Chapter Thirty-Three: The Ghostly Infant

Jiang Pingchuan led the group as they followed Wang Daniu toward his home. Zhou Fu noticed that Yu Shu and the big man were still eating their noodles, but said nothing; he simply instructed Xiao Wu to remain behind and look after the shop. He himself trailed after the others, curious to see what would unfold. He had not the slightest doubt about Jiang Pingchuan—after all, his own daughter was alive and well, busying herself in the back hall with his wife.

The group had not walked far when Jiang Pingchuan saw before him an old and battered house of blue brick and tile. Much of the plaster had fallen from the walls, and what remained was slick with dark green moss from years of rain. The courtyard, however, was reasonably tidy, with little sign of weeds. Jiang Pingchuan surveyed the entire place but found nothing unusual. He noticed Wang Daniu halt, turning back with a hesitant look. Jiang Pingchuan understood at once: the tightly shut door before him must be where Wang Daniu's wife resided.

"Brother Pingchuan," Wang Daniu sighed, "my wife has been acting strangely lately. She can't bear the light, and I hope you can help me find out what's wrong with her."

Since his wife’s mind had become unsteady—sometimes lucid, sometimes wild—Wang Daniu had known no peace. He felt helpless as he watched her suffer. They’d summoned a doctor, but to no avail. Now, having heard that Zhou Fu’s daughter had recovered from a similar madness thanks to Jiang Pingchuan, he brought him here in hope, if nothing else, for a remedy.

"Brother Daniu, don’t worry. I will do everything I can to discover the root of her illness," Jiang Pingchuan replied, clapping his shoulder. He strode to the door and entered. At once, he saw a woman sitting on the bed, her eyes vacant, muttering incoherently. At the sight of Jiang Pingchuan, her face contorted with fear and revulsion. She shrank against the wall, huddled in the darkness, shaking her tangled hair, emitting a low, buzzing wail as if to ward him off, yet too afraid to draw near.

The room was pitch black; the windows were covered by heavy black drapes, letting in not a sliver of light. Jiang Pingchuan approached, tore down the drapes, and bright sunlight flooded the room. He picked up a bronze mirror from the table and directed the sunlight onto the cowering woman.

A piercing cry erupted from her lips. She clawed at the bedding and tried desperately to burrow inside. Jiang Pingchuan set down the mirror. In the sunlight, he had seen it clearly: at the woman’s breast clung a ghostly infant, no larger than a hand, gnawing hungrily at her flesh. The woman trembled in pain, but as soon as the sunlight vanished, she seemed to recover somewhat. Jiang Pingchuan now understood her condition completely.

"What happened? What’s going on?" Wang Daniu, alarmed by the screams, rushed inside. He saw the room now bathed in sunlight and his wife shivering under the covers, and turned anxiously to Jiang Pingchuan.

"Brother Daniu, your wife’s ailment is not grave," Jiang Pingchuan said, his eyes on the now-calmer woman. "I have a question for you and hope you will answer honestly."

Wang Daniu, seeing Jiang Pingchuan’s grave expression, steadied himself, sensing this was central to his wife’s distress.

"Brother Daniu, you are well past thirty, yet I have seen no children in your household. This puzzles me. Would you explain why?"

Jiang Pingchuan’s brows furrowed. The woman’s affliction was not severe in his eyes—she was merely haunted by a ghostly infant. Yet this was no ordinary spirit; such a being would not trouble someone without reason. That the spectral child latched so fiercely at her breast suggested a deep connection to Wang Daniu and his wife.

"Brother Pingchuan, you do not know: years ago, my wife bore me a son, but fate was cruel. The child died soon after birth. Since then, my wife has never conceived again," Wang Daniu replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. Jiang Pingchuan nodded, certain now of his suppositions.

"Brother Daniu, would you wish to have another child?" Jiang Pingchuan’s face softened.

A flicker of hope shone in Wang Daniu’s eyes, but it quickly faded. He sighed. "Who wouldn’t want children, Brother Pingchuan? In old age, a son or daughter lights incense for your spirit. But you see my wife—she cannot bear children, and now she’s lost her mind..."

The big man’s voice broke, and tears welled in his eyes. Jiang Pingchuan had touched upon his greatest pain.

"Brother Daniu, I can cure your wife, and I wish to give you a son as well. If you agree, I can perform the ritual now," Jiang Pingchuan said, patting his shoulder.

Wang Daniu stared at him in disbelief, pondering Jiang Pingchuan’s promise of a son. Jiang Pingchuan watched him with an amused smile, saying nothing.

"Brother Pingchuan, are you serious? You mean I could have a son? Don’t give me false hope..." Wang Daniu wiped tears from his face. Seeing Jiang Pingchuan nod solemnly, Wang Daniu broke into a broad, toothy grin, his dark face alight with joy.

"Since you agree, I will begin now," Jiang Pingchuan said, seeing Wang Daniu so overcome with happiness. He felt no hesitation; this was his calling, and he would perform his duties as a Maoshan adept to the utmost.

With Wang Daniu’s expectant gaze upon him, Jiang Pingchuan walked to the window and closed his eyes, lifting his hands. A faint golden aura shimmered around him, flowing over his body. In his hands appeared an object like a spinning compass. With a gentle push, the compass floated to hover above the woman’s bed, rotating slowly. Jiang Pingchuan’s fingers danced over its surface, manipulating arcane symbols as if tuning the balance of Heaven and Earth.

But the compass trembled, unsteady, as if some unseen force resisted his attempt to guide the ghostly infant into the cycle of reincarnation. Within Jiang Pingchuan, his six Taoist crystals whirled wildly, as if affronted or possessed by a foreign presence, channeling all his inner energy to empower the compass.

The golden aura became crystalline, shining with silver light, and the compass, steadied by the spinning crystals, gained a firm center, no longer swaying. Eyes closed, Jiang Pingchuan’s hands moved rapidly across the compass, which emitted a resonant humming, filling the room with an otherworldly sound.