The herb gatherer, Old Zhang, clutched the half gold bar, his palm slick with sweat.
He turned the gold bar over and over, then brought it to the window to inspect it against the light. At last, he carefully tucked it into his chest and patted it, as if afraid it might grow legs and run away.
"Young... sir," Old Zhang said, sidling up to the young man with a fawning smile. "That place isn't far, but the road's rough. Head twenty li south from the county seat, enter the mountain pass, then cross two ridges. When I went to gather herbs, I took a detour down the eastern ridge. I didn't dare enter the valley, just stayed near the edge..."
"Near the edge?" The young man frowned. "Didn't you say you smelled it?"
"I did, I did," Old Zhang said, nodding hurriedly. "That smell. When I got home, my head felt heavy, my legs weak, and my face was burning hot, like charcoal."
The old man suddenly spoke. "Which way does the valley mouth face?"
Old Zhang paused, then gestured vaguely. "Um... east? No, north... Oh, I can't read a single character, so I can't tell directions apart. Anyway, once we get there, I'll point it out to you."
The young man was about to ask more when a commotion rose outside. A young servant's voice rang out, "This way, this way! Keep up, and don't go looking around!"
The curtain was lifted, and the young servant ushered more than ten people inside. The apothecary, which had seemed fairly spacious, immediately felt cramped.
"Please have a look, sir," the young servant said with a beaming smile, pointing to the newcomers one by one. "These six are all strong enough to carry heavy loads. And these four are proper sedan-chair bearers. They usually carry sedan chairs, but carrying a shoulder litter is right up their alley too..."
The young man glanced over them and nodded.
The ten men the young servant had brought were indeed all burly fellows, with dark skin, big hands and feet, and a strong smell of sweat.
Still, they looked at the young man with some trepidation.
On the way over, the young servant had told them these two were wealthy patrons who paid generously. But he had also said that the young man could snap a gold bar with just two fingers.
"Your wages." The young man pulled another silver ingot from his robe, worth about twenty taels. "This is your advance for the trip into the mountains and back, no matter how many days it takes. Once we return, each of you gets another two taels. Do as you're told on the way. If I say walk, you walk; if I say stop, you stop. Don't ask what you shouldn't ask, and don't look at what you shouldn't look at."
The twenty taels of silver landed on the little table the physician used when taking patients' pulses. The men stared at it without blinking.
For a whole day of carrying heavy loads, they earned only a few dozen copper coins. This twenty taels... was enough to pay them for two years of work.
"We'll do as you say, sir!"
The dark-faced man at the head of the group immediately clasped his hands. "If you tell us to go east, we won't go west!"
The young man waved a hand. "Go prepare rations, torches, rope, and machetes. As soon as the city gates open tomorrow morning, we'll leave. And you..."
As he spoke, he pointed.
"Right here!" The young servant hurried forward.
"You're coming too. Help them get everything ready. The money that's left..." The young man glanced at him. "You can keep it."
The young servant beamed with delight and bowed repeatedly, then led the men out in a noisy rush.
The apothecary fell quiet again.
Old Zhang hesitantly edged forward. "Sirs, then... what should I do today...?"
"Go home," the young man said. "Get things settled there, then meet us at the city gate tomorrow morning. If you dare run off with the money..." He gave a smile and left the threat unfinished.
Old Zhang shuddered and repeatedly promised he wouldn't. Then he backed out the door.
Early the next morning, the spring wind was bitterly cold.
A party of more than ten people left the county seat and headed south.
Old Zhang walked at the front, checking the route as they went.
Six burly men led the way with machetes, cutting through the vines and branches that blocked their path and clearing a barely passable trail through the thorny undergrowth.
Behind them, four men carried a shoulder litter made from lashed bamboo poles. A reclining chair was tied to it, and the old man sat in the chair.
His disciple fussed over him, sometimes offering water, sometimes asking if he was cold. The old man merely rested with his eyes closed, occasionally giving a nod.
They passed several patches of dense forest and waded across a few shallow streams. The scenery around them grew increasingly desolate.
At first, they still occasionally saw traces left by woodcutters. But before long, there was nothing but wild mountains and tangled forests, where few people ever set foot.
