Chapter 57: Building a Bridge to Guide the Spirits

Reality did not grant me only despair. At dawn, Xu Buhuo returned, having sought a solution.

The moment I opened the courtyard gate and saw him, I was so overwhelmed that I nearly burst into tears.

Xu Buhuo seemed to have traveled through the night; he looked exhausted. I restrained what I wanted to say, hurriedly helped him inside, boiled water for tea, and asked Cao Guangshan to cook some noodles.

“What’s going on?” Xu Buhuo asked, puzzled, as he looked at the fat man lying on the floor.

Suppressing my emotions, I recounted all that had happened during the past day and night. As soon as I finished, Xu Buhuo replied, “I guessed it long ago. That old man is after the treasure of your village.”

Treasure again?

Realizing that Old Qin was only after the treasure and wouldn’t harm anyone, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Then let’s quickly find the key and give it to him to end this matter.”

“No.” Xu Buhuo suddenly shook his head. “If we give it to him, the whole village will truly perish.”

We said nothing, quietly watching Xu Buhuo.

“When I went out this time, I happened to hear that your village’s treasure was found long ago by your grandfather. But he never opened it, because opening it requires a sacrifice—a sacrifice of countless lives.”

He paused briefly and continued, “That’s why your grandmother and grandfather settled here, guarding the treasure’s key ever since. It seems that old man has now found the entrance, but he can’t get in. If you give him the key, his next step will be to control the villagers for the sacrifice.”

Stone instinctively looked at me; I, in turn, glanced at the fat man still lying on the ground.

Xu Buhuo’s demeanor made it clear that his trip away had found a way to save my mother. Yet the fat man’s three souls and seven spirits had ended up in Old Qin’s hands. Not giving him the bronze key meant certain death for the fat man.

Though time had not yet run out, despair began to creep in.

On one side was a dear friend, on the other, the villagers who had treated me kindly since childhood. I could not abandon any of them.

“Mr. Xu, is there no other way?” Stone asked anxiously. His complex and urgent gaze showed he was as troubled as I.

“Let me think.”

Having said that, Xu Buhuo went outside to wash his face, then ate breakfast in the kitchen. From his cold attitude, I felt that if he couldn’t think of a solution, he would likely give up on saving the fat man.

Fat man or villagers—it was all the same to Xu Buhuo. Sacrificing one to save the many was a choice anyone would make.

After a brief rest, Xu Buhuo took out many items from his bag and called us to clear out the main hall. Using cinnabar, he drew a ritual circle nearly two meters in diameter on the floor.

Mother was placed at the center of the circle. Xu Buhuo then drew a smaller circle in front of her head and placed the Soul-Devouring Chicken upon it.

Five red threads were tied to the chicken’s head, feet, and wings, each thread’s other end attached to mother’s hair at the crown, wrists, and ankles, symbolizing a bridge.

Once all was ready, Xu Buhuo began assembling iron pipes, quickly building something resembling a camera tripod.

At the top was a palm-sized wooden block with a groove, a small hole at the bottom, and ten other holes—three above, seven below—densely inscribed with incantations.

He inserted ten incense sticks into the outer holes, then tied twenty red threads, two to each stick.

Ultimately, ten threads were gathered and placed on mother’s brow, pressed down by an oil lamp. The other ten threads were wound around the chicken’s neck.

Xu Buhuo took a red incense stick and placed it in the center groove atop the wooden block.

“Come here.”

Xu Buhuo looked at me. I approached, and he produced a knife.

“Bleed. Fill this groove,” he said, pointing to the wooden block. I took the knife, tried, but couldn’t bring myself to cut, so I handed it back to him, placing my left hand over the block. Xu Buhuo didn’t hesitate; with a swift motion, pain shot through my palm as blood welled up.

The groove was small and quickly filled with blood. Xu Buhuo pressed my arm several times, staunching the flow.

He took out ten pre-drawn talismans from his bag, signaled us to step back, and burned the yellow talismans, circling mother and the chicken, reciting incantations as he performed ritual steps.

When the talismans burned out, Xu Buhuo leaped to the blood-filled block and swiftly lit the ten incense sticks, finally igniting the central red incense.

Smoke wafted, and Xu Buhuo continued his ritual steps, chanting. As he stopped and shouted abruptly, the scattered smoke above seemed pressed down by an invisible force, sinking collectively.

At that moment, bubbles began to rise in the blood-filled groove, boiling as if it were hot water.

“Light the lamp,” he instructed.

Cao Guangshan, waiting for the cue, hurriedly lit the oil lamp at mother’s brow.

