Chapter Thirty-Seven: Divining the Spirits

We naturally stood by and watched as Zhuang Xingrui busied himself.

To find the ghost causing trouble, one must first know its name. Among those practicing witchcraft or the Dao, the most common method is divination to seek out the spirit—an art known as “ghost searching.” There are many ways to do this, differing from place to place.

Zhuang Xingrui plucked a few dog hairs and walked over to the table in the center of the room. He took out a red cloth from his travel bag and spread it over the table, then produced a small, heavy pouch. From it, he grabbed a handful of white, round grains—it was rice.

Holding the dog hairs in one hand and a small handful of rice in the other, he closed his eyes and mouthed inaudible words, his lips trembling slightly as he chanted in silence.

Everyone held their breath, watching Zhuang Xingrui intently, waiting for the outcome of his divination. The boy surnamed Wei seemed utterly unconcerned, not sparing Zhuang Xingrui a glance.

As for Xiao Qingwan, although she disliked Zhuang Xingrui, she had always acknowledged his skills. Yet in this matter of divining the ghost, a trace of disdain flickered across her face.

Old Ma, meanwhile, looked as if he was simply waiting for a good show, as though he already knew what would come next.

After a long silent chant, Zhuang Xingrui rubbed the rice in his hands and scattered it over the red cloth. He opened his eyes and examined the grains strewn across the fabric, prodding them a few times, his brows knitting in confusion.

As if refusing to accept defeat, he grabbed another handful of rice, closed his eyes, chanted again, and scattered the grains once more. The confusion in his eyes only deepened.

He reached for more rice, as if preparing for a third attempt.

“This matter reeks of evil and is far from ordinary. You are not a specialist in divination; you won’t be able to glean anything,” Old Ma remarked blandly.

Zhuang Xingrui glanced at him but ignored the comment, closing his eyes to try again.

Old Ma’s words were meant as a kindly reminder, but Zhuang Xingrui failed to take the offered out. Old Ma, feeling snubbed, turned away in a huff, no longer sparing Zhuang Xingrui a glance and letting him flounder as he pleased.

Zhuang Xingrui tried several more times, his frown growing deeper, his forehead clouded with doubt, until at last he admitted defeat: “I can’t divine the ghost!”

A hint of skepticism flickered in Huang Wenyang’s eyes as he said dispiritedly, “The two Taoist priests before you were the same. They only found out there was a binding, but not where the binding ghost is.”

His words implied that Zhuang Xingrui’s abilities were nothing special, no better than those priests—perhaps even worse, since at least they confirmed there was a binding, while Zhuang Xingrui couldn’t even identify the troublesome ghost.

Zhuang Xingrui, stung by the slight, wore a sour expression. “How can ordinary priests be compared to me?”

“Of course, of course,” Huang Wenyang replied obsequiously. “But what should we do now? If we can't divine the ghost, there's no way to find it.”

Unable to divine the spirit, Zhuang Xingrui lost face and was at a loss for what to do next.

Both Xiao Qingwan and Gu Yangyu were less skilled than he, and if he had no solution, they certainly had none. As for me, I knew nothing about ghosts and spirits at all. For a moment, everyone’s gaze fell upon Old Ma.

Old Ma, still simmering, snapped, “Why are you all looking at me? Isn’t he the expert? I’m just a useless old man! I know nothing!”

To the uninitiated, he might have seemed childishly petulant, but I knew better—this old man was simply vindictive and cunning!

“Master, that’s enough. We’re relying on you to guide us through this,” I coaxed him gently.

Old Ma flared up. “Enough? You think I’m making a fuss for nothing? Poor me, these old bones, coming all this way just to be treated like this! Who have I ever wronged?”

He coughed a few times, thumping his legs and back, striking the image of a frail elder worn out by age.

The boy surnamed Wei glanced at him, and Old Ma finally calmed a bit, clearing his throat to dispel the awkwardness. “I told you from the start—this matter is steeped in evil, far from ordinary, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Old Ma shot me a look. “Do you know how, according to the stories, the binding ghost eats hearts and livers?”

Wait, the hearts and livers were eaten? How so?

“In legend, the binding ghost likes to devour hearts. At night, it turns into a small insect, burrows into animals’ bodies, and eats their hearts,” said Xiao Qingwan.

Old Ma nodded approvingly, his eyes glinting lecherously as he gazed at her. “Quite right, young lady, you have promise! Indeed, the old tales tell of livestock dropping dead overnight, their bodies opened to find their hearts gone. It would turn out someone in the household was a ‘binding mother,’ sneaking out at night to feed.”

“So you mean, the livestock that died these past two weeks really were killed by a binding ghost?” Xiao Qingwan asked.

“I can’t say for sure. I’ve never actually seen what it looks like when a binding ghost eats a heart. But to see such large-scale consumption of animal hearts and livers, rather than harming people, is something I’ve never heard of before,” Old Ma replied.

With that, I finally grasped his point. “So this whole thing has been strange from the very start?”

Old Ma smiled, neither confirming nor denying.

It turned out that the old man had sensed something was off before he even arrived, having heard of the events beforehand. After seeing the dead dog, he became even more certain of his suspicions. From the outset, he meant to make things difficult for Zhuang Xingrui.

This old man was not only vengeful but also quite cunning. I’d already fallen for his tricks during the Xingman case. I’d better be careful from now on, lest I fall for another of his schemes.

Zhuang Xingrui scowled darkly, glaring at Old Ma, clearly nursing a grudge.

Old Ma continued, “If nothing is revealed by divination, there are usually only four possibilities: great calamity, great evil, great injustice, or the unknowable.”

At these words, a flicker passed through Huang Wenyang’s eyes.

I asked Old Ma what these four possibilities meant.

He shot me a look of disdain. “Don’t you know that? Have all my teachings gone to waste?”

Damn! When did he ever teach me? Has this old man gotten too deep into his role, actually taking me for his disciple?

He explained, “Ordinary sorcerers and mystics only know the basic methods of ghost divination, just enough to identify what kind of spirit is causing trouble. But if the roots of the matter are too complex, nothing will show up. Usually, there are four reasons: First, a great calamity, where many died from natural or man-made disasters—floods, plagues, droughts, fires, massacres. Second, a powerful entity—called a great evil, such as an ancient ghost or monster of hundreds or thousands of years, though ‘great evil’ is relative to the diviner’s own skill. Third, a great injustice—someone who died with grievances unredressed, which is the most common. Lastly, if it’s none of the above and the cause remains mysterious, it’s called ‘unknowable’—sometimes, for example, the feng shui of a grave or house is wrong, which can have an effect.”

Old Ma then asked Huang Wenyang, “Has there ever been a disaster here that killed many people, or anyone who died with unavenged grievances?”