Chapter 238: The banquet is over; it's time to collect the debt

Deep within the stone corridor, those four muffled thumps—dong, dong, dong, dong—were irregular, more like sounds pushing up through thick layers of earth, layer by layer.

Each strike wasn’t heavy, yet felt immensely deep, as if someone were pressing their spine against the coffin lid, slowly testing to rise.

Lu Yuan’s eyelid twitched. He growled:

“Not one vessel.”

“It’s four vessels.”

“There are four furnace-doors in this yin formation.”

“That shrunken coffin at the front is only the mouth of the yin furnace. Now that these four places are moving, the four gates are probably closing toward the center.”

When Lin Zhaoxuan heard this, his knuckles involuntarily tightened. The pale-blue lightning veins on the Thunderclap Token quivered slightly, as if pulled by the underground tremors.

“What do you mean, four furnace-doors?”

Lu Yuan stared at the ground and said coldly:

“Evil methods from beyond the Great Wall sometimes don’t just borrow a single coffin or a single malice. They plant furnaces at all four corners, burying a yin vessel at the east, south, west, and north, letting paper, wood, king, and household airs feed one another.”

“When the four sides all move and the center rises, it becomes the four-doors merged furnace.”

“In Wildman Ditch, there’s probably more than just that one coffin.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than another heavy rumble came from below.

This time it didn’t just thump from underfoot—the black soil on both sides of the whole stone path rose and fell lightly, as if something enormous beneath was slowly turning over.

Song Qinghe’s face went pale. She hurriedly looked at Lu Yuan:

“What do we do now?”

“How long can that light barrier hold?”

Lu Yuan didn’t answer. He suddenly raised his hand and tapped the air three times in quick succession.

The first tap aimed at the red-cloth stake on the left, the second at the black wooden frame on the right, the third above the shrunken coffin.

With each tap, he uttered a low sentence:

“Left is the Azure Dragon Gate, right is the White Tiger Gate, center is the Ghost Womb Gate.”

“The doors interlock, and what they lock is the yin path.”

“Today I won’t tear your doors off, I’ll sever your door hearts.”

Then he whipped his head around and shouted at Wang Cheng'an:

“Fire Starter!”

Wang Cheng'an fumbled out the last half of his fire starter, hands trembling so badly he almost couldn’t hold it steady.

Lu Yuan snatched it, pinched it between his fingers, then clasped his hands fast to form a rare “joined-finger fire formation.”

His left index pressed the middle finger, the middle finger hooked the ring finger, while his thumb supported from below, as if trapping an invisible thread of flame between his knuckles.

He murmured under his breath:

“Heaven fire does not fall on mundane earth, earth fire does not burn rootless wood.”

“I borrow a three-inch human flame, draw your yin furnace to open itself.”

On the third line he suddenly blew.

Hoo—

The lone spark left in the Fire Starter was drawn into a thin line of flame between his fingers by that breath, slithering and briefly lighting like a little snake.

But it didn’t truly blaze; at the black-ash circle’s edge it left a very short, very fine scorch mark.

“Not enough.”

Lu Yuan’s expression hardened.

He abruptly reached into his sleeve and tore open the lining.

Inside the lining was a tiny amount of ashy gray incense powder, as if deliberately preserved from temple offerings that had burnt down, with a faint trace of sandalwood scent blended in.

He wet his thumb with saliva, dabbed it into the ash, then rolled it into three minuscule gray pellets.

He pressed each pellet onto the wicks of three separate candles.

“Heaven fire drawn, earth fire ignited.”

“Incense ash for bone, pine resin for blood.”

“Three yang lights, shine on your three gates.”

“If each gate sees fire, ghosts see brightness.”

“When the yin bridge is cut, a hundred malices lose their foundation.”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command!”

As soon as he finished, the three candles actually flared to life at once.

The flames were small, even somewhat bluish, like ghostly lamps sheltered on a winter night.

But the instant those three lights appeared, the viscous, cold yin that clung to the area retreated half a foot.

Song Qinghe breathed easier, about to speak, when the black vapor seeping from the shrunken coffin’s seams suddenly stalled, seemingly forced back a bit by the light.

