Chapter 3: The Secret Manuscript and Ancient Seal Script

"Of course," Ji Ming replied.

He glanced anxiously around before continuing in a tense voice, "Uncle Zhang, believe me, I have plenty of stories that can earn me a reputation for filial piety; I don't need this one."

Zhang the Hunter did not lower his bow and arrow. Instead, he drew it even tighter.

"Filial and righteous Hei Dalang, of course I believe you. Since childhood, you've been different—reserved, never letting your emotions show, mysterious in many ways, and often favored by the leaders of the village. Frankly, you've always made me uneasy. Still, I've made my arrangements. I don't expect your brother Song's name to be known in the prefecture—just that it will be passed on among our people."

Twang—

The bowstring sang as the arrow flew. Zhang the Hunter's face flickered with surprise as Ji Ming advanced to meet the arrow head-on, raising his fist.

The arrow struck him, yet Ji Ming's fist landed squarely in Zhang the Hunter's gut, knocking him to the ground and causing him to retch bitterly.

Taking advantage of the moment, Ji Ming kicked over Zhang the Hunter's quiver and staggered back. He knew that, wounded by the arrow, his strength would not last. He immediately charged into the thicket.

As he ran, he shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to draw the attention of other hunters.

Zhang the Hunter recovered, ignored the arrows scattered on the ground, snatched one up at random, and staggered after him.

The two of them raced through the forest, one pursuing, one fleeing.

Zhang the Hunter refused to give up. Today, he was determined to seize this tale of filial duty for himself. Don’t blame him—blame the world; the son of a rat will always be a rat.

Thinking this, he quickened his steps, his movements as he nocked and drew the bow becoming ever more fluid.

"Wang Lu, stop shouting. Save your strength; the hunting party has already returned to the village. Once you’re dead and Song is recommended for a minor official post, I’ll make sure he takes care of your family and remembers what a good brother you were."

Ji Ming halted and turned around.

Zhang the Hunter’s heart leaped with joy, thinking his words had swayed Ji Ming. He hurriedly pulled the bowstring taut again and said, "Don’t worry, my arrow is swift—you won’t feel pain for long."

"Uncle Zhang, may we meet in the next life."

Zhang the Hunter was taken aback, not understanding Ji Ming’s words. Yet the instincts of a seasoned hunter alerted him to the danger here.

As he focused, he realized with horror that he had unknowingly chased Ji Ming all the way to the mouth of a tiger’s den.

He understood at once—this boy had led him here on purpose.

"Why must it come to this? Why must it come to this!"

Zhang the Hunter’s arm trembled as he held the bow, cold sweat beading on his brow. He was utterly panicked, his defenses shattered, and even began to weep in despair.

Ji Ming found it all absurd. The man who had driven him into this peril was now showing such pitiful weakness. Ridiculous—utterly ridiculous.

The tiger of this mountain had injured countless people and was famed as a ferocious beast in the region. The thirteen villages at the foot of the mountain had long circulated the location of its den and its hunting grounds, warning their people to avoid this place.

By luring Zhang the Hunter here, Ji Ming was prepared to die together with him.

"If it comes to it… I’ll just be reincarnated one more time," Ji Ming thought bitterly.

A vibrant flash of orange fur flickered beneath the drooping branches.

The great tiger moved at a slow, deliberate pace, its massive shoulders rising and falling as it circled Ji Ming. The heat of its breath washed over his face, making him nauseous as he continued to bleed.

Looking into the tiger’s eyes, Ji Ming was instantly reminded of the river bully from his previous life.

The overwhelming presence of the tiger, combined with his blood loss, quickly caused Ji Ming to lose consciousness.

When he awoke, he was inside the tiger’s den.

Two tiger cubs crouched or lay deep within the den, their eyes fixed on him. The adult tiger approached the entrance, its jaws stained crimson and something indistinct held between its teeth.

Now, for the first time, Ji Ming had the opportunity to observe this beast up close.

Its body was massive and powerful, the orange fur marked with bold black stripes. Its head was broad, its eyes sharp and commanding, exuding an air of unquestionable authority. Its ears tilted forward, as though listening to every faint sound. It moved with a regal, unhurried grace, its tail swaying gently—sometimes curled, sometimes straight—expressing its mood.

When it paused to gaze into the distance, it seemed as if the whole forest held its breath in deference. A thunderous growl rumbled in its throat, leaving Ji Ming hardly daring to breathe.

The tiger, satisfied with Ji Ming’s fear, was in no rush to eat him. Instead, it turned, jaws parted and bloody, and carried its prize deeper into the den.

Before the two cubs, it spat out a pale, lifeless human head—Zhang the Hunter’s.

Ji Ming recoiled in horror, toppling backward onto a heap of bones and remains, which clattered noisily beneath him.

