33. Mysterious Altar Summons the Fiends

Three-Legged was truly different.

Zhao Jia had never seen such a monster before.

It retained the pure nature of a beast, yet seemed to have learned the etiquette of the human world, carrying itself with an openness and poise.

It appeared to be nothing more than a black cat under four feet tall, yet Zhao Jia always felt that Three-Legged was the true great demon among them.

Strange things abound in this world—who can say they know them all?

There is a benefit to ignorance.

The sun slanted in the west.

After a hasty meal, Zhao Jia led his men to construct the ritual altar.

The altar was raised three feet high, set upon a bed of yellow earth, encircled according to the five directions of the elements.

Upon the altar, a tall banner unfurled slowly in the evening breeze, the Five Spirits depicted upon it so lifelike that one could almost believe they would spring from the cloth at any moment.

A small bronze incense burner stood before the sacred image, a thick layer of incense ash spread over a mixture of coarse and fine sand.

Freshly dried yellow earth pressed down the red felt.

“It’s even more grand than an execution platform,” the Small One remarked, arms crossed, watching the soldiers bustling to and fro.

He and his brothers had not been part of the altar’s construction—not due to favoritism or laziness, but because they had more important matters to attend to. They needed to conserve their strength and avoid unnecessary exertion.

As for what those matters were? One only had to look at the hurried faces of the soldiers and masons, all fearful of being chosen to stay behind.

The Strong One clutched a large porcelain bowl, piled high with coarse cakes and brown rice, digging in with a wooden spoon.

Catching Small One’s glance, he shrugged and offered the spoon. “Here!”

“You eat it yourself.” Small One smiled helplessly. “If I die on the Road to the Underworld with a full belly, so be it.”

He wasn’t cursing Strong One—he simply knew how vast the gulf was between them and the Five Spirits. If Three-Legged hadn’t desperately intervened last time, they would have been devoured, left as nothing more than a smear on the cliffs and hills.

“This time, I’m full, wearing heavy armor—no dead weight!” Strong One thumped his chest plate.

“At best, we’re just there to make up the numbers. The outcome will be decided by those two and a half,” Small One replied, adjusting his armor.

Big Mouth looked around and asked, “Why two and a half?”

“The Demon-Suppressing Commander, General Gao, counts as one; Three-Legged is another; and the Boss is half—so, two and a half.”

“If we’re just making up the numbers, why bother staying?” Big Mouth grumbled.

Hearing this, Small One was taken aback. He followed the voice and exclaimed, “Old Man, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at home, recovering?”

It was Old Cheng, whom they hadn’t seen for some time. Ever since being gravely wounded in the last bandit hunt, he’d been recuperating. Yet here he was, out again after just a few days.

Old Cheng paid it no mind, puffing on his dry tobacco. “Two taels of silver just for showing up. If I’m going to die, let it be on the battlefield. The magistrate promised personally: whoever kills the Five Spirits gets a hundred taels of silver.”

“Hah, you really think you’ll get that hundred taels?” everyone knew that reward was already spoken for—a gesture by the magistrate to curry favor with the Demon-Suppressing Commander.

While the group bantered, the altar was completed.

Dusk deepened.

Not yet night.

Sheriff Lei Ji chewed on a cake as fifty soldiers ate in silence.

In the front ranks, two rows wore heavy black armor; behind them, troops in brown light armor. Ten wielded powerful crossbows, twenty bore bows and quivers. These were the finest troops in Meilan County—the foundation of Lei Ji’s authority.

Among them were his own sons, nephews, and adopted sons, all men of good family.

When he’d last attacked the river bandits, he’d only brought half, leaving the rest in the county to respond. This time, hunting a demon, he’d brought everyone.

“Third Master, all is ready,” reported Chief Constable Zhou Liang, who had to be present. Though the tax silver had been lost under everyone’s watch, as the transport officer, he bore responsibility. Searching Qingquan Temple had only delayed matters; only recovering the silver would redeem him.

“Hide in the houses,” Lei Ji ordered, dividing the fifty soldiers into five squads of ten, positioning them around the houses nearby—waiting to surround the mansion as soon as the Five Spirits appeared.

…

The moon climbed above the treetops.

A pale wash of moonlight filled the courtyard.