“It works!”

Zhou Heng said in a deep voice.

“Don’t be hasty.”

Lu Yuan’s gaze flicked.

“It’s not afraid of fire. It’s afraid of fire revealing its true core.”

Before Lu Yuan finished, the paper-masked figure slowly raised its head.

Three cracks on the white paper mask showed the black-and-white paper layers shifting slightly, like something inside was opening its eyes.

Its voice changed with that motion.

“The three yang lights...”

“They can see the seat, but not the master.”

When it spoke there was a faint hint of amusement.

“If the master does not show himself, the three lights will be guiding living people instead.”

Lu Yuan’s eyes immediately darkened.

“It knows I’m stalling for time.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said softly:

“Then don’t stall.”

Lu Yuan glanced at him and then nodded:

“All right.”

He abruptly turned and gave orders to the group in a low shout:

“Hear orders!”

“Zhou Heng, take the sword, guard the left fire!”

“Song Qinghe, press down the center, stare at the coffin seam!”

“Lin Zhaoxuan, don’t let go of the token; when I raise the altar, you thunder only at where my finger points!”

“Cheng'an, Erxiao, add another layer of black ash along the ash circle, make it a ‘broken-door ash’!”

Everyone moved at once.

Zhou Heng crossed his sword and took position on the left. Song Qinghe held up the Tai Chi Seal to Suppress Evil Plate; the black-and-white jade pieces in the plate spun rapidly, and the Yin-Yang Fish in the center gleamed into a line.

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao scrambled the remaining black ash, scattering another ring along the original circle.

The moment the black ash hit the ground, it seemed as if tiny ash-bugs burrowed into the soil to quickly stabilize the rim.

While the others prepared, Lu Yuan quickly drew a thin rope from his waist.

The rope was neither hemp nor cotton, but black and glossy as if twisted from hair and oiled thread, and a small copper bell was tied to its end.

“This is the altar-guiding cord,” Lu Yuan explained in a low voice.

“Left by my predecessors, used to hook earth energy and pull door veins.”

He pressed the copper bell to the ground and tapped its back lightly with the short knife’s spine.

Ding.

The bell’s sound was faint, yet it struck the earth like a knock on bone.

He then planted his foot on the cord, stepping left then right, each step steady, and began reciting a longer pre-altar earth-inviting incantation:

“The earth has directions, directions have boundaries.”

“Boundaries have doors, doors have veins.”

“Veins connect yin, yin channels malice.”

“Malice hides kings, kings nourish monsters.”

“Now by mundane steps I tread your boundary; earth spirit, open a slit; mountain soul, lend a line.”

“Lend me a yin-yang split path, lend me the four directions to return to their places.”

“All evils, heed the command, all fiends, withdraw.”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command!”

Each line tightened the altar-guiding cord slightly, as if something below was being hooked up little by little.

As the chant advanced, the black-ash circle on the ground began to emit a faint rustling.

It wasn’t wind—it sounded like soil slowly shifting beneath the circle, rearranging itself.

Song Qinghe watched with sweaty palms and whispered:

“Is he building an earth altar?”

Lin Zhaoxuan didn’t look away, replying only in a low voice: “Looks like it.”

“Not looks like.” Lu Yuan’s voice cut in.

“It is an earth altar.”

He stepped once more, and the guiding cord jerked sharply; the copper bell rang clear.

Ding—

At that instant, some of the paper faces attached to the red-and-white banners along the stone path tilted their heads, as if they’d heard the bell coming from another crossing.

“Bell draws souls, cord guides the way.”

Lu Yuan’s eyes glinted dangerously cold:

“You set up red-and-white roads, I’ll show you a proper road.”

Having said that, he slashed his finger lightly with his blade.

A bead of blood welled out; Lu Yuan felt no pain but wiped that speck across his forehead into a fine red line.

Then he pressed his fingertips together and slapped them on his chest, his voice switching to a shorter, sharper exorcism:

“I have a blade that cuts not men nor ghosts, but severs yin door mouths!”

“I have a bloodline that falls not to earth nor returns to dust, to seal malice’s core!”

