Chapter Seventy-Seven: Writing Talismans with Cuckoo Blood

Old Ma’s face suddenly darkened. He turned to me and barked angrily, “Open your hand!”

Puzzled, I opened my hand.

“Not that one!”

I opened my other hand, the one holding the talisman paper. Old Ma snatched it from me, brought it close to his eyes, sniffed it, and his expression grew even gloomier. He roared, “Where did you get this talisman, kid?”

I hadn’t thought much of the talisman before, so I never mentioned it to him. Confused, I asked, “Is there something wrong with this talisman?”

It seemed quite effective to me, certainly more so than the ones Old Ma had given me.

Old Ma pocketed the talisman, his face still black with anger. “We’ll settle this later. And this girl—how did you end up together? You two aren’t up to something, are you?”

The woman turned away, scoffing, “I just happened to pass by, is that so hard to believe?”

With that, she spun on her heel and strode off. After a few steps, as if suddenly remembering something, she glanced back with a hint of mischief in her eyes and said, “Oh, right, Old Ma, I happened to save your apprentice too. You can add that to his account. Bye~”

Old Ma’s face grew even darker, and he glared at me, furious. “You, kid, you’re barely in the business and already getting cocky! Just wait until I’m done here—I’ll deal with you then!”

With that, he turned to the flock of birds encircling us, pinched his fingers together and muttered a few words. He flicked his hand, and the birds immediately broke formation and scattered.

I wondered why the woman saving me would count as a debt. It seemed Old Ma didn’t get along with her—or perhaps he simply disliked anyone who practiced “medicine arts.”

The little ghost was left to Old Ma and his people. I chased after the woman, calling, “Wait.”

She stopped and turned back. “What is it? Something on your mind?”

“Thanks for helping me. My name’s Wang Luo,” I said.

She looked surprised that I introduced myself, glanced at Old Ma with a sly smile, and replied, “Ye Yun’nan~ Goodbye, little brother~”

With that, she blew me a kiss and walked away.

I turned around, only to meet the blazing fury in Old Ma’s eyes. He thundered, “Blinded by beauty! How did I end up with an apprentice like you?”

Old Ma took out a yellow cloth, muttered an incantation, and slapped it onto the little ghost, which vanished instantly. He quickly rolled up the cloth, spat blood onto it, and wrapped it with another talisman paper.

After sealing away the little ghost, Old Ma’s face remained dark as he turned to me—ready to settle accounts. Still clueless, I approached him.

He held up the bird-summoning talisman and spoke in a low voice, “Where did you get this thing?”

I told the truth: “It’s from that master I mentioned before, the one I met in the vine forest. He gave it to me. Is there a problem with it? It works pretty well, I thought.”

Hearing my last sentence, Old Ma’s face grew even darker, and he slapped my forehead angrily. “Works well, you say! You dare call it effective! There are righteous and evil paths, proper and wicked arts. Since you’re my apprentice, you stick to the right side! Don’t mess with these crooked things!”

I took the blow, quickly stepping back and raising my hands defensively. “What’s so special about this talisman? Why is it considered an evil thing? Tell me—if you don’t, how am I supposed to know?”

Old Ma raised the talisman. “Do you know what the runes are written with? Live male dove blood! It kills to aid spirits and controls living things. Only evil arts use such methods! Remember this: all shamanic arts—banishing spirits, warding off evil, reading fortunes, changing fate—never control the living! Any art that harms life is wicked! As my apprentice, you must walk the righteous path!”

I was stunned. So, controlling birds was considered an evil art. There were rules after all.

Old Ma continued, “And that woman—stay away from her. Don’t get involved. Medicine arts are more often used for harm than good.”

“What are medicine arts?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you later! Let’s head back first!” Old Ma growled, tearing the bird-summoning talisman to shreds.

“Wait, I need to find something first!” I said, borrowing a flashlight from Gu Yangyu and running toward the fields.

I found the divine seal and picked it up before following Old Ma and the others back.

Duan Tianqi had been silent the whole time, whether watching the flock of birds or listening to our conversation with Old Ding. He stood to the side with the phone I’d given him. I worried the trauma was too much, and thought I’d have to talk to his parents about seeing a doctor.

On the way back, I finally learned why Old Ma had come with the police. The plainclothes officer had called me, then contacted Meng Chengde, who in turn called Gu Yangyu. Realizing things were dire, they rushed back and met the police en route, so they came together. The officer called me again, Duan Tianqi answered, and they found him first. He then led them here.

Old Ma suddenly spoke with a hint of warning. “That person you met in the vine forest is likely not from the righteous path. If you ever meet him again, be careful.”

“Alright,” I replied, thinking that while the man was powerful, he wasn’t very smart.

Back at Old Ding’s house, Gu Yangyu and Old Ma went to his room to look for the little straw figure, while I waited in the living room with Duan Tianqi. Having witnessed Old Ding’s killing, Duan Tianqi was still frightened, despite the murderer being taken away. The eerie furnishings of the living room didn’t help.

I hadn’t noticed before how gloomy the place was. Several ancestral tablets stood on the wall opposite the door, incense burning nearby with simple offerings laid out. The dim candlelight cast strange shadows over the tablets, making them look uncanny. I couldn’t help but stare.

These were ancestral tablets—for Old Ding’s grandparents, parents, and a newly placed one for his wife. Her tablet hadn’t been there at dinner, so it must have been put up before Old Ding tried to silence us.

I looked at Old Ding’s grandfather’s tablet. It was old, clearly placed there for many years. Old Ding had said his grandfather’s belongings were all burned, but that wasn’t entirely true; the tablet, made for honoring the dead, was still connected to him.

The more I looked, the stranger the tablet seemed. Its base was larger than the others, not quite matching those beside it.

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