The weather was nice the next day.
Zong Hang woke up early and, not wanting to disturb Yi Sa, went to the courtyard to brush his teeth and wash his face.
After finishing, he sat by the well’s edge with a disposable paper cup that served as his toothbrush holder, lost in thought.
Last night, Yi Sa had suddenly woken him up to ask just one question.
Only one question, and then she sat there staring at him. He’d answered no and voluntarily promised never to tell anyone.
The room had been dark, their faces invisible to each other. Moonlight had initially covered half her body but later shifted away. She sat in complete darkness, and though she hadn’t moved, he could sense the turbulent undercurrent there.
When she finally lay back down, Zong Hang felt like he’d walked through the valley of death—his back was even sweaty.
Someone like Yi Sa probably would never be comfortable with others knowing her secret.
Zong Hang didn’t know how to reassure her: he truly wouldn’t tell, wouldn’t let a single word slip through his teeth, would keep it all buried in his stomach.
While lost in these thoughts, Ding Yudie came out.
After a night’s rest, his anger had presumably subsided considerably, and he even greeted Zong Hang: “Brother, going into the water together today?”
He didn’t know what abilities Zong Hang had, but during last night’s escape, Zong Hang had dived to great depths and stayed underwater for a long time. This skill surpassed many water ghosts he knew. Having him along would be like gaining a powerful ally.
Zong Hang was flattered by this invitation from a water ghost: “You’re always thinking about going into the water, aren’t you afraid?”
He remembered Ding Yudie’s description of the strange, brilliant white light at the lake bottom.
Ding Yudie shrugged: “What’s there to be afraid of? We water ghosts need to patrol the rivers. Do you understand what ‘river patrol’ means?”
Zong Hang shook his head.
Ding Yudie explained: “Whatever profession you’re in, you need to understand it thoroughly. For example, if you plant trees on this mountain, you need to know about the soil conditions, which trees are suitable, sun exposure, rainfall patterns, pest problems—you need to understand it all.”
“If you’re a water ghost, you should understand this river—the rapids, the dangerous shoals, you need to go down and feel them all. For some dangerous sections, you need to eliminate the hazards. If you can’t, you can at least put up a sign to warn passing boats.”
“Don’t think we just sit around collecting money. On these three major rivers, many dangerous shoals, places to avoid, and the secrets of navigating treacherous currents—do you know who originally spread this knowledge? Let me give you another example, you know about the Three Gorges’ natural barrier, right? There’s a saying: ‘The Qing and Xie rapids aren’t real rapids; Konglin is the true gateway to hell’…”
“When boats pass through Konglin during flood season, the waves are truly like mountains collapsing and seas overturning. One moment of inattention while sailing, and both boat and people could perish. There’s a large reef there with three characters carved on it: ‘Face Me Come.’ This is a trick—when your boat reaches here, if you aim your bow directly at these three characters and follow the current, you can avoid disaster. All the old boatmen there know this. During the late Qing dynasty, some foreign merchant ships entered the Three Gorges, and because they didn’t know this trick, they hit the reef and sank. Do you know who first figured this out and arranged for those characters to be carved?”
Zong Hang listened excitedly, the image of the Three Clans suddenly growing more impressive in his mind.
Ding Yudie showed a hint of pride: “Honestly, our Three Clans have lasted for thousands of years because we maintain balance: only receiving without giving will eventually burst you, only giving without receiving will eventually starve you. We receive benefits from the great rivers, having the golden soup business, and we do our duty—eliminating hazards, accumulating good deeds, creating a virtuous cycle that continues endlessly…”
Zong Hang murmured: “What you say makes a lot of sense.”
Ding Yudie was honest: “These aren’t my words—I heard them during water grape training. Yi Sa knows too, she just hasn’t told you… She also patrols the rivers.”
Right, Zong Hang remembered—he had initially thought Yi Sa was doing “international chartering,” worried that her unprofitable business would run at a loss. Now he understood that she was patrolling the rivers, with the chartering business just being a cover, a way to pass the time and do something useful along the way.
Ding Yudie lowered his voice: “While patrolling, we also look for undiscovered strange places underwater. Finding something our ancestors didn’t—how cool would that be! How awesome! You might even get to name it. Sure, it’s dangerous, but if it wasn’t dangerous, what would they need water ghosts for!”
Zong Hang suddenly understood.
No wonder Ding Yudie was so enthusiastic about the sunken ship—purely for interest would be too obsessive.
He wanted to help: “If Yi Sa doesn’t object, I’d like to go down with you all.”
Ding Yudie thought this was promising. Excited, he picked up a piece of broken brick and outlined Poyang Lake on the ground.
Zong Hang tilted his head to look: the lake had such a strange shape, like a long-necked goose lying on its side.
Ding Yudie pointed to the narrowest part of the neck: “We’re right here, at Laiye Temple.”
