Chapter Seventy-Two: Crossing the River with Blood Sacrifice, Forsaken by the True Gods

This bizarre scene sent chills down the spines of the nearby residents, who whispered among themselves in fear. It was not until Zheng Qian hurried into Green Willow Alley with several Shanhai Society stewards and apprentices, dispersing the crowds and collecting the remains from the ground, that order was restored.

“Third Master, it seems Moon Harbor has another new evil spirit,” reported one steward. “Judging by the method of killing, it should be the ‘Frozen Bones’ that has long haunted the north. Perhaps the increasingly cold winters and the southward shift of snow and ice lines have driven these regional specters into Moon Harbor. But their numbers are truly abnormal this year.”

Lately, the evil spirits in Moon Harbor had become increasingly rampant. With the eight ship clans embroiled in internal strife and neglecting other matters, the Shanhai Society was forced to shoulder the most basic responsibilities. Not only Zheng Qian, a direct disciple of the Hall of Annual Affairs, but also stewards, patrons, and officials from all the Society’s industries were thrust to the front lines in the fight against evil, barely having time to catch their breath.

After all, for countless generations, water gatherers had always handled such matters. Every official in the water teams was accustomed to it; no one questioned why it fell to them. It was all taken for granted, as if ordained by heaven.

Hearing the steward’s assessment, Zheng Qian felt the situation was grave. “‘Frozen Bones’ is anchored in that famous line: ‘Behind vermilion gates, meat and wine go to waste, while out on the road lie the frozen bones of the poor.’ The colder the weather and the greater the gulf between rich and poor, the deadlier this specter becomes. Not only ordinary folk—even newly promoted officials can suffer disaster if caught off guard, their three soul-lights snuffed out and their heart’s essence drained. I only hope the weather warms across the land, driving the Frozen Bones back north to the steppe, far from Moon Harbor. With both natural and human calamities striking us, I’m beginning to suspect that the evil spirit ‘Misfortunes Never Come Singly’ has also found its way here.”

As Zheng Qian and his retinue exited Green Willow Alley, he saw two ornate pleasure boats—belonging to Lady Tang Miaofu, the ‘West Lake Boat Lady,’ one of the eight ship clan leaders—gliding away from the docks. This leader of the Gentry Faction monopolized nearly forty percent of Moon Harbor’s entertainment trade, both in fleshly pursuits and intelligence gathering.

Shanhai Society’s spies had already discovered that the Gentry Faction was systematically withdrawing its forces from Moon Harbor, shifting much of its strength southwards to another port—Meiling—also within the jurisdiction of Min Prefecture.

Seeing this, Zheng Qian’s already furrowed brow deepened. “Ever since my junior brother reported earlier this month that he’d captured Xie He and learned the Gentry Faction planned to seize Lady Yan—and suffered an ambush by an unknown official the very next day—the faction’s ship leaders have been steadily withdrawing from Moon Harbor. It’s been days since we’ve seen any trace of them. They would never abandon Moon Harbor without reason; their departure at such a time is deeply suspicious. I fear a major move is afoot.”

The high-profile exit of the Gentry Faction’s leaders unsettled the townsfolk. Coupled with the rampage of evil spirits—likely drawn here by the Gentry Faction—many citizens who once dared not go out at night now avoided the streets even in daylight. The great families of Moon Harbor organized frequent ceremonies, employing monks and Daoists to hold rituals and sacrifices to the spirits. After all, it was still the festival season, and there were no taboos against such acts.

Moon Harbor was home to tens of thousands of households and was flourishing. The wealthy families—each one richer than the next—held ritual after ritual, sparing no expense.

Withdrawing his gaze from the pleasure boats, Zheng Qian noticed a noisy procession carrying a divine palanquin passing by on the main street nearby.

Turning his head, he spotted a famous underworld figure of Moon Harbor, the nightsoil king known as ‘Fifth Master Qian,’ watching the parade. He greeted him, “Fifth Master Qian!”

The latter, recognizing Zheng Qian, direct disciple of the Hall of Annual Affairs, returned the greeting warmly, “Third Master Zheng!”

After a brief exchange, Fifth Master Qian melted into the crowd as if nothing had happened. Rounding the next corner, he silently crushed beneath his foot a drop of fresh blood that had just dripped from a crack in a divine palanquin. Activating his unique skill, ‘Cycle of the Five Grains,’ he instantly reduced the blood to dust.

The procession, shielded by the many ritual parades filling the city, wound through every street and alley, visiting every temple and shrine in the western districts. By dusk, they arrived at a secluded courtyard, ostensibly unconnected to the nightsoil guild, where three divine palanquins had already been parked.

Once the parade dispersed, three figures—‘Corpse Fisher,’ ‘Tanner,’ and ‘Yin Matchmaker’—emerged to greet Fifth Master Qian.

