Asking for a Title

Chapter 26: Terror

“There-there-there’s shit!”

“I’m not blind. Stop leaning in—are you trying to eat it? I know you’re simple, but not that simple.”

“Gouwa, shut up. There are people on the road.”

“Hehe, whatever you say, Brother Li.”

It wasn’t long before Lü Zhuangyuan saw the group emerging from the woods.

The moment he saw what they looked like, Lü Zhuangyuan sucked in a sharp breath. No wonder his youngest son had just said there were ghosts. They were terrifying to look at.

A scrawny man with blotchy black-and-white skin. A woman with white hair. A man with bowed legs lying across someone’s back. And another whose entire face was covered in hair.

Lü Zhuangyuan had traveled far and wide and considered himself a man of considerable experience, but even he was shaken by the sight before him.

“Dad, I’m scared.” Lü Xiucai kept shrinking backward, trying to press his entire body behind his father.

“You think I’m not?” Lü Zhuangyuan cursed his youngest son furiously in his head. If it weren’t for the handsome Daoist and a few normal-looking acolytes among the group, he would have turned and run long ago.

Trembling, Lü Zhuangyuan clasped his hands and bowed toward Li Huowang. “May I ask, Your Daoist Reverence… um… are these all monsters you’ve subdued?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he was met with a storm of hostile glares.

“What did you say, old man! Looking for a beating? Who are you calling a monster?”

Lü Zhuangyuan saw the handsome Daoist raise a hand, silencing the aggressive black-and-white-faced monster, and his conviction only deepened.

“Elder, might I trouble you to ask—where does this road lead?”

“Wuligang! Wuligang is up ahead. Not far, not far at all. Hehehe.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Lü Zhuangyuan secretly jabbed his horse’s rump with the end of his tobacco pipe. The horse whinnied and bolted, pulling the cart along the forest path.

“Hey! My horse! My horse! Hurry, follow it!” Lü Zhuangyuan led the others in a feigned frantic chase after the animal.

They ran fast, and within moments they had left those things far behind.

They ran for a full hour. Only when he saw his youngest son was coughing from the exertion did Lü Zhuangyuan whistle for the horse to stop.

When they halted, he ignored his son and went straight to check on the cart horse. In this opera troupe, a horse was worth more than a person.

The sky was already darkening. Evening was near.

“Dear god, what the hell were those things? Scared me half to death.” Sweat-soaked Lü Juren gasped for air.

Lü Zhuangyuan kicked him. “Don’t you see it’s getting dark? Go find some firewood in the woods!”

By the forest path, a warm campfire was kindled. Softened coarse-grain buns were passed into everyone’s mouths, and the sweetness of the grain soothed their frightened hearts.

“Look at you, all scared shitless. Running into some eerie business while traveling is nothing. The more panicked you are, the more you need to keep your head. I’m telling you,” Lü Zhuangyuan said to the others.

“Dad, maybe they weren’t monsters at all. They looked pretty human to me. And that little Daoist called you ‘elder.’”

Hearing his daughter-in-law’s words, Lü Zhuangyuan shook his water gourd.

“Whatever they are, we’re not getting involved. You all remember this: if you want to live a long life out on the road, if you can avoid something, you don’t touch it.”

This could be called Lü Zhuangyuan’s philosophy of life. One way or another, it had kept him alive this long.

And he intended to pass this lesson on to his youngest and eldest sons. When he was too old, this troupe would be their burden to carry.

He handed the water gourd to his nephew, then looked over at his granddaughter, who was lying in her mother’s arms.

Watching her gnaw at a piece of bun with her newly sprouted baby teeth, Lü Zhuangyuan felt his heart swell with fondness.

He turned back to the cart, fished a salted duck egg out of a round jar, carefully peeled open a small hole, and brought the glistening, oil-rich yolk to his granddaughter’s lips. “Come on, little one, suck on this. This is the good stuff.”

Watching her suckle with all her might, Lü Zhuangyuan’s eyes crinkled into a smile.

It was a shame she wasn’t a boy, but the bond between grandparent and grandchild was its own thing. He doted on this little girl terribly.

Sensing an opportunity, Luo Juan spoke up. “Dad, look—Cui’er’s this big now. Don’t you think she ought to have some proper clothes? It’s not right making her wear opera costumes every day.”

The moment money was mentioned, Lü Zhuangyuan’s smile vanished. His face crumpled.

He was about to refuse, but when he saw the loose opera costume hanging off his little granddaughter, his heart softened.

He took a few heavy drags on his pipe, the wrinkles on his face deepening, then walked to the cart. He pulled out a long brass lock, opened the chest, and fumbled inside for a long while before counting out fifty copper coins.

“Don’t buy cloth in town. Too expensive. When we get to Wuligang in a couple of days, ask around for a woman who weaves at home. Buy a few feet from her. And ask more than one—find the cheapest.”

“And remember, don’t buy hemp cloth. Xiu’er’s skin is delicate. Hemp will chafe.”

“I understand.” Luo Juan beamed as she took the coins. She had thought getting enough for hemp cloth would be a win, but it seemed the iron rooster had finally crowed.

Children were small. It wouldn’t take much cloth to make clothes. Maybe she could even skim a little off the top.

When he was sure his granddaughter had finished the yolk, Lü Zhuangyuan divided the remaining egg white among the adults.

Each person only got a small share, but just tasting the salt made them all happy. It was a rare treat.

Night had fallen. There was nothing left to do after dinner. They listened to a few old stories Lü Zhuangyuan had picked up from who-knows-where, then prepared to sleep.

Lü Juren was on first watch. He was exhausted from the day’s march, but he forced himself to stay alert, keeping his eyes on the campfire to make sure it didn’t go out.

“Son, go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.” Lü Zhuangyuan sat down beside his son and began puffing on his pipe again.

Lü Juren yawned. “Dad, I’m not tired. You go to sleep.”

“Stop arguing. Go to sleep. This old man doesn’t need much rest.”

As the two argued by the fire, Lü Zhuangyuan suddenly clamped his hand over his son’s mouth and pointed toward the dark woods in the distance.

“Hee-hee~” A woman’s shrill, thin laugh suddenly rang out to their right.

Lü Zhuangyuan and his son instinctively looked, but saw nothing but darkness.

“Hee-hee-hee~ Tell me… do I look like a person, or a god?” The dark woods began to sway, as if something inside was about to emerge.

Lü Zhuangyuan was drenched in cold sweat. A seasoned traveler like him knew—something was asking him for a title.

He couldn’t answer carelessly. One wrong answer and it could bring ruin to his entire family.

But the problem was—what exactly in those woods was asking him for a title?

The forest swayed in a rhythmic pattern, making a sinister rustling sound.