Then he drew a long line at the side: “That’s Mount Lu opposite, with a peak elevation of 1,400 meters. Do you see what this means?”
He hinted: “When strong winds come here, with Mount Lu blocking the side, they get compressed…”
Zong Hang began to understand: “A wind tunnel?”
Ding Yudie nodded: “Exactly, it’s called the ‘narrow channel effect.’ This area is already narrow, and Mount Lu stands like a wall on the side. Even moderate winds become strong here, and wind means waves. Boats on the lake fear wind and waves most, so accidents happen easily here.”
Then he started drawing again, this time five lines flowing into the narrow neck from different directions.
“There’s a saying: ‘Five waters and one lake compressed at the throat.’ It means that although this area isn’t large, it connects to the Yangtze River outlet and receives water from five different rivers, causing chaotic currents in the depths. And there’s more…”
He drew another horizontal line, almost perpendicular to the “wall” representing Mount Lu.
“Remember I told you about the domestic scientific expedition trying to figure out why accidents happen so frequently at Laiye Temple? They did quite a bit of work, and even took infrared aerial photos. They discovered that while Laiye Temple’s narrowest point is only three kilometers wide, there’s an east-west sandbar about two to three kilometers long at the bottom.”
Ding Yudie raised both arms, using one to represent the sandbar and one to the strong wind, demonstrating: “Now you understand, right? The wind comes like this, raising huge waves. The underwater currents are already chaotic, and when they suddenly hit the sandbar, they turn back and form whirlpools. Underwater whirlpools—with wind and waves above and whirlpools below, it’s completely normal for boats to have accidents here.”
His eyes flashed with excitement: “The only abnormal thing is where the boats go.”
“There’s speculation that under Laiye Temple’s lake bed, there must be undiscovered large cave systems and underground rivers…”
He lowered his voice: “If our golden soup is hidden underwater, where could it be? It can only be in caves like these.”
Ding Yudie firmly believed that their golden soup and the legendary sunken ships must be interrelated—find the golden soup, and you’d find the sunken ships, and vice versa.
Zong Hang suddenly felt puzzled: “Wait, if you all need to ‘open the golden soup,’ then there must have been someone who ‘hid the golden soup’…”
Ding Yudie corrected him: “Locked the golden soup.”
Zong Hang amended: “Locked the golden soup. It was locked by people, which means those treasures were originally taken down by your water ghost ancestors. They locked it, and you come to open it centuries later… Shouldn’t they have already known the secrets down there?”
Ding Yudie sighed: “When I was young and ignorant, I thought the same.”
Zong Hang held his breath, waiting for more.
“But as a fellow practitioner, it’s better you don’t know more.”
Water ghosts generally operated alone.
This was Ding Yudie’s first time being in charge and having people under his command, and it felt quite different. He considered things more thoroughly than usual, directing Yi Sa and Zong Hang to walk in his indicated direction while he went to scout the movements of Jiang Xiaoguang’s boat. Ideally, if the boat headed east, they would dive in the west, trying to avoid a direct encounter.
Yi Sa had no objections and followed along—she was just humoring Ding Yudie, wanting to perfunctorily get rid of him so she could focus on Jiang Xiaoguang’s movements.
Zong Hang followed her carrying the water ghost bag. He needed a disguise and wore a straw hat borrowed from the innkeeper, which matched his clothes and made him look like a porter.
Wu Gui waddled along, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind.
Seeing Yi Sa lost in thought, Zong Hang thought she was still troubled by that matter and couldn’t help reassuring her again: “Yi Sa, I really won’t tell anyone.”
Yi Sa glanced at him: “Stop mentioning it!”
Zong Hang deflated a bit—social interactions were truly hard to navigate: not speaking made people suspicious, and speaking too much was considered annoying.
He looked toward the shore.
The lake was busier during the day, with small fishing boats visible everywhere and people leisurely fishing from chairs on the shore.
Yi Sa suddenly asked him: “Do you have somewhere to go?”
Zong Hang shook his head.
Yi Xiao had sent him here, and now he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
“What about going home?”
Zong Hang hesitated: “Ding Xi has seen me. I’m afraid if I go home, my parents might not be safe. Besides, I’m still not clear about what’s going on with my body right now.”
Yi Sa said: “So you’re saying you want to stay with me?”
Feeling rather unwanted, Zong Hang gripped the water ghost bag tightly, wanting to prove he wasn’t just following her uselessly—he had been working too.
What else could he do? He didn’t have a penny to his name, and everything he wore was provided by her.
He said softly: “Just temporarily.”
Yi Sa snorted.
She didn’t actually mind having Zong Hang around. She had never had close friends, always traveling alone, which could be quite dull at times. Besides, Zong Hang was similar to her in some ways, had some abilities, and followed her instructions obediently…
But she didn’t want to agree too easily, feeling the need to give him a hard time: going to rescue him had already violated her usual principles, and now letting him tag along, providing food and lodging—just thinking about it irritated her.
