Xiaoshang River lay in the desert — a place of endless sandstorms. To the ancients, it truly would have seemed a place where “the earth itself was damned.”
She froze. “So… we’re not the first?”
Luo Ren nodded.
Laozi’s claim that “no one can open the cursed slips” wasn’t quite true. According to this evidence, several hundred years after his death, the slips had indeed been opened — and not only once, but across vast, scattered regions.
If each cursed slip corresponded to a star of the Big Dipper, then those who followed the slips would naturally have called them “Star Lords.” The “fall of a Star Lord” would thus mean the capture of a cursed slip.
That meant the so-called “Phoenix Squad” wasn’t the first group to confront them. The Mohists — under the Great Master’s command — had done the same ages ago.
The difference was, those earlier ones fought not only the cursed slips… but also the people who worshipped them.
Luo Ren raised his eyes again toward the copper-lined dome above. There was no record of any such structure in Caojia Village, and based on its location, the ground above it should still be mountainous.
Most likely, over the centuries, landslides and mudflows had covered the dome, forming an entirely new mountain atop it.
If the slip here truly bore the word “Earth,” then the Great Master’s people had taken poetic revenge — an eye for an eye, sealing evil with the very soil it defiled.
Perhaps it was that decisive strike — that “storm of the Great Master’s decree” — that had finally destroyed the cult of the cursed slips.
But… perhaps not completely.
Someone had escaped through the tunnel.
A daring thought struck Luo Ren.
He looked at Mu Dai, lowering his voice. “Back in the early Qin and Han periods, mountain villages like this would’ve been almost completely uninhabited.”
Mu Dai frowned. “So?”
“So,” Luo Ren said quietly, “if that person escaped, maybe he never went far. Maybe he stayed. His companions died here — maybe he waited until the chaos died down and built a settlement nearby. What if Caojia Village… began with him?”
It was the day of the wedding — the very first day.
Qingshan stepped outside and looked up at the sky.
A fine drizzle was falling endlessly.
He frowned and muttered, “Rain again. Great.”
From the front yard, villagers helping with preparations called back cheerfully, “Rain’s a good sign — it means wealth and blessings!”
People always had a way of comforting themselves. They feared bad omens, yet found ways to twist them into something lucky — like calling a shattered bowl on New Year’s Day a sign of “peace year after year.”
Qingshan scratched his head and gave a sheepish grin. Just then, Aunt Seven came striding over, wiping her hands on a towel, mud splattered on her pant legs.
Qingshan’s parents had both passed away years ago, and for his wedding, it was Aunt Seven who’d taken charge — filling the role of his mother without hesitation.
She said briskly, “I checked with Old Blind Liu — today’s the lucky day. The ceremony must start before noon. Everyone needs to gather at the drying yard half an hour early. The bride’s family gets their own table.”
Then she couldn’t resist grumbling, “You said she’s an orphan, I get that — but really, not a single relative? Just two girlfriends who showed up last night, saying they could barely get leave and have to go back right after today’s meal — when we’ve got three days of feasting ahead!”
Qingshan gave a sheepish smile. “Ya Feng’s had a hard life…”
“Pah, pah, pah! None of that talk on your wedding day!” Aunt Seven snapped, all authority. “Anyway, I’ve arranged it. Those guests from out of town and the ones back from factory work — they’ll sit with the bride’s side. Jin Hua’s in charge of that table.”
Qingshan exhaled in relief, then hesitated. “What about the memorial tablet?”
In their village, the “tablet” was a sacred tradition — a wooden plaque kept by the eldest villager. When that elder passed, the next oldest took over. At every wedding, the youngest child in the village was sent to “invite” the tablet early in the morning. The adults would lead the child around the village, carrying the red-draped tablet and calling blessings at every doorstep: ‘May you live in harmony,’ ‘May you soon have sons.’
During the ceremony, the couple would bow not only to Heaven and Earth and to each other, but also to the tablet.
No one knew exactly what the tablet represented, only that without it, there would be no village.
Aunt Seven reassured him. “Already arranged. Once the drum sounds, the procession starts. Make sure you’ve got red envelopes ready — the kids carrying the tablet get a reward.”
Just after ten o’clock, the first clang of the bronze gong rang out. The red-wrapped mallet struck the heart of the gong, deep and steady. The echo rolled through the village, clear and far.
Yan Hongsha, who had just entered the village, heard it — and almost stumbled in surprise.
But she quickly steadied herself, clutching her briefcase, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses, and tugging at the loose fit of her black suit jacket. Her wedge heels pinched a bit, but she forced herself to walk confidently.
Everything — the clothes, the bag, even the shoes — had been hastily bought the night before in town.
She took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay calm.
After all, today… she was an insurance agent.
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152