Chapter 47: Forceful Entry and Unruly Occupation

Chaotic footsteps echoed through the forest. Qingyin forced herself to remain calm, arranging her expression into a cold mask as she waited for the newcomer to approach. A middle-aged man emerged from between the trees, dressed in a blue robe. Though his face was also thin and sharp, he was a marked improvement over the two little rat spirits from earlier—at least he looked recognizably human. Yet in Qingyin’s eyes, trained to discern the true nature of demons, the slender tail quivering behind him was impossible to hide.

The man’s face was composed enough, but it was obvious he was suppressing terror. He stopped about ten paces away, eyed the giant cat lying nearby, and nearly lost control of his legs. Bowing low to the ground in a posture of utmost respect, he said, “The Lord of Mount Qi greets the immortal.”

The little rat spirit Qingyin still gripped by the tail, crouched and kneeling on the ground, burst into even louder sobs at the sight of his kin.

The mountain lord, trembling, said, “I did not know an immortal would grace us with her presence, and failed to welcome you properly. My child was ignorant and offended you—please, spare his life.”

Upholding her immortal’s dignity, Qingyin replied coolly, “Last night, I fought bitterly with demons and devils. My great cat was injured. Prepare a quiet place within your cave-dwelling and have him carried there to rest.”

Upon hearing this, the mountain lord’s face wrinkled in distress. This woman was asking him to house that giant cat! To have a cat take up residence in a mouse’s home was inviting disaster! But a glance at the broken tree nearby—according to his little mouse spirit, it had been felled with a casual blow from this woman—reminded him she was not to be trifled with. Helpless, he could only agree. He called into the woods behind him, “Children, fetch more hands!”

The little ones who had been peeking from behind the trees scurried off at once.

Soon, over thirty small rat spirits came running from the undergrowth. At the mountain lord’s command, they approached the three-tailed xie-cat, shivering as they surrounded him. Working together, they managed to lift his massive bulk. Those at the back fared better; the ones carrying his head found themselves face-to-face with his gaping maw and saber-like fangs, so terrified that tears streamed down their cheeks as they bore him along.

With the mountain lord guiding them, the rat spirits carried the xie-cat forward with extreme caution. Qingyin, holding Yin’er in her arms, walked alongside. They had not gone far when a cliff-like mountain wall blocked their path. The mountain lord stood before the rock face, recited an incantation, and a massive stone rumbled aside, revealing a cave entrance above which three characters were carved: Hundred-Turn Cave.

Inside, the passage began narrow but widened as they proceeded, opening into a vast cavern within the mountain. At its center stood a throne of beast pelts, surrounded by torches casting a gloomy, imposing air befitting a demon lord’s lair. Deeper within, numerous side chambers branched off, each with small, grey heads peeking out to observe the newcomers.

Under the mountain lord’s direction, the rat spirits carried the xie-cat into a spacious side chamber, furnished with bed and all necessities. The cat, however, was simply too large for the bed. After some thought, Qingyin doubled back and soon returned with a luxurious beast pelt. The mountain lord’s heart ached at the sight—it was the leopard skin from his own throne.

But no matter his pain, he dared not protest, and could only watch as Qingyin spread the leopard skin on the floor, instructing the little demons to gently lay the xie-cat upon it.

Yin’er, cradled in Qingyin’s arms, began to cry weakly on and off—he had likely gone more than a day without food and was famished. Qingyin asked the mountain lord, “Do you have a woman here skilled at caring for children?”

The mountain lord replied, “I do.”

Qingyin handed Yin’er over without ceremony. “Have her feed the child until he’s full.” She paused, then swept him with a chilling glare. “If the child is missing even a single hair, I’ll raze your mountain to the ground.”

The mountain lord received Yin’er as though holding a hot coal, nodding rapidly, and retreated with his little spirits, leaving only two unlucky rat spirits to serve at her side.

Qingyin shut the door and hurriedly emptied all her medicines onto the floor. She had brought some healing salves, but not much—and with Moutu in his true form, so large, these meager supplies were a drop in the ocean. Forcing open the cat’s enormous jaws, she poured several bottles of healing elixirs down his throat. As for topical medicines, the wounds were simply too large for her to treat effectively. She could only have the rat spirits bring hot water and clean cloths to wash the wounds and make a rough bandage.

She then grasped his massive paw, probing for a pulse, and was alarmed by what she found. His pulse was unsteady, and with so much blood lost, she sensed that if she did not act swiftly, he would not last much longer.

Steadying her nerves, she summoned the mountain lord and asked, “Do you have any rare healing elixirs in your cave?”

The mountain lord replied, “My household is poor. When my kin fall ill or are hurt, we gather herbs from the mountains. We have no miraculous elixirs.” Qingyin frowned, thinking hard, then recalled where such medicine could be found.

She said, “My cat is gravely injured. There are two ways to heal him. One—he devours a thousand rat spirits, restoring his vitality all at once.” She spoke seriously, and it was true; Moutu had healed internal injuries this way before.