Zhao Jia, having bathed and changed, carried three thick incense sticks, each the width of a thumb, their glowing embers dropping bright ashes.

Slowly, he approached the incense burner, bowed, and inserted the sticks, then looked up at the image of the leaping ape spirit fluttering in the gentle breeze.

He wet his lips, suppressing the tremor in his heart, formed a ritual gesture, and recited solemnly, “By the power of Posa Yanna, reveal your divine presence, O Five Spirits!”

“Humble Zhao Jia beseeches the Five Spirits!”

The eight strongmen positioned around the yard held their breath, tense as drawn bowstrings.

Silence.

Each moment stretched endlessly.

…

Mist came, right on cue.

Silver and fluid as mercury, it flooded the courtyard, enveloping all in a dreamy haze. In the shifting lamplight, a handsome man in purple robes stepped lightly upon the clouds, descending into the mortal world.

“Now!” came the shout.

Each of the eight strongmen seized a corner, yanking hard to pull out the iron net concealed beneath the yellow earth—but no matter how they strained, they tumbled to the ground, unable to budge it.

By moonlight, they saw the dry earth had turned to churning mud.

The man in purple, shrouded in mist, grinned and shed his illusion, revealing his monstrous form.

A thunderous roar split the night.

Overhead, clouds gathered, the air filled with a rushing sound.

With a swish, the mist condensed into water and fell, flooding the courtyard ankle-deep.

The Five Spirits spread their arms wide.

The moon shone bright above; below, the water gleamed like frost.

A flock of crows cawed overhead, dropping stones that plinked into the shallow water.

Torches were raised; armored soldiers surrounded the courtyard. With a crash, the gates burst open. Heavy-armored troops led the way, followed by crossbows and twenty drawn bows.

“Loose!” Lei Ji’s command rang out.

Arrows rained down like a storm, bolts streaking after them.

The Five Spirits showed no fear. Raising a massive, hairy hand, it summoned a shield of mud and water, blocking the attack.

Arrows from the longbows stuck fast, unable to move.

The crossbow bolts punched through the muddy shield, but lost all force and couldn’t harm the Five Spirits.

Lei Ji’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

The Five Spirits leaped forward in long strides, barreling straight toward Zhao Jia.

Last time, a worshipper had dared smash his clay idol, and that cat demon had wounded him—not seriously, but enough to enrage him. Now, he would kill the one who had mocked him, to restore his preacher’s dignity.

“Not so fast!” Strong One roared, raising his blade.

With a thud, the armored Strong One was sent flying into the courtyard wall.

He managed to rise, but staggered, unable to steady himself.

Whoosh!

Light and shadow converged in an instant, indistinguishable from moonlight, cold shadow, or perhaps just the wind.

The Five Spirits glanced aside.

It was a flash of a sword.

With a ripping sound, the Five Spirits jerked back, a deep gash opening along his lowered arm.

He turned, intending to leap onto the rooftop, but at that instant, a massive beast’s paw swept out from nowhere, knocking him from the air.

Looking up, he saw a striped tiger with white forehead and piercing eyes crouched on the rooftop, glaring down in the moonlight.

The Five Spirits recognized this tiger demon—an old foe, nearly beaten to death by his own hand.

The golden beast’s gaze slid to the swordsman who had wounded him.

It was Gao Qingzhi, the Demon-Suppressing Commander, his leopard’s head ringed eyes blazing, dressed in a war robe of indigo brocade, wielding a crystalline sword.

The sword, like a piece of polished jade, gleamed coldly in the moonlight. Blood slid down the blade without staining it, as if no trace of corruption could cling to its edge.

Gao Qingzhi grinned fiercely. “Release the kite!”

Small One quickly sent the prepared paper kite soaring.

A marvel: the two-foot kite billowed in the wind, swelling in an instant to cover the entire courtyard, casting a shadow as chilling as a celestial hound swallowing the moon.

“Monster, your time is up.”

Gao Qingzhi drew his steel knife across the neck of a black-crowned rooster.

The blood spilled directly into the shallow water below.

“It can’t escape!” Lei Ji rejoiced, ordering his soldiers to bar the doors.

Zhao Jia, stripping off his outer robes to reveal inner armor, gripped his broadsword and advanced, step by measured step.