Chapter 74: Opening the Altar, Magic Tricks

The more they seemed to fear her, the more Chen Yushu’s heart brimmed with questions. This Liu Qiao’er’s grandmother, the so-called “Ghost Hag” from back then—what was her true identity? Why would both Wu Hong and Daoist Ma hold her in such awe? Even ten years after her death, they still treated her memory with such reverence and dread. It was as if merely invoking her name—borrowing a hint of Qiao’er’s status—was enough to quell their desire to press further invitations.

From then on, perhaps out of respect for Chen Yushu’s own title as a Yin-walker, their conversation relaxed, and they no longer guarded their words around him.

“This time, our Bureau of Suppressing Yin has suffered quite a loss, especially old Wang. He’s still recuperating.” Wu Hong downed a cup of wine, sighing deeply.

“It was all rather sudden, really,” Daoist Ma shook his head. “If old Wang had had time to prepare and set up his ritual altar, then even if those fierce ghosts had doubled in number, he’d have handled them with ease.”

“That’s true,” Wu Hong nodded. “But the early stages of setting up rituals are so tedious, especially the ‘invocation seals’—if the talisman isn’t strong enough, you risk backlash. Old Wang only lacked a powerful enough talisman; otherwise, that fight would have been much easier.”

He looked to Daoist Ma. “But tell me, Daoist, is it true you’re able to set up your own altar now? Pineview Temple isn’t short of talismans, especially that Pine Sword of yours—I’ve heard it’s subdued more than one evil spirit. Truly enviable.”

“That sword is reserved for our temple master—one doesn’t jest about such things. As for me, I’ve learned the methods, but to truly set up an altar, I still need to cultivate a spirit—I’m missing a worthy enough ‘spirit’ for the ritual.”

Daoist Ma shook his head, a hint of regret in his eyes.

Chen Yushu kept quietly eating. Though not a proper meal, the dishes and wine at the tavern were plentiful and rare for him; he relished them heartily. Of course, he listened closely to their conversation, especially the mention of “setting up an altar”—his eyes lit with curiosity.

To set up an altar, to perform ritual magic—such was the mark of a true adept. The Ghost Record of Li Chao only mentioned this once, describing how he’d witnessed a man set up an altar and forcibly summon and slay an evil spirit. The tone of admiration and longing was palpable even through the text. Yet, beyond that single account, there was no further description of the process. Thus, Chen Yushu could only yearn for such ability, powerless and ignorant of its secrets.

Now, listening to them, it seemed that after three incense sticks, he could begin learning the methods of setting up an altar. But it required both a talisman and a cultivated spirit?

“Hey, hey, hey, enough already!” Suddenly, Manager Su grew impatient, banging the table. “Can’t you talk about something I understand? Otherwise, I’m leaving.”

“Ah, forgive us, we forgot you were here,” Wu Hong smiled, raising a toast. “With all the commotion lately, we had to investigate the site. I searched the town records and found there’s something unusual about that place—a tomb.”

“A tomb, of course. Where else would so many ghosts hide?” Manager Su complained.

“Not just any tomb—a Martial Grandmaster’s tomb,” Wu Hong said quietly.

Manager Su sat up, voice lowered, “Whose?”

Wu Hong glanced at Chen Yushu, who was quick to realize this was not his business. “Manager, I saw some performers outside—may I go watch?”

“Go on,” Manager Su waved him off.

Chen Yushu obediently left. As for the tomb they discussed, he hardly needed to guess—it must be in Water Curtain Ravine. But that was none of his concern: he had no desire to meddle with ghosts, let alone a tomb full of vengeful spirits.

Outside, the street was lively as ever. Near the troupe of magicians, a crowd had gathered. Chen Yushu wandered over, and before he could get close, applause erupted. From afar, he saw his neighbors—the Qin father and son—performing.

Qin Chuan stood shirtless, bound to a wooden board, while his son, Qin Fen, barely half a man’s height—just six or seven years old—stood three yards away, brandishing a throwing knife. With a deft flick, the blade flew.

Thud!

