I never expected Chow to connect the story of Jiulong Cave to the Yellow River Maiden. But thinking about it, it made sense. The Yellow River Maiden must have existed long before Jiulong Cave formed, and nothing in the Yellow River could escape her notice.
Chow was a master storyteller. He told me several eerie tales about Jiulong Cave, and I remained absorbed in his stories long after he finished.
Lying in bed, unable to sleep, I tried to piece together everything that had happened since I became a corpse retriever, hoping to find clues about my origins. Unfortunately, I fell asleep before making any progress.
As the saying goes, *what you think about during the day, you dream about at night.* That night, I dreamed of the nine evil dragons. Their bodies were pitch black, their heads terrifyingly fierce. They moved silently along the riverbed, dragging heavy chains, as if pulling something immense.
I tried to see what they were pulling, but the Yellow River’s murky waters and swirling silt made it impossible.
The next day, Mr. Wang, the big shot, returned.
This time, he came alone, accompanied only by a Taoist priest. The priest’s attire was identical to Qiu’s, so he must have also come from Huiji Temple.
He was much older than Qiu, with graying hair and a face as weathered as tree bark, etched with the marks of time. He carried a horsetail whisk and wore a ceremonial Taoist sword at his waist, its design indicating it was quite old.
The ceremonial sword was a Taoist priest’s badge of honor, their passport between the realms of yin and yang.
Not all priests were qualified to carry a sword. To wear one, they had to possess great merit, capable of communicating with both heaven and the underworld through incantations and talismans.
Legend has it that some Taoist sects had special techniques for wielding these swords, allowing them to summon deities, dispel evil, and even call down heavenly thunder.
“Mr. Wang, bringing Abbot Chan here means you’re determined to end my family line?” Chow’s expression turned grim as he saw them.
“As a son, I can’t let my father’s remains lie in Jiulong Cave forever. I’m asking for your help,” Mr. Wang said patiently.
“Who’s your father?” Chow asked.
“Yifeng.”
“Hah, so you’re his descendant. You’re not here to retrieve your father’s remains. You want me to guide you to recover your Wang family’s Water-Dividing Sword, don’t you?” Chow sneered.
I had heard about the Wang family’s Water-Dividing Sword from Chow the previous night.
Legend has it that the sword was used by Yu the Great to divert the Yellow River’s course. It could part waters and alter river paths.
The Wang family’s sword wasn’t the divine artifact left by Yu, but it had protective properties in water. It was this sword that propelled the Wang family to prominence in the treasure-hunting world, rivaling the Zhang family of the northeast.
As the saying went, *the treasures of the mountains belong to the Zhangs, the treasures of the waters belong to the Wangs.*
The importance of the Water-Dividing Sword to the Wang family was evident.
Thirty years ago, Yifeng of the Wang family came here with the sword, seeking the golden dragon heads of Jiulong Cave. He took the sword underwater and never resurfaced.
Mr. Wang didn’t react much to Chow’s accusation. Instead, he turned to Abbot Chan.
Chow also looked at Abbot Chan, his expression grave.
Abbot Chan had been standing quietly since entering the courtyard, his demeanor detached, like a withered pine tree, transcendent.
I had already sensed that this old priest was the one Chow feared most. The Wang family might be powerful, but Chow, a lone wolf, had little to fear from them.
But Abbot Chan was different. He was the disciple of the Taoist priest from a century ago. He knew everything about the Chow family. Without exaggeration, he held the Chow family’s fate in his hands.
Chow could choose not to seal the river’s eye, but if Abbot Chan insisted, he would have no choice.
“Chow, what are your plans for this year’s Lower Yuan Festival?” Abbot Chan asked casually.
Chow’s expression shifted rapidly—anger, sorrow, shame—before he finally said, “No plans.”
“So, you’re not going to seal the river’s eye?” Abbot Chan’s tone remained calm, unfazed by Chow’s response.
Chow opened his mouth to argue but ultimately lowered his head in silence.
“Time flies. Over a hundred years have passed. Recently, I’ve often dreamed of my master. He said he was wrong to blame your family so harshly. Even if your great-grandfather hadn’t hidden the ninth golden dragon head, what was meant to happen would have happened.”
“What was meant to happen? Then what was the point of my family’s sacrifices?” Chow couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Compared to my master’s death, your family’s sacrifices mean nothing.”
Abbot Chan’s mention of his master’s death was filled with sorrow.
Later, Chow told me that the branch of Funiu Mountain wasn’t toppled by the flood or moved by the mountain god. It was relocated by the Taoist priest using a mountain-moving technique…
A priest who could move mountains—what did that mean?
Compared to him, mortals were like ants. The sacrifices of the Chow family truly seemed insignificant.
“I’m here today not for the Wang family but to ask you something. I was in seclusion for months and only learned after emerging that my disciple Qiu had died. He was a talented boy I raised from childhood, yet he was struck down by heaven’s wrath. I heard he came to see you before he died. Do you know anything about that?”
When Abbot Chan mentioned Qiu, I thought to myself, *Here it comes.* Huiji Temple hadn’t investigated Qiu’s death because they were waiting for this old priest to take action.
“I don’t know,” Chow said.
“I see. I thought perhaps you had told him about my master’s story. Chow, I know you hold some family secrets. I hope you’ll keep them to yourself,” Abbot Chan advised.
“I understand.”
Listening to their conversation, it was clear Chow hadn’t told me everything last night. He was still hiding something. But it was his family’s private matter, so I didn’t dwell on it.
As their conversation ended, Abbot Chan prepared to leave, and Mr. Wang followed.
I trailed behind them, ready to close the courtyard gate after they left.
But just as I was about to shut the door, Abbot Chan, who had already stepped outside, suddenly turned and asked me, “Chow doesn’t know about Qiu’s death. Do you?”
“I know nothing,” I quickly denied, afraid he might see through me.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Ah, so this is your *feng jiu* year. From your face, I can see you’ll face a life-and-death crisis this year, but you’ll have a noble person’s help to survive. Would you be willing to give me your birthdate? I can help you calculate your fate.”
Abbot Chan’s words were almost identical to Qiu’s, but I didn’t dare share my birthdate with anyone now.
I quickly waved my hand and said, “The more you calculate your fate, the thinner it becomes. I don’t want to know.”
Seeing my refusal, Abbot Chan didn’t press further. He got into Mr. Wang’s car and drove down the riverbank.
Back in the courtyard, I told Chow about Abbot Chan’s request. He was also startled.
“Good thing you didn’t tell him. It’s fortunate he didn’t ask more, or even your ghost wife couldn’t protect you.”
Xiang had said something similar: *Chow miscalculated. The Yellow River Maiden alone can’t save you.*
So I asked him, *Is the old priest really that powerful?*
“I haven’t seen the full extent of his abilities, but you saw the ceremonial sword he carries, right? It’s the same sword used by that priest a century ago. With that sword, he can summon people from the Tianshi Mansion on Dragon Tiger Mountain at will.”
“Chow, does that mean the priest from back then held a very high position in the Tianshi Mansion?”
“Of course. He was the *Tianxia Xingzhe* (Wanderer of the World) of the Zhengyi Mengwei Dao, a position second only to the sect leader.”