Chapter Seventy-Five: The Guest

When the train arrived at the Miao Territory station, Fang You bid farewell to Li Xinyi of the Xiangxi Corpse Driving Sect and disembarked.

Yet, this land of the Miao was vast—where could he even begin searching for his uncle?

After spending a day and a night on the train, Fang You was famished. The mountains stretched endlessly around him, and there were no restaurants to be seen. Only in the distance did he spot a wisp of smoke curling into the sky, perhaps from someone’s home where a meal was being prepared.

With no other choice, Fang You headed toward the distant dwelling, hoping to beg for a bite to eat.

As he walked, he took in the strange scenery of the Miao border: jagged rocks jutted out everywhere, riddled with holes and crevices. A sense of foreboding crept into his heart.

After about half an hour, a large stockaded village appeared ahead. Even from afar, he could hear the hubbub of people within.

In the Miao Territory, many still lived as they once had, several families sharing a single stockade, banding together for help and unity.

As he approached the entrance, Fang You’s keen eyes noticed a smooth, round stone placed at the gate. It was so unobtrusive that an ordinary person might not even see it.

Fortunately, before entering the Miao lands, Fang You had studied records of Miao gu sorcery from his “Art of Qimen Dunjia.” Though the notes were sparse, they were enough to be useful.

This smooth stone at the gate was no ordinary rock, but a gu ward—an entry gu, meant to prevent outsiders from trespassing or rival villagers from launching a surprise attack.

The stone gu before him was a classic example. Among the Miao, some gu were benign, while others were cruel and deadly.

The ruthless types included the Snake-Birth Gu, the Pestilence Rat Gu, and the Golden Silkworm Gu. Even if the caster retrieved these gu, the victim’s body would still suffer dire harm. When such gu were activated, the deaths they brought were unspeakably tragic.

On the other hand, warning gu like the Thorn Chip Gu, Stone Gu, and Wooden Spike Gu would not kill, but could bring a severe illness or incapacitate their victim for a long time.

Take this Stone Gu, for instance: a careless touch would send the gu into the body, causing small, stony lumps to break out on the skin.

These lumps were the eggs of the Stone Gu, laid beneath the flesh.

Once the gu activated, the stony nodules would rupture, and swarms of insects would crawl out of the wounds. It was not fatal, but the suffering was enough to wish for death. Ultimately, it was meant as a warning. If one behaved, the gu master would retrieve the gu before the visitor departed.

Fang You realized, therefore, that his journey through the Miao lands would be far from simple.

Yet, hunger drove him on. He skirted the stone and pressed forward. By now, dusk had fallen, and most homes in the village had closed their doors.

He spotted a small house still lit within and approached, knocking gently. “Hello, is anyone home?”

“Who’s coming to visit at this hour?” came a voice from within. The wooden door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman. Seeing a stranger, she eyed him warily. “Whose boy are you? What are you doing here at this hour? I’m just a woman alone—don’t try anything. I have a gu with me!”

By saying she carried a gu, she meant her own life gu resided within her.

Most families in the Miao lands raised a life gu within themselves; only then were they considered true Miao people.

Gu sorcery began in these lands. Long ago, the Miao chieftains studied insects to create medicines for their people. The surplus was traded for income. Over generations, this evolved into gu sorcery and insect-taming arts.

“I’m from out of town and just hoping for a meal. There’s nowhere nearby to buy food, so I hoped you might spare a bite,” Fang You replied gently. He was a guest, and it would be improper to insist if refused.

The old woman scrutinized Fang You, a fleeting smile twitching at her lips before she quickly suppressed it. “Wait here. I have some leftovers. Please, sit.”

She ushered Fang You inside and went to prepare the meal.

He looked around: her home was sparsely furnished, the signs of poverty evident.

Soon, she returned with a bowl of food. “We have nothing fancy here. Please forgive the meagerness.”

She set the bowl before him.

Fang You studied both the food and the old woman’s expression, recalling the brief, strange smile she’d given him.

As a master of yin and yang, Fang You’s powers of observation were keen—one misstep in his line of work could cost a life.

Suddenly, he overturned the bowl, then drew a talisman from his robes. “Binding Talisman!”

He slapped it onto the bowl, and something inside began to writhe. Fang You took a deep breath, bit his finger, and smeared his blood on the talisman to strengthen its power. Instantly, the movement ceased.

The old woman, terrified, fell to her knees. “I did not recognize a true master when I saw one. Please, spare this old woman’s life!”

Fang You smiled faintly. “Your life gu must have acted up, forcing you to harm others. Very well. Give me something edible, and I’ll let this matter rest.”

The old woman dared not refuse. She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a few steamed corn cakes. “These are all I have left. Please, have mercy.”

Her panic was because Fang You had just subdued her life gu.

A life gu and its master share one fate—if the master dies, so does the gu, and vice versa. Every so often, the life gu must feed on fresh blood, gnawing at its master’s insides to compel her to hunt. Some picky life gu even force their masters to cast gu on targets of their choosing, so they can feed on those they fancy.

If the host refuses, the gu will tear at the host’s organs, causing excruciating pain, until the master is forced to obey.