Xinghan is sweating. Metaphorically. Because ghosts can’t sweat.
Yeah, everything will turn out just fine, he thought bitterly, as a ghost taking the form of a child stands in a human market under broad daylight, holding a jar that can explode and release a powerful evil spirit at any moment. Also, don’t forget that a tiny crimson snake is currently posing as a bracelet around the ghost’s wrist and the big scar that cuts his face open like a fucking canyon.
He didn’t dare stop for too long, so he kept on pushing through the crowd, his wide-brimmed bamboo rain hat bumping against arms and waists of the passerby. People turned to look at the extraordinary child who wove swiftly through the crowd with a giant jar in his arms, but no one expressed any suspicion.
“Chufeng, you sure this is where the hideout is?” Xinghan hissed under his breath.
Chufeng, who was hidden under Xinghan’s sleeve, grunted and answered, “You do realize that I take every precaution to make sure we don’t die tragic deaths when both of us are invested in this black market business that exists within all three worlds? So yes, I am sure, because unlike you, I use my resources to make backup plans and look out for my ghost pal who runs a black shop with me.”
Xinghan rolled his eyes.
“Ah, there it is.”
Sitting at the very edge of the left aisle in the market is a small pottery stand, which sold… Well, very crude and organic hand-made pottery. A thin, almost bony man with a piece of cloth over his eyes dozed in a chair.
Chufeng uncoiled himself from Xinghan’s wrist and slithered onto the stand table, “Ehem, Uncle Lin, we got a bit of a situation here.”
The dozing man woke up and sat up straight with immense difficulty, “What’s it this time? Some drunk arse tried to molest you and you beat the crap out of him like last time?”
“…No, uncle, this one is worse.” Chufeng gestured his triangular snake head at the jar that Xinghan was holding.
Xinghan set the jar down, “We got an awfully nice sword spirit here that may break out of this jar and kill us all at any moment, the deities probably already ransacked our shop in search of this, and the transfer stop for all assets in the Market – which is our shop – has most likely just been destroyed as a consequence.”
Lin – who seems to be Chufeng’s relative – frowned slightly as he sat there thinking.
“Why couldn’t you have left it in the shop or disposed of it? That saves ninety percent of the trouble as far as I know.”
“Because if this jar and that sword spirit interested the deities, it’s either that they feared its power and wanted to destroy it, or it’s of great value and they wanted to make use of it. Either way, we could make a lot of money out of this thing.” Chufeng’s tongue flickered briefly.
Lin stood up and stretched, “Alright, I’ll help you. But now you owe me a favor, you understand?”
“Right.” Chufeng’s snake eyes filled with gratitude. What a wonder, Xinghan thought, he had always thought that the snake was an apathetic, ungrateful daemon – a daemon with the ideal qualities to navigate business in the Market.
Lin opened one of the pots that was set for display on his stand with incredible precision for a blindfolded man, “This should get you to where you guys need to go.”
Xinghan felt a strong pulling sensation, and he opened his eyes.
They were standing in a cavern, and somewhere underground he could hear the rushing sound of water.
“All right! Let’s open this one up. Xinghan, you can destroy the sealing charm and I’m going to draw drawing a formation. Hopefully it works in our favor and traps the spirit just long enough for us to figure out where it’s from and what it does.” Chufeng had turned back to his human form. She took the crimson hair pin from her bun and started to cut into the stone under their feet. The pin created abnormally deep carvings in the shale as she created a formation that looked vaguely like the character “镇”.
Meanwhile, Xinghan had set the jar down in the center of the formation and pulled out his block of ink. His hands suddenly burst into icy blue flames, and the ink glowed momentarily.
“We got no time to waste. On my call, three, two, one!”
The block of ink in Xinghan’s hand shot a ray of brilliant blue flames into the jar. The jar shattered, and a cloud of black fog rose and lurched straight for the two. Chufeng was holding the pressure point of the formation with her hair pin, and she had to press it down into the earth even more to steady it. The hairpin quivered dangerously as she pressed all of her human weight on it.
The black fog seemed so thick it was almost tangible. It let out a harsh screech and started violently smashing itself against the invisible walls of the trapping formation.
“Looks like this thing cannot communicate with us with language.” Xinghan’s brow furrowed deep, “Then I have to try this.”
He pulled out a small bamboo flute from inside his sleeve and blew a few notes. The fog seemed to hesitate, and stopped its vicious attempts of breaking out of the formation.
Seeing its hesitation, Xinghan went on and played a non-stopping string of rapid melodies that bounced around the cavern like tiny beads. The notes were fast and demanding, as if he was almost yelling at the spirit. The spirit was triggered again as it screeched and was about to charge at Xinghan with full force, but as Xinghan’s notes turned smoother and slower, it stopped again, as if listening intently.
“Man, I could never understand this mediumship shenanigan.” Chufeng had beads of sweat on her forehead, “Whatever this spirit may be, it sure is strong.”
Xinghan’s playing now flowed beautifully, with little peaks in notes here and there, and the spirit seemed to be responding in between pauses of his playing. Xinghan continued to press on, the urgency growing stronger again in his tempo.
This time the fog did not become agitated. As the ranges between each note grew larger, it seemed only to tremble lightly as it formed into the shape of a pointed object. Then it settled on the ground, lying still; and now within the formation lay a broken sword with the brick color of blood stained permanently on its edges.
Xinghan finally stopped playing. Chufeng breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her hairpin out from the pressure point of the formation.
The two walked closer to the sword. It lay lifeless, as if the screaming and banging that happened moments before had never occurred. However, the two could still distinctly sense the viciousness that came off the sword, and the unique coldness that only spirits possess was most noticeable around the broken edges.
“So this is settled. And now all we need to do is to find a sheath for it, so we can sell it in the Market in… I think a week?” Xinghan slid the flute back in his sleeves and tucked his block of ink in his waistband.
Chufeng straightened her newly tied bun, “The sooner we get rid of this thing the better. Nobody wants extra trouble from an angry sword spirit.”
ns 172.69.58.2da2
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