“Today I borrow blood to open the altar, borrow the blade to sever the road, borrow thunder to press the gate!”

“By decree!”

On that final word, Lu Yuan thrust his blade down toward the earth.

Lin Zhaoxuan released thunder almost at the same time.

“Thunder—”

A streak of pale-blue lightning swept from the Thunderclap Token, not striking the shrunken coffin directly, but precisely hitting the base of the red-cloth stake that had originally been broken.

Crack!

A loud pop. The world in front of them shimmered as if something in the air had suddenly loosened.

In the next instant, the black vapor around the shrunken coffin began to swirl chaotically, as if some invisible tether had been cut.

“It worked!”

Zhou Heng shouted.

But Lu Yuan showed no relief; his gaze grew even darker:

“Not right.”

“It wasn’t scattered; it yielded its gate positions.”

Sure enough, as the red-cloth stake splintered under the lightning, two of the nine black iron nails driven tightly into the left side of the stone path exuded a darker red from their holes.

That dark red wasn’t blood, but a viscous oil seeping slowly up from beneath the nail holes.

“Oil malice.”

Song Qinghe’s face changed.

Lu Yuan said coldly:

“Yes. The bottom fire of the yin furnace has risen.”

No sooner had he spoken than a deep rumble sounded from below again.

Then, the red-and-white banners along the stone path bulged outward as if filled by a wind rising from behind them.

It wasn’t really wind.

It felt more like invisible things were simultaneously standing up behind those banners.

“Don’t look behind the banners!” Lu Yuan barked.

But it was too late.

Xu Erxiao, already timid, turned his head at the sound and found a huge white paper face suddenly plastered to a banner behind him, its eye-sockets like black pits staring straight at him.

“Aaah!”

Xu Erxiao screamed, knees nearly buckling.

The white paper face made a clacking rustle, as if detaching itself from the banner.

Wang Cheng'an grabbed him, voice shaking:

“Don’t be afraid! Don’t look!”

At that moment Lu Yuan shouted:

“Song Qinghe, reverse the Seal to Suppress Evil Plate!”

“Lin Zhaoxuan, turn the Thunderclap Token three inches left!”

“Zhou Heng, sever the banner’s foot!”

“Cheng'an, Erxiao, sprinkle the black ash into an inverted triangle!”

They obeyed without hesitation.

Song Qinghe flipped her hands, and the Tai Chi plate spun in the opposite direction. The Yin-Yang Fish inverted—black and white swapped—and a thin cold light pressed toward the banners.

Lin Zhaoxuan slid the Thunderclap Token three inches left and shouted:

“Borrow thunderfire to seal your yin foot!”

A thin bolt of lightning slanted from the token’s tail and struck the left-front banner’s foot on the stone path.

Zhou Heng had his sword out; this time he didn’t slash at the banner face but anglingly struck the connection where the banner foot met the ground.

Where the blade passed, the red-cloth banner foot instantly cracked a ring of charred black.

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao quickly threw ash, hastily drawing an inverted triangle on the ground.

Once the ash formed, it actually trapped the shadow of that white paper face outside the triangle’s rim.

“It’s trying to inhabit the banner!”

Song Qinghe cried urgently.

Lu Yuan’s calm was chilling:

“It can’t get up.”

“The banner is its curtain; the foot is its root.”

“When the foot’s severed, it can only hang there.”

He turned suddenly and darted forward almost skimming the ground.

He didn’t rush the shrunken coffin nor the paper-masked figure; instead he ran straight toward the center of the stone path where the ledger, kept by the paper-masked figure, had always been held.

“It’s trying to register names—I'll destroy the ledger first!”

“Zhou Heng, block it!”

“Lin Zhaoxuan, thunder-seal the right-rear!”

“Song Qinghe, plate-mount over my front!”

“Cheng'an, Erxiao, step back! Don’t touch the ledger!”

Zhou Heng reacted instantly, sword raised, placing himself at Lu Yuan’s side.

The paper-masked figure flipped the ledger up to block.

The ledger’s pages rustled open, and a bloodline shot out, springing toward Lu Yuan’s wrist like a living thing.

