Chapter Twenty-Four: The Peachwood Sword (Returned, Third Update)

Sometimes the flea market is a wonderful place; if luck is on your side, you can always stumble upon a few treasures. At this moment, Song Nianqiang and Big Fatty were wandering among the stalls, searching for a very old steelyard weight. That weight was the key item for dealing with the Wuqigui; if they used it correctly, they could completely immobilize the One-Eyed Ghost among the five, allowing the two of them to handle it as they pleased.

However, after searching for quite some time, they still hadn’t found any sign of a steelyard weight. Aside from the large platform scales, there weren't even any steelyards to be seen, let alone the weights. Both were a bit dispirited. Just as they were about to finish combing through the market, they discovered something that could serve as a substitute—a traditional tobacco pipe.

It wasn't that the pipe itself could catch ghosts, but the tar that accumulated inside its bowl was the crucial part. As long as the Wuqigui came into contact with even a little of that tar, it would be unable to move. But a single pipe didn’t yield much tar, so they would have only one shot at success—if they missed, they’d be in serious trouble.

“I’ll take this pipe,” Song Nianqiang called out to the stall owner as they approached.

“Fifteen yuan, not a cent less!” The owner didn’t even bother to look up as he barked out the price. Song Nianqiang, who wasn’t short on cash these days, simply pulled out fifteen yuan, tossed it over, and took the pipe.

“We still need a bronze mirror,” Song Nianqiang said as they walked along. Big Fatty, aside from drawing talismans, knew little about ghost-catching, but he was well acquainted with the local underworld. Don’t be fooled by the small size of their county—its black market was the largest in the province.

In the big cities, suppression of the black market was strict, so it could never flourish. But Song Nianqiang’s county was different—the county chief barely cared, seeing it as helping boost the local economy, and the military officers were even less interested. As a result, the black market here had gradually grown and now stood as a symbol of the county; mention a black market in the province, and people would immediately think of Y County.

Big Fatty’s family had money, and his father often browsed the black market, hoping to snag a bargain. Prices there were low and the selection vast; as long as you knew the right people and slipped them a few hundred yuan, you could get whatever you wanted by the next day.

Although an old bronze mirror wasn’t worth much, it was hard to find these days. If luck was on your side, you might encounter one by chance, but the odds were slimmer than winning the lottery.

They wandered into the black market. Though it was daytime, the place was packed and noisy, the shouts so loud they made Song Nianqiang’s ears ring.

“It’s even noisier than the regular market!” Song Nianqiang yelled to Big Fatty, hands over his ears. Big Fatty, used to this kind of chaos, grinned smugly, “So you’ve got your hands full for once! That’s a rare sight!”

Irritated by Big Fatty’s teasing, Song Nianqiang was tempted to kick him, but curiosity about the place quickly replaced his annoyance. Mischief ran in his blood—he soon grew comfortable in the raucous environment and dragged Big Fatty off, weaving among the stalls.

But disappointment soon set in; there wasn’t a single bronze mirror for sale. Song Nianqiang looked to Big Fatty for a solution—he was more useful here than Song Nianqiang himself.

“Don’t look at me like that. Follow me!” Big Fatty, unnerved by Song Nianqiang’s gaze, hurriedly pulled him into a small room. Inside were several tattooed thugs. When they saw Big Fatty, one stepped forward, “What’s up, Little Fatty? What do you want with us?”

“We need a bronze mirror—an old one,” Big Fatty replied, eyeing the big man. Song Nianqiang stood silently behind him, knowing it was best to keep quiet in such situations.

“That’s a peculiar request, but no problem. The errand fee is a thousand yuan. Any objections?” The big man named his price right away. Compared to the fifty thousand they’d spent before, this was nothing, so Big Fatty agreed without hesitation. “But I have one condition,” he said, just as the big man was about to sit down.

“What is it?” The man was curious; here, they set the terms, not their clients.

“We want it by tomorrow—cash on delivery. Otherwise, there’s no deal,” Big Fatty declared, unafraid of the gangsters. He might not be able to take them in a fight, but he had Song Nianqiang at his back.

“Fine! You can go now.” With that, the big man ignored them. Big Fatty and Song Nianqiang had no choice but to leave, but they didn’t exit the black market. Its wares were more comprehensive than anywhere else, and Song Nianqiang wanted to look for anything useful. Catching the Wuqigui this time left no room for error—failure was not an option.

Red string and red candles were common on the black market, and even those with some age weren’t hard to find. Soon, they came to an old man’s stall, which was crammed with all sorts of oddities—there was even a simple, ancient peachwood sword.

At first glance, Song Nianqiang saw nothing special about it, but on a second look he realized it was extraordinary. Though it had no offensive power, peachwood swords were renowned for warding off evil; even a ghost king would keep its distance.

They bought some red string and candles, then Song Nianqiang picked up the sword and shouted to the old man, “Grandpa, how much for this peachwood sword?” Knowing the elderly often had poor hearing, he made sure to raise his voice.

The old man held up two fingers. Song Nianqiang thought he meant two thousand yuan and sent Big Fatty to the ATM for the cash. When they handed it over, the old man waved them off.

“Twenty thousand!” The old man spoke with such vigor that he hardly seemed frail at all.

“What!” Both Song Nianqiang and Big Fatty were startled, but Song Nianqiang truly coveted the sword. With it in his home, the house would become a sanctuary, a place so holy that all spirits would flee, and long-term residence would even ensure perfect health.

“Damn it! Big Fatty, get the rest of the cash—we’re buying it!” Gritting his teeth, Song Nianqiang made up his mind. Twenty thousand yuan was no small sum, but for this sword, he was willing. Big Fatty was reluctant, but Song Nianqiang was his best brother.

“If this worthless sword turns out to be a dud, I’ll eat you!” Big Fatty muttered as he withdrew the remaining eighteen thousand yuan and handed the full sum to the old man, threatening, “You’d better pray this sword works, or I’ll come back and break your old bones!”

Now they were completely broke, not a penny left. What was left was for emergencies only. They’d have to ask the director for the thousand yuan errand fee tomorrow, as well as for the cost of the bronze mirror.

After a full day out, the two were exhausted. Back in their room, Song Nianqiang tossed the wooden sword onto the table—only to see it draw a perfect arc through the air and land on his bed, as if it had a will of its own.

“Damn! This sword is really something!” Big Fatty stared in amazement. He picked it up and examined it but found nothing out of the ordinary. When he placed the sword beneath the two talismans on the wall, the paper charms, which had been stuck to the wall, drifted down on their own.

“This sword is possessed!” Big Fatty said, wanting to take it apart. Song Nianqiang, alarmed, rushed over. “That sword cost twenty thousand! Don’t even think about it!”

At last, they hung the sword on the wall and placed the two talismans beneath it. Only then did the peachwood sword finally settle down.