"Qi Exhalation.
"A method commonly employed by spirits, ghosts, demons, and deities.
"Once the things of this world attain the Dao, primordial qi naturally generates within their bodies. When exhaled, each breath produces its own unique effect."
Holding the book, Lin Jue could not help murmuring the words aloud.
"Because this method requires no formal study or practice—merely the natural exhalation of the primordial qi within the body—it is the spell most commonly employed by mountain spirits, wild monsters, wicked deities, and ghosts. Moreover, because their kinds differ, and because their paths to attaining the Dao and their moral natures vary, the primordial qi within each is distinct, and thus its effects are likewise unequal.
"Some exhale yellow qi, which befuddles the mind; some exhale black qi, which blinds the sight; some exhale gray qi, which induces deep sleep; and some exhale white qi, which heals illness and saves lives.
"The truly mighty exhale smoke that turns into clouds, blotting out the sky and obscuring the sun.
"If a mortal cultivates and attains the Dao, they too may exhale qi. Most exhale white qi, which has many wondrous uses. If one does not cultivate, there is still a way to force an exhalation of qi—by exhaling Yang Qi. It can only scorch yin ghosts and serves no other purpose, injuring the body and shortening one's lifespan."
That was the final sentence.
Lin Jue was shaken to his core.
'Could this be a book of spells?'
Instinctively, he turned the page.
"Rustle..."
The sound of paper turning echoed softly in the quiet room.
The instant his fingers brushed the page, a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer rippled across the paper, and Lin Jue's gaze grew unfocused. Turning the page after that was mere inertia; with his final fleeting glance, he saw only that the next page remained completely blank.
Yet words began to echo in his mind.
"Heaven possesses five qi, from which all things are transformed and brought into being...
"Monsters and demons are spirits and essences attached to physical forms..."
It was like a voice, yet not quite.
If they were spoken words, they had neither gender nor actual sound, resembling the silent timbre that echoed when reciting an ancient poem in one's own mind, or conversing with oneself in thought.
Yet if they were not spoken words, the sentences were distinctly structured, as though someone's verbal instruction had been converted directly into information.
"When demons and ghosts exhale qi, it is mostly yin qi and ghostly breath. So long as their cultivation is not profound, mortals may contend against them relying on their own vital blood and will, and often emerge victorious...
"When those with cultivation exhale qi, in addition to expelling their primordial qi, they may practice arts to alter that primordial qi, thereby obtaining different effects...
"...
"As for the exhalation of qi by those without cultivation, few methods have ever circulated in the mortal world. Unless one is driven to extreme fury and exhales qi naturally, one must convert physical strength into qi: the lower strength rises from the toes, passes through the lower gate, and enters the dantian; the upper strength descends from the crown of the head, passes through the shanzhong point, and enters the abdomen. When the two unite, one must focus the spirit and gather the essence, compressing the strength into qi and transforming the qi into Yang. At the peak of scorching heat, one must abruptly exhale...
"..."
The voice explained the method of Qi Exhalation in exhaustive detail.
Aside from omitting the exact details of how demons, spirits, ghosts, and deities naturally exhaled qi, it provided a complete account of how both cultivated practitioners and desperate mortals could do so, even imparting practical insights and guidance. For ordinary mortals, it gave an explicit warning: unless one had reached a moment of absolute, life-or-death crisis, the technique must never be used lightly.
Even though Lin Jue knew nothing of the Dao and barely understood most of the terminology, he still managed to grasp a portion of it.
'One can exhale qi without cultivating?'
Only after receiving the knowledge from the book did he realize why he felt so dazed and sluggish. It was not merely from a night of tense anxiety, but because he had been struck by the monster's exhaled qi, which had temporarily depleted his vital blood. He needed rest and recuperation.
'This really is a Spell Book!'
He simply had no idea where the book had come from.
'Could it have some deeper origin?'
Lin Jue pondered for a time, but nothing came to mind.
'And why did this spell reveal itself now?'
'Could it be because I was struck by that spirit's Qi Exhalation last night?'
"..."
Gradually coming back to his senses, Lin Jue turned the book over and over, examining it closely, but only that single page bore any writing.
And it recorded only this art of "Qi Exhalation."
There was nothing else.
Yet a volume like this, with countless blank leaves, surely contained more than a single method of Qi Exhalation.
Lin Jue could not help thinking further—
'How can I make more of it appear?'
'Where can I find spells and Daoist arts to practice?'
There was indeed a San Gu Temple in the village that enshrined the San Gu Deity, said to be quite efficacious. But Lin Jue also knew the temple keeper—merely an ordinary village widow with no one to rely on, who had taken up looking after the shrine. She spent her days sweeping the halls and wiping down the statues, using what little donation money came in to buy rice, vegetables, meat, and cloth. It was simply an act of charity from the clan elders of the Shu Family. The woman possessed no magical arts, nor any supernatural powers whatsoever.
At least, as far as Lin Jue knew.
As his thoughts drifted, they turned once again to the events of the previous night.
He still did not know what kind of creature that monster was. Yet after dealing with it through the night, it seemed hardly different from a person. In fact, thinking back on it, the creature had seemed far more interesting than many of the villagers Lin Jue knew.
'Just how many demons, spirits, and ghosts are there in this world?'
'Are they all like that?'
'Or are they endlessly varied?'
'And how much of those strange tales is true, and how much false?'
With such tangled thoughts drifting through his head, sleep finally took him.
He did not wake until his aunt called him for the meal.