Was she still that fierce-looking yaksha? She was becoming an angel.
“So you mean to live off me?”
Hearing a hint of yielding in her tone, Zong Hang quickly added: “I can pay you back, I’ll write an IOU. You know my family has money, I won’t default.”
Yi Sa made a sound of acknowledgment: “You’ll have to work too.”
Zong Hang nodded.
“You’re not allowed to tell anyone about my situation, or I’ll cut out your tongue!”
Zong Hang nodded vigorously.
Yi Sa couldn’t think of anything else at the moment: “Well, that’s how it’ll be for now.”
—That’s how it’ll be for now.
It was truly the most wonderful sound he’d heard in recent times.
Zong Hang’s face reddened with excitement.
Ever since Old Ma at the old market had mistaken him for his son, his life had been one of constant subservience, with one troublesome thing after another—he’d suffered more than most people would in several lifetimes. Now surely heaven was finally opening its eyes, his fortune was turning!
The paper window had lifted!
He eagerly wanted to carry more things for Yi Sa: she still had her phone in hand—was it heavy? Should he carry it?
Just as this thought crossed his mind, the phone rang.
It was a WeChat message from Ding Yudie.
Yi Sa opened it.
It was a photo, a long shot of the work boat with a small boat alongside it. Someone on the small boat was lifting something—was that a… cleaned, hairless pig’s head?
Ding Yudie’s messages came one after another.
—Did you see it?
—A pig’s head for the great sacrifice!
—What the hell is Old Jiang planning to do?
Then, having run out of patience, a video call request came through.
Yi Sa accepted.
Ding Yudie was so excited he was panting: “Sa-sa, did you see it? It’s a pig’s head!”
“After the small boat left, I specifically went to ask. They said it was arranged beforehand, to be delivered these days!”
Yi Sa deliberately remained noncommittal: “Maybe Uncle Jiang just wants to eat some pig head meat.”
Ding Yudie spat through the screen: “Have you lost your mind? A pig’s head is part of the great sacrifice, along with an ox head and sheep head—it’s only used for major ceremonies, we only use them for locking and opening the golden soup!”
He continued drawing sharp breaths: “I’ve figured it out, is Uncle Jiang trying to open the golden soup privately? No wonder he set aside even such a major thing as his son’s death. But this is too outrageous—he’s an old water ghost, how could he do such a thing…”
Yi Sa said: “What, you want to report him?”
Ding Yudie realized something: “Did you know about this already? You mentioned Ding Changsheng was coming aboard, is he involved too? Is this why Brother was captured? I thought the Three Clans were harmonious, but things are this complicated behind the scenes?”
Yi Sa smiled: “Didn’t you say you didn’t want to get involved in these things? Just pretend you don’t know.”
Ding Yudie felt like cats were clawing at his heart.
He had wanted to pretend not to know, but opening the golden soup—something he’d only heard of but never truly experienced—was suddenly right before his eyes. To turn away now…
He hoped Yi Sa would show interest and drag him along, so he could reluctantly agree, but she was so calm about it.
Ding Yudie couldn’t let it go: “After the great sacrifice, they’ll consult the tablets, right? I heard only after inviting the ancestral master can the golden soup map appear in a water ghost’s mind…”
“Not sure, we’ll talk when we meet.”
Yi Sa ended the video call decisively, having long seen through Ding Yudie’s little scheme.
Zong Hang, listening on the side, only half understood: “Yi Sa, how do you invite the ancestral master? How does something come out of the mind?”
Yi Sa said: “Speaking superstitiously, it’s called ‘inviting the ancestors to possess.'”
Possession?
Under the scorching sun, Zong Hang still managed to shiver.
The “tablets” for consultation weren’t playing cards.
They were the ancestral tablets.
Enshrined in the Three Clans’ ancestral hall, they were only brought out for major events like opening the golden soup.
It was said that after consulting the tablets and inviting the ancestral master, the water ghosts present would lose their self-awareness.
The leader would “have the golden soup map appear in their mind”—that was the saying, but in reality, while the shell remained the same, the “person” inside the body became the water ghost who had originally locked the golden soup.
Thus, they would be familiar with the route and could lead everyone to find the golden soup again.
The other water ghosts would become like “puppets on strings” or “water puppets,” following his commands and orders.
This “possession” wouldn’t last long, two hours at most. Once the time was up, the memory of opening the golden soup would become blank: even though you opened it with your own hands, you wouldn’t remember how you went underwater, which route you took, or what difficulties you encountered.
Locking the golden soup was the same process—first consulting the tablets, with the ancestral master indicating where best to hide things, then the lead water ghost taking the water puppets to carry the treasures underwater. After hiding them, the memory would similarly be automatically erased: even though you hid it yourself, you wouldn’t remember, and even under severe torture, you couldn’t reveal a word.
Zong Hang clicked his tongue.
This level of secrecy was incredibly thorough.
But something seemed… strange.