Chapter 43: Identity

Common sense dictates that unless it is distilled liquor, the longer it is left to sit, the more the alcohol evaporates. Not to mention rice wine; it already has a low alcohol content, so if you leave it for decades, even with the lid on, it will be as bland as water, devoid of any flavor.

However, the wine in the soul chamber was different. I even suspected at one point that it wasn't wine at all.

Chen Jiansheng, an old drunkard, scooped up a little with his hand to taste it and was instantly intoxicated. His speech became slurred, and his face turned a startling shade of red.

"Earth-worker Chen, are you alright? Can you still walk?" I reached out to steady him, noticing his unsteady gait.

"I can! Of course I can!"

"Good wine! Truly good wine! It packs a punch!" He slurred, his face flushed.

"What a complete idiot," Sister Hong muttered, rolling her eyes.

Chen Jiansheng clutched the soul chamber in both arms, swaying with every step as he moved forward.

"Let's go, let's keep going. I’m not drunk... I’m taking this wine out. Every drop is worth a hundred thousand!"

Unable to stop him, I just said, "Watch your step, Earth-worker Chen, don't fall."

There was a small path to the northwest of the sacrificial pit leading to a cave. It was the only route, clearly man-made long ago. We had no idea where it led, only that we had seen those things enter through it.

Chen Jiansheng stumbled ahead, hugging his jar of soul-chamber wine, with Sister Hong and me following behind.

The path looked flat from the outside, but after a few dozen meters, it began to slope upward.

My heart lifted; I saw this as a positive sign, as an ascent meant we might eventually reach the surface.

Suddenly, a chorus of monkey-like shrieks erupted from all directions. I had no idea where they had jumped out from.

Before us stood that group of creatures... they were the small, hat-wearing mountain spirits.

They blocked the center of the path, screaming at us, each clutching a rock the size of a child's fist.

Sister Hong and I were stunned by the standoff and instinctively began to retreat. As the saying goes, "If the enemy doesn't move, neither do I."

After all, these animals belong to the primate family; the moment we moved, they would perceive it as a sign of weakness.

"Sister Hong, look out!"

In an instant, a rock came flying toward her forehead.

Sister Hong’s reaction was lightning-fast. She twisted her neck, and the fist-sized stone grazed her hair, slamming into the wall with a loud crack. The rock split in two, demonstrating the sheer force behind the throw. Had that hit her head, her brains would have been splattered on the spot.

"Retreat, now!" Sister Hong immediately realized the gravity of the situation.

"Move!" I dragged the dazed Chen Jiansheng toward the exit. Almost simultaneously, a hail of stones rained down upon us. One struck my arm, and the pain sent beads of sweat across my brow.

Once we had retreated, the creatures did not follow us out.

Seeing my arm bleeding, Sister Hong hurried to ask if I was alright and how much it hurt.

It was agony, of course... but clutching my arm, I forced myself to say, "It's nothing, just a surface wound. I think the bone is fine." I tried to lift it, but my left arm was completely limp, and any effort caused sharp pain. I suspected then that it was fractured.

"This is all your fault!" Sister Hong glared at Chen Jiansheng. "Why did you have to take that damn piss-pot? All this delay, and look what happened!"

Chen Jiansheng’s face was still red, though it was hard to tell if it was from the wine or embarrassment.

He shook his head and cursed, "It’s just a bunch of hairy monkeys. Give me a knife, and I’ll stab them all to death!"

"Don't, Earth-worker Chen, don't be reckless," I said, suppressing the pain. "Don't underestimate these beasts. Doing that would be suicide."

This upward path was likely the only way out, yet after all our efforts to find it, we were blocked by a pack of animals. The frustration was unbearable.

If only we had a gun. If we had that kind of hardware, a single burst of fire would have turned them into a honeycomb.

We huddled to discuss how to deal with the creatures and find a way out.

Sister Hong proposed an idea: one person could go in first to draw their attention and lure them away. If done correctly, the other two could slip past unnoticed.

Without resorting to a suicide mission, this was indeed a viable plan, but the question remained: who would go?

Sister Hong looked straight at Chen Jiansheng.

"You go. This is your fault, and you bear the greatest responsibility," she said coldly.

I expected Chen Jiansheng to argue, as this could easily lead to death. To my surprise, he lowered his head.

"Fine. I'll go. You two stay hidden behind me."

He didn't argue, and his quick agreement caught Sister Hong off guard.

As if sobering up, Chen Jiansheng cupped his hands and said, "Young man, Chen, let me tell you something. This is my fault, and if I’m killed by those stones, I deserve it. But I want you to know one thing: I am not just a grave-robbing earth-worker. I am a descendant of the 'Ping' school of the White Spring Point."

Sister Hong was stunned. "White Spring Point? You mean you’re a descendant of the Ping school of the Eight Minor Gates?"

Chen Jiansheng nodded. "That's right. No special reason, just wanted to announce my lineage."

I was shocked as well, having only just learned this.

Few people today know what the Eight Minor Gates are. During the late Qing Dynasty and the Republican era, aside from the Tomb-Robbing Gate, the Swindler's Gate, and the Yin Seven Gates that dealt with the dead, there were the Four Great Gates and the Eight Minor Gates in the underworld.

The Four Great Gates were Wind, Horse, Goose, and Crow.

The Eight Minor Gates included Gold, Skin, Color, Hook, Ping, Group, Adjust, and Willow.

These included professions like selling plasters, cutlery, buns, performing magic, storytelling, face reading, selling medicine, the knife-lending men, and those who practiced qigong like breaking stones on their chests. Modern-day famous brands like the Wang Mazi Scissors and the Qingfeng Bun Shop were founded by people from these Eight Minor Gates.

Chen Jiansheng claimed to be a descendant of the White Spring Point of the Ping school—the storytellers. There were many legends about the old man White Spring Point, the most famous being that he could tell "ghost stories."

In folklore, ghost stories and ghost operas were not performed for the living. In the old society, when someone died, the family would often hire people to perform these, much like hiring a dance troupe for a funeral today.

They were spoken for the ghosts, sung for the ghosts, to build a karmic connection with the underworld.

That was who White Spring Point was. I never expected the unassuming Chen Jiansheng to have such a background.

Chen Jiansheng chuckled. "Sorry, Chen, but our sects don't mix. My name isn't Chen Jiansheng. It’s actually Bai Jiansheng."

"If I die without revealing my identity, that would be miserable. Even if I've lived a pathetic life, I’m still a member of the Eight Gates. It’s better to have the message sent out."

"Bai Jiansheng of the White Spring Point Ping School died in the Flying Moth Mountains of Shunde."

"With the word spread, at least I’ll die with my name known."