The mountain lord’s legs gave way, and he fell to his knees, his whiskers quivering. “I have led the thousand rat spirits of Hundred-Turn Cave here in diligent cultivation for centuries, always strictly forbidding them from troubling the people or taking lives…”

Qingyin narrowed her eyes in mockery. She well remembered how the two little rat spirits she first encountered had referred to the baby as “tender meat.”

Seeing her sharp gaze, the mountain lord knocked his head to the ground, tears in his voice. “It is true that at times, discipline has lapsed and wrongs were committed, but I punished them harshly. I confess my guilt—never again shall we descend the mountain to cause mischief. I beg the immortal to have mercy on our difficult path to cultivation…”

Qingyin had suggested the first method only to frighten him. With Moutu unconscious, he had no strength to leap up and devour mice. She snorted coldly. “The second method is for me to fetch a healing elixir myself. I cannot bring the xie-cat or the child along, so I must trouble you, Mountain Lord, to look after them. Should either lose so much as a hair…”

“I wouldn’t dare! I wouldn’t dare!” The mountain lord’s forehead was already swollen from kowtowing.

Qingyin nodded with satisfaction. “If you care for them well, I’ll bring back some gold and silver as thanks.”

The rat spirits of Hundred-Turn Cave were truly poor, and at mention of “gold and silver,” the mountain lord’s beady eyes lit up with genuine joy for the first time since his arrival.

Having balanced fear and reward, Qingyin had the mountain lord thoroughly cowed. She estimated the time; though anxious to fetch the medicine, she dared not travel by daylight—using cloud-borne willow leaves would be spotted by the silver-haired ones. She would have to wait for nightfall.

As dusk deepened, she had the rat spirits cook millet porridge, hoping to feed it to Moutu. But he was so deeply unconscious he could not even swallow; the porridge simply trickled from his lips.

Holding his massive head, she fought back tears and spoke softly, “Moutu, sleep well for now. I’m going to fetch medicine. Once you take it, you must wake up for me, do you hear?”

Since she could not feed him, her own appetite vanished as well. Still, knowing she had work to do that night, she forced herself to eat a little for strength.

At last, night fell. Qingyin warned the mountain lord sternly, “Speak of none of this, or you’ll bring demon retribution upon yourselves,” frightening him so thoroughly that his scalp prickled. Only then did she leave Hundred-Turn Cave, summon her cloud-willow, and swiftly traverse the treetops toward Jiaozhou.

She was headed for the prefectural magistrate’s residence. The Dong household’s storeroom contained ample medicines, especially secret remedies her father had concocted—many of which were rare healing elixirs.

At night, Jiaozhou was especially quiet. As darkness settled, the streets emptied completely. The city had been troubled these past years; every household extinguished their lights and went to bed early, fearing disaster. The previous night, the Ghost Festival on the fifteenth of the seventh month, there had been strange commotions in the magistrate’s back residence. The soldiers in the front compound dared not investigate, for Magistrate Dong had strictly forbidden anyone from entering the back quarters. Since he often vanished for days at a time, they were not yet aware that their magistrate had been reduced to ashes.

Qingyin vaulted over the wall into Dong Mansion’s rear courtyard without difficulty. The garden was still strewn with rat corpses, the chaos undisturbed. She landed, glanced around, and seeing nothing amiss, hurried toward the storeroom.

Just then, a tinkling of brass bells sounded outside the wall, making her pause. The sound was oddly familiar. The bells drew closer, accompanied by hurried footsteps, panting, and a childish mutter: “Oh dear, I spent too long playing with the flower butterfly spirit on the way, I’m late—will the things still be there?”

What followed was the unmistakable sound of someone clambering over the wall. Soon, a child of about five or six, round-faced and adorably plump, but with dark red eyes, appeared atop the wall, holding a brass bell. He rode astride the wall for a moment, then leapt down face-first into the courtyard.

The child picked himself up, brushed the dust from his face without complaint, and gazed around at the garden’s chaotic aftermath, stomping his foot in frustration. “Late, as expected! The debtor must have perished already—who will I collect from now?”

He set off at a run across the garden, the bell jingling all the way. Qingyin, perplexed, followed quietly. She saw the child dash about, then suddenly spot the storeroom and beam with delight. He ran inside, discovered all the treasures untouched, and grew even happier. He leapt for joy and shouted, “I can report back now!”

Tucking the bell into his robe, he pulled a leather pouch from his waist and went to the storeroom door. Raising his little foot, he kicked the door open. Qingyin was startled. That storeroom door was no ordinary door; thick and barred with heavy locks, it would resist even a grown man—how could such a tiny child possess such strength?

As the child entered, Qingyin slipped to the doorway to peek inside. She saw him hold the leather pouch open with both hands, muttering an incantation. Bolts of cloth stacked on the shelves began to float as if weightless, drifting toward the pouch. As they touched the opening, they shrank to minute size and were drawn in. It was as if a silent tornado had swept through; in moments, the shelves were bare, all the cloth stored away.

Qingyin was astonished—could the pouch in his hand be the legendary Bag of Holding, capable of containing even mountains and rivers?

Author’s Note: I see several unfamiliar faces appearing in the comments—each one deserves a kiss from me! Chapter 47, “The Immortal’s Seal,” has been updated!