Chapter 138: The Ghost Monk, A Call for Reinforcements

“I can only give you a name.”

“I know.”

“I must warn you, this spirit is very dangerous. Right now, it must be filled with hatred.”

Fox Granny paid little attention to Ji Ming’s warning. She had never heard of the King Huang Jiao, but summoning spirits was her trade, her livelihood.

“I deal in the affairs of the underworld, never prying into my clients’ business, nor do I care how fierce or evil the spirits I summon are. Since you’ve already paid, this deal must go through—unless you’re willing to give me this box of talisman money for free.”

Fox Granny took out a black talisman and solemnly laid it before Ji Ming, along with a slender brush and a small blood-ink inkstone.

“Write the name of the spirit on the talisman, recall the spirit in your heart—preferably its appearance or some profound memory of it. Only then can we properly summon it from the Netherworld.”

Ji Ming picked up the brush, dipped it lightly in the blood-ink, and wrote the characters “Huang Jiao” on the black talisman. In his mind, he thought of Su Luozi and the prophecy of the Great Rebellion—these two clues would surely call him forth.

Fox Granny folded the talisman away, then took a chipped bowl, scooped some crushed ice from the ground, and let it melt inside.

Muttering incantations, she gently rubbed the black talisman between her fingers until it ignited with eerie green flames. She then cast the burning talisman into the bowl, letting it mingle with the icy water.

In the water, specks of talisman ashes slowly settled. The bowl of spirit-summoning water was ready.

“My dear grandson, come here!”

She called over the foolish, chubby boy, who was clearly her ritual medium, though no one knew where she had taken him from. After drinking the bowl of talisman water, he surprisingly wanted a second bowl.

Next, the old woman burned a confession scroll, sending it to the Northern Netherworld.

This scroll represented her connection to a powerful Dharma King and was the foundation of her business dealing with the dead.

“A thousand chases and ten thousand pursuits, calm the soul and steady the heart. Wandering spirits, please stay swiftly. Three souls descend early, seven spirits come to greet. From wild lands to temple wells, lost true souls are sent across a thousand miles.”

As she chanted, the foolish boy grew drowsy, finally sitting on the ground, snoring loudly.

---

Ji Ming couldn’t help but grow nervous. Death was always taboo; he wasn’t sure what exactly would be summoned from the Netherworld.

The uncertainty of spirit possession made him tense, but he hoped the old woman was as professional as she appeared.

This unknown added a hint of excitement amid his anxiety.

Seeing no response, Fox Granny lit another talisman and stuffed it into her grandson’s mouth.

“Under the Dharma King’s authority, Old Granny Wen opens the way. Spirit, come quickly and take residence in this fleshly abode.”

In the dim, gloomy darkness, amidst mournful shadows, there stood a faintly visible ghostly palace in an empty void.

Outside a side chamber of this palace, pale green will-o’-the-wisps flickered.

Inside, little ghosts whispered softly, and amidst them echoed the voice of Fox Granny.

“Come quickly!”

“Come quickly!”

“The abode is ready!”

Three to five potbellied little ghosts lounged before an incense table, eating and drinking offerings of ox heart, pig brain, and sheep liver, their mouths greasy and filthy.

They ignored the echoing summons, focused solely on their feast—as if that were their sole purpose.

Behind the incense table stood a large potbellied deity statue, its belly faintly writhing with a huge form inside, reacting most strongly to the voices.

Because it was being called, invited—but it was trapped.

Talismanic inscriptions descended from the mortal realm, hanging straight down onto the statue’s large belly, causing thick veins to bulge.

The statue’s belly swelled as if pregnant with a child, but no matter what, the spirit inside could not break through the thin layer of skin.

“Humm, Hetong, Leidlei, Adibadelei, Han.”

A secret incantation echoed inside, and the elastic belly skin suddenly tore open. A long, rod-like arm reached out, grabbing up all the little ghosts at the incense table, stuffing them inside.

Finally, more little ghosts arrived at the side chamber, crouching to feast again.

The deity statue still bore its writhing swollen belly, now stitched up with a fine hair barely visible to the naked eye.

By the well, Fox Granny flickered between cold and hot, enduring the strange force emanating from the young Daoist’s body.

Before her, her grandson showed no sign of possession, no ghostly presence; this was the first time she had failed to deliver as expected—truly rare.

Ji Ming felt a twinge of disappointment, though not too much. A fox spirit who faked magic tricks in a village wasn’t someone he had high hopes for.

In the rugged mountains, there were many skilled and strange practitioners. With patience and connections, one could always find what they sought.

---

From the bottom of the well, a pair of eyes filled with malice and mockery quietly watched. Ji Ming felt it and met their gaze.

“Seems you’ve got another big problem on your hands.”

Little Qiu Long blinked, a gleeful smirk on his face.

“I’ll be out soon, and your first big problem will arrive.”

“Are you reminding me to kill you quickly?”

“You can try your best. Because when I crawl out of this well, you’ll face me at my peak.”

Ji Ming despised such a life—reckless and lawless—and such beings usually shared one trait: powerful backing.

He couldn’t understand how such a creature could be raised.

With abundant resources, ample knowledge, and a wholesome environment, even the worst should still be better than average; yet Little Qiu Long was an exception, a rare flower.

Just as Ji Ming prepared to summon the White Bone Heart Gathering Pearl, Little Qiu Long slipped down into the dark depths of the well like an eel.

“Snap!”

Suddenly, Ji Ming felt a heavy hand settle on his shoulder.

“Are you feeling restless, traveler?”

Hearing the unfamiliar voice, Ji Ming’s eyelids twitched; every hair on his body stood on end. Yet he sensed no presence behind him—none at all.

He turned his head slightly and saw a gaunt stranger before him.

The man wore a longevity lock around his neck—exactly like the one worn by the foolish boy. Clearly, this stranger was none other than the summoned King Huang Jiao.

“Huang Jiao.”

“Shh!”

King Huang Jiao raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then reached into his mouth, pulling out a string of Buddhist prayer beads from his throat, turning them in his hand.

The beads looked familiar—weren’t they Fox Granny’s?

In Ji Ming’s peripheral vision, Fox Granny had vanished. It seemed she had already entered “someone’s” belly. Not quite professional after all!

By the well, King Huang Jiao gazed down into its depths, his eyes gleaming with joy.

“Monk Huang Jiao thanks all for your offerings.”

At his words, six Southern Dipper spirit tablets by the well toppled with a crash.