“Cluck, cluck.”

The Soul-Devouring Chicken, dead for days, suddenly emitted clucking sounds from its throat and began to move.

I stood nearby, watching as it opened its eyes. This time, the chicken’s eyes were not gold as before but pitch black, as if devoid of pupils, chilling to behold.

The incense smoke around the wooden block gathered, all focusing on the chicken.

I saw clearly: the smoke surrounding the chicken seemed to seep into its body, and its clucking became more intense.

The smoke from the central red incense fell around mother’s brow, circling the oil lamp flame, which twisted slightly.

“Hiss, hiss…”

As the smoke intensified, the lamp flame was pulled up and down—one moment stretching ten centimeters, the next shrinking to almost nothing.

When Xu Buhuo pulled out the central red incense, blood began to flow swiftly from the ten incense sticks, traveling along the red threads.

“Roar…”

The blood touched the chicken, and it stiffened with a low cry, as if gasping its last, its body trembling.

At this point, the blackness receded from the chicken’s eyes, replaced by gold.

“Red thread bridges, child’s blood opens the road, soul incense draws the soul, three souls and seven spirits, return to the body,” Xu Buhuo intoned, holding the red incense to the chicken’s beak, then sliding it along the five red threads toward mother.

A wonder unfolded: the smoke from the burning incense didn’t disperse but formed a line suspended above the threads.

When it reached mother’s crown, Xu Buhuo performed a ritual, and the five threads snapped one by one. The chicken let out a tragic cry, sounding nothing like any chicken could utter.

The oil lamp’s flame at mother’s brow stretched long, then gradually returned to normal, no longer flickering rhythmically.

“It’s done,” Xu Buhuo said, sitting wearily on the floor.

Those words finally eased my heart; I knew it had succeeded—mother’s three souls and seven spirits had returned.

A crisp crack sounded from the wooden block used in the ritual, splitting apart.

Xu Buhuo seemed to have expected this, his expression pained, but he said nothing.

After resting, Xu Buhuo took away the oil lamp from mother’s brow and told me to carry her back to her room to rest. She’d wake within half an hour.

Having settled mother, I couldn’t help but ask Xu Buhuo about the fat man. “Old man, what about him?”

Xu Buhuo’s face hardened impatiently. “I said, let me think. If there were a way, would I be sitting here idle?”

Why he was angry, I didn’t know, nor did I press further. I understood: if he had a solution, he’d act without hesitation.

Half an hour later, mother awoke, weak and confused, asking what had happened. Her memory lingered on events from two days ago. I explained little, only saying her soul had been lost.

Looking at Xu Buhuo sunning himself in the courtyard, I wondered if he knew grandmother hadn’t died. I hesitated whether to tell him, but ultimately kept the secret, feeling it was best not to spread the news.

In the quiet, I pondered where the bronze key might be hidden, deciding it was wiser to find it first. With the key, I could choose to save either the fat man or the villagers. Without it, we’d be helpless when time ran out.

I also realized that even if Old Qin got the key and intended to sacrifice villagers for the treasure, it wouldn’t happen instantly—it would take time.

Perhaps, I could use this interval to thwart him and also restore the fat man, achieving both goals. This thought eased my heart.

Xu Buhuo had been away somewhere these days. He seemed very tired. When he went to his room to sleep, I hurried to the old house and entered the secret chamber as before.

In the chamber, ten oil lamps still burned. I wondered what kind of oil grandmother had used—it burned slowly.

After waiting awhile, I left the chamber cautiously.

Leaving the small courtyard, about to return, I suddenly saw Xu Buhuo’s figure flicker in the distance.

Puzzled, I watched his direction. If nothing else, he must be heading for the mountain cemetery.

But for what?

Curious, I followed him. Xu Buhuo moved quickly, and upon reaching the mountain, he didn’t stop but turned toward the cemetery’s side—the Black Water Ravine.

The Black Water Ravine was a deep ditch thick with wild grass, full of snakes and insects, cool and shadowy, adjacent to the cemetery. Villagers rarely went there. I had no idea what Xu Buhuo intended.

Trailing him, when we reached the ravine, Xu Buhuo slowed. I was about to catch up and ask what he was doing when a noise sounded from the side.

Turning, I crouched down in fright, my scalp tingling.

Old Qin.

He who had hidden for so long finally appeared. As my heart pounded, Xu Buhuo paused and walked directly toward Old Qin.

Old Qin smiled upon seeing Xu Buhuo.

This scene left me utterly bewildered.