Night Parade of a Hundred Ghosts - Chapter 13

“Break the formation? How do we break it?”

The Old fortune-teller walked over to the front door of the house, then gave it a solid kick. With a loud bang, the door panel split, leaving a large hole. He then kicked it again, and with a forceful blow, knocked the left door off its hinges.

After kicking down the left door, the Old fortune-teller turned to me and said, “How else do you think we break a Feng Shui formation? Just break down this door. Don’t overthink it—it may seem mysterious, but despite how complex it is, the more intricate something is, the less room there is for error. As long as we destroy this main door, we can break two formations at once. In a bit, I’ll set up an altar to break the iron fork formation outside.”

“Xiao Xiang, take down the other door too. Damn, my foot’s killing me; this door’s hard as hell! Shouldn’t have tried to act tough,” the Old fortune-teller muttered, limping away and casually grabbing a small stool to sit down on.

Brother Xiang let out a roar and charged at the right door, kicking it hard, but although it shook violently, it wouldn’t budge.

“Useless!” Han Si Fan scoffed, yanking Brother Xiang back. She ran up and delivered a swift roundhouse kick, and with a crash, the door panel fell cleanly to the ground.

With the two doors destroyed, the Old fortune-teller stood up, looked around, then suddenly shouted, “Alright, come out! What’s with all the hiding?”

Before I could understand what the Old fortune-teller was up to, a man in his forties stepped out from the dark corner outside. He wore a black suit and walked in with a smile. “Old Wang must be dead by now, right?” he said.

“You’re pretty ruthless. I bet you built this house, didn’t you?” the Old fortune-teller sneered. “I’d like to hear why you set up this Feng Shui formation to kill someone!”

Surprised, I looked at the middle-aged man, then pointed at him and asked the Old fortune-teller, “He’s the killer?”

Hearing this, I instinctively took two steps back. Brother Xiang did the same, while only Han Si Fan stood with a proud look, staring at the man. The man, unbothered, cupped his hands respectfully. “I’ve heard much about Daoist Li’s great reputation. I’ll explain my side. If you think I’m in the wrong, feel free to call the police.”

After saying that, he pulled up a chair and sat down, gesturing to the others to sit as well. “Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Zhao Chen Yang…”

It turned out that there had been a longstanding feud between the Zhao family and the Wang family.

The Zhao family, traditionally the carpenters of Tao Village, and the Wang family, who were farmers, had a conflict that started with Zhao Chen Yang’s father, Zhao Li Wei, and Old Master Wang.

Zhao Li Wei and Wang Yong Quan had been close friends since childhood, growing up together. They were still single when they turned twenty, just as a young female intellectual, Song Si Ao, arrived from the city as part of the Down to the Countryside Movement. Song Si Ao, at eighteen, was beautiful, educated, and refined. Rural weddings usually happened young, and the village had few young people; only Zhao Li Wei and Wang Yong Quan were eligible bachelors, so they naturally started competing for her.

At first, the competition was friendly—they didn’t want to harm their friendship over a girl. But Song Si Ao, being well-read and ambitious, looked down on rural life and had no intention of marrying someone from the village. Still, she flirted, claiming she was too young for romance but liked them both, to get them to help her with farm work.

Song Si Ao cleverly played both sides, praising Zhao Li Wei to Wang Yong Quan and vice versa.

This could’ve gone on without much trouble, but soon, Song Si Ao’s parents pulled some strings to get her back to the city. Rumors spread that she’d been fooling around with rural men, and at that time, such rumors could cost her the transfer, as many wanted to get their kids back to the city.

Zhao Li Wei and Wang Yong Quan, not wanting her to leave, spread tales of their supposed relationship with her to keep her from being transferred.

Song Si Ao, though furious, didn’t show it. Instead, she cozied up to Wang Yong Quan, saying she liked him but needed to return to the city where she belonged.

Naive Wang Yong Quan asked what he should do, and she suggested he kill Zhao Li Wei. She assured him that no one would know, and once back in the city, she’d bring him along for a good life.

Blinded by love, Wang Yong Quan agreed. That night, he lured Zhao Li Wei to a small grove on the east side of the village and tried to strangle him. Just as Zhao Li Wei was on the brink of death, Song Si Ao appeared with the village chief and a group of villagers.

With all evidence against him, Wang Yong Quan was cornered. But because of his good standing in the village, the chief helped suppress the incident, and Song Si Ao left Tao Village satisfied. Zhao Li Wei disappeared from the village, never to be heard from again.

After that night, Zhao Li Wei’s hatred for Wang Yong Quan burned. But knowing murder was a crime, he decided to wait for the right opportunity.

Zhao Li Wei moved to the city, married, and had a son, Zhao Chen Yang. However, he was diagnosed with cancer when Zhao Chen Yang was twenty, and before he died, he told his son everything. Zhao Chen Yang returned to find a chance for revenge.

It just so happened that Wang Yong Quan’s family was building a brick house, so Zhao Chen Yang, as a carpenter, took on the job under a different identity and constructed this Feng Shui formation.

Over the past five years, Wang Yong Quan’s family business had bombed initially, but gradually, his children became unfilial, the business declined, and his health deteriorated.

When Zhao Chen Yang finished explaining, I nodded. “If Wang Yong Quan nearly killed your father back then, it’s not unreasonable for you to seek revenge.”

Brother Xiang and Han Si Fan seemed to agree, their expressions softening. But the Old fortune-teller suddenly stood up, glaring at Zhao Chen Yang with a cold snort. “Are you hiding something? Need me to finish for you?”

“If it were just a Feng Shui setup for revenge, fine. But you learned to refine ghosts, didn’t you? That Shuimang Ghost you used to harm people, and the hopping corpse—did you create those with Feng Shui? Did you learn that from the Luban manual? Do you think your master Luban would approve?”

the Old fortune-teller looked furious, his eyes boring into Zhao Chen Yang.

“Luban? Where was he when my dad was almost killed? Daoist Li, I respect your skills, but don’t go too far!” Zhao Chen Yang shot back, standing up and taking out a small red bottle with a talisman on it.

“That bottle has the Shuimang Ghost, right? You want a showdown with me?” the Old fortune-teller’s anger suddenly vanished. He turned to Han Si Fan with an outstretched hand. “Xiao Fan, bring the item I asked you to prepare.”

Han Si Fan handed him a small yellow pouch. the Old fortune-teller grinned at Zhao Chen Yang, pulling out a red peachwood sword from the pouch. “Alright then, let’s duel. Let me see just how strong you are!”