Chapter Seven: The Celestial Severer

Master Duan raised his hand high above his head, and with a sudden burst of force, his five bony fingers jabbed swiftly toward the round table beside him.

His attack was so sharp that all I heard was a crisp “crack!” Then, the half-inch-thick wooden table was completely pierced through by his five fingers.

This time, it was my turn to be embarrassed.

The dining tables used by country folk are made from the cheapest pressed sawdust boards, not very dense. But the key point is, even so, it’s still half an inch thick! Even if you strike it with a hammer, you wouldn’t break through in one blow.

Yet he managed to pierce it with just his fingers?!

This “skill” was unheard of to me, not as legendary as the tales suggest, but still impressive. Even Wang Hou, an ex-recon soldier, couldn’t do such a thing, and I knew it.

In an instant, Zhao Hong and Ah Si, just like me, stared wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

As for the Zhao couple, they were utterly awed, showering Master Duan with flattery, praising his unmatched prowess, calling his “Six Meridian Sword” invincible and extolling his dominance over the martial world for generations.

The atmosphere shifted dramatically.

Faced with my embarrassment, Master Duan, the consummate charlatan, grew even more arrogant, his bravado reaching its peak.

He challenged me, “Kid! Didn’t you say your bones are tough? Now you’ve seen what I can do! Convinced yet? If not, try it yourself!”

His words were hardly a real question. Faced with all of this…I was, of course, unconvinced.

But what use was that? I couldn’t jab holes in the table myself. I couldn’t very well pull out my military knife and perform some “cucumber lamp trick” for him.

Yet, just as I was awkward and at a loss, Xian Hongye suddenly appeared, quickly resolving my dilemma.

As I stood helpless, I heard her voice behind me.

She actually said to that charlatan, “Master Duan, you’re amazing! We’re thoroughly impressed! Since we’re new here and unfamiliar with the rules, please forgive us.”

Her appearance surprised me somewhat, but Master Duan’s reaction surprised me even more.

Upon seeing Hongye, he was like a cat catching the scent of fish.

Drooling, he greeted her amiably, “The lady is right! I, Duan, am not a petty man. I’ll treat this kid as nothing! He’s free to go! Oh…may I ask if the lady is married? Perhaps later I can read your palm? I also excel at foot massages, and I have considerable skill in enhancing the bust…”

Despite Master Duan’s lewd attempts at flirtation, Hongye was exceptionally clever. She shifted the conversation, pointing at my old squad leader’s coffin and said, “Master, please don’t say such things in front of the spirit hall. It’s inauspicious! Let’s handle the proper business first, shall we?”

Her words were a slap in the face.

After hearing Hongye, Master Duan finally realized his impropriety. He smiled awkwardly, then reached out his skeletal arm to adjust his Seven-Star vest, waving his hand like a beetle and beckoning us, “Let’s begin the ritual! Anyone who doesn’t want to watch, step aside, or risk being harmed by my sword energy—I won’t be responsible.”

As he spoke, he kept casting meaningful glances toward Hongye.

His intentions were clear.

Faced with his provocations, I sneered, deliberately placing myself between him and Hongye. Inwardly, I resolved that if he dared take advantage of her during his charade, I’d throw a knife at him.

Master Duan saw me blocking him from Hongye, paused in surprise, then glared at me before beginning his clumsy and crude performance.

He first closed his eyes slightly, then formed a ritual gesture and recited incantations, finally picking up the peach-wood sword from the altar and launching into his dizzying ritual.

The ceremony was chaotic and beyond my understanding—I only saw him repeatedly waving the peach-wood sword, hopping about the altar, sometimes banging a gong, sometimes scribbling talismans, sometimes plucking a few feathers from the large white chicken he’d brought and tossing them into a bowl of water.

Throughout, he muttered incessantly, “Stepping the Dipper, treading the Seven Stars, Qian and Gen unite, Li and Dipper three-one. First lunar month, two, six four seven, the old dragon turns nine, transforming to one, four directions and five elements return to dusk…”

…I watched his frog-like steps and endless muttering, utterly clueless about his purpose. Was he preparing to buy a lottery ticket? Frankly, I was bored.

In my boredom, I turned to Hongye and asked, “Why did you come out?”

Hongye answered nonchalantly, “I heard things were lively up front, so I came to see.”

I reminded her with some displeasure, “But Wang Hou…”

“Old Tian!” Hongye abruptly cut me off, giving me a subtle look and pointing at Master Duan, who resembled a sly turtle, suddenly warning, “I sense something’s wrong with him.”

I immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, “It’s hard to explain in a few words. Just keep an eye on him. Observe closely.”

