First Encounter

The stack of yellow papers on his chest made the boy feel uneasy.

Those were all given to him by his master before he set off, supposedly made with a secret family recipe, capable of suppressing ghosts with a thousand years of cultivation. Now, together with him in this dilapidated hall filled with eerie winds, they looked like a complete joke.

The cold wind felt like it had been frozen, stinging his face and swirling with dust that had accumulated for who knows how many years, trying to sneak into his thin collar.

The interior of the main hall was pitch black, with only a few eerie green flames flickering in the distance, casting ghostly shadows all around.

Ji Wang gripped the peach wood sword tightly in his hand. His master said it was lightning-struck wood, but the wood felt rough to the touch and had none of the legendary thunderous energy.

He swallowed hard; his throat felt dry and tight.

According to the nearly worn-out "Illustrated Guide to Ghost Catching," he should next step on the Seven Stars, chant incantations, and then strike out the strongest golden talisman in his arms, shouting "Demons and monsters, quickly reveal yourselves!" But at this moment, his calves were uncontrollably cramping, his mind was blank, and he had completely forgotten not only the Seven Stars Step but even the most basic hand seals.

Just then, something seemed to move in the darkness.

Ji Wang jolted awake, disregarding all rules and regulations. With his eyes closed, he frantically pulled a talisman from his robes, flung it forward by muscle memory, and mumbled, "Imperial...Imperial decree! Retreat...Retreat!"

The talisman floated softly to the ground without even a spark.

An even heavier silence descended, one that was now heavy with death. Ji Wang could almost hear his own heart pounding like a drum.

Then, an invisible force gripped his wrist, icy cold, making his bones ache.

He looked up in horror and met a pair of eyes that were slowly opening in the darkness. There was no white in the eyes, only a bottomless blackness that seemed to suck in one's soul.

The figure materialized from the darkness, initially just a blurry outline, yet it carried an oppressive aura that seemed capable of crushing him.

The other party didn't even fully reveal itself, but simply stretched out two pale, bloodless fingers and picked up the abandoned talisman on the ground.

A very soft chuckle was exceptionally clear in the hall.

"Golden Light Talisman?" The voice was deep, each word like a small shard of ice hitting Ji Wang's heart. "Even the most crucial stroke, 'Soul Devouring,' is missing. It's just a piece of waste paper."

Ji Wang froze, watching as the ghost's fingertips twitched slightly, and the talisman spontaneously combusted without fire, instantly turning into a small clump of ashes that fluttered down.

The ghost's gaze seemed to fall on his face, and the scrutinizing feeling made his scalp tingle.

"You can't even draw the most basic talisman..." The ghost's tone was devoid of emotion, but full of sarcasm. "Which amateur troupe did you come from?"

Ji Wang's lips trembled, the name of the sect that he himself felt was shabby stuck in his throat, and he couldn't spit it out.

Seeing his cowardly appearance, the ghost seemed to have lost all interest in investigating and reached out with its other hand towards his bulging chest.

Ji Wang wanted to dodge, but his body wouldn't obey him. The "Illustrated Guide to Ghost Catching" that he treasured was easily snatched away.

The ghost flicked the page with its fingertips, glanced at it, and its cold snort became even more pronounced.

“Bu Nian Guan…” He read out the name of the blurry seal in the corner of the book, his tone calm, yet it made Ji Wang feel ashamed. “Three hundred years ago, even your founding patriarch had to come to me with utmost respect to ask for the truth.”

The pages closed with a soft snap.

"The talismans he drew back then," the ghost's gaze fell again on Ji Wang, whose face was ashen, and he said, word by word, "were more decent than your grand-disciple's."

It's over.

Ji Wang abruptly closed his eyes, awaiting the expected excruciating pain or the destruction of his soul.

"Master, your unworthy disciple will never believe your nonsense again in my next life..."

However, the expected pain did not occur.

Only a very soft sigh sounded above his head.

Immediately following was the sound of the book being casually tossed back into his arms.

He trembled as he opened one eye a crack, only to see that the ghost had already turned around, leaving him with only an indistinct silhouette. Its voice was still devoid of warmth, yet it uttered words he could not comprehend at all: "Never mind."

"Come here, let's start with tracing the characters and learn again."

Study? Don't even think about it!

Ji wanted to run away, but as soon as he turned around, the lights in the main hall were on.

Ji Wang squinted at the sudden bright light. Before his heart could recover from the shock, an irresistible force grabbed his shoulder and spun him around halfway, turning him back to face the depths of the hall.

"Am I that ugly?" The voice, carrying a hint of nonchalant displeasure, came from above. "So you're in such a hurry to leave?"

Ji Wang was forced to look up, and when he saw it, he caught his breath.

