Chapter Seventy-Six: The Jiang Minister’s Faction

Old Ma grumbled, “Just pretend I didn’t ask!” With that, he turned to leave.

But Ding, having glimpsed his final lifeline, was not about to let go so easily. He pleaded desperately, “Master Ma, I beg you! Please help me! Please, save my son! I’m begging you!”

Old Ma shot me a reproachful look, his eyes seeming to ask if this was the outcome I wanted.

Ding continued to plead, “I had no other choice but to go down this path. If killing demands my life in return, I’ll accept it! But what about my son? Sir, with your abilities, I know you can help me. I beg you, save my son!”

“You could just call the police,” a policeman suddenly interjected.

I turned to look—it was the same young officer who had spoken earlier. This fellow was either thick-skulled or hopelessly naïve. If the police could resolve this, would Ding have bypassed so many officers just to beg Old Ma?

The plainclothes officer patted his colleague’s shoulder, signaling him to stay quiet.

Old Ma was growing impatient. “Enough! Stop begging me! I’m just an old, useless man, without the skill to save your son.”

Gu Yangyu stepped forward and said to Ding, “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on? We’ll see if there’s anything we can do to help.”

Old Ma shot Gu Yangyu an annoyed glance.

Ding looked around at the policemen, uncertainty clouding his face as he shook his head. Clearly, this was not something he could speak of in front of others.

I had thought Old Ma would be irritated by Ding’s persistence, but seeing Ding’s expression, he instead became grave, as if he had realized something.

Old Ma turned to the plainclothes officer, “Could we have a few words in private?”

“Fine, just don’t let anyone run off. Call us when you’re done.” Waving to the officers guarding Ding, they led the group aside.

Old Ma glanced at the noisy circle of birds that had gathered, then glared at me, and finally looked at Ding. “Say what you need to say. But let me make it clear, I’m just an old man—there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Ding had lost all the viciousness he’d shown earlier, his eyes bloodshot in grief.

“Jiangxiang Sect,” he suddenly said.

I was baffled—why bring this up? But I did know something about it. The Jiangxiang Sect was a notorious gang of fortune-telling swindlers from the old days, originating in the Qing dynasty and mainly active in the southeastern coastal regions, with Guangzhou as their stronghold. After the Xinhai Revolution, the sect splintered, its leaders clashing with local bandits over territory. By the time of the Anti-Japanese War, the group had faded into obscurity.

“My grandfather was a member. Everything I know, I learned from him—including bone burial, ghost refinement, and ritual sacrifice. After he died, I never practiced those arts again,” Ding said.

I grew more puzzled. The Jiangxiang Sect was supposed to be a gang of frauds—yet Ding claimed to have learned real skills from his grandfather. Could it be that beneath the trickery, their abilities were genuine?

Old Ma’s face darkened. “Was your grandfather one of the ‘dark side’?”

Ding shook his head. “I don’t know what the ‘dark side’ means. Grandfather never spoke of his past. All I know is he was with the Jiangxiang Sect.”

Old Ma lowered his head, lost in thought, then asked, “What happened to your wife and child?”

At this, Ding’s eyes reddened and he nearly broke into tears. “My wife is dead. She was murdered—tortured to death!”

So it was no simple matter after all.

Ding’s grief overwhelmed him. Tears streamed down his face as he continued, “It’s tied to my grandfather. About a month ago, a blind old woman came to my door, claiming to be my grandfather’s enemy, here to collect a debt. I could tell she was no ordinary person, especially given my grandfather’s past. So I gathered a few people and drove her away. But that night, she returned, killed my wife, and kidnapped my son! Before she left, she said my grandfather had taken something from her, and I was to use that item to trade for my son. The problem is, my grandfather’s old house collapsed long ago and everything he owned was burned—there’s nothing left! I don’t have anything to trade! She gave me one month, saying if I didn’t come by then, my son would die. I was desperate and decided to fight her head-on. Around that time, the incident with the ghost opera at the elementary school happened. From what I’d learned, I knew someone had buried bones and refined ghosts there, so I tried to perform a ritual, hoping to subdue the ghost child and increase my own abilities.”

“One month? How many days do you have left?” I asked.

“Just five days. If I don’t act soon, my son is dead!” His voice broke with tears.

The urgency was clear—we’d have to set out at once. I looked at Old Ma, waiting for his decision. Gu Yangyu also turned to him.

“Why are you looking at me? You two agreed to this, not me!” Old Ma snapped.

Gu Yangyu asked, “Where did the old woman say the exchange should happen?”

Ding shook his head. “I don’t know. She only left a little straw doll, saying, ‘When you want to find me, remove the talisman and the ghost child will lead the way.’ The doll is in the right-hand drawer of my desk at home. Please, save my son. I’ll repay you in my next life, whatever it takes!”

“Enough about the next life. I’ve got enough debts to settle in this one!” Old Ma grumbled. “If you have nothing else to say, we’re done here.”

“Will you save my son?” Ding asked anxiously.

“That’s their promise, not mine!” Old Ma deflected.

Gu Yangyu, who seemed to know Old Ma’s temperament well, glanced at him with a slight smile and replied, “We can take a look, but whether we can save your son, I can’t guarantee. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

Ding thanked us over and over, “Thank you! Thank you! If my son comes back safe, I’ll be your servant in the next life—”

“Oh, cut it out! I’ve got enough ‘servants’ as it is!” Old Ma waved him off, but his tone suggested he’d already decided to help. He was just stubborn and gruff on the surface.

Old Ma called to the plainclothes officer, and the two policemen who had been guarding Ding came over.

Ding made one final plea, “Please, I’m counting on you—please save my son!”

The officers led Ding away.

The plainclothes officer waved us goodbye, and the group departed.

So the murderer in this case was caught—not some deranged killer, but a desperate father who had performed a forbidden ritual in hopes of saving his son. At least, that was how it seemed for now.