Chapter 29: White Dragon Cliff

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I stood to one side, listening, utterly dumbfounded.

It actually worked?

The grandfather and grandson from the Ye family had really been talked into it by Old Thief Yuan?

But thinking it over carefully, perhaps it was only natural.

Old Ghost Ye was no paragon of virtue. He was the chief of a bandit gang! Whenever he took a fancy to something, his answer was always the same: steal it.

Let alone the Ghostfire Eighteen Strikes being in the hands of the White Banner—even if it were in the White Impermanence’s hands, he would still dare to go up and trade a few blows.

I needed to find the Thirteen Ghost Gates, while Ye Huan needed the Ghostfire Eighteen Strikes to save his life. The two matters fit together perfectly.

Old Thief Yuan had probably already worked out his scheme the moment he laid eyes on Ye Huan.

Still, I could not shake the feeling that the old thief had handled the matter dishonorably. I had to explain things to Ye Huan.

When the opportunity arose, I called him outside alone.

“Ye Huan, there’s something I need to tell you. Old Thief Yuan, he…”

I had only gotten halfway through the sentence when I no longer knew how to continue.

I had never had many friends since childhood. After spending these past few days with Ye Huan, I had found that we got along remarkably well. If I told him outright that Old Thief Yuan was deceiving him and his grandfather, what would he think?

Ye Huan smiled.

“You want to talk about Old Yuan getting my grandfather and me to search for the Thirteen Ghost Gates, don’t you?”

“Old Yuan isn’t hiding any ulterior motives. Even if he had said nothing, we would still have gone looking for the Thirteen Ghost Gates. We have no choice. We need to stay alive.”

“Yuan Zheng, in truth, we’re all the same. We’re all living while anticipating our own deaths.”

“I don’t know how you feel about it, but I’ve always felt that my life had no purpose. Every day, I absorb baleful energy, practice my skills, and watch the sun rise, proving to myself that I am still alive.”

“I’ve had enough of living this way. If I ever get the chance, I will choose to change my life without the slightest hesitation.”

“Old Yuan is the one who has given me that chance.”

“I’m grateful to him.”

I more or less understood what Ye Huan meant.

The environment in which he and I had grown up was different. Although I had not spent my entire life in a major city, I had at least lived among people.

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Ye Huan was different. The place where he lived could truly be called remote and uninhabited. Old Ghost Ye’s care could not replace everything. People had to live in places where others dwelled before they could acquire the warmth and vitality of ordinary human life.

Although Old Thief Yuan had manipulated the grandfather and grandson, he had also given Ye Huan a chance to return to the world of people.

Perhaps nothing in this world could truly be viewed from only one side.

While I was talking with Ye Huan, he suddenly returned to his usual icy expression. Someone had come over.

Over the past few days, I had noticed that whenever outsiders were present, Ye Huan never smiled, let alone spoke. He always kept about the distance of a saber from others.

It was the ideal distance for him to strike.

Only after returning home would he lower his guard.

Since Ye Huan was not angry about what Old Thief Yuan had done, I felt considerably more at ease.

Over the next few days, there was one more person urging Old Thief Yuan to search for clues. I suspected that Old Thief Yuan was already regretting having lured Old Ghost Ye into this affair.

Hounded by us, Old Thief Yuan left early every morning for several days in a row and did not return until after eating dinner outside.

That day, I thought he had decided not to come home for dinner again. Unexpectedly, he came back humming a little tune, his tobacco pipe clenched between his teeth. He dropped himself into a seat and said, “I’ve found a lead today.”

Old Ghost Ye hurried over to pour him tea.

“Brother, tell us what you’ve found.”

Old Thief Yuan said, “I heard that over at White Dragon Cliff, there’s an old man named Zong Zheng who goes to the little river behind the mountain whenever he has nothing else to do, picking up stones. And after he finds them, he doesn’t sell them. He just tosses them into his courtyard and leaves them there.”

Old Ghost Ye’s excitement immediately deflated.

“I thought it was something important. Isn’t he just an old man who likes collecting unusual stones? That was fashionable a few years ago. I even dragged a few unlucky fools out of the mountains after they got lost while searching for rare stones!”

“It’s not the same,” Old Thief Yuan said. “Think about it. Where is White Dragon Cliff?”

“Right beside Three-Ridge Mountain! Three-Ridge Mountain, Casket Ridge, and White Dragon Cliff—don’t they form a triangle?”

Old Ghost Ye illustrated it with his hand.

“They really do! Are you saying that this fellow Zong is another mountain warden?”

Suddenly, Old Ghost Ye seemed to remember something. He slapped his thigh hard.

“That’s it! That fellow Zong is collecting ghost-script stones. Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing a mountain warden does?”

To ordinary people, ghost-script stones were merely stones bearing patterns. In the eyes of occult practitioners, however, those patterns were a special kind of symbol. If several ghost-script stones were joined together, they could produce utterly unexpected results.

As for why symbols appeared on ghost-script stones—

Naturally, they had been written there by ghosts.

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Legend had it that many sealed ghosts and deities, unable to escape, would cast ghost-script stones outward through the limited space available to them, luring occult practitioners into investigating.

Of course, whether ghost or practitioner, anyone who handled ghost-script stones was gambling with their life.

Whoever possessed the superior methods would be the final victor.

Some occult practitioners had deciphered ghost-script stones and gained astonishing wealth. Others, following the records inscribed upon them, had subdued ghosts and deities for their own use, dominating the world for a time.

Naturally, there were also those who accidentally released vicious ghosts. Not only did they die on the spot, but nearby villages and towns were drenched in blood, leaving them burdened with endless karmic consequences.

Nevertheless, the moment occult practitioners learned that ghost-script stones had appeared somewhere, they would flock there in droves. The benefits such stones could bring were enough to tempt the vast majority of practitioners into risking their lives.

Whenever mountain wardens discovered ghost-script stones in a particular place, they would do everything possible to erase all traces of them, turning any disaster that might have occurred into nothingness.

According to Old Thief Yuan’s deduction, White Dragon Cliff, guarded by the old man named Zong Zheng, was very likely the place where the third Daoist cultivated ghosts.

The ghost-script stones should have been created by him as well.

“Don’t get excited yet,” Old Thief Yuan said. “Listen to the rest.”

“That Zong Zheng originally lived with his grandson, Zong Hanlin. But several days ago, the two of them disappeared together.”

Old Ghost Ye narrowed his eyes.

“You’re saying they went into the mountains to open a hidden realm?”

“I think the matter is even stranger than that,” Old Thief Yuan said. “I learned about the Zong family entirely through a friend who trades in unusual stones.”

“When he heard that Zong Zheng had collected quite a number of stones, he wanted to see whether any of them were valuable. Instead, he happened to overhear a secret.”

“The day he went to find Zong Zheng, he saw through the courtyard gate that Zong Zheng was arranging the stones in the yard. Zong Hanlin was crouching not far away. Suddenly, the boy said, ‘Beneath White Dragon Pass, the Golden Toad raises its head!’”

Zong Zheng sprang to his feet.

“You can see the writing on the stones! When did you start seeing it? Could you see it before, or have you only just begun to?”

Zong Hanlin was startled by his grandfather and spoke in a timid voice.

“I’ve only just begun to see it! Grandpa, what’s wrong? Weren’t you the one who wrote the words on those stones?”