Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Shadow Map of Mount Mao

Seeing this, I immediately sat up. Inwardly, I thought, this old Bai family residence truly is haunted; I’d only just moved in, and already something sinister was disturbing the peace? Niu Dahuang was fast asleep, so I didn’t wake him. Quietly, I opened the door and slipped out alone, worried that these restless spirits might target Bai Akun’s family.

The moon hung low and hazy, occasionally shrouded by drifting clouds, yet outside it wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see my own hand before my face. I glanced around the courtyard, even circled near the ancestral hall’s entrance, but found nothing suspicious.

What did catch my eye was a black coffin in the ancestral hall, draped in a red cloth. The cloth had faded, looking almost white with age, suggesting it had lain there for a long time. Usually, an ancestral hall holds only memorial tablets, not corpses, which struck me as odd.

Grandfather used to say: ghosts do not trouble the living if the living do not trouble ghosts. The karmic entanglements within are best left untouched, or one risks becoming entangled in a ghost’s affairs, compelled to right their wrongs.

Seeing nothing amiss with the coffin, I turned to head back to bed. But as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw someone standing at the doorway of Bai Akun’s family quarters. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was Tong’er.

I hurried over and asked him what he was doing up so late.

He told me he’d heard a grandmother calling him, saying she was covered by a red quilt that was too heavy and making her uncomfortable.

I told him to keep the yellow talisman Niu Dahuang had given him pressed to his chest at night, to ignore whatever he heard, and above all, not to respond.

Tong’er nodded and went back inside.

But just as I was about to return to my room, I heard a noise from the ancestral hall, as if something had toppled over. Curious, I went to check. The coffin seemed untouched, but I noticed crisscrossed lines drawn in black ink across the red shroud—about fifteen of them.

Grandfather had told me that such markings were meant to suppress corpse transformations, sealing whatever lay within.

Since the coffin remained closed, I assumed there was no trouble. However, I discovered that one of the memorial tablets had fallen. It was on the topmost row—likely belonging to one of the Bai family ancestors.

It felt only right to set it upright again, so I picked it up, wiped away the dust, and replaced it.

But when I saw the name inscribed, I froze.

Memorial Tablet of Bai Ningxiang, Ancestor.

At my uncle’s house, there had always been two memorial tablets—one for Lin Xiaofeng, one for Bai Ningxiang. Yet here I was, seeing a tablet for Ancestor Bai Ningxiang, with no date noted. I had no idea which era this Bai Ningxiang belonged to, nor what connection she might have to the Bai Ningxiang honored at my uncle’s home.

Startled, I looked further down. Most names were unfamiliar, but among the later rows, I found eight more memorial tablets, each bearing the name Bai Ningxiang.

None had titles or prefixes—just “Memorial Tablet of Bai Ningxiang,” exactly like the one at my uncle’s house. They were all placed near the center. It seemed clear to me now that my cousin-in-law must be closely related to the Bai family of Baiqiao Town. In all likelihood, she was one of their own.

But why were there so many memorial tablets for Bai Ningxiang in this ancestral hall? I couldn’t comprehend it yet. Perhaps tomorrow, I could ask Bai Akun—he might know.

After leaving the ancestral hall, I lay back down, never expecting that my trip to Baiqiao Town would lead me to the family home of my cousin-in-law.

Early the next morning, I went to ask Bai Akun about the coffin in the ancestral hall.

He was surprised. “How could there be a coffin in the ancestral hall?” he asked.

We went together to check, and sure enough, the coffin was still there. He seemed taken aback and said that when he’d come to burn incense for the ancestors on the second day of the second lunar month, it hadn’t been there.

It seemed he knew nothing about the coffin. I then asked why there were so many memorial tablets bearing the same name—Bai Ningxiang.

Bai Akun explained that it was a tradition of the Bai family, passed down through generations. In fact, Bai Ningxiang was a very special title within the family: at the moment of birth, the clan’s elder would select and bestow the name Bai Ningxiang upon a girl. She would then be personally taught the family’s esoteric arts by the elder, and such girls usually had exceptional potential, becoming the family’s spiritual protector. When one Bai Ningxiang passed away, a newborn girl would be chosen as her successor.

