Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

As evening approached, the sky over Jinshi hung extremely low.

Dark clouds pushed in from the Bohai Bay, like an overturned black pot, making the entire old city feel suffocated.

The air was thick with a fishy smell, the smell of silt from the Haihe River being blown up by the wind.

By midnight, the rain had turned Tianjin into an underwater city.

Under the archway of Beidaguan, seven or eight people were huddled together, seeking shelter from the rain.

The water on the stone platform was already above ankle level, and no one dared to take a step outside.

Xiao Fuzi, the newspaper vendor, suddenly froze and nudged the person next to her with her elbow: "Grandpa Sun...over there, is someone coming?"

Who would be out in this weather?

The group peered out for a few seconds before noticing a dark figure approaching.

First, there was a black umbrella, pulled down so low that the face was completely obscured.

He was dressed in black, with a long wooden box on his back that swayed gently with his steps.

The man walked past them from directly in front of the archway, only a few steps away.

The umbrella obscured her face, revealing only a pale chin.

The group of people just watched him walk away without saying a word or moving.

Only after the black umbrella disappeared into the rain did Xiao Fuzi dare to breathe.

"Is that a person or...?" Xiao Fuzi didn't dare to finish her sentence.

"It's a person," Old Sun, the beggar, said. "It should be a living person."

"A living person coming out in this weather?" Liu Er, the coachman from the innermost part of the group, sneered. "A living person going west? You all know what the west is, don't you?"

The rain poured down, and no one spoke again under the archway.

. . . . . .

A thunderous roar erupted, illuminating the entire earth.

In that instant, the water in the courtyard was blindingly white, and every raindrop was clearly visible suspended in mid-air.

Qian the Cripple sat in the main room, holding two walnuts in his hand, which he spun around, making a crackling sound.

His eyes were fixed on the pomegranate tree in the courtyard outside the door. The leaves were so heavy from the rain that they could not lift their heads, and the branches were bent over with water dripping down the leaves.

Zhou Laoda and his two companions stood at the lower end, their clothes half-soaked, rain dripping down their trouser legs.

They ran around all day, their legs were about to give out, but they still couldn't figure out a single thing about that person.

Zhou Laoda went to Manager Sun to inquire about the auction house.

Manager Sun was polite, but shook his head no matter what he asked. The man was a stranger, visiting for the first time, and unwilling to give his name, so he couldn't force him to ask.

Rules are rules, and the worst thing you can do in an auction house is to pry into every little detail.

Inside the ghost market, Liu Desheng questioned all the information brokers.

All I found out was that this was his first time here, that he had bought a piece of Yin bone from someone, and that he had also made a deal with Master Ge, who specializes in selling Crimson Sun Blood Crystals.

When he asked Master Ge for advice, he was turned away by him again.

Undeterred, Liu Desheng spent the afternoon wandering around the ghost market and learned something else.

There was some noise outside the auction house last night.

Not just one place, but several.

I heard that the Ghost Banner that Manager Hu won at the auction was stolen, and several other people who participated in the auction also ran into trouble, disappearing along with their goods.

Liu Desheng kept this in mind and reported it to his master when he returned.

The third disciple, Zhao Chen, went to find his junior sister, who then went to find the third son of the second branch of the Liu family.

The third son of the Liu family was very helpful. He asked around and came back with accurate information: in the past half month, no conspicuous strangers had come to Jinshi.

There isn't a single dragon crossing the river.

Three groups of people, all empty-handed.

The walnuts in Qian the Cripple's hand spun even faster.

"Master," Boss Zhou began, "there's another matter. I took it upon myself to do something."

Qian the Cripple lifted his eyelids to look at him.

"My apprentice spent a hundred silver dollars to inquire about something with the auction house clerk. Although that person took the teacup, no one has touched the chair he sat in last night."

Old Master Zhou glanced at him cautiously: "I'm thinking, maybe there's still the other person's scent on that chair."

He didn't say anything more, but the meaning was clear.

Qian the Cripple stared at him for a couple of seconds, then suddenly laughed.

He threw the walnuts on the table, stood up by supporting himself on the armrest, and when his lame leg landed, there was a cracking sound from his kneecap.

"Where's the chair?"

"The rain was too heavy, so we didn't dare move the carriage from the backyard into the yard."

Qian the Cripple waved his hand: "Move it in, hurry up."

Zhou Laoda turned and rushed into the rain. A moment later, he and Zhao Chen carried an elm wood armchair into the main room.

The two were soaked to the bone, rainwater streaming down their clothes and pooling on the ground.

The chair was old, with its armrests worn smooth and its back carved with simple patterns.

Old Zhou placed the chair in the very center of the main room.

Qian the Cripple walked to the chair, circled it once, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, covered his nose, bent down, and took a deep breath.

He finished inhaling and didn't move.

I took another puff.

This time he straightened up, put away the handkerchief, and the light in his eyes changed.

"Close all the doors and windows, and then move that box out of the inner room."

Liu Desheng was taken aback, then turned around to close the door and windows.

The sounds of wind and rain outside were kept out of the door, and the main room gradually darkened.

Liu Desheng carried a small, heavy black lacquered box out of the inner room and placed it on the table.

Qian the Cripple walked over and lifted the lid of the box.

Inside the box was a yellow silk cloth, and on the cloth lay a bronze mirror, about the size of a palm, its surface grimy and unable to reflect any image.

He reached out and took out the bronze mirror, a bundle of incense, a stack of yellow paper, and a small porcelain bottle.

Zhou Laoda and his two companions stood aside, not daring to utter a sound.

Qian the Cripple lit the incense and placed it in the incense burner.

The smoke from the cigarette rose and swirled around the room before drifting towards the chair.

He opened the small porcelain bottle again and poured some powder onto the yellow paper.

The powder was dark red, like cinnabar, but it had a fishy smell when poured out.

He folded the yellow paper into a small square, pressed it onto the seat of the chair, and pressed it down hard.

Then he picked up the bronze mirror, placed it face down on the yellow paper.

"Bring me a bowl of water."

Zhao Chen quickly went to the kitchen and brought over a bowl of cold water.

Qian the Cripple took the bowl, took a mouthful, and spat it out onto the back of the bronze mirror with a "pfft".

Water droplets trickled down the edge of the mirror, dripping onto the chair surface and seeping into the yellow paper.

He put down the bowl, held the bronze mirror with both hands, mirror facing up, closed his eyes, and began to chant.

"Wandering souls, where do they linger?"

In the desolate wilderness, temples and forests.

Streets and alleys, ancient wells and lonely graves.

The green smoke points the way, and the mirror reveals its image.

"I obey the command of the patriarch, may it be done swiftly as the law commands—"

After reciting the last sentence, he tossed the bronze mirror into the air.

The bronze mirror flipped over in the air, and as it fell, he caught it, placed it face down, and put it back on the chair.

The three apprentices dared not utter a sound, staring intently at their master's hand.

Qian the Cripple kept his eyes closed, his palm pressed against the back of the mirror, and remained motionless.

After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, he suddenly opened his eyes.

"The rain is too heavy; it has dispersed the opponent's aura, making it difficult to recover."