Chapter Fifty-Three: The Ghostly Face

Upon entering the teahouse, Ge Qian chose a seat by the window. A young attendant, dressed in a blue robe and felt hat, quickly approached. He expertly cleaned the table, wearing the establishment’s signature smile. “Honored guest, what tea would you like? We have Dragon Well, Maojian, and Spring Herb—all of the highest quality.”

Ge Qian smiled lightly. “Bring me a pot of your finest Dragon Well. Tell me, that mansion across the street is truly impressive. Who could possibly possess such wealth and grandeur?”

The attendant was delighted, recognizing a generous patron. His service grew even more attentive as he cleaned the table. “Sir, you must not be from around here. The owner of that grand estate—we call him Kindhearted Hu, because he often gives to the poor nearby. He’s made his fortune dealing in jade, and owns several mines.”

The attendant’s face was full of envy.

Qiao Fan nodded and handed him several taels of silver. The attendant was moved to tears, his face lighting up with joy, and he thought to himself that luck was surely on his side today. He thanked Qiao Fan profusely.

Qiao Fan said, “All right, go on about your work. If I need anything, I’ll call for you.”

The attendant, thoroughly pleased, went off to serve other customers.

Qiao Fan sat alone, quietly drinking tea until nightfall. He paid for his tea and left.

As dusk deepened, four figures stood beside the rockery in the rear garden of the Hu residence: a Daoist priest with an air of wisdom, accompanied by a chubby youth; a middle-aged man in elegant attire, whose demeanor suggested he was the estate’s master—Kindhearted Hu; and behind them, the steward who had greeted the immortal master at the city gate.

Kindhearted Hu pointed to the massive stone at the base of the rockery. “Master, this is where the demon causes its mischief. I had my men seal it with a large stone to trap it for now, but this is no permanent solution. Please, I implore you to show your powers and subdue it.”

The old Daoist’s face glowed red, clearly content with his host's hospitality. “Rest assured, sir. Such a petty demon is of no concern to me—I shall deal with it at once.”

Without further ado, the Daoist conjured a fireball and hurled it at the boulder blocking the cave. With a deafening bang, stones flew and dust billowed.

Kindhearted Hu and his steward, never having witnessed such spectacle, hurriedly retreated, faces full of awe.

The Daoist, hands clasped behind his back and looking inscrutable, declared, “My methods are beyond your comprehension. I will seize the spirit within the cave and reduce it to ashes.”

But barely had he finished speaking when a sudden change occurred. The gloom inside surged like a torrent, bursting forth. Two agonizing screams followed. The Daoist and his disciple, closest to the cave, were instantly dissolved into a blood-red mist by the corrupting aura, its stench nauseating.

The steward fainted on the spot, overwhelmed by the horror. Kindhearted Hu, though terrified, cared most for the family business he had built over many years, now facing ruin. He muttered in anguish, “It’s over, utterly over—my life’s work!”

In that moment, he forgot his fear and tried to rush into the corrupting miasma, choosing death over despair.

Suddenly, Ge Qian intervened, hurling forth his restless Demon Gourd. The gourd sprang open, and the foul aura surged into it like water drawn by a whale. The gourd vibrated, displaying immense satisfaction, as if the aura was a most nourishing tonic.

Kindhearted Hu, startled by this turn, turned to see an ordinary-looking young man standing behind him, his expression unreadable as he studied the aura.

Experienced as he was, Kindhearted Hu knew that those who commanded magical treasures and subdued spirits were legendary immortals. This youth’s effortless mastery far surpassed the priest he’d hired.

He realized that his family had met their savior. Kneeling, he pleaded, “Immortal, I bow to you! Please, use your power to save the three hundred souls of Hu House!”

He knocked his head to the ground, again and again.

Ge Qian waved his hand. “Rise. I will subdue this evil spirit and seal it permanently. From this day forward, this place is forbidden—no one may approach, and today’s events must remain secret. I will protect your family from harm. Here is an elixir—keep it safe. It will strengthen your body and prolong your life. Go now, your task is done.”

With that, a Marrow Cleansing Pill dropped into Kindhearted Hu’s hand. Overjoyed at this unexpected blessing, he thanked Ge Qian with renewed bows, picked up the steward, and departed.

Ge Qian pondered for a moment, noting the unusually pure aura here. He was linked in spirit with the Demon Gourd, and sensed its urgent craving for the miasma, its inner core ceaselessly churning as it absorbed the foul energy.

Whatever dwelled within, it could not escape, else it would not merely expel its aura.

If this was merely a spring of demonic energy, Ge Qian had found his fortune—it could serve as his own retreat, and cultivating the Mountain Moving Technique would be twice as effective. And with a teleportation charm in hand, should things go awry, he could flee at once.

Buoyed by this thought, Ge Qian’s courage grew. Fortune favors the bold—tonight, he would take the risk.

With the Demon Gourd leading the way, Ge Qian slowly entered the cave. The passage was about ten feet wide, its walls smooth and gleaming darkly.

It appeared the tunnel had been corroded by the foul aura, slanting downward and chilling to the bone.

The deeper he went, the thicker and finer the aura became, but the Demon Gourd, innately a nemesis of such energies, devoured it endlessly, so Ge Qian was unharmed.

Without the Demon Gourd, he would never have ventured in.

After traveling about five miles, a sudden gust of gloomy wind arose ahead. For the first time, the Demon Gourd slowed. Ge Qian proceeded cautiously—before him, the aura formed countless terrifying, grotesque faces, dense and endless, enclosing him.

The faces twisted through myriad expressions—joy, anger, sorrow, delight—emitting a shrill, unsettling sound.

Ge Qian felt dizzy, nearly collapsing. Fortunately, his mind was calm and his spirit strong, and clarity returned in an instant.

He sensed danger—something was wrong. It seemed someone was manipulating the aura to create these faces, attacking him psychologically and waiting for a lapse.

But Ge Qian would not be fooled. He sat cross-legged, took out a classic text of the Confucian school, and extended his spiritual sense, hoping to find a way out of this predicament.