Chapter 73: The Golden Seal

Zhang Hao's entire presence deflated as if he were a punctured balloon. His legs trembled terribly as he shuffled a few steps before hurriedly shoving the little peachwood sword back into Cui Yue’s hands. His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper, words mumbled uncertainly.

"Uh, I suppose that old Skin-Painting Ghost has already fled far away. There’s no way we’ll catch up now, right? We should think this through carefully and plan our next move more securely."

Cui Yue had expected this cowardice from him, wearing a look that said as much.

"Brother Qingquan, what should we do now?" Cui Yue, though teasing Zhang Hao, was himself at a loss, unsure how to proceed.

"The Skin-Painting Ghost has escaped with serious injuries. Even if we caught up, in our current state we couldn’t hope to match him. I’ll first seal this entrance to the barrier with a talisman, and make plans once I return. Rest assured, he won’t be coming back anytime soon."

Qingquan’s heart was a tangle of worries. The fox spirit Jiaona, whose cultivation had advanced so rapidly, was already troublesome enough; now, with a thousand-year-old ghost added to the mix, the situation was far from optimistic. If he could fulfill his master’s charge, perhaps some hope remained. For now, though, he could only take things one step at a time.

Qingquan had Zhang Hao move everyone further from the rift in the large screen, lest something unexpected occur again.

From the fissure seeped a ghostly miasma, and cold, biting winds blew forth, carrying with them the faint, harrowing sounds of weeping and shrieking that echoed on and on.

Soon Zhang Hao was sweating profusely and panting for breath, casting wary glances at the rift, terrified the ghostly hand might reach out and drag him in.

At last, clinging to Cui Yue, he limped back to the wall.

Both men stared tensely at Qingquan.

They saw Qingquan bend and pick up his notebook. The earlier crisis had left him one step short: though Cui Yue had done his best to buy time, Qingquan had failed to complete the final talisman.

He took a deep breath and wrote the character for "Seal." His hands crossed, forefingers extended forward, four fingers bent back as he formed the Sky-Sealing Mudra, chanting incantations under his breath. Behind his glasses, his eyes flashed with sharp light.

"Heavens and earth as guide, golden locks and silver chains, ascending to the clouds, descending to the underworld, the universe shifts, Zhen and Li ahead, Kan and Dui to the northwest, a hundred chains entwine—by urgent decree of law: Seal!"

As soon as the words left his lips, his hand signs shifted rapidly.

A clatter sounded.

The notebook spun of its own accord. Dozens of talismans burst forth in succession, soaring toward the large screen in the shape of a pyramid.

One after another, they attached themselves to the screen, forming a complex array that shifted into a massive Eight Trigrams diagram, radiating golden light. Then, the formation transformed again: golden chains extended from the talismans, weaving into a vast net at whose center gradually appeared a colossal "Seal" character.

With a resounding clang, the golden chains shuddered and shone so brightly they were hard to look at.

The "Seal" vanished, and both the golden net and the rift in the screen disappeared without a trace. The screen was whole and unblemished once more—there was no more chill wind, no ghostly wailing, nor any sign of what had transpired.

Qingquan ceased his chanting, the sharp light fading from his eyes.

"It’s done. I’ve sealed the rift in the barrier with talismans—it should hold for some time." He hesitated, adjusting his glasses, but did not speak further. Since the Skin-Painting Ghost had used this videotape as a vessel and hidden within an array, there were likely other escape routes—this may have been only one of them. Having just survived a brush with death, Qingquan did not wish to burden everyone further; the rest could wait.

Zhang Hao and Cui Yue were struck dumb with awe. This bespectacled priest's display of high-level magic was leagues beyond anything Li Jianguo or his ilk could muster—a mere child compared to this.

"This four-eyes is far more formidable than any Taoist in the movies. With skills like his, catching little ghosts or spirits would be child’s play. If I had even half his skill, I’d never be afraid of running into anything unclean at night again..." Cui Yue once again gazed at Qingquan with open admiration and envy.

"Exactly—exactly! With his skills, he’d have the whole ghost-catching business around here monopolized. Easily make a fortune every year." Zhang Hao’s eyes gleamed—not with awe, but with greed—as he gestured with his hands.

Qingquan, feeling their gazes, grew uncomfortable and self-conscious.

Suddenly Cui Yue remembered something and spun around. Aside from the few still sleeping on the floor, the corpse that had been there was gone—no one had noticed when it vanished.

Cui Yue searched every nook and cranny but found nothing.

Their scalps prickled with dread. The recollection of the corpse’s dreadful state was not only terrifying but sickening. Now it was missing—had it simply flown away?

"Hey, Four-Eyes, do you think maybe the guy wasn’t really dead? Maybe he realized he could still be saved and ran off to the hospital?"

When this was brought up, Qingquan felt a pang of guilt for having failed to save him from the ghost.

Earlier, using the Shifting Shadows technique, time had been limited and the eight gates rotated; with no talisman on Cui Yue’s body, he could not appear.

"Are you an idiot? The hospital? He should be heading for the crematorium! With his neck twisted like that, if he’s still alive, I’ll fall down and worship him. In fact, I’ll push him around as the star of a freak show—might even make some money." Cui Yue was at his wit’s end with Zhang Hao’s inane speculation.

"Hey, I was just guessing, just guessing," Zhang Hao replied sheepishly.

Qingquan ran through the details of the fight in his mind, but could not recall what had become of the corpse. Perhaps, when the breath of life faded, the ghostly miasma from the fissure devoured it—a distinct possibility.

Most likely, it had been swallowed into the barrier by the ghost energy; otherwise, there would be traces left behind.

Hearing this, Cui Yue and the others felt a measure of relief—after all, the bespectacled one was an authority in matters of exorcism and spirit-hunting. If he said so, it must be true.

Zhang Hao had not yet managed to flatter Qingquan before he was suddenly sent flying by a bear-like paw.

Da Zhuang, who had been unconscious, woke up abruptly. Not seeing clearly who was in front of him, his mind still haunted by the Skin-Painting Ghost, he swung a heavy palm.

"Get lost, you bastard!"

Poor Zhang Hao was caught off guard and spun around in place, seeing nothing but golden stars.

Cui Yue watched as Da Zhuang, eyes still shut, swung his hands left and right in a wild flurry. He hurriedly rushed over and hugged Da Zhuang, shouting,

"Da Zhuang! Stop! Calm down, the ghost has already escaped—stop, now!"