Chapter Sixty-One: Shadow Puppetry

Screen Mountain lies in the southwest of the Zhao Kingdom, its peaks forming a unique inward embrace. At its mid-height, wind seldom blows, hence its name. At the foot of the mountain sits a small town known as Screen Town, whose lord was said to be a prince of the imperial dynasty. Though not wielding overwhelming power, he had once enjoyed a lively existence in the capital. However, his eccentric nature offended many, and so, he was banished to this remote town.

Having always been a man of wine and indulgence, his spirit sank further after exile. He spent his days in drunken revelry, paying little heed to governance. Yet, his negligence relaxed the laws within the town, attracting all manner of people from every walk of life. Travelers from far and wide found themselves stopping here, and Screen Town gradually became a melting pot, its streets teeming with a colorful array of humanity.

On this particular night, a group of townsfolk gathered in an alley, engrossed in watching a small stage ahead. The so-called stage was nothing more than a wooden cart with a frame atop it, draped in a white curtain. Yellow candlelight cast the silhouettes of figures, cut from animal hide, upon the curtain—these were the “shadow puppets” performing.

Shadow puppet plays had swept the north and south, delighting both refined and common audiences. Even in this remote town, they remained one of the most cherished pastimes after meals. Tonight’s performance was “Li Xian Raises Hell in the Underworld.”

The story tells of celestial beings gathering at Kunlun; even the King of the Underworld was invited, leaving Fengdu City without its ruler. The judge temporarily took the king’s place. This judge was a figure of dual nature, possessing identities both in the realm of the dead and the living.

On this day, the judge calculated that his nephew in the mortal world was nearing his end. By rights, his soul should descend to the underworld that very night. But with the king absent, the judge abused his authority, finding a scapegoat to take his nephew’s place. The black and white ghosts, tasked only with the numbers, seized the substitute’s soul that night.

A scholar passing by learned of this. His name was Li Xian, known as a scholar among men, but in truth, he was a celestial historian tasked with investigating injustices. He questioned the little ghosts and uncovered the judge’s misdeeds, prompting him to descend to the underworld to confront the judge—thus began “Li Xian Raises Hell.”

Upon the white curtain, a blue silhouette stood at the center: Li Xian, surrounded by five little ghosts. Opposite him was a tall figure in red official robes, ugly of countenance—the “Judge of the Underworld.”

The judge cried out, “Li Xian, how dare you! Heaven and earth are divided; life and death are separate. As a being of heaven, why do you trespass upon the underworld?”

Li Xian replied, “Officials of heaven and earth each have their duties. How could the judge alter life and death in the king’s absence, disregarding human lives? Now that I, Li Xian, have encountered this, I must intervene!”

A round of applause erupted from the crowd.

The voices behind the curtain—one righteous and bold, the other sly and wretched—captivated the audience. Though they knew only a single puppeteer handled the performance, the contrasting voices drew their admiration.

The judge declared, “Since you disregard the laws of heaven, don’t blame me for my ruthless hand. Bring me the ghost-head guillotine!”

“Clang, clang, clang!” With a burst of drum and gong, four little ghosts appeared, their heads enormous, bodies thin and comical. They struggled together to carry the golden ghost-head guillotine to the judge. Exhausted, two of them stumbled and fell, causing the guillotine to topple and crush them to death.

Laughter erupted from the crowd, some applauding, others shouting, “Serves them right!”

Yet, at that moment, something strange occurred. The judge on the curtain seemed to hear the mockery, turned to face the crowd, and grinned wickedly: “You commoners dare laugh at me?”

Shadow puppets, crafted by artisans’ hands, are fixed in form, usually showing only profiles. But as the judge turned, the audience saw his full face, smiling sinisterly.

Before anyone could cry out, a strange light flashed in the judge’s eyes, drawing all gazes, and the crowd gradually fell into a stupor. All cheers and chatter ceased; every person stared blankly at the judge, unmoving.

