Xue Xian squinted as he passed his eyes over the characters. The writing twisted and meandered, resembling earthworms as it wiggled all over the paper. That he could remember what it said was an impressive feat in itself.
The talisman’s thunder-calling purpose was easy to guess from its contents. It was a testament to how bored that Daoist had been to practice making something like this.
Despite its name, summoning the Dragon Lord of the South (or whatever) was far beyond this crinkled talisman’s capabilities. At most, it might bring a cloud or two to block the sun.
However, in Xue Xian’s hands, that same talisman became a different story—because the dragon the talisman wanted to summon was basically Xue Xian himself. Right now, his paper body was incapable of casting the spell, but he could use the talisman as the medium.
It was worth a try, at least.
He produced a small porcelain bottle from his lapels and pulled out its stopper. A strange, metallic smell rose into the air, making him wrinkle his brow. This might have been his own blood, but that didn’t mean he found the smell pleasing.
Spreading the talisman flat on his palm, he dripped a drop of crimson blood upon it. The blood instantly soaked into the paper and bloomed into a stain. After putting the bottle away, he tossed the talisman into the air.
The moment it left his fingers, flames erupted from the center of the bloodstain. In the blink of an eye, the paper turned into ash. As the ash scattered, a wailing wind whipped around him, and dark clouds rolled in from afar. The sky blackened as swiftly as if ink had been poured across it. Next, crackling white lightning zigzagged down from the heavens, and a peal of thunder followed that exploded in Xue Xian’s ears.
Perhaps the lightning had struck the array’s border, or perhaps it’d shaken the foundation itself. Either way, there was a resounding, earth-shattering boom as the bolt of lightning dispersed through the ground. Xue Xian remained on the wall next to the tree, watching coolly as the gray tiles before him shattered to powder. He didn’t even blink.
The entire courtyard quaked and trembled. It was a long time before it finally calmed down. Looking up at the sky, Xue Xian was a little disappointed. Even with the talisman as his conduit, he’d only managed to conjure a single lightning strike. Nevertheless, the grand thunder wasn’t completely in vain. It’d torn open a crack somewhere in the array, making a hole in the once closed-off compound. Faint whispers poured in from that wound and filled the entire courtyard.
So, it was true—he wasn’t the only person here. The others should have been drawn inside the array as well. They were just scattered across different sections and unaware of one another’s presence.
Xue Xian idly snapped a curled tendril from the ivy next to him and twined it around his fingers while leaning against the trunk. He closed his eyes, listening intently to the noises whistling through the narrow opening. He was trying to pick out anything unusual from among those jumbled, fragmented sounds.
After a while, he indeed caught the hint of a…
A bell?
“That’s not right…” Xue Xian clicked his tongue and frowned. The sound was muffled in the whipping wind—either its source was far away or the narrow opening it funneled through was creating the illusion of distance. It was reminiscent of the small bells dangling on an ox cart, but with some slight differences.
Copper bells…or copper coins?
As this thought rose to his mind, the sound grew clearer. Sure enough, it was the tinkling of copper coins as they lightly struck each other.
Xue Xian opened his eyes, his expression blank, and the tendril of ivy wrapped around his hand broke in two with a snap.
In that short second, the clatter of coins grew much closer. Xue Xian listened; it seemed to be coming from right outside the wall. The narrow door in the corridor suddenly creaked open, and Xue Xian looked up, still twisting his ivy tendril.
A young monk clad in a thin white hemp robe walked toward the wall without a sound. Wearing such thin clothing on a freezing winter day like this one left even onlookers feeling cold, as if the white hemp itself carried the chill of frost.
Xuanmin was already standing by the wall and refastening the string of copper coins he held to his waist when Xue Xian realized that the monk never made any sound when walking. Had he made the clinking noises on purpose?
Next to the wall, Xuanmin looked up, his calm gaze sweeping briefly over Xue Xian. The man on the wall was extraordinarily handsome, like a sword that’d been sheathed so its sharp edges were concealed, but he seemed too thin, and his complexion was even more ashen thanks to the black robe he wore. The air of heavy illness around him juxtaposed with his natural sharpness, and he seemed at once complicated and enigmatic.
Whenever Xue Xian wore an expressionless face, he gave off the misleading impression of prudence and restraint. Holding onto that image of aloofness, he looked down at Xuanmin for a moment, until he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“It had to be you…”
Angrily, he crushed the snapped tendril in his hand into a ball. He was the type who couldn’t keep his hands still, not even when he was up on a wall. After casting a few resentful glances at Xuanmin, he pitched the crumpled ball of ivy at him.
