Volume One, Chapter 28: Finding the Ghost Ginseng

I felt something dripping onto my head. I looked up slowly, let out a scream, and before the stream of water even stopped, I pulled up my pants and slammed the door shut with a bang.

The Taoist looked at me with an expression of deep disappointment. "What are you afraid of?" he asked.

I couldn't even form a complete sentence. "Ma... Master," I stammered, "that giant eagle is right there on the roof."

"What?"

"It's huge, at least as tall as a man. When I looked up just now, it was twisting its neck to stare at me. Beneath it lay the corpse of the 'Ground Cannon,' his guts already ripped out."

The old hunter gritted his teeth, the sound audible in the room.

The Taoist’s fingers moved rapidly, as if he were calculating something.

"Master Ma, what kind of monster is that giant eagle?"

The Taoist looked doubtful. "I don't think it's a monster. It’s likely just been affected by radiation, causing it to grow to such a size."

The old hunter didn't understand the word "radiation," so the Taoist explained simply: it was a byproduct of the machines used by the people who perform organ transplants—a force invisible to the eye that causes nearby animals to mutate.

Upon hearing that it wasn't a ghost or demon, the old hunter’s courage returned. He loaded more iron-shot shells into his hunting rifle and nodded at the Taoist.

The Taoist didn't hesitate either; he drew his pistol and followed the hunter to the door.

The moment the door opened, it was like a flash of lightning. The rifle and pistol fired simultaneously. The giant eagle must have been preparing to take flight; as it flapped its wings, a gust of wind rushed through the doorway, nearly knocking me over.

The old hunter was quick and nimble. He reloaded instantly and fired another shot at the eagle as it took off. It flew only a few meters before crashing down in front of the black horse, its wings still fluttering as it struggled to turn over.

"Bang."

I was terrified.

The old hunter walked toward the eagle while firing, and the Taoist, having run out of bullets, grabbed his ghost-head saber and followed.

Inside the room, I watched as they hacked off the eagle’s talons. The headless ghost general stood there, watching silently. It didn't move or make a sound, though the expression on its white porcelain face changed from a ghostly grin to something vicious.

The Taoist and the hunter returned, each carrying one of the eagle’s talons. They were larger than my head and weighed seven or eight pounds each. The tips of the claws alone were longer than my fingers; if this thing had grabbed someone’s head, it would have surely crushed it.

The Taoist looked at me and said, "Many, do you see? Anything fears a person with strong vital energy. When the hunter and I went out, did that malevolent ghost dare to move?"

I swallowed hard. I, for one, certainly wouldn't have dared to move.

The headless ghost still refused to leave, but I wasn't as afraid anymore; if the Taoist could go outside unscathed, what more could the ghost do?

We waited until daybreak, when the figure of the headless ghost gradually blurred and then slowly vanished.

The old hunter rubbed his rough face and said, "This thing is no ordinary entity. It wasn't even that afraid of us, actually daring to stand its ground. In all my years living in these mountains, this is the first time I've seen such a thing."

The Taoist replied, "It was a standoff, but also a desperate gamble. It wants the ginseng, the fox fur, and the tiger bone, so it had no choice but to wait here."

"What does it want those for?"

"Everything that has attained some form of spiritual power is valuable. The burial site of the headless general is a place that nurtures corpses. If those three items are buried alongside his bones, the headless general's power will double. He would become a ghost among ghosts."

The old hunter gasped. "What do we do now?"

The Taoist looked at me. "Go see if the Fox Immortal and the Tiger Immortal have woken up."

I answered and walked into their room, but it was empty, as if everything from the night before had been a dream. I checked the room of the short, chubby ginseng spirit, and it was empty as well.

"Master, Master!" I cried in panic. "The Immortals are gone!"

The Taoist took a sharp breath and asked, "Is there any yellow incense here?"

No sooner had he spoken than a knocking sound echoed from the door: *dang, dang, dang.*

My heart skipped a beat, and the old hunter grew alert. No one had left the house since morning, so it had to be an outsider.

The Taoist grabbed his ghost-head saber to open the door. My heart was in my throat.

With a creak, the door opened to reveal a small figure about a meter tall. The creature was hideous, its face covered in pits and bumps, as if someone had caved it in. It wore colorful, gaudy clothes that looked like paper cutouts. Its head seemed stiff, wobbling side to side as it looked at us—a true little demon.

"Who are you?"

Just as the words left my mouth, a cloud of yellow smoke erupted from the small figure. The smoke was so thick we couldn't even see our own hands, and it carried a nauseating, musky stench.

A moment later, the smoke dissipated. The small figure was gone, replaced by two weasels, each over a foot long. They showed no fear of us, standing at the threshold and pointing their heads toward the mountains.

The Taoist pressed his palms together and bowed to the doorway, thanking the Immortals for their guidance.

With the weasels leading the way, it became much easier to locate the headless general's remains. The Taoist, the old hunter, and I packed our gear and set off immediately.

The man with the braid from the tavern wanted to follow, saying he would help however he could, even if it was just carrying our packs. But the old hunter refused, telling them to stay behind to bury the dead from last night’s incident and clean up the tavern.

The hunter and the Taoist had reached an understanding, or perhaps a mutual respect born from learning about one another. Though the hunter had taken lives, he was a man of justice. You didn't need to think hard to know that people were likely trafficking organs or maiming children for begging elsewhere, but within the hunter's domain, he would never allow evil men to run wild.

I felt a deep, genuine respect for the old hunter. In places where the law could not reach, someone needed to stand up for justice. Where the sunlight could not penetrate, people still needed the presence of light.

The weasels were highly intelligent, leading the way like little guides, occasionally looking back to see if we were keeping up.

To the Taoist’s delight, the weasels led us to a mass grave. Among the mounds that had been leveled over time, the Taoist found the ghost-ginseng he had been seeking.

I felt a chill—or perhaps disappointment. If he had found the ghost-ginseng, the Taoist might not return to the tavern. And if he didn't return, I might never see Hu Xiaozui again. I had been hoping she would come again tonight.

The spot where this ghost-ginseng grew was peculiar. Among the weeds, it grew under a locust tree. The tree looked malnourished, its trunk varying in thickness and covered in bulbous growths; from a distance, it looked like a string of candied hawthorn berries.

The Taoist took out copper coins, red thread, and deer-bone needles. After burning paper money and bowing to the spirits, he knelt on the ground to begin digging, while the old hunter stood guard with his rifle.

This was the rule of the mountains. Animals have their instincts; whether it’s a lynx or a pack of wolves, they always want to take a bite out of someone with their back turned. Thus, when digging for ginseng, one person must dig while the other keeps watch.

This ghost-ginseng had six-leaved stalks—it was a true gem among ginseng. To explain: the number of "leaves" refers to the number of leaflets on the palm-shaped leaves that sprout as the plant ages. A stalk with three leaflets is a "three-leaf" ginseng; one with six is a "six-leaf."

Whether cultivated or wild, ginseng maxes out at six leaves. No matter how long it grows, once it reaches six, it stays that way.

Furthermore, there is no such thing as a "thousand-year" ginseng. Ginseng lives at most for two hundred years; a hundred-year-old plant is the best. Beyond a century, the plant begins to harden and lignify, losing its medicinal value.

If a ginseng plant reaches two hundred years, it either becomes a spirit and takes human form, or it dies and dissolves into water. There is no such thing as a ginseng plant older than two hundred years.