoist?”

“More like the world’s greatest charlatan,” they jeered in turn.

“Charlatan? Hmph! Being with you two only hampers my abilities,” Daoist Tian huffed, shaking his bell as he walked away.

“Master, perhaps it’s best we return for now?” the steward suggested, watching their antics.

Jiang Ziyun glanced over, saw enough, and turned to leave the estate.

As Daoist Tian passed through the corridors, a hand stretched out from above his head.

“What ghosts are there to catch? I’ll just spout nonsense with them and be done with it,” Daoist Tian muttered, finding a room, dragging out a chair, and stretching with a smug smile.

Suddenly, a beautiful woman’s spirit floated up and blew a breath into his right ear, then drifted to his left ear and did the same. At first, Daoist Tian thought it was just the wind, but his body instinctively tensed, and a sense of dread crept in.

“Something’s not right,” he murmured, rubbing his hands together.

He stood and glanced around, edging toward the door, only to see it swing shut by itself. Turning back, he saw the door tightly closed and broke out in a cold sweat.

“An illusion—it must be an illusion,” he babbled, trying to reassure himself.

He turned back into the room, oblivious to the beautiful, violet-clad spirit floating silently behind him. Still mumbling about illusions, Daoist Tian reached the bed, spun around, closed his eyes, and brandished his peach-wood sword blindly.

Opening his eyes and seeing nothing, he turned once more—only to be confronted by the beautiful spirit, who seemed to split into three phantoms. Daoist Tian, drenched in sweat, dove under the table, trembling uncontrollably.

The spirit blew on the table, lifting it into the air.

“Run! Run!” Daoist Tian screamed, bursting through the wooden wall in terror, pain forgotten.

“There’s a ghost! A ghost!” he cried, slapping talismans onto himself and scattering the rest in his panicked flight.

“Spineless, third-rate Daoist—utterly useless,” the violet-clad spirit scoffed, tearing a talisman in half.

Then she seized Daoist Tian, lifting him into the air. Still running, he flailed helplessly. The other two Daoists, equally terrified, fled, shouting about ghosts.

The beautiful spirit let go, dropping Daoist Tian, who scrambled to his feet. The three of them raced for the door, flung it open, and glanced back—nothing remained but the echo of feminine laughter.

Clutching each other’s shoulders, they bolted away, the door slamming shut behind them in a gust of wind.

Outside, Li Xintian stood atop a tree, watching the trio flee from the estate, making no move to stop or question them.

“What did you see inside?” he asked when he saw Hu Qiuyan return.

“There are twelve women in there. Those three were just tormented by them—scared out of their wits,” Hu Qiuyan said with a laugh.

“All right, let’s go in and take a look,” Li Xintian replied, dropping from the tree and heading toward the side estate, Hu Qiuyan at his heels.

“There are more outside,” Qiurong sensed their approach and slammed the estate gates shut.

“Is this how you greet guests?” Li Xintian covered his hand with righteous energy and pushed the doors open, striding inside.

“Come out—why keep hiding?” he called in the main hall.

“Who are you? Why aren’t you afraid of us?” Qiurong revealed herself in the hall.

“Hello, I’m Li Xintian, and this is my friend Hu Qiuyan. I’ve come only to learn why someone died here,” he said upon seeing Qiurong.

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“Sister, don’t be afraid—there are twelve of us and only two of them,” the other spirits called, thinking these newcomers had come to banish them, and all appeared.

“Qiuyan, why not reveal your true form?” Li Xintian teased.

“Get lost.” Hu Qiuyan rolled her eyes—she knew exactly what Li Xintian was up to, as if she would bare her fangs just for show.

“All right, then I’ll handle this myself!” Li Xintian chuckled, releasing a wisp of righteous energy from his fingertip.

“If you truly wish to attack me, go ahead, but be prepared to accept the consequences. I only want to know what happened here, not to banish you. Think carefully,” he warned, withdrawing his righteous energy.

That fleeting touch of power had left the spirits uneasy, a burning sensation still lingering.

“You’re really not here to banish us?” the violet-garbed beauty asked bravely.

“Truly—not my place. That’s the business of the underworld,” Li Xintian replied. “What’s your name? Introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Xiaoxie…”

After speaking with them, Li Xintian finally learned the truth of what had happened, though he still did not know how they had all died.

“Very well, I’ll stay here tonight,” he announced.

“No!” Qiurong objected.

“Objection overruled. But don’t try to approach me—if you get hurt, don’t blame me,” Li Xintian declared, rising to pick a suitable room for himself.

“Why is this door closed? It looks like it hasn’t been opened in years,” Li Xintian wondered, noticing one particular room.

“Whenever I come here, my head aches,” Qiurong said, leaning against the door.

With brute force, Li Xintian shoved the door open, sending dust flying. Inside, he found a painting on the table—its subject was Qiurong, the work signed Jiang Yaoxing. He handed it to her.

“Sister Qiurong, do you know what really happened back then? Why does the woman in the painting look so much like you?” Xiaoxie asked, watching Qiurong become absorbed in the portrait.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” Qiurong replied, tears streaming down her face.

“What happened, Sister Qiurong?” Xiaoxie had not expected her to cry.

“It’s nothing. I was just reminded of the past,” Qiurong said, shaking her head and wiping away her tears.

“Let me help you recall that day,” Hu Qiuyan offered, sending a beam of demonic energy into Qiurong’s forehead.

The memories came flooding back: it was Jiang Yaoxing who had arranged for them both to drink poison together.

“Master, have you truly made up your mind?” Qiurong could hardly believe Jiang Yaoxing was willing to do this.

“I can see no better way—death is the only escape,” Jiang Yaoxing said, pouring two cups of wine.

“If the master knew I was carrying your child, perhaps he would forgive you,” Qiurong pleaded.

“No—my father values family reputation above all. He would never let me take you as even a concubine,” Jiang Yaoxing shook his head.

“Master, I’ve brought you nothing but trouble. If only I were a noble lady, not a lowly maid,” Qiurong said, leaning against his arm.

“No—it’s my weakness that doomed you,” Jiang Yaoxing replied, his voice choked with tears. “And our child…I can’t, I dare not take you away from this family.”

“In this life, we have borne too much. We cannot be together, but I believe our love will bind us, and in that distant place, free from others’ judgment and all worldly shackles, we can live happily together,” Jiang Yaoxing said, raising the poisoned wine.

“Let me go first, Master. I’ll wait for you on the Road to the Underworld,” Qiurong said, snatching the cup and drinking it down.

Blood bubbled from her lips, and she collapsed onto the table, lifeless.

In terror, Jiang Yaoxing seized the other cup, shut his eyes, and raised it to his lips—only to dash it to the floor at the last moment.

“No, Qiurong!” he cried, his voice echoing her name as the door burst open.

“Husband, come with me,” a woman called, but Jiang Yaoxing did not respond, still crying out for Qiurong. The woman gestured for the servants to drag him away, leaving only Qiurong’s lonely corpse behind.

“So that’s the Jiang family’s secret,” Li Xintian said when Qiurong’s memories ended.