Chapter Thirty-Three: The Elder An

Chen Jiu lay prone in a corner of the wheat field, holding his breath to the utmost, afraid to move a single muscle. The dense stalks around him served as a perfect sanctuary. At this moment, with his “Mountain Demon” and “Tiger Minion” shattered, his spiritual sense had been affected, leaving him in considerable distress. His consciousness began to blur. When he vaguely heard the two black-robed figures departing, Chen Jiu could endure no longer and slipped into unconsciousness.

...

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the sound of intermittent voices reached his ears. Chen Jiu’s eyes snapped open, full of wariness. “Ah! You’re awake, Daoist!” came a surprised voice nearby. Turning his head, Chen Jiu saw a graceful, refined maidservant. She placed a set of azure robes by his bedside and addressed him respectfully, “Master Daoist, your robe was torn to pieces. Please change into these clean clothes, and I have prepared water for you to wash your face.”

Seeing his circumstances clearly and realizing there was no immediate danger, Chen Jiu relaxed a little before saying, “Thank you, benefactress.”

“Oh, by the way, where am I? How did I come to be here?” Chen Jiu suddenly thought to ask.

The maid pondered for a moment before replying, “This is the An Residence. Our master found you in the wheat field this morning. You were lying there unconscious, and fearing for your safety, he brought you here.”

Chen Jiu understood and quickly searched himself. At last, he found the breath-concealing talisman still affixed inside his shirt. The heart that had lodged in his throat finally settled. Thankfully, the talisman remained; otherwise, those black-robed pursuers would surely come after him again.

But this was not a permanent solution—the breath-concealing charm lasted only a few hours. Once the time expired, or if the talisman was damaged, its power would wane significantly.

“My Daoist robe—what of my soft armor, where are they?” Chen Jiu hastily inquired.

The maid nodded and walked to a wooden box, retrieving his tattered robe and a piece of soft armor split by a seam.

Chen Jiu took them and searched their lining. At last, he found two remaining breath-concealing charms and a pitch-black lotus pedestal. But unease gnawed at him—his five yellow beans and Daoist sword were gone, likely lost in the wheat field.

He resolved to retrieve them quickly, for those two black-robed men could return at any moment.

Dispatching the maid, Chen Jiu donned his soft armor and robes, affixed a fresh breath-concealing charm, and only then dared step outside.

Now, with only one talisman left, it was clear he would not last the day. Without this charm to mask his aura, his chances of being discovered would soar.

Therefore, reclaiming his belongings was his most urgent task.

Stepping out of his quarters, Chen Jiu realized this indeed was a grand estate. Judging by its scale, the master, An, was surely a wealthy landowner.

As he was about to leave, a portly man in brocade garments and a domed hat appeared from a corner. “Daoist, are your injuries better?” the man asked.

Chen Jiu looked at him—rosy-faced, nearing fifty. “Thank you for your concern, benefactor. I am much recovered,” Chen Jiu replied warmly.

His injuries were spiritual, requiring only rest.

Old Mr. An smiled and nodded. “This morning, my servants found you in a secluded corner of the wheat field. May I ask what happened in detail?”

Chen Jiu understood. The man feared he harbored ill intentions or had done something unsavory in the wheat field, especially now, on the eve of harvest.

“Rest assured, benefactor. I merely passed through last night, felt unwell, and fainted in the field,” Chen Jiu explained.

Mr. An nodded and said, “So long as you’re well.” With that, he took his leave.

Chen Jiu knew the man wished him gone, and he felt grateful. He would not linger; once he found his yellow beans and sword, he’d depart swiftly and hide.

Just as he took a few steps, a thought struck him. In “Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio,” there was a story called “The Monster in the Buckwheat,” about an old man named An who bravely fought a ghost—tragically, the ghost bit his forehead, and he died.

Chen Jiu remembered he was in that strange “Strange Tales” world. This man was surnamed An and had a vast wheat field awaiting harvest!

Without further hesitation, Chen Jiu hurried after Mr. An.

“Benefactor An, wait!”

Mr. An frowned and turned, puzzled. “Is there something else, Daoist?”

Chen Jiu shook his head and asked, “May I ask, when will you harvest the wheat?”

A flash of vigilance crossed Mr. An’s eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Chen Jiu flushed in embarrassment. “I am versed in reading celestial signs and can help choose an auspicious day. After all, I owe you a debt and wish to repay it.”

If this truly was the “Monster in the Buckwheat” tale, perhaps he could help the old man escape disaster.

Mr. An smiled and waved dismissively. “No need for that, Daoist. I’ve already instructed my tenants to harvest part of the wheat, and it’s being hauled to the threshing ground by cart.”

Chen Jiu's heart stirred. “Will you personally guard the threshing ground tonight?”

Mr. An gave him a surprised look. “Indeed. Recently, thieves have been rampant, and with my son away, I must oversee it myself.”

Chen Jiu shook his head, growing solemn. “I know my words may sound absurd, but I hope you take them seriously.”

Mr. An half-closed his eyes. “Speak freely.”

Chen Jiu said bluntly, “Tonight at the threshing ground, there may be ghosts!”

Mr. An was stunned, then clapped his hands and laughed. “You’re quite something, Daoist! I save you out of kindness, and you repay me with tricks!”

Chen Jiu sighed inwardly, knowing the man would not believe him.

“If my words are merely a jest, so much the better,” Chen Jiu bowed and passed Mr. An by.

Soon, a steward emerged from another room and asked his master, “Why were you laughing just now, sir?”

Mr. An snorted, “That Daoist must have his eye on my wealth, so he made up a ghost story to extort me.”

He snorted again. “Utter nonsense!”

...

Leaving the An estate, Chen Jiu inquired about the wheat field’s location and slipped along secluded paths until he reached the foot of the hill bordering the wheat.

Across the way lay Jingyang Hill, where he had encountered the two black-robed men.

Recalling last night’s ordeal, Chen Jiu still felt a lingering dread. Not only were his pursuers skilled assassins, but they could conceal their tracks and possessed cultivation far above his own. All told, he had nearly lost his life!

He resolved to uncover the origins of these black-robed men when opportunity allowed.

Following his memory, Chen Jiu began searching for the scattered yellow beans and Daoist sword in the wheat field.

The “Scattering Beans to Form Soldiers” technique depended on his spiritual power. But last night, battered as he was, he could barely muster any power; thus, the beans did not transform into stout little soldiers, only produced clouds of white smoke to aid his escape.

Alone, Chen Jiu bent low, relying on faint spiritual senses, painstakingly combing the wheat field for his lost treasures...