The Spirit-Dancer

“I don’t know what the Five Spirits—Red, Yellow, White, Willow, and Sorrow—mean for spirit-dancers. An old villager just said it once, and I wrote it down.”

“The time I saw them, someone in the village had been struck by evil—crawling on the ground barking like a dog. That spirit-dancer happened to be passing by, so he came to take a look.”

“What happened after that? I don’t really know. I just remember that the man was fine the next day, already out working in the fields again.”

Li Huowang listened to Chun Xiaoman’s fragmented account of spirit-dancers, his mind turning over the information.

So, spirit-dancers in Siqi do the same kind of work as Daoists? Drive off evil, ward off calamity. Does that mean their power comes from things like the Wandering Lord too?

If spirit-dancers deal with people often, they’re probably easier to talk to than the monks of Zhengde Temple.

He wasn’t afraid that these so-called spirit-dancers were too strong—he was afraid they might be too weak to deal with Danyangzi at all.

One man alone couldn’t compare to a whole group.

The creaking of the donkey cart fell silent, snapping Li Huowang back to the present. He saw the others already heading into the woods to gather firewood and fetch water.

He looked up at the sky. The sun had drifted westward without him noticing. Time to stop for the night.

He didn’t just sit there. Pulling the sword from his back, he started digging a pit in the ground. The blade was impossibly sharp, and in no time he had a hole about the size of a head.

The fool, who had already been waiting nearby, lifted the black pot off the cart and set it over the hole.

All they needed now was to open two gaps on either side—one for fuel, one for smoke—and the small earthen stove would be done.

Dried noodles were more practical than rice. Easier to store, simpler to cook.

Once the water in the pot was boiling, he threw in several bundles of the long-life noodles they had bought at the pass town.

A handful of wild dandelion greens gathered by the roadside served as vegetables. One salted duck egg per person was the meat course. With a big bowl of noodles each, dinner was ready.

Li Huowang used his chopsticks to split the duck egg floating in the noodle soup. The oily yolk, sizzling as it bled out, immediately coated the entire broth in a golden sheen—appetizing just to look at.

He fished out a piece of the softened dandelion stalk and chewed it slowly. The taste was slightly bitter, the texture a bit like spinach.

He hadn’t known dandelions were edible before. But watching that old monk eat them so eagerly back then had taught him this was also a wild vegetable.

Blowing the steam away, Li Huowang took a big gulp of the soup. A wave of warmth spread through his stomach—comfortable, deeply so.

Looking at the wild greens, he couldn’t help but think of the old monk from Zhengde Temple.

I wonder how he’s doing. He was so simple, couldn’t see anything. He probably lives well enough in a place like that.

A pair of chopsticks placed the oil-dripping salted duck egg yolk into Li Huowang’s bowl. “I don’t eat the yolk,” Bai Lingmiao said quietly from beside him.

Li Huowang gave a small nod, lifted the noodles with his chopsticks, and slurped them down. “I have a Daoist bell on me—remember? The one I took from Qingfeng Temple.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll tell you how to use it now. If something happens to me, remember to take it out and protect yourself.”

“Alright.”

“First, you need to shake it. You’ll feel very dizzy, but hold on. Then grab a handful of dirt from the ground and put it in your mouth…”

The sky was darkening. Li Huowang’s bowl was empty. He had finished speaking.

Bai Lingmiao took the bowl and chopsticks from his hands and walked toward the small stream in the woods.

Li Huowang watched her slender figure. Without realizing it, it shifted into the silhouette of a girl in a red high school uniform—Yang Na’s silhouette.

He shook his head hard. Bai Lingmiao returned to being herself. Irritated, Li Huowang lay down on the ground and stared up at the stars growing brighter in the sky.

The night deepened. Li Huowang took the first watch as usual. His sleep hadn’t been good lately—or rather, his sleep had never been good.

He used his sword to poke at the campfire, adding a piece of firewood.

Wiping the blade with a flick, he examined his weapon in the firelight.

This sword, sharp enough to slice through iron like mud, was wasted in his hands. Either it was used as a shovel to dig pits, or as a poker for the fire. The tip was now blackened and ugly.

The only time it had drawn blood was when it had been used to slit his own throat.

Senior Brother Changming, if you could see your precious sword reduced to this, you’d probably be furious enough to crawl right out of your grave, Li Huowang muttered to himself as he slid the longsword back into the sheath at his back.

Shh— A soft sound came from behind him.

Li Huowang shot to his feet, grabbed a burning branch from the fire, and hurled it.

The bright flame traced an arc in the air and landed in front of a pair of embroidered shoes.

The shoes were so red they were unsettling.

“Who’s there?! Show yourself!” Li Huowang’s shout startled the others from their sleep into a sitting position.

When they saw the pair of embroidered shoes in the distance, fear jolted them fully awake. The sounds of swords and knives being drawn filled the air.

“Hehehe, don’t move. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

A genial voice spoke. An old man, about fifty with grey hair, stepped out of the pitch-black woods.

He was simply dressed, the patches on his clothes suggesting he wasn’t well-off. Apart from a small bundle on his back, he carried a dirty old drum with many colorful ribbons tied around it at his waist.

Facing down Li Huowang’s weapons, he explained: “I was walking the night road. Saw a light up ahead and came to take a look. Didn’t expect to run into you fine folks.”

When he saw Li Huowang’s eyes fixed on the bright red embroidered shoes, he continued: “Don’t mind her. That’s my wife. She’s shy. Goose! Come here.”

At his call, the embroidered shoes stepped unhurriedly out of the darkness and came to stand beside the old man.

It was a woman whose face was covered by a red bridal veil. Her purple-and-red clothes were extremely garish, tied with some green cloth strips just like on the drum.

She stood there, utterly still. Seeing this thing in the dead of night made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“This is your wife?” Li Huowang pressed, sword still raised. If you told me this was a zombie he was driving, no one would doubt it.

Just then, Chun Xiaoman hurried over and whispered: “Senior Brother Li, he’s a spirit-dancer.”

That sent Li Huowang’s wariness to its peak.

“That’s right! Exactly. We’re spirit-dancers. I’m the Lead Spirit, and my wife is the Second Spirit.”

Seeing no reaction from the group, the old man spoke again: “What, you don’t believe me? Alright, I’ll give you a little demonstration. Ahem—!”

Before Li Huowang could stop him, the man opened his mouth and shouted: “Summon-ing the spiiirit!”

The full-bodied cry carried far into the dark woods beyond.