Unfortunately, with the family’s decline, these traditions had faded away.

I then asked when the latest Bai Ningxiang had been chosen.

He replied that it was over twenty years ago, but with the family in decline and the inner arts lost, the girl, if still alive, would now be in her twenties. He’d only met her once, when she was a teenager—an ordinary girl in every way, the title merely a formality. She possessed no special skills.

By his account, my cousin-in-law was likely in her twenties too—her age matched. It seemed she truly was one of the Baiqiao Bai family.

As for Bai Ningxiang, I also recalled what Granny Wang had told me about the legend of Lin Xiaofeng and Bai Ningxiang.

I shared this story with Bai Akun, and he laughed, saying, “That tale is written in our family records. How did you come to hear of it?”

I told him I’d heard it somewhere.

After our conversation, Niu Dahuang and I set out. Bai Akun’s family would stay hidden here for now; with the sun high in the sky, the house should be safe. Niu Dahuang and I continued searching for Granny Wang. The Ma family had already grown suspicious of our whereabouts, so we couldn’t make open inquiries.

We spent most of the day searching, but found no clues.

We considered sneaking into the Ma house, to see if Granny Wang had been taken there. But as we approached, we saw their defenses were tight—both inside and out, Taoist priests stood guard. Niu Dahuang also noticed feng shui formations nearby; for those untrained, entering might mean never coming out again.

What’s more, if we launched a direct assault and Granny Wang was indeed their captive, they could use her to threaten us, leaving us helpless.

Bai Akun had mentioned that tomorrow night was the date set for the River God’s wedding at the Ma house, so we had no choice but to wait until then to act.

With no leads, we had to return to the old Bai residence; lingering outside would only risk exposure.

But as we drew near, we saw from a distance that a group of more than ten itinerant Taoists were gathered at the entrance, deep in discussion.

Niu Dahuang and I hid nearby.

Among the Taoists was a middle-aged man with sharp features and a commanding presence; he held three yellow talismans in his hand. From afar, we couldn’t see clearly what was drawn on them.

Niu Dahuang, sharp-eyed as ever, whispered, “Kid, those are Maoshan Shadow Charts in that man’s hand. They must have used those charts to track us here.”

I nodded. If we could get those charts, we could restore Bai Akun’s family’s soul fragment. I was about to step forward when Niu Dahuang stopped me, murmuring, “Wait until they get to the back courtyard. If we act outside, it’ll cause too much commotion.”

He was right, so I agreed.

We watched as the middle-aged Taoist walked to the front gate, formed a complex hand sign, and with a flick of his wrist, the lock clattered to the ground.

Clearly, this man possessed real skill.

He led the others into the house, leaving two guards at the entrance. Once the main group moved deeper inside, Niu Dahuang and I approached. Niu Dahuang greeted the guards, “Fellows, I see a dark aura clouding your brows today, an ill omen. Misfortune may be upon you!”

“Who do you think you are, Taoist?” one began, but Niu Dahuang cut in, “Shouldn’t you ask yourselves whose dogs you really are?”

The two bristled with anger, but we quickly subdued them—one each, easily knocking them down. Niu Dahuang produced his little bottle and let them inhale its contents; both promptly lost consciousness.

“That’ll have them sleeping for two days,” he said.

We slipped inside and barred the door behind us, hurrying to the back courtyard. There, we found Bai Akun’s family bound and helpless.

The middle-aged Taoist held a black gourd, while two men pinned Tong’er down, forcing a liquid into his mouth. Blood spattered on the ground.

“Stop!” I shouted.

The middle-aged Taoist paused, turning to look at us.

Seeing us return, Bai Akun cried out, “Gentlemen, you must leave now! Don’t worry about us! That man is Ma Zhenhai, an inner elder of the Ma family—ruthless and cunning. You’re no match for him…”

His warning was cut short as the two Taoists beside him kicked him hard, forcing him to his knees, clutching his stomach, his face twisted in pain.