Xuanmin shook his head and raised his hand to catch the projectile. “What was that thunderstorm about?” he asked.
Xue Xian arched a brow. “You’re not going to ask who I am?” After all, he’d been a clump of moss back when Xuanmin had picked him up, then a flimsy paper doll. He’d never appeared before him in human form.
Xuanmin opened his hand. Sitting in his slender palm was the evidence of Xue Xian’s antics—the ball of ivy. He was a man of few words, his expression always indifferent, but his open palm conveyed one message: There’s only one troublemaker on your level. I’d recognize you even if you burned to ashes.
Xuanmin tossed the ball of ivy beneath the tree, then reminded Xue Xian once more, “You haven’t said what that thunderstorm was about.”
“Oh,” said Xue Xian, unconcerned. “Nothing much. Just wanted to let everyone know I was here. Makes it easier for them to find me.”
Xuanmin had nothing to say to that. The lightning had practically rent both sky and earth with its terrifying power and roaring thunderclap, ready to blast the Liu residence into smithereens. All of that just to make a sound, to tell everyone that someone was waiting here?
At these words, a crack appeared in Xuanmin’s frosty visage for the very first time.
Xue Xian found his expression hilarious, and his own face relaxed into a half smile. “Oh? You followed the thunder here yourself? Looks like it wasn’t in vain. Good thing you got here fast. I was considering whether to call another.”
Xuanmin stared at him in silence, then said coldly, “If you did, searching for the Eight Gates would be pointless. I suppose, with everything reduced to ashes, we could save on funeral fees.”
“You’re a monk. How could you talk about money? You bald…” Xue Xian turned his face away and swallowed the donkey part of the epithet. Then he continued very seriously, “Aren’t you afraid of offending Buddha?”
Xuanmin didn’t answer. The person who summoned lightning for fun has no right to say such a thing.
“You said you were looking for the Eight Gates just now. Did you find them?” Xue Xian asked. “If you did, that makes things easy. Take me with you. And if you didn’t, don’t worry. I’ll think of a way to summon more lightning. Maybe we can blast this array right open.”
Despite saying so, he thought, You’d better tell me you found them. I only had one thunderstorm talisman with me, and it was single-use.
Fortunately, Xuanmin didn’t let him down. He nodded. “You can get off that wall.” Then, he turned and walked away.
His white acolyte’s robe fluttered like the clouds. After just a few steps, he was disappearing into the distance.
Not long after, he stopped and looked back at Xue Xian, who hadn’t moved.
Xue Xian patted his legs nonchalantly. “Useless. I can’t walk,” he declared boldly.
Xuanmin frowned, thinking that Xue Xian was playing some trick again. “You ran quite fast for an evil spirit earlier, didn’t you?” After all, he’d flipped himself onto the servant boy’s collar in seconds. His nimbleness spoke for itself.
Xue Xian sneered. “You must be blind on top of stupid. Was I using my legs to run then? No, I borrowed someone else’s.”
The tactless monk and troublemaking evil spirit stared at each other for a long time. Finally, the former acceded; he returned to the wall.
Xue Xian’s legs lay hidden beneath his black robes, but through them Xuanmin could see the jut of his knees. Most of the time, the legs of those who were bedridden and incapable of walking were gangly and atrophied from disuse, but Xue Xian’s were not. The outline of his legs through the robes revealed that they were no different from an average person’s, not at all like a typical paraplegic’s.
Xuanmin scrutinized them for a bit, then reached out and grabbed Xue Xian’s ankle. Xue Xian jumped, startled. Had he any feeling left in his legs, he would have instantly sent Xuanmin flying with a kick.
You dare touch them? Think you can just grab a dragon’s claws, huh?! You must have a death wish!
Xuanmin took in his reaction. When startled, a person with functional legs would not move only their upper body while their lower body remained still. It seemed Xue Xian was telling the truth. His legs were indeed paralyzed.
Lifting his gaze, Xuanmin formed a mudra with one hand while extending the other one to Xue Xian. “Come down here.”
Xue Xian looked at his palm askance, then eyed Xuanmin’s stature. The loose robe further accentuated Xuanmin’s tall and slender frame. His shoulders and back were rod-straight, and it was clear that his thinness wasn’t the fragile, willowy type; it harbored strength. Still, he wasn’t exactly muscular.