Chapter Fifty-Two: The Rooster's Crow

Now, this spiritual vein beneath the Blackwater Pool has become something tasteless for Wang Zhenling, yet too precious to simply discard. After all, it remains a spiritual vein; to abandon it outright would indeed be a pity. So, after some deliberation, Wang Zhenling decided to let Lord Hu benefit from it.

Wang Zhenling owed much to the Hu family—many of their people had aided him in the past. Without further hesitation, he sent word to Lord Hu, inviting him to dispatch his clan to claim the spiritual vein there. He also promised that, in time, he would find a way to make Blackwater Pool a site of formal worship for the commune.

Lord Hu may be the god of the commune, but with so many descendants, he could scarcely care for them all. Now, giving his children a future, he surely would not refuse. In this way, Wang Zhenling not only repaid Lord Hu’s previous care, but also drew him closer.

Clearly, the spiritual vein was more useful to the Hu family than to Wang Zhenling. The very next day, upon receiving the news, Lord Hu sent a carriage bearing three young foxes. Ten ghost soldiers escorted them along the way, and would remain to guard the place for the foxes.

The three foxes were overjoyed to see Wang Zhenling, chattering noisily. Their spirits emerged, transforming into three exquisitely carved children—delicate and clear in form, their features vivid and substantial.

Wang Zhenling felt a pang of shame; truth be told, the spiritual power of these three foxes surpassed his own. Yet, although enlightened, they had not yet crossed the tribulation nor refined their “horizontal bones.” Only by refining those bones could they speak, at which point their spirits would be nearly indistinguishable from those of humans.

What puzzled Wang Zhenling was whether Lord Hu truly intended to set these three—Xiaobai and his companions—as the masters of the spiritual vein. Soon, however, he understood: the god of the commune had his own designs. He knew Wang Zhenling, as an official, could not claim the vein for himself. Sending the three foxes was meant to help guard the vein—not to seize Wang Zhenling’s possession.

This left Wang Zhenling both amused and moved; Lord Hu was truly a kindly fox. Yet he did not realize that, for Wang Zhenling, the spiritual vein was of little use now.

The three foxes circled Wang Zhenling before exploring the altar. By then, the altar had expanded to nearly four zhang in diameter. Though still small, the spiritual vein converged there, promising future growth.

To be honest, Lord Hu’s family was vast, and his modest income barely sufficed. He could hardly care for the three young foxes, given that he was merely the god of Guangyang Village. In terms of local spiritual power, his own domain paled beside Blackwater Pool, but the hundreds of households’ incense and prayers gave him an advantage.

Still, supporting such a large clan was arduous, and if not for that, Xiaobai would not have tried to benefit from Wang Zhenling’s cultivation in the first place!

Now, with three grandchildren establishing their own domain, the burden lightened. Lord Hu was naturally delighted, and the three foxes were equally excited to see their own altar.

At that moment, a middle-aged man from the Hu family, known as Hu Sanlang, produced a letter and said to Wang Zhenling, “Sir, this is a message from our god.”

The Hu clan numbered dozens, and Hu Sanlang was Lord Hu’s son. His spirit resembled that of a scholar, his cultivation impressive—though the three young foxes, in terms of spiritual power, even surpassed him.

Wang Zhenling took the letter and read its words of gratitude. At the end, it noted that the god of Blackwater Commune was a close confidant of the City God. Now that Wang Zhenling had vanquished the god and claimed the spiritual vein, he should beware—the City God would not take this lightly!

Wang Zhenling smiled and thought Lord Hu was truly a good soul. He knew Wang Zhenling was now in conflict with the City God, yet sent his grandchildren, showing he still stood by Wang Zhenling’s side. Of course, the spiritual vein itself was enticing enough.

As for the City God—if he sent no one, so be it; if he did, he would only court disaster.

Night fell, silent and still. Only a caravan drifted from Danling County, heading towards Dafan Village. The night was moonless and thick with clouds; even the keenest eyes could not pierce the darkness.

Within the caravan, only two ghostly green lanterns glowed, floating through the fog like specters. The group was sizable, with three carriages—two of them armored.

Around them, more than a hundred ghost soldiers marched. They possessed only faint traces of the City God’s divine power, manifesting as incomplete armor and weapons. Clearly, these were the City God’s private troops—not the official county ghost soldiers.

This was only natural; these ghost soldiers were meant to deal with Wang Zhenling, the county official. The county’s regular troops would not be dispatched—these were the City God’s own.

Typically, a commune god’s private force numbered a dozen or so; several dozen was formidable. Yet the City God had sent over a hundred ghost soldiers, a sign of his vast influence.

The caravan pressed on toward Dafan Village. The City God’s hatred for Wang Zhenling was fierce—he had mobilized so many, yet still felt uneasy. Thus, the ghostly official summoned several gods from both public and private communes as they passed.

All were aligned with the City God. Though the City God ruled the city, as a red-seal grand deity, some outside spirits had pledged themselves to him.

By the time they neared Dafan Village, the company had grown to five or six white-seal ghost gods, and the ghost soldiers numbered one hundred and twenty or thirty. Such power, in Danling County, was enough to defeat any opponent.

They avoided populated villages along the way, and when they were still ten li from Dafan Village, a sudden rooster’s crow pierced the night, startling the land.

The ghost soldiers plunged into chaos. As spirits of the underworld, nothing terrified them more than the rising yang energy. The rooster’s cry heralded the dawn—when yin recedes and yang prevails, night yields to day.

For all ghostly beings, hearing a rooster’s crow brought panic. For lesser ghosts, such a sound would scatter their souls at once.