I nodded, then turned back, paying even closer attention to his every move.

Truthfully, his actions felt like a mockery—an insult—to my old squad leader.

Because, in his lifetime, the squad leader never believed in ghosts or spirits.

He knew much, and had many strange experiences, but his background and education always told him the world was material. Even when confronted with poisons, curses, or the “beauty bass” I once consumed, or other unknown phenomena, he attributed them to resentment or forces yet unproven by modern science.

In short, not ghosts or gods.

At most, he would call such harmful things “yin evil,” but never spirits or deities.

That was the contradiction of my old squad leader: he didn’t believe in the supernatural, yet often encountered it, and, ironically, died in a most uncanny way.

But the cruelest irony was, after a lifetime of disbelief, he was now treated as a vengeful ghost. The family he had protected now guarded against him, fearing him.

Ah! It’s hard enough to live; harder still to die.

…After a long endurance, Master Duan finally finished his charlatan rituals. Clearing his throat, he announced to us, “The ceremony is almost complete. I’ll soon recite the ‘Closing Coffin Spell.’ Anyone who wants a last look at the deceased, do so now!”

A wave of sorrow swept through me; suddenly, I realized…it was time for the final farewell.

Three years apart, now separated forever between life and death…How quickly things change.

With a sigh, I looked around and saw everyone’s faces turn solemn—even Ah Si and Hongye, who had never met the squad leader, were overcome with grief.

Everyone knew: death is paramount.

Almost simultaneously, we all quietly stepped into the open-air spirit hall, standing beneath the white soul-summoning banners, encircling the squad leader’s coffin as it awaited sealing.

Within, the squad leader was wrapped in a shoddy blue burial robe, his body stiff, his upper body swathed in white linen, holding a pair of chopsticks and a large cake.

Besides that, on his head lay a flat black pottery bowl.

Seeing the black bowl on his forehead, I felt a surge of respect, and looked up, grateful, to Zhao Haikun. “It’s our ‘Five-Viscera Temple’ tradition, ‘Bowl Covers the Sky,’ right?”

Zhao Haikun nodded, approvingly, “Yes, ‘Bowl Covers the Sky’—our Five-Viscera Temple’s burial custom. The bowl atop the deceased’s head tells the underworld bailiffs this person was a cook, so he’ll be considered an artisan in the afterlife, making it easier to find work and avoid being bullied by malicious spirits or falling into the realm of hungry ghosts. This is our unique way of protecting the dead.”

I nodded, fully understanding.

The Five-Viscera Temple isn’t an honorable trade; we have no valuable treasures or powerful rituals. All we can do is place a black bowl on the dead’s head, using this small custom to spare him one cycle of suffering in the six realms.

Beyond that, there’s nothing else we can do—we’re just kitchen hands, never the main characters.

At this moment, Master Duan removed the black bowl from my squad leader’s head, rudely stripping away the linen from his face.

At last, my squad leader’s visage appeared before me.

Though I thought I was prepared, I still felt a jolt in my heart!

Along with that jolt came a deep sorrow.

His face was sallow and lifeless, brows tightly knit, tongue protruding slightly, and below his neck, a deep ligature mark stretched from side to side, revealing the manner of his death and his suffering.

Looking at his furrowed brow, I couldn’t help but mourn inwardly—

Squad leader! What did you face that you had to escape by suicide? Why didn’t you wait for us? This isn’t your way! This…shouldn’t have been your fate!

My eyes grew moist as I grieved.

I looked only briefly, unable to bear more. After a few moments, I stepped back, waving to Master Duan to finish the ceremony.

Close the coffin. Recite the “Closing Coffin Spell”—perhaps it would bring us comfort.

Master Duan nodded solemnly, then drew a willow twig from his waistband, found some clear water on the altar, and began chanting in earnest.

He dipped the willow in the water, wiping my squad leader’s body from bottom to top, reciting, “Earth God opens the feet, in the next life you’ll roam the world again! Three corpse worms shine, neither spirit nor ghost, all bright and clear! Kitchen God opens the mouth, incense and candles taste sweet! Mountain God opens the nose, no worries as a person! Three Pure Ancestors open the eyes…”

Suddenly, Master Duan stopped.

In the midst of his incantation, he abruptly fell silent. His mouth trembled, but after “Three Pure Ancestors open the eyes,” he was unable to continue.

Seeing his increasingly grave expression, I tugged at him, “What’s wrong? Keep going!”

Master Duan’s lips quivered. After a long moment, he turned and pointed at the squad leader’s coffin, saying, “Zhao Haipeng…is about to become a vengeful ghost!”

His words sent a chill down everyone’s spine.