“Fifth Master, the three of us each shadowed the parade from afar, covering the east, south, and north districts, even crossing the Xiang River, a branch of the Nine-Dragon River, several times. Aside from a few private temples, we ensured no public shrine was missed.”

As the last palanquin was set down, all four were opened at once, revealing four large, blackened offering tables. But instead of the usual meat, fruit, and incense, the tables were piled high with strange innards, brains, and minced flesh in large bowls and platters—sacrificial blood food redolent of ancient rites. Talismans sealed the palanquins, suppressing the stench of blood.

This form of sacrifice had a forbidden name: “Blood Offerings Crossing the River—No True God Will Accept!”

There were strict rules and taboos regarding offerings made to ancestors or deities. Fresh fruit like apples and oranges were customary; pomegranates and plums were avoided, pears were reserved for ghosts, and offerings were always in odd-numbered plates. Oil for lamps must be vegetable-based, never animal fat, and watermelons were never to be cut. Above all, blood food—especially raw meat dripping with blood—was strictly forbidden.

Blood food was reserved for primordial rites before the birth of the Three Officials Covenant. It was the exclusive ritual of the Six Heavenly Ancient Ghosts, also called the Six Ancient Qi. History remembers only the collective name ‘Six Ghosts,’ their exact identities long lost, known only as belonging to the same current as Daoist energy, yet opposed to the Three Officials’ righteous energy.

“The Six Heavenly Ancient Qi, bearing official titles, command myriad spirits and the ghosts of the defeated—fallen generals, dead soldiers, accompanying ghostly armies, roaming free across heaven and earth, wielding blessings and curses, demanding sacrifices from temples and homes…”

After the establishment of the Three Officials Covenant and the Twenty-Four Seasonal Rites, all state-sanctioned deities were forbidden from accepting blood food, to distinguish them from the Six Ghosts. Gone were the days of the pre-Qin era, when the sacrifice of Qiang people and cattle was commonplace.

The highest form of offering now was simply the ‘great triad’ of livestock. Modern people could hardly imagine the cruelty of the ancient ways.

Furthermore, ‘crossing the river’ in geomancy pertained to water, which symbolized wealth—capable of carrying a boat or overturning it. To move an offering table through bustling streets or over bridges was to ‘cross the river,’ which could easily turn blessings to calamity and ruin the flow of fortune.

To carry tables laden with blood food throughout the city, amidst widespread rituals, might seem unremarkable to ordinary folk. But to all spirits and ghosts, it was as if someone had poured salty brine into a bowl of sweet tofu pudding, tossed a rotten egg into a well-tended garden, or dropped mouse droppings into a fragrant pot of seafood congee.

The righteous gods would instinctively close their temple doors, severing their connection with the affected shrines, refusing incense and sending no guidance. The abandoned incense would become irresistible bait for wild evil spirits and unregistered illicit ghosts.

Spirits were not the servants of men; separated by the boundary of yin and yang, it was normal for them to ignore temple prayers for days or weeks. This covert act of ‘Blood Offerings Crossing the River’ was difficult to detect in the short term. By the time it was discovered, Moon Harbor would already be overrun by evil spirits, and everyone would be too busy to care.

The withdrawal of the Gentry Faction’s ship leaders was not an abandonment of their plans, but a preemptive move to avoid losses. A great tide of evil spirits was about to descend.

This method was far more efficient than their previous efforts at driving spirits manually.

Fifth Master Qian praised his three accomplices. “Well done. Evil spirits embody eighteen calamities: poverty, decay, sorrow, disaster, disgrace, cruelty, stench, pain, sickness, premature death, loneliness, depravity, delusion, misfortune, ill fate, suffering, madness, and more. Once they are drawn here by our blood offerings and begin to gather, they will overwhelm the entire feng shui of Moon Harbor. The Eight Directions Pavilion Bureau, anchored by the Octagonal Tower, won’t be able to suppress them. If Lady Yan is truly hiding within the geomantic nexus where yin and yang converge in Moon Harbor, she will have no choice but to reveal herself. Tomorrow we continue! Hire a new batch of workers, pass the job through several hands to mask our involvement, and by the employer’s calculations, there will be results within five days. Soon, we’ll all be rewarded with rank and favor!”

As for the countless common folk of Moon Harbor who would suffer, or the parade participants who would likely face retribution—well, who among the gentry ever cared? Even emperors had to hold their noses and rely on men like them, let alone the nameless masses, as insignificant as weeds.

On the first day of the ‘Blood Offerings Crossing the River,’ the sky above Moon Harbor grew noticeably dimmer, the crescent moon tinged with a bloodshot haze. Cold, mournful winds began to wail through the city’s streets and alleys, as if the very air itself were weeping.