The stench from the pile was overwhelming, crawling with worms and insects. Layers of dried flesh and blood crusted the bones, mixed with scraps of tattered clothing.

Suddenly, Ji Ming understood why he had not been killed immediately—the tiger wished to keep a fresh store of meat in its lair.

At this point, he felt strangely calm. It was a pity, he thought, that this life had ended so abruptly, without any great achievement.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ji Ming noticed the edge of a book protruding from the pile of remains.

While the tiger was busy with its meal, Ji Ming quietly reached behind him and pulled the book free.

The cover was yellowed and old, inscribed in ancient script with the words "Crane Control." He carefully opened it to find dense, tiny characters.

His breathing quickened. No one understood more than Ji Ming the value of written words in this age.

"You can read?" a voice murmured near his ear. Ji Ming’s hand, gripping the book, trembled violently.

He looked around in confusion—there was no one to be seen. The tiger’s ears twitched, as if listening intently.

"Don't be afraid, young man!"

The voice sounded again, gentle this time. "The king wishes you to read it."

"Who are you?" Ji Ming asked the empty air before him.

The “invisible man” in the air began to introduce himself. He called himself Ma Ning, a poor scholar who had died in these mountains and become a ghost servant to the tiger, offering it advice ever since.

No wonder, Ji Ming thought, that this tiger had become so formidable and was feared by all thirteen villages nearby. It was a demon tiger with spiritual cultivation, aided by a ghost.

In an instant, his mind raced through all manner of spirits, demons, and immortals, his face a complicated mixture of amazement and disbelief.

The tiger demon lay on the ground, exhaling hot breath and growling softly.

"The king says that he has dragged at least twenty people into this lair. Yet among them, not one was as calm as you, nor noticed the secret manual hidden in the pile of bones."

Ma Ning paused, as if listening to some momentous command from the tiger.

"The king also says, if you cooperate and learn the methods in this manual well, he may grant you the chance to become a ghost servant, sharing in his longevity and fortune!"

Ji Ming sneered inwardly—he would never believe such nonsense. Outwardly, however, he put on a grateful, delighted expression.

Ignoring his arrow wound, he cupped his hands with difficulty and replied with feigned sincerity, "I am willing to serve the king."

The tiger demon yawned, exhaling a warm, spiraling breeze that drifted into Ji Ming’s body. His arrow wound began to heal at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Ji Ming picked up the secret manual and asked, "Brother Ma Ning, how should I study this book?"

"I don’t know! The manual belonged to some wandering heroes who entered the mountains—some hired by the villages to slay the king, others simply passing through."

"There are many secret manuals?" Ji Ming asked.

"Quite a few."

"Then this one must be special!"

"You’re quick-witted," Ma Ning replied. "After those wanderers were killed, all sorts of manuals were left behind. The king placed this one in plain sight because it’s the only one that came from a true Daoist who posed a real threat to him."

"So I have to teach myself?"

"Exactly. You must learn it on your own. This manual was created for mortal bodies; the king can’t understand even its basics. But he hopes that if someone masters it, he can observe and perhaps glean its secrets to further his own cultivation."

Ji Ming looked at the tiger demon in surprise, not expecting it to possess such a scientific spirit—if it had time, it would surely become a great power.

Within the tiger’s den, Ji Ming began to study the "Crane Control" manual in earnest.

The ancient script left him dizzy; many characters were difficult to decipher and could only be guessed from context.

Helpless, Ji Ming thickened his skin and asked Ma Ning, the ghost, for help.

Outside, the sky was overcast, and the treetops swayed in the wind. Rain could fall at any moment.

Perhaps because he had been a grass carp in his previous life, Ji Ming enjoyed such gloomy, rainy weather, as if the heavens were cleansing the world’s filth.

Ma Ning sat opposite him, amazed that Ji Ming could still enjoy the cool breeze before the storm. He felt a twinge of malice, reminded of his own disgraceful end.

"You have quite the nerve," Ma Ning said. Even knowing that a mere mortal could not see his ghostly form, those clear, steady eyes still made him uneasy.

Ji Ming was more than bold—if not for the manual, he would have struck the tiger demon long ago and embraced his next life, rather than living in constant fear here.

"If the king learns you’re barely literate and incompetent, he might eat you alive, mouthful by mouthful, over the course of a month," Ma Ning said with a sinister grin, as if trying to catch Ji Ming out.

He wanted to see Ji Ming panic, but was disappointed. Ji Ming sat upright by the mound of bones, exuding a calm as if he had seen through life and death, his back straight, radiating an air of composure.

"Very well, very well," Ma Ning finally conceded. "Let’s see which characters you don’t recognize in this manual."

And so, man and ghost sat facing each other by the pile of bones, like teacher and pupil, studying the ancient script of the secret manual together in the warmth of the den as the rain poured down outside.