A Visitor Arrives

Constable Luo came home late again today.

Madam Wang still brought hot water to wash his feet. Seeing her husband's exhausted face, she couldn't help asking: "Still haven't caught them?"

"How could I possibly catch them?" Constable Luo let out a long sigh. "That person is suspicious and cunning. We set several traps, but either the methods were useless, or they saw through them in advance and never took the bait."

"What methods were useless?"

"The ones from the high monk at Taian Temple."

"And the magistrate..."

"Still a few days left on the deadline."

"If you ask me, this hard-handed approach won't work. They may not fly through the sky, but they can burrow into the ground. Sending you to catch them—isn't that just making things impossible? Unless you could lift them up so their feet never touch the ground?" Madam Wang said as she carefully washed her husband's feet. "You still need to find a real expert for help."

"What expert? That trick with burying a ring of dung was exactly what the high monk at Taian Temple suggested!"

"Then ask a different expert."

"Where am I supposed to find another expert?" Constable Luo said, irritable and dejected. "I do know a few people who deal with demons and ghosts, but you know them too—just a bunch of bold types with some folk remedies. At best they can offer rotten ideas. They won't be able to help me."

"I think that Young Mister across the street has real skill. Why not go ask him for a solution?"

"That Young Mister? An expert?"

Constable Luo frowned.

"He moved in next door a few days ago and hasn't shown a trace of fear. He comes and goes normally every day. Tonight I chatted with him and asked if he wasn't afraid of the female ghost in that courtyard. Guess what he said?"

"What did he say?"

Madam Wang told him about their conversation that evening.

After hearing it, Constable Luo couldn't tell exactly how capable Song You was, but he immediately thought the man was interesting.

"Not fearing a restless spirit might just be courage. Even if he has skill, it doesn't mean he can help." Constable Luo lifted his legs out of the wooden basin, not yet pinning all his hopes on this. "If I still have no solution in a few days, I'll bring a gift and pay him a visit."

Madam Wang crouched back down to dry his feet.

Sleeping till the sun is high, alone—not an immortal, yet surpassing one.

Song You slept straight through till noon again.

These past few days, he'd been waking up later and later.

Sometimes he lay in bed until noon before getting up; other times he rose early but sat in his room meditating and cultivating until noon before going out.

That way he saved himself a breakfast.

In the afternoon he read books, and if the weather was good, he went out for a stroll, bought some vegetables, and cooked himself dinner. In the evening he went out to cool off, gathered with the neighbors around the area, listened to their gossip, and soaked in the life of Yidu City.

Every night, the female ghost in the courtyard still sang one or two songs as usual, or danced in the yard. Sometimes he could even make out her figure and face.

She was a woman no longer young.

After getting used to it, Song You paid it no mind at all, truly treating her only as a diversion from his monotonous life.

He'd even gradually developed a habit of listening to her songs.

Sometimes when she suddenly appeared at night, he wasn't startled, but the Three Flower Lady was easily frightened. Often when she turned a corner and ran into the ghost, or was doing something and the ghost popped up, she'd leap in shock.

But last night...

The woman sometimes wandered through different rooms. Last night, she actually opened Song You's door and stared at him from the doorway for a long time, no doubt disturbing his sleep.

If his conscience weren't bothering him, he'd definitely blame the female ghost for why he slept so late this morning.

Still, this problem had to be solved.

"..."

Song You thought it over and decided to go out and buy some Yellow Hemp Paper, along with a brush, ink, and cinnabar. He'd draw a few talismans to stick by his bedroom door, keeping the female ghost from getting close.

At the same time, more and more people had heard about him these past few days and thought he had real skill. People had started coming to ask him about possession and ghost encounters, and some wanted to buy talismans for exorcism or protection. Song You figured this could work—it'd earn him a bit of money for vegetables and meat.

Back at the temple, this had been a major source of income.

Near the Tile House, there seemed to be plenty of stalls selling all sorts of odds and ends. He could go take a look after eating.

Thinking this, Song You climbed out of bed.

There was still leftover sour vegetable porridge from last night. He heated it up in the pot, and that was his lunch—tasty enough.

After eating and washing the dishes, Song You headed straight out, only saying to the Three Flower Cat in the yard: "Three Flower Lady, I'm going out. I'll leave you to watch the house."

"Got it."

The Three Flower Cat was absorbed in play and didn't even turn her head.

Song You left the house and walked down the alley.

Before long, he reached a Tile House.

As mentioned before, this was a comprehensive entertainment venue for eating, drinking, and having fun. Thanks to Yidu's prosperity, even though it was daytime, it was already quite lively.

All along the way, aside from those performing opera, there were also storytellers, wrestlers in competition, and archery games at pitch-pots—each offering its own sights and amusements.

Song You had clearly come to buy yellow paper, yet he couldn't resist being drawn in by the old storyteller and sat down right there.

He even ordered a pot of tea.

"That A Yanqi chased with his personal guards from water to land, relentless in pursuit, determined to kill Marshal Ma right there! At the critical moment, Marshal Ma fled onto a narrow path, and A Yanqi gave chase, only to see a great general appear on the road ahead!

"What a majestic general!!

"Black helmet, black armor, black battle robe, black tiger-head boots on his feet, wielding a red-tasseled spear, riding a spotted beast beneath him—his face like jade, his eyes like cold stars!

