Volume 1 Chapter 13: Testing the Waters

I had already made up my mind: this roe deer was not killed by the old hunter, or at least not by this gun.

There was another detail. These double-barreled shotguns are loaded from the muzzle, with gunpowder and iron shot loaded separately. Usually, these two are carried separately—gunpowder in a gourd and iron shot in a cloth bag. But the old hunter had neither a gourd nor a cloth bag on him. So where was his ammunition?

The old hunter’s skill was impeccable. With a worn wooden-handled dagger, he performed deft cuts and pries. With a crisp snap, the deer’s leg came off. With a swift motion, he ripped open the carcass, and the red and white entrails spilled onto the ground.

His technique was extraordinarily professional, surpassing even the village’s seasoned pig butcher.

The familiarity of his skill made me uneasy. I couldn’t fathom what the old hunter intended.

Master Ma, smoking a cigarette, said, “Brother, there’s a patient waiting for me down the mountain. It’s urgent. We should get going to find the ghost ginseng soon.”

“No rush. Let me roast some meat first, then I’ll go with you.”

“Brother, I mean no offense, but Killing Ghost Ridge is a place where ten people go in, none come out; survival is one in a hundred at best. With your age and health, it’s better you don’t get involved. We can search nearby, and if we don’t find anything, well, we’ve done our best.”

The old hunter straightened up and said, “Don’t underestimate me just because I’m over eighty. Carrying a fifty or sixty-pound roe deer is like a game to me. Take me along; I’ll be of help. I’ve lived here my whole life, and for the ghost ginseng you mentioned, only Killing Ghost Ridge has it.”

“You’ve been to Killing Ghost Ridge?”

The old hunter paused for two seconds and replied, “Been there? Haven’t eaten pork but seen a pig run? That place is a treasure trove—everything grows there.”

Master Ma and the old hunter exchanged words slowly, like a Tai Chi match. The Taoist was testing the hunter, and the hunter knew the Taoist’s thoughts perfectly.

To me, neither was ordinary. The old hunter wanted to roast some jerky to bring along, so I guessed he wasn’t in a rush to act immediately. If he were, he wouldn’t bother preparing food.

But why was the old hunter so determined to take us to Killing Ghost Ridge? The situation wasn’t that we wanted to go there; it was that he insisted on bringing us.

What was his real purpose?

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I stared at the old hunter for a long time but couldn’t figure out what medicine was in his gourd.

Master Ma was also at a loss. We could navigate the old forest, but passing through the hunter’s traps was truly difficult. Foxes are cunning; many die each year caught in hunters’ traps.

This kind of thing doesn’t fear ten thousand dangers, only the one unlikely event.

For example, if there’s a fifty-meter path ahead, with a one percent chance of being shot through by arrows, though the odds are low, most wouldn’t dare to try.

After a morning of smoke and fire, by noon the old hunter strapped on his shotgun and packed food, then led us into the mountain.

Every step we took was almost exactly on the hunter’s footprints. Shortly after leaving the mountain clearing, we saw a bizarre sight.

An old, crooked locust tree stood there. The trunk was so wide that three or four people could barely embrace it. Within a radius of three or four meters around it, not a blade of grass grew; the ground was as smooth as a mirror. Hanging from the branches were carcasses of badgers, foxes, pheasants, and cock-headed snakes.

Master Ma’s mouth dropped at the eerie scene, then he quickly composed himself and asked, “Brother, what’s going on with this tree?”

The old hunter’s usual demeanor vanished, replaced by a deeply dark expression. He whispered, “Strange things happen in the old forest. Keep your head down and move quickly.”

Then he took a few steps forward. Seeing Master Ma and me frozen in place, he turned back with a cold glare and said, “If you want to live, follow me.”

Without looking back again, he strode forward, indifferent to our reactions.

“Master, Master, what... what should we do?”

“Follow him. Take it one step at a time.”

I cursed inwardly. We’d walked so far, yet you’ve seen nothing.

The old hunter walked silently ahead. The Taoist was also silent, leaving me uneasy. My mind wouldn’t let go of the image of that locust tree. It was vivid, impossible not to think about.

---

As the old saying goes, locust trees harbor ghosts; they attract wandering spirits. Could a fierce ghost be attached to that thousand-year-old locust tree?

No, I mustn’t let my imagination run wild. Breaking the silence, I asked, “Sir, how much longer till we reach Killing Ghost Ridge?”

The old hunter replied gloomily, “Three days.”

“Three days? Where will we stay then?”

“Nature provides. Anywhere is a place to stay.”

I turned to Master Ma. “Master, three days there and three days back, plus the time to enter and exit the mountain — we probably won’t return for ten days.”

“Take it one step at a time.”

That phrase again. I looked up, hoping to see a hanging ghost and just let it crush Master Ma.

The “hanging ghosts” here weren’t supernatural spirits but dead branches hanging in trees, also called old hangers. Though just dead branches, they were considered eerie. Years ago, every few years, there would be news of someone from a nearby village being killed by a falling old hanger while in the mountains.

Master Ma kept repeating “one step at a time.” Was he hinting at something? That I should watch how he walked every step? Or was the Taoist lost in thought, uninterested in conversation?