When the bloodline emerged, the air filled with a fresh metallic stench, like flesh freshly cut.

Lu Yuan’s eyes hardened. He flicked the short knife in a swift upward motion and intoned loudly:

“Names written on paper, lives collected in the yin.”

“Ledgers record bones, malice buries roots.”

“Now I sever your accounts, tear open your registries.”

“Cut the ledger, return no debts! Rip the register, let it hold no names!”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command!”

The instant blade met bloodline, there was a high, tearing sizzle, like red-hot iron ripping wet cloth.

The bloodline recoiled, and a corner of the ledger instantly blackened and charred.

“Good!”

Zhou Heng barked, driving his sword into the paper-masked figure’s chest.

The strike didn’t pierce through; instead it seemed to hit the thinnest layer of paper-shell sinew inside.

The paper-masked figure staggered; the ledger collapsed to one corner and fell.

Lu Yuan pressed his foot on the ledger’s edge, reversed the knife and prepared to split the spine with one downward chop.

But a very long, drawn sigh came from the depths of the stone way at that exact moment.

The sigh wasn’t loud, yet it seemed to rise from dozens of feet—tens of feet—underground so slow that it made their skin numb.

Then the continuous dong-dong from beneath suddenly stopped.

Everything stopped.

An instant of utter silence.

Even the wind seemed to have been sucked out.

Lu Yuan stiffened; his eyelid twitched violently.

“No—”

He barely said the two words when the undisclosed “master” at the far end of the stone path, the one who had not truly revealed themselves, finally spoke.

A voice extremely low, heavy, and slow rose—layer upon layer—from the soil, from the coffin, from behind the gate:

“The seat...........is......ready......”

When those words fell, the whole stone path felt pressed down by an invisible giant hand.

The voice wasn’t loud, but its weight grated like a stone mill ground out from a grave, numbing the eardrums and making the ground underfoot go weak.

The red-and-white banners that had been lifting instantly drooped.

It was as if all the paper effigies, wooden frames, and black shadows bowed toward that unseen “master” at the far end of the path.

Lu Yuan’s eyes went ice-cold. His knife still rested at the ledger’s edge, his wrist pressing down slightly.

He knew the truly dangerous breath had come out.

“If it has spoken, it means the Earth Veins have connected to the gate roots.”

Lu Yuan said in a low voice:

“Don’t let it finish collecting the seat’s accounts.”

Lin Zhaoxuan immediately joined fingers to steady the Thunderclap Token; the pale-blue lightning veins buzzed:

“Then I’ll press it down another layer!”

Lu Yuan raised a hand to stop him:

“Not yet. Don’t let the thunder fall.”

“It’s just opened its mouth; it’s the moment it’s exhaling door air. If the thunder strikes now it’s easy to force a counterattack toward the living.”

With that he pulled hard on the altar-guiding cord; the copper bell chimed once.

Ding.

That faint ring pried open a little slit in the dead quiet.

Lu Yuan took a half step forward, keeping to a short vigorous footwork, but this time his steps were slower and heavier, each like treading in mud.

He recited a shorter, harder suppression formula:

“Earth won’t draw, heaven won’t accept.”

“If the gate won’t close, malice won’t be captured.”

“I borrow a mouthful of zhenran to press your half-inch of yin fang.”

“Collect!”

On that final “collect,” his joined fingers hooked like a hook and he pulled sharply forward.

The ledger on the ground flipped open and, as if controlled by an invisible hand, rolled a page back inside.

The paper-masked figure wavered; the moldy paper-money that had fallen from the tear in its chest flowed back into the ledger.

“It’s reconciling accounts!”

Song Qinghe shouted.

“Correct,” Lu Yuan said coldly.

“When the seats are ready, they settle accounts.”

“It’s trying to nail the names just written down, one by one.”

At that moment, a very thin line rose from the black soil at the stone path’s far end.

At first no wider than a finger, it swelled and swelled, as if something beneath was using its spine to break through the soil.

Black ash, torn paper, rotted cloth, and wood shavings flew to both sides. In the blink of an eye, that mound had swelled to half a person’s height.