Chapter Fourteen: The Eight Outer Professions

Uncle Mingda used to be a brewer in the village!

A shiver ran through me, and I tumbled off the donkey cart, landing face-first in the dirt. Uncle Mingda hopped down as well, grinning as he said, “Welcome back to the village, you little rascal from Lingnan!”

Welcome, my foot!

I bolted toward the village at full speed. Uncle Mingda’s body remained on the cart, but his head, like a soccer ball, rolled after me, chasing me furiously. Along the banks of the Yellow River, the demon wind howled; I sprinted alone, but that head drew ever closer, overtaking me in an instant. Mud covered its face as it glared at me with poisonous malice.

I was utterly petrified, scalp tingling, heart lodged in my throat. In a panic, I stammered for mercy, “Uncle… the one who killed you wasn’t me, it was the golden leopard frog—it’s right there in the river!”

Hearing this, the head paused idiotically, turned to peer at the Yellow River.

I was bewildered. Years of playing soccer had ingrained in me the habit of kicking anything round, and without thinking, I swung my foot and sent it flying into the river.

Did that really just happen?

The sensation of my leg striking the head was uncanny, as if I’d kicked a phantom. Yet I distinctly heard a splash as something hit the water.

No time to dwell on it—I screamed and dashed toward the village, half-mad with terror. Only when I saw the incandescent lights still burning by the ancestral hall and Left Fatty chatting with a few villagers, and Uncle Mingda nowhere in sight, did I feel a hint of relief. But then, as if stepping on a banana peel, I suddenly slipped and fell flat. Immediately, I saw Junjun’s mother carrying a bucket of steaming hot water, ready to douse me.

That bucket could strip every hair off my body.

Terrified, I rolled away just in time.

With a splash, the whole bucket emptied onto the spot where I’d fallen, scalding mud splattering my skin.

Junjun’s mother tried to throw the bucket at me, but Uncle Chang Geng and several others caught her, cursed, and dragged her off.

Left Panlong watched me return in disarray, his lips curling with smug satisfaction. “Got yourself into trouble, huh?”

I stood there, lost.

Left Panlong continued, “Why didn’t you trust me? I tricked you back to the village, and if anything happens to you, I’ll shoulder the blame. Don’t leave tonight!”

Easy for him to say. I’d leave if I could.

But given the circumstances, did I dare?

Catching my breath, I didn’t argue with him. I asked, “Where am I sleeping tonight?”

Left Panlong pointed. “At your house!”

Villagers asked what else he planned. He replied that the old village chief would cause no more trouble tonight; things would be settled tomorrow at noon.

The crowd dispersed.

Ping’s wife carried the old village chief’s corpse, aiming to have me return before I turned twenty. The old chief’s foul, cold breath earlier—I had no idea what effect it might have, but Ping’s wife had surely achieved her goal. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have run into Uncle Mingda at the village entrance.

Recalling childhood horrors, I was paralyzed with fear.

With Sister Jiu’er and Tong Tianwang gone, I had no one to ask about the art of spirit trapping.

Left Panlong, the bastard, had truly screwed me over.

But thinking it through, had I not returned to pay respects to the old chief, Ping’s wife threatened to wipe out the entire village. I couldn’t abandon everyone to save myself. It seemed fate had led me here.

As I considered all this, Left Panlong grinned, “What are you thinking?”

“None of your business!” I snapped.

Back at the old house, I found it tidied up, clearly inhabited.

“I’ve been staying here these days. Can’t complain, it’s pretty comfortable,” Left Panlong said, stretching out on a Taishi chair, legs propped up and rocking lazily.

I ignored him, making up the bed. “Tonight you sleep in the chair, I take the bed.”

He wasn’t offended, instead boasting, “I’m the one who exorcises demons and upholds justice for your village. Is this any way to treat me?”

I thought for a moment. Left Fatty had figured out why the old chief rose from the dead—he wasn’t ordinary; he must know something. So I dragged a chair over and sat before him. “Dove Droppings, since you screwed me over so badly today, shouldn’t we have an honest talk? How did you know where I lived, and how did you guess I had dog bezoar in my shop?”

“Left Panlong is my name—what’s with the ridiculous nickname?” He rolled his eyes.

“Left Panlong translates as Dove Droppings. Check it yourself,” I retorted.

He looked confused, pulled out his phone and searched. His expression changed instantly, and after a moment’s awkward silence, he asked, “This herbal name… is it widely known?”