"Behind the general were five hundred sword-bearing officers, all of equal height, each carrying a great blade—the blade five feet long, the head two and a half feet, the handle two and a half feet, the sword wide-backed, thick-spined, and razor-thin, the spine a finger thick, the edge a hair's breadth, gleaming bright and cold, chilling even from several yards away, and each man carried an iron-backed bow with carved arrows on his back, like tigers with wings, dragons swimming in the sea...

"It was none other than General Chen Xin, Chen Ziyi!

"A Yanqi was instantly shocked—how could Chen Ziyi be here?

"More importantly, among his own men, who could match Chen Ziyi? And who could stand against this personal guard of Chen Ziyi's?"

This was a piece of real history from this world.

It had happened just a few years ago.

At that time, war raged in the north of Great Yan. The Three Armies' Grand Marshal Ma Hong was ambushed and his army suffered a great defeat. Just as he was about to be captured by the enemy commander, General Chen Xin—then at the peak of popularity among storytellers—arrived. Legend has it that he almost single-handedly halted A Yanqi's pursuers, rescued the marshal, and created a legend.

The old storyteller narrated this tale with great fervor, though naturally with some artistic embellishment.

Song You was very interested in such stories.

He felt that such legendary tales would surely be recorded in green history, and many years later, when later generations read history, they would likely come across this story too—the same story he had heard a thousand years ago. To him, stranded in this ancient time, it was a kind of comfort.

So he stayed until the end before getting up to leave.

He hadn't forgotten the purpose of his outing.

After wandering around the Tile House inside and out, he successfully found a shop selling yellow hemp paper.

Drawing talismans didn't necessarily require yellow paper, but over the long years, both Buddhist and Taoist sects, as well as folk practitioners, had formed the habit of using yellow paper for most talismans.

It also didn't have to be hemp paper.

Generally, vine paper or hemp paper was acceptable; bamboo paper was rarely used, and Xuan paper never. Usually, different regions had their own customs—for example, places that produced hemp paper mostly used yellow hemp paper for talismans, while places that produced vine paper used vine paper. Yizhou was rich in bamboo paper and hemp paper.

Song You was also accustomed to yellow hemp paper.

The paper from this shop was well-made, thick and tough. As long as it didn't get damp, it wouldn't easily discolor over time.

Yellow hemp paper was thicker and rougher than white hemp paper, with a pale yellow hue. There were some straw stems and paper scraps on the back, but they didn't affect use. However, when Song You picked up a sheet of yellow hemp paper and held it up to the light, looking left and right, he felt the color was a bit off.

"Customer, what's wrong?"

"I don't know if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but it seems a bit reddish?"

"Oh my! Customer, you have a sharp eye! You spotted it right away!" The shopkeeper immediately broke into a smile. "This batch of paper was just made yesterday. While making it, my little brat at home accidentally mixed in some red paper dye, but ordinary folks wouldn't have your eye!"

"I see..."

"Does this... affect your use, customer?"

"Not much."

The shopkeeper breathed a sigh of relief and boasted, "Customer, you've come to the right shop. I'm not bragging, but I believe the hemp paper I make is unmatched in all of Yi Capital. Even those big shops can't easily compare to my paper. It's just that my shop isn't famous, but anyone who's bought paper here will surely come back!"

"Give me a discount."

"It's already the lowest..."

After some haggling, Song You bought a stack of yellow hemp paper, along with a brush, an inkstone, and an ink stick, spending over three hundred coins in total.

The brush, inkstone, and ink were all the cheapest quality; if he wanted better, the price would have no ceiling.

In this era, reading and writing were truly expensive.

He bought cinnabar from another shop.

On the way back, seeing a butcher's stall, he figured he'd already spent a lot, so he bought over a catty of pork and some garlic sprouts, then headed home satisfied.

"Creak~"

As soon as he pushed open the courtyard gate, he saw a motley shadow dart out from the inner room. Upon seeing him, it said:

"Taoist priest, someone came knocking for you just now."

"Who was it? Did Three Flower Lady open the door for them?"

"It seemed to be those people we met at the city gate that day, and also the one living across the street." The Three Flower Cat looked up at him. "Three Flower Lady didn't open the door. You said not to let Three Flower Lady speak in front of ordinary people."

"Good that you remember. No need to be terrified of it."

"What?"

"Two groups of people came knocking?"

"Yes, they even ran into each other at the door and chatted for a while." The Three Flower Cat said. "They said they'll come again tomorrow."

"Got it. Thank you, Three Flower Lady."

"No need for formalities."

"I bought pork, Three Flower Lady—do you want it raw or cooked?"

"Same as you."

"Alright then."

Song You stopped worrying about whoever had knocked on the door today, carried the meat and vegetables to the kitchen, and began to prepare them.

Rice was boiled, drained, and placed in a steamer.

High-quality second-cut pork belly was boiled with Sichuan peppercorns and ginger until eighty percent done, then sliced thin. Garlic sprouts were washed and cut into sections. Under the Three Flower Lady's watchful gaze, he started a fresh pan with oil, stir-fried the meat slices over low heat until they curled into little oil-lamp nests, added another log to the stove fire, and with a hiss tossed in the garlic sprouts.

Song You could handle the entire process on his own.

And he was in no rush at all—rather, he moved with orderly calm, seeking his own inner peace amid the smoke and steam of mortal life.

No need for extra seasonings; just fermented black beans and soy sauce to bring out the flavor, and a delicious plate of twice-cooked pork was ready.

Stir-frying had only risen in popularity over the past few decades, and perhaps this dish didn't even exist yet—but this little courtyard was already filled with the aroma of a meal that rightfully belonged to a time many years later.