The sun climbed higher, then gradually drifted west.
Around midafternoon, Old Zhang stopped and pointed at a cliff ahead, his voice trembling. "It's... it's over there."
Everyone looked in the direction he pointed. Below the cliff, a hazy patch of pink fog lay still in the valley, like a cloud frozen in place.
The fog was faint. Without a close look, one might have mistaken it for mountain haze.
But after staring at it for a few moments, one could sense that something was wrong.
The color was too bright, like someone had dissolved rouge in the mist, or like vapors rising from peach blossoms rotting across the mountainside.
At last, the old man who had been resting with his eyes closed opened them and looked toward the pink mist. A smile slowly tugged at the corners of his mouth.
The young disciple stepped closer and lowered his voice, speaking ingratiatingly. "Master, what do you think...?"
The old man nodded.
The men carrying the litter hurriedly set it down, keeping it steady.
Old Zhang stood to one side, staring at the pink mist. Curiosity and dread warred in his heart, and he couldn't help edging closer to ask:
"Sirs, is there... some kind of monster living inside this Peach Blossom Miasma?"
As he spoke, he glanced at the White Banner slung over the disciple's shoulder. The wind stirred it, making the four characters "Subdue Demons and Exorcise Evil" ripple in the air.
The old man didn't answer.
He looked toward the pink mist and suddenly asked his disciple instead:
"My boy, how many kinds of miasma have we sought out together on this journey, traveling thousands of li from home?"
The disciple thought briefly, then replied respectfully, "Four, Master."
"And how many kinds of Killing Intent?"
"One."
The old man nodded. His gaze shifted from the pink mist to his disciple's face. A trace of emotion showed on his gaunt features.
"Before I knew it, you'd traveled so far with me. You've worked hard."
The disciple was overwhelmed by the praise and hurriedly bowed. "You flatter me, Master. It's only what I ought to do."
The old man neither agreed nor denied it. He fell silent for a moment, then said, "Your filial devotion has not escaped your master's notice. In a little while, I'll teach you how to make this banner."
At once, the disciple's face lit up with barely contained delight. He was about to thank his master when the old man spoke again.
"Do you know what the final breath a person takes before death is called?"
The disciple froze, then answered, "It's Doom Qi, Master."
The old man nodded. Looking toward the pink mist, he spoke in a low, even voice:
"That's right. Most of the spells in our lineage, as well as the crafting of our magic treasures, require us to gather that final breath, Doom Qi. We use Doom Qi to refine Yin Souls, then add Killing Intent and poisonous miasma to craft a magic treasure. Whenever it's brought forth, a gust of dark wind blows, and it can devour the soul and rot the bones."
The disciple listened intently, his gaze fixed on the White Banner. Awe and longing filled his eyes.
The men, however, felt a chill creep through them.
What Doom Qi? What Yin Souls? What devouring souls and rotting bones?
Though they were rough men who couldn't read a single character, even they could sense that something was wrong.
Old Zhang's face had already gone pale. He edged backward, wanting to say something but not daring to speak.
The old man paid them no mind. He looked only at his disciple, then suddenly smiled.
"Offer up the banner."
The disciple's expression turned solemn. He immediately suppressed his delight and respectfully presented the White Banner with both hands.
The old man reached out to take it. The veins suddenly stood out on his once-gaunt hand, and his expression grew sinister.
The White Banner stirred without a breeze, then rose into the air and hung in front of him.
The men who had carried the litter stared, dumbstruck, and took an involuntary step backward.
The burly men who had cleared the way were even more bewildered. They looked at one another, having no idea what was happening.
Suddenly, the White Banner began to turn slowly.
In an instant, the cliff was steeped in ghostly darkness, and a bleak, chilling wind howled.
Though it was still afternoon and the sun had not yet set, the sky abruptly darkened, as if something had blotted out the daylight.
The four characters "Subdue Demons and Exorcise Evil" on the banner suddenly turned into a mass of black qi, seething like a living thing.
The black qi gathered and thickened. In the blink of an eye, it tore free of the banner and became a raging wind, sweeping toward everyone.
Old Zhang had time to let out only a short cry of alarm.