“Not really. Only a handful of people who deal in rare medicines would recognize it,” I replied.

He breathed a sigh of relief, patting his chest. “As long as you know, let’s keep it between us. I’ve roamed the world of mortals and spirits for years—if people found out my name meant a pile of droppings, I’d be a laughingstock!”

“I’m good at keeping secrets, but only if you’re honest with me. Otherwise, I have a hundred ways to make your name famous and fragrant across the land.” I lit a cigarette and smoked.

Left Panlong hastily tried to stop me. “Fine, fine, I wasn’t planning to hide anything.”

He snatched a cigarette from me, eyed it disdainfully. “What lousy brand! Xie Xiaopi, you’re begging with a golden rice bowl.”

He was hinting at something, but I didn’t rush him.

He lit the cigarette and started talking.

Left Panlong explained he found my residence easily: he located my old room, picked up some discarded clothes, and used Plum Blossom Divination to pinpoint my exact location. He made it sound simple, but it startled me—his method was as effective as GPS.

As for knowing I had dog bezoar in my shop, that required more effort.

According to him, he consulted a well-connected informant, who, after some digging, learned about the medicine shop. The informant said business was slow, the boss used to be an old man, but now a youngster was in charge. The old man never relied on ordinary medicine sales, but secretly dealt in rare medicinal materials. When asked what rare items, the informant wasn’t sure, but had heard of someone buying dog bezoar there, at a steep price.

So he concocted the scheme to lure me back to the village with a high price for dog bezoar. The story about its power to ward off evil was pure fabrication.

I was dumbfounded. Old Man Guan had lived with me for years—I had always thought he was just an ordinary apothecary, but he actually specialized in rare medicines? No wonder, after I took over, business was dead—I never knew about the core trade!

“When you tricked me, that sandalwood scent in the car—was it some kind of mesmerizer?” I asked coldly.

“Just a little trick. You’re a grown man; I couldn’t tie you up. Besides, I’ve heard your kind have a lot of special methods. I had no choice,” Left Panlong chuckled.

“What kind of ‘kind’?” I pressed.

“Spirit trappers! Hey… Comrade Xie, you’re contradicting yourself. You wanted an honest talk, now you’re playing dumb—what’s the deal?” Left Panlong stubbed out his cigarette, glaring at me with his beady eyes.

Spirit trappers?

Tong Tianwang had said Sister Jiu’er, my grandfather, and my parents were all spirit trappers from Lingnan. Tong Tianwang wanted to apprentice under my grandfather and join their ranks but failed.

Was Old Man Guan also a Lingnan spirit trapper?

As I grew older, the memory was like a fishbone lodged in my throat—uncomfortable and unresolved. I’d tried many times to pry information from Old Man Guan, but he always evaded, never giving a straight answer. In desperation, I scoured the library for old records, but found only scattered references to spirit trappers.

Traditional professions numbered three hundred and sixty: craftsmen, farmers, merchants, scholars, soldiers. Yet certain unconventional trades fell outside these, collectively known in the underworld as the “Eight External Professions.”

Which eight? The Thousand Gates, Red Handkerchief Sect, Gu Sect, Smuggling Sect, Thieves’ Sect, Death Dealers, Divine Tune Sect, and Flower Sect.

Among them, the Thieves’ Sect reigned supreme—grave robbing, looting houses, river spirit trapping—all belonged to it.

Within the Thieves’ Sect, there was a saying: “Of all thieves, the spirit trapper is king.”

Here, the “kneeling thief” referred specifically to spirit trappers.

All things possess spirits. Great rivers and mountains, imperial tombs, nurtured by spiritual energy, hide countless mysterious treasures. Spirit trappers roam the land, using unique skills to hunt these celestial treasures. Hence, they are also called “earth spirits,” much like grave robbers are called “earth masters.”

If Old Man Guan was a spirit trapper from Lingnan, everything made sense.

Sister Jiu’er entrusting me to him was a form of orphaning.

Yet, in all these years, I’d never seen any spirit trappers with a Lingnan accent visit the shop. Besides, Old Man Guan’s last words—“hall master”—what did that mean?

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Sister Jiu’er had repeatedly warned me not to return before I turned twenty, yet here I was. Solving my own predicament was the priority.

I ignored Left Panlong’s tangent and asked, “That Ping’s wife—human or ghost?”

Left Panlong rolled his eyes. “Neither. She’s something else.”

“What exactly?”

“A corpse puppet!”