Suddenly, the ghost was seated in the very center of the hall. The dilapidated Buddha statue lowered its brows and eyes, but in its palm, it cradled an eerily strange being.

The ghost king transformed into human form, and if one ignored the pair of slightly trembling, snow-white fox ears on his head and the fluffy, soft, and languidly drooping long tail of the same color behind him, he would be perfect.

He wore a wide, crimson robe, the lapel slightly open, revealing a small patch of pale skin that contrasted sharply with his dark hair.

Under the bright lights, his face was crystal clear, with long, narrow eyebrows and eyes that were a pale gold tinged with the patina of time. Those eyes were now half-closed, scrutinizing him with a hint of amusement. His nose was high and straight, and his thin lips were slightly upturned, creating a kind of androgynous, almost aggressive beauty.

Ji Wang was stunned. The Ghost King he had imagined was a blue-faced, fanged monster with a sinister aura, not this captivating appearance.

He even subconsciously felt that, rather than catching ghosts, the person in front of him was more suitable to be enshrined in a painting for people to worship.

"Have you seen enough?" Bu Jiu's voice pulled him back from his wandering thoughts.

Ji Wang shuddered, unsure what to do with his hands and feet: "I... this junior wouldn't dare..."

He was rambling incoherently and just wanted to disappear into the ground.

Bu Jiu seemed to find his reaction amusing, and the tip of his fluffy tail swayed slightly.

He raised one hand to support his chin, while the other hand rested casually on his bent knee, his fingertips tapping lightly.

"Dare not?" He repeated the two words, drawing out the last syllable with a hint of mockery. "I think you're quite bold. Carrying a bunch of nonsensical talismans, you dare to trespass on my territory."

His gaze fell on the illustrated book in Ji Wang's arms, a hint of undisguised disdain flashing in his eyes, "And this tattered book."

Ji Wang was so ashamed that he wanted to bury himself.

He came from the Bu Nian Guan, a mountain whose name even he himself doubted was just something his master had made up.

The temple was indeed a makeshift organization that knew absolutely nothing. He had only recently joined the sect and was tricked by his fellow disciples into coming to rid the people of evil by promising him "fame and fortune."

Who would have thought that instead of eliminating the scourge, they might end up here, and this scourge is even... so outrageously ugly.

"Speak," Bu Jiu urged impatiently.

"Senior is...very handsome." Ji Wang blurted out the truth without thinking. He immediately wanted to slap himself after saying it; what was that all about!

Bu Jiu was clearly taken aback by his remark. He paused for a moment, then chuckled softly, a laugh that seemed to have a hook, tickling the ears.

"That's the truth." He readily accepted it, then changed the subject, reverting to his lazy tone, "Since you think it's good, then watch it a little longer. By the way, did you remember what I just said?"

"Wh...what did you say?" Ji Wang was dumbfounded.

Bu Jiu pointed at the book in his arms with his fingertip: "Start from tracing characters, learn it all over again. Didn't you hear me?"

Ji Wang then realized that the other party was serious.

A thousand-year-old ghost king wants to teach a ghost hunter how to draw talismans? This is more terrifying to him than being swallowed whole.

"Senior...this isn't appropriate, is it?" Ji Wang tried to argue, "This junior is of dull talent and dares not trouble you, senior..."

“If I say it’s suitable, then it’s suitable.” Bu Jiu interrupted him, his eyes narrowing, and the surrounding air seemed to grow colder. “Or are you trying to compensate me for trespassing on my territory… by provoking me with a piece of waste paper?”

Ji Wang shook his head vigorously like a rattle-drum: "Learn! This junior will learn! I'll start by learning to trace characters!"

Bu Jiu withdrew his gaze with satisfaction, the tip of his tail wagging happily again: "Hmm... first, throw away that tattered book."

He raised his hand and, from who knows where, produced a blank sheet of yellow paper and a vermilion pen that looked extraordinary, which floated lightly onto the table in front of Ji Wang.

“Follow this.” Bu Jiu’s other hand traced a line in the air with his fingertips, and a smooth red rune containing strange power appeared out of thin air, flashing with golden light. “Draw it. If you make a single mistake, you won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Ji Wang looked at the complex runes floating in the air, then at the childish and ridiculous "Illustrated Guide to Ghost Catching" in his hand, and pouted.

Is it too late for him to escape now?

The answer was clearly no. Because those pale golden eyes were fixed on him without blinking.

Ji Wang held the heavy cinnabar brush, staring at the shimmering runes floating in mid-air, fine beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

The runes were intricate and complex, a world apart from the rigid and lifeless illustrations in the book he carried.

His wrist was stiff, and he held his breath as he carefully made the first stroke on the yellow paper.