Wherever the Black Wind passed, skin shriveled and flesh rotted, leaving stark white bones.
A crowd of living people became a field of skeletons in the blink of an eye.
The skeletons still held the poses they'd struck in life. Some had raised their hands to shield themselves, some had turned to flee, and some had fallen to their knees.
Then they clattered apart and scattered across the ground.
A few Yin Souls drifted out of the bones, floating helplessly in midair.
But the Black Wind did not stop. It swept around them, wrapped them up, and drew every last Yin Soul into the White Banner.
The banner gave a slight flutter, then returned to normal.
The words "Subdue Demons and Exorcise Evil" hung quietly on the white cloth, which now seemed all the more uncanny.
The old man withdrew his hand and gently laid the White Banner on the ground.
"My boy, you mustn't be like your senior brother. Once you learn how to make this from me, you mustn't disappear without a trace."
The disciple shuddered and dropped to his knees with a thud.
"Master! I swear to heaven that I would never betray you! If I break this oath, may the heavens strike me down!"
The old man nodded, apparently satisfied by his reaction.
"Get up."
The disciple rose unsteadily, a sheen of cold sweat already beading on his forehead.
He looked at his master's gaunt face and forced out a smile. "Master, then... this method of crafting the banner..."
"Of course I'll pass it on to you," the old man said leisurely. "But you'll need to listen carefully to the finer points."
The disciple hurriedly bowed. "I'm all ears, Master."
The old man stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the pink mist. Slowly, he said, "Crafting this banner requires more than refining it with Doom Qi and Killing Intent. For every hundred souls, you also need a Main Soul to guide them."
"A Main Soul?" The disciple was taken aback.
"That's right." The old man turned to look at him. "Preferably a Yin Soul, or a Fierce Ghost. If there isn't one, then you'll have to use a cultivator's soul."
The disciple's expression shifted slightly, but he still replied respectfully, "I understand."
The old man looked at him and suddenly smiled.
There was satisfaction in that smile, and affection, and something else that was hard to name.
"My boy."
"Here, Master."
"Do you remember how many souls I told you we'd gathered on this trip?"
The disciple thought for a moment. "You said we were still a little short of a thousand souls."
The old man nodded.
"Yes, still a little short."
He sighed, looking at the pink mist, then at the bones on the ground, before finally turning his gaze back to his disciple.
"If we collect these dozen or so souls on this trip, and add them to the ones we gathered elsewhere, then by my count..."
He paused, then smiled again.
"...we'll still be one Main Soul short."
The disciple's heart sank. The delight that had been lurking on his face had not even fully appeared before it froze halfway through its blossoming.
He opened his mouth, as if he hadn't heard right. "Master... what did you say?"
The old man didn't repeat himself.
The spring wind stirred his gray robe, revealing the bony wrist beneath it.
The veins bulged on that wrist, writhing beneath the skin like earthworms.
The disciple took a step back.
"Master," he said, his voice trembling, the delight long gone from his face. "I... I've followed you all this way, serving you every step of the way. Even if I haven't earned merit, I've certainly worked hard..."
"That's true."
The old man nodded, his tone even carrying a hint of praise.
"That's why I told you how to craft the banner. You've heard the whole method, so even when you get to the other side, you'll know how you ended up there."
The disciple's face turned deathly pale.
He spun around and bolted.
But after only two steps, his legs gave way, and he pitched straight forward.
He looked down. Both his legs were still there, but he couldn't muster the slightest strength in them, as if something had sucked the sinew and bone right out.
The old man, meanwhile, calmly took out a Green-Gourd, pulled out the stopper, and poured out a Meat Pill.
The Meat Pill landed on the ground and rolled twice. It swelled with the breeze and, in the blink of an eye, turned into a Long-Tailed Monkey.
"Good boy, go kill every tiger and leopard in the area, then come back and guard me while I work."
At those words, the monkey rubbed itself against the shaft of the Soul Banner, then turned and plunged into the surrounding woods.
"Don't go getting carried away."
The old man added this, then lowered his head to look at the disciple at his feet.
"My boy, you've studied under me for nine years. You've got a solid foundation and a refined soul. Do me the favor of completing this last step."