For an ordinary family struck by sudden illness, the food was naturally meager. Yet his aunt knew that Lin Jue had gone to the Wang Family Ancestral Hall in Heng Village the night before and spent the entire night alongside demons and ghosts. He had returned looking worn and listless, and having received the thirty liang of silver bestowed by the Wang Family, their most pressing crisis had been averted. His aunt had cooked a pot of fish porridge and boiled an egg meant for his uncle, giving it to Lin Jue so he could regain his strength.
"Aunt, there is no need to worry," Lin Jue said. "Of the thirty liang of silver today, twenty liang is the reward from the Wang Family, and ten liang is medicinal money gifted by Old Patriarch Wang. Old Patriarch Wang said they would take care of all of Uncle's medical expenses."
"They were only being polite. How could we take that seriously?"
The woman already showed clear signs of age, her face heavily creased, and now her brow was knitted tight.
"Old Patriarch Wang has always been fond of doing good deeds and values his reputation dearly. Besides, his descendants serve as officials in the capital. Having given his word, he will not break it lightly."
"Mother is right. How could we pin all our hopes on someone else?" his cousin chimed in from the side, his face dark and gaunt. "If this money is enough to cure the illness, that would be for the best."
"That is true..."
Lin Jue lowered his head to eat, conceding the point.
The two then urged him repeatedly never to do such a reckless thing again, going on about how he carried the hopes of the Lin Family and had to answer to his father. Lin Jue merely listened in silence.
His head was still somewhat dazed...
Yet with misfortune befalling the household, how could there be any chance for peaceful rest?
His cousin finished eating first and hurried off to attend to his uncle. Lin Jue took up a sickle and a back basket, heading out to cut grass.
The grass was to feed the oxen.
Naturally, they were not the Lin Family's oxen, but the village's.
Nor did the beasts belong to any single household, for in this village, aside from Lin Jue's family living upstream along Jiyang Stream, everyone else was considered one clan. Rigid patriarchal rules, filial piety, and clan ethics bound them inextricably together. Letting the Lin Family cut grass and tend the oxen was just like letting the widow serve as the temple keeper of San Gu Temple—it was the Shu Family's goodwill, their way of looking after them.
Lin Jue saw nothing wrong with cutting grass.
He had time to spare anyway; what difference did the chore make?
Only today, he felt drained of energy, his mind swimming with endless thoughts. He cut slowly, and his back was aching by the time he finally filled the basket and began walking back.
On the road, someone spotted him—a group of village children.
"Hey! Scholar Lin!"
"Who? It really is Second Scholar Lin!"
"Scholar Lin, didn't you say you were going to the haunted Wang Family Ancestral Hall in Heng Village? Did you go?"
"Which day are you going?"
Before Lin Jue could answer, another voice called from behind him:
"Lin Jue."
Lin Jue turned around with the basket on his back and saw an elder leaning on a staff, looking at him with deep concern: "I heard you didn't return last night. Did you truly go to Heng Village?"
"I did."
Lin Jue could only reply truthfully.
"Did you go to the ancestral hall?"
"I did."
"How was it? Did you encounter anything?"
"Great-Grandfather Shu..."
Lin Jue looked at the village elder—the very man who had told him so many strange folklore tales, and who had directed him to the Wang Family Ancestral Hall just yesterday. He paused for a long time, lost in thought, before finally murmuring with a sigh:
"There truly are demons and ghosts in this world..."
That single sentence was laden with deep emotion, carrying beneath it a wholly new perception of the world.
And this shift had occurred over the span of a single night.
"You truly met one?"
Seeing him like this, the elder looked at him with equal emotion: "Well, if you met one, so be it. The world is vast, and there is nothing too strange to exist. Don't be afraid, and above all, don't terrify yourself. Get plenty of rest, and you'll be fine!"
"Great-Grandfather Shu..."
"What is it?"
"Tell me... since demons and ghosts truly exist in this world, are there Immortals? Are there cultivation and spells?"
"Of course there are Immortals! If not, what have we been praying to all these years?" the elder replied without a moment's hesitation. "As for the masters and spells you speak of, once you step out into the wider world and enough time passes, you're bound to come across a few sooner or later, true or false. It all depends on whether you can tell the difference."
In other words, they did exist.
"Then where might one find such masters and spells?"
"That depends on fate."
"Fate..."
"Why are you dwelling on such things? Don't let your thoughts wander. At your age, focusing on your studies is the proper path. In other places, plenty of people would give anything to have the chance you have to study."
"Yes..."
"Go on home and rest. Don't exhaust yourself."
The elder could clearly see the exhaustion on his face. He likely assumed Lin Jue had gone to Heng Village on an impulse of youthful daring, only to lose his nerve the moment he encountered real ghosts in the ancestral hall, fleeing in panic just like the drunks and gamblers who had tried before him. Reaching out, the old man patted Lin Jue's shoulder in reassurance, then walked past him, leaning on his cane.
He called the meddlesome children away as he went.
Lin Jue carried the grass on his back and headed home.
It was not until the dinner hour that a procession entered the village.
The visitors were from Heng Village, every one of them surnamed Wang. Some carried stinky mandarin fish, some hauled cured meat, some held jars of wine in hand, some carried food boxes, and another held a bolt of cloth. Passing the Lower Bridge Pavilion at the village entrance, they wound their way upstream along the brook past courtyard after courtyard, crossing the Upper Bridge Pavilion until they reached the Lin Family home.
The commotion drew the gaze of countless villagers enjoying the cool evening air.
Had they not lacked lanterns, colorful ribbons, and red rosettes, one might have thought they had arrived to propose marriage to some local family.
Only upon asking closely did they learn that the Lin Family's boy had gone to Heng Village the previous night to stay in their ancestral hall. Not only had he lasted the entire night, but he had even persuaded the troublesome demon that had wreaked havoc for days to depart. The Wang Family had come bearing their gratitude.