It's crooked.

He could see it himself; the cinnabar mark was soft and weak, lacking any power, let alone any "soul-devouring" or "spirit-attracting" effects.

He stole a glance at Bu Jiu. The Ghost King remained seated leisurely on the Buddha's palm, his fox tail lightly brushing against the broken Buddha finger, his eyes half-closed, as if he were about to fall asleep.

Ji Wang breathed a slight sigh of relief, thinking he might be able to get away with it. He composed himself and prepared to make the second stroke—

"stop."

Ji Wang's hand trembled, and the tip of his pen bleeded a small, unsightly red stain on the yellow paper.

The figure on the Buddha's palm had vanished silently at some point.

The next moment, a chilling aura mixed with a certain cold fragrance enveloped him.

Bu Jiu stood right behind him, so close that Ji Wang could even feel the faint breaths from Bu Jiu brushing against the stray hairs on the back of his neck, making his hair stand on end.

A cold, slender hand covered his hand holding the pen from behind. The chill seeped into his bones through the veins on the back of his hand, making Ji Wang's jaw almost chatter.

"Is your wrist dead?" Bu Jiu's voice rang close to his ear, filled with undisguised disdain. "Where's your spiritual power? You don't teach your disciples how to kill yourselves with stupidity, you just teach them how to behave."

He held Ji Wang's hand, guided the cinnabar brush to be re-dipped in cinnabar, and then made a faint stroke in the air—not landing on the paper, but rather creating a barely perceptible airflow.

“Watch closely,” Bu Jiu said impatiently, but his movements were precise and steady. “The beginning of the stroke must be steady, the ending stroke must be light, and in the middle of the stroke, you must use your own spiritual power as a guide to connect the meaning of the stroke. I’m not letting you take my expensive pen and stab randomly on paper that could cost you your life.”

With his guidance, Ji Wang felt a faint current of air seem to flow along their intertwined hands, through the pen, and finally condense at the tip of the pen.

When the pen tip touched the yellow paper again, the vermilion color seemed to come alive instantly, bright and dazzling, carrying an indescribable spirituality.

"This stroke, 'Spirit Guiding,' is the foundation of all!" Bu Jiu continued, guiding him as he sketched. "Three hundred years ago, that old fellow from Bu Nian Temple, though incredibly dull-witted, at least knew how to execute this stroke! But in your generation..."

He scoffed, "Like a weasel giving birth to mice, each litter is worse than the last!"

Ji Wang was so scolded that he couldn't even lift his head, yet he couldn't break free from the grip and could only passively move with the force of the man.

He could feel the restrained power emanating from Bu Jiu's fingertips, which was as different from his own pitiful, intermittent spiritual power as the moon and a firefly.

"And here, the transitions need to be smooth, not forced! What kind of bullshit are you teaching in your temple now? Drawing talismans or chicken feet?" Bu Jiu seemed to get angrier the more he taught, and his fox ears on his head were pressed back slightly because of his anger.

"Like father, like son! Your founding master knelt outside my hall for seven days to beg for my guidance! And now, you've sent a useless brat like you who can't even hold a brush properly. Do you think your sect's lineage is dying out too slowly?"

Ji Wang was completely bewildered by his scolding, and the little reverence and illusions he held for his sect gradually crumbled under Bu Jiu's relentless barrage of criticism. So… was the founding master really this frustrated back then?

"Senior...you...you know our ancestor?" he couldn't help but ask in a low voice.

Bu Jiu snorted coldly and finally released his hand. The rune he had guided the drawing of was now complete, lying quietly on the yellow paper, forming a stark contrast with the crooked stroke that Ji Wang had drawn himself.

"Know him?" Bu Jiu flicked his sleeves as if they had been stained with something unclean, glancing sideways at Ji Wang. "More than just know him. Two of the three talismans that your sect uses to protect the temple were sketches he tricked and begged from me back then. Even so, he drew them incorrectly, and their power is less than one-tenth of what it used to be."

He paced back a couple of steps, his fox tail sweeping impatiently across the ground: "I thought that after three hundred years, you'd have improved at least a little. But I didn't expect..."

He turned around, his gaze falling on Ji Wang's pale face and the appalling work on the paper. His tone was full of certainty: "A useless sect can only produce little trash like you who can't even trace characters properly."

Ji Wang held the pen, looking at the two marks on the paper, one good and one bad, feeling a burning sensation on his face and a mix of emotions. He had been thoroughly scolded, yet he couldn't refute her.

"What are you still standing there for?" Bu Jiu's voice rang out again. "Redraw it according to the correct version. Draw it until I am satisfied."

He paused, then added, "If you draw it wrong again, you'll be eating dinner tonight."