With a “snap,” the curtain was drawn aside, revealing the puppeteer—a man in white, with narrow eyes and a fox-like face. He swept his gaze over the crowd, then produced a rattle-drum, shaking it with force. The dull thumping sound seemed to command the crowd. Instantly, the dazed people turned, facing out of the alley.

The man in white, satisfied, nodded and led the way, shaking the drum as he walked. The crowd followed, shuffling behind him.

...

Outside Screen Town.

It was late at night; ordinarily, the roads would be deserted. Yet here, the man in white walked under the moon, shaking his drum, followed by dozens—men, women, even children as young as seven or eight. All wore vacant expressions, their eyes dull, as if sleepwalking.

Among them was a youth in gray, sixteen or seventeen, handsome and upright. Though his face was as blank as the others, a flicker of alertness sometimes shone in his clouded eyes, as if he were observing those around him.

The man in white, oblivious to this, continued leading the procession, shaking his drum.

The group wound its way about ten miles from the town, when suddenly, disaster struck.

A cutting wind rose beside the road, sharp as an invisible blade. A dazzling white arc swept in, heading straight for the man in white. The force was fierce, accompanied by dragon roars and tiger growls, like a streak of frost between heaven and earth.

The man in white’s hair stood on end; he dodged sideways, but too late. With a ripping sound, half his sleeve flew high, rolling on the ground with part of his arm inside, blood gushing forth and dyeing the white red.

He screamed in agony.

Looking closely, the white arc was a long blade, slender, four fingers wide, five feet in length—almost as tall as a person. Its tip pointed upward, held behind the back by a woman in black.

She was slim, not short but not tall, with a lithe figure. Her face was sharp and pretty, eyes bright and clear, a touch of crimson between her brows—a beauty to charm all. Yet her expression was grave, and a hint of anger simmered beneath.

She stood firm, left hand holding the blade behind her back, right hand forming a seal with thumb and ring finger held upright at her chest.

A whirlwind rose around the man in white, trapping him at its center.

“Where did this witch come from?” he shouted, bravado masking his fear. He cast spells at the whirlwind, but no matter his efforts, the wind held him fast, growing ever stronger, forming a cutting gale in the blink of an eye.

The eye of the wind shrank, about to slice him apart, when a blue flash shot from the crowd, striking the tornado. The wind shifted, opening a gap.

The man in white rejoiced, ducked through the gap, took several speed talismans from his pouch, slapped them onto his feet, and fled rapidly across the road.

Fury burned in the woman’s eyes as she turned toward the crowd, fixing her gaze on the youth in gray. “That villain has accomplices!” she cried.

The youth stepped forward and called, “Miss, you’re mistaken. I am Liang Yan, of the—” But before he could finish, the woman shouted, “Villain, prepare to die!”

No sooner had the word “die” left her lips than she switched the blade to her right hand and slashed at him.

Liang Yan, for it was he, had his own reasons for hiding among the crowd, but the young woman allowed no explanation, attacking without pause.

In haste, Liang Yan summoned a black shield. Blade and shield collided with a crash, a force like thunder surging through the shield, leaving him stunned and incredulous.

He staggered back, pressing a finger to the shield as a golden light flickered within him, barely steadying himself to withstand the blow.

“Eh?” the woman murmured in surprise, but quickly snorted, “Hmph, petty trickster, wanton killer—today you shall pay in blood!”

She formed a seal with one hand, brushed the blade, and chanted:

Cloud script in the void, the Dao connects heaven and earth,

Dragon and tiger divine might, protect my Daoist spell,

Profound mysteries in all directions, let nature guide me,

...

Netherworld evil dragon, Supreme Tiger of the Pure Realm! Obey my command!

As her lips moved, the blade trembled violently. A piercing dragon’s roar rang out, and a pitch-black serpent-like dragon surged from behind her. With a flick of her blade, a thunderous tiger’s growl followed, and a white tiger leapt forth.

In the air, dragon and tiger—one black, one white—radiated divine power.

“What!” Even Liang Yan, usually composed, could not help but cry out in amazement. He had already discerned the girl’s cultivation—merely the sixth level of Qi refining—yet the magical spectacle before him was far beyond what such a stage should allow.