It landed on the board, only three inches from Qin Chuan.

“Bravo!” The crowd cheered loudly.

Qin Fen threw again; knife after knife struck the board, each dangerously close yet never touching Qin Chuan.

Chen Yushu watched in awe. Qin Fen’s throwing technique, judged by skill levels, was already at the “proficient” stage—remarkable, especially for a child of his age.

Once their act ended, Qin Chuan led Qin Fen through the crowd, collecting tips in a pouch. Yet few were generous; some felt embarrassed and drifted off, thinning the crowd.

When they approached Chen Yushu, they recognized him but didn’t expect a tip—about to pass by, he glanced at their pouch, which held scarcely a hundred coins, and tossed in a few more. Not much, but a gesture nonetheless.

“Thank you, big brother!” Qin Fen said sweetly.

After the tipping round, half the crowd had dispersed.

“Those with money, show your support; those without, your presence is enough. Next, we’ll perform our signature act—something you won’t see every day!”

With several drumbeats, the troupe leader, an elderly man, called out, and the crowd surged back to the stage. The market day brought plenty of people.

Soon, the area was packed again.

“Next up: ‘Invulnerability to Blades and Spears!’” the old man shouted.

A well-built young man appeared. The elder picked up a sharp knife, with straw men and wooden stakes nearby. He sliced the straw man in two with one stroke; the wooden stake splintered as well, proving its sharpness.

He took a swig of wine, sprayed it on the blade, and without hesitation, slashed at the young man.

Gasps and cries erupted. Many covered their eyes, terrified.

The blade struck the man’s body, but left not a scratch—only a pale mark remained.

The crowd was astounded.

Some doubted, shouting, “He didn’t really hit him!”

Chen Yushu was intrigued. The force seemed genuine, with no room for trickery. Was this young man a martial arts prodigy, his control over the blade so profound?

Unable to resist, Chen Yushu used his Qi-sight technique. This skill not only revealed the spiritual prowess of Yin-walkers but also the vitality of martial artists—the stronger the life force, the greater the power.

Manager Su’s vitality soared like a beacon; Steward Zhou’s was like armor; apprentices’ vitality was thin as mist, barely noticeable.

The differences were plain to see.

He looked at the elder—his vitality was weak, even less than Steward Zhou’s; the young man was just an ordinary person, nothing remarkable.

This made Chen Yushu even more curious.

Meanwhile, the elder argued with the skeptics, inviting them to try: “If you want to cut, pay five taels of silver per attempt. If you don’t have money, step down.”

At that price, many hesitated—five taels was no small sum. Some, offended by the elder’s tone, still worried: “What if he dies from the cut?”

“That’s on me! I’ll sign a death waiver—no trouble for you, and all these people are witnesses.”

With that assurance, one man stepped forward, tossed five taels to the elder, grabbed the knife, and tested it on the straw man—still sharp, slicing cleanly. He tried it on the wooden stake, leaving a deep gouge.

After a brief hesitation, he raised the blade and struck the young man’s chest, just as the elder had done. Only a white mark appeared, no injury.

The crowd erupted in amazement.

Unconvinced, others paid and tried as well—the results were the same.

Among them was a martial artist, recognized as a disciple of the Changfeng Martial Academy, Young Master Li, definitely not a plant. He swung with all his strength, yet only left the same mark.

Everyone cheered wildly.

The Qin father and son returned to the stage for more tips; this time, the crowd was generous—good performance deserved reward, and everyone was happy to give.

Chen Yushu watched the whole act, deeply impressed. It was truly spectacular. Even with his night-vision-sharp eyes, he couldn’t spot the secret—it was genuinely uncanny.

“Indeed, one must never underestimate anyone—a street performer may possess skills you could never anticipate,” Chen Yushu mused.

The performance ended. Though curiosity gnawed at him, he knew these were trade secrets—no one would reveal them for mere words. So he didn’t dwell on it, remembering that Manager Su was still in the tavern and hurried back in that direction.

…

Tomorrow, Chapter Three will be updated in the daytime!