Chapter 298: No Gods in the Mountains, the Living Guard Themselves

Lu Yuan did not turn around right away.

He looked at his feet first.

In the snow, their party’s footprints ran down the slope, clear and distinct.

The hemp cords were still tied around everyone’s wrists; although wet from wind and snow, none had broken, and none had an extra length.

That meant whoever—or whatever—was following them was not a shadow.

Nor was it an evil offering that had escaped from the skylight.

Lu Yuan slowly raised his eyes and looked back along the ridge.

The skylight direction was already obscured by wind and snow, leaving only a white, misty saddle. Still, standing somewhere in that whiteness was a person.

He wore a gray sheepskin coat and a dog-skin hat, was not tall, a little hunched—like the ordinary old mountain guides who shuttle the ridges. But he was standing in the wrong place.

He was at the edge of a cliff.

There was no path under his feet, no snow cavity.

He looked as if he had grown out of the snow itself.

Xu Erxiao gripped his short blade.

“Senior Brother, is that a man or a ghost?”

Lu Yuan stared at the gray figure for a moment.

“A man.”

Wang Cheng'an let out half a breath, then tightened again.

“Why is a man standing there without sinking into the snow?”

“Because he knows where the stone ribs are,” Lin Zhaoxuan said, his face grave.

“A ridge-runner?”

Lu Yuan shook his head.

“A ridge-runner wouldn’t stand behind the skylight.”

“Then who is he?”

“A rule-keeper.”

Xu Erxiao asked in one breath.

“What rule?”

Lu Yuan said, “An old rule.”

The gray figure seemed to hear that, raised a hand, and gave them a slight cupped-salute.

It was not a worship bow.

It was the cupped-salute people use when equals meet on the road.

Then the man turned and walked west along an extremely narrow white line behind the cliff. A gust of wind and snow swallowed him; his form vanished.

Asheng swallowed.

“Brother Lu, is he here to stop us?”

“No.”

Lu Yuan untied the hemp cord from his wrist and put it in his bosom.

“He’s here to confirm whether the evil offering is truly severed.”

Song Qinghe asked, “He knows about what happened here?”

“He not only knows, he possibly always knew.”

At that, everyone’s faces changed.

Mister Meng said in a low voice, “Do you mean, apart from Liang Chenglin and Zhao Shouyi, there are people keeping watch over the offering system in these mountains?”

“Liang Chenglin and Zhao Shouyi handled escorting carts, guarding altars, and collecting names.”

Lu Yuan looked toward the direction where the gray figure had disappeared.

“But for one set of evil offerings to feed on people for so many years, a few altar-keepers aren’t enough.”

“There must be people who make the rules, people who pass messages, people who know when to collect names, when to send shadows back, when to connect the righteous well, the righteous manor, and the old forest.”

Wang Cheng'an muttered a curse under his breath.

“So there’s an overall accountant.”

“Something like that,” Lu Yuan said.

“But he didn’t act just now, which means he’s watching as well.”

“Watching what?”

“Watching whether the Malevolent Deity was truly severed, or whether someone else sat down in its place.”

Xu Erxiao understood and his face darkened.

“He suspects you, Senior Brother?”

Lu Yuan did not deny it.

“I have no kin, and the skylight hung the characters Lu Root on me.”

“If I had just taken the seven boxes, received a god’s name, and then went down to set up a new altar, the mountain would only have a different surname.”

“So he waited until the black qi dispersed before showing himself.”

Zhou Heng frowned, “So is he enemy or friend?”

“Can’t say yet.”

Lu Yuan turned and resumed walking down the mountain.

“But he left us a message.”

“What did he say?”

Lu Yuan pointed toward the western slope.

They followed his finger and saw, under a crooked white birch, a sharpened pine stake driven into the snow.

Tied to the stake was half a strip of gray cloth. The cloth was wet with snow, but a few black characters could still be made out.

Xu Erxiao stepped forward, took it down, and handed it to Lu Yuan.

The gray cloth read:

“Three burnt incense at the mountain mouth, a bell in the stockade. Break the people’s faith first, then break the evil root.”

Wang Cheng'an scratched his head.

“What does that mean?”

Lin Zhaoxuan said, “The mountain’s evil offering is severed, but the stockades still trust the Protect-Life God. If you don’t break the people’s faith first, sooner or later someone will rekindle incense.”

Song Qinghe looked at Lu Yuan.

“Three incense at the mountain mouth—does that mean there are incense altars at the foot of the mountain?”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“When we went up we cut seven old offering sites.”

“But at the mountain mouth there’s incense shown openly.”

“That’s for the living to see.”

Mister Meng understood immediately.

“A bell in the stockade summons people.”

“Right.”

Lu Yuan folded the gray cloth up.

“First go to the mountain mouth.”

The wind and snow were lighter below; dawn had begun to pale the horizon.

When they reached the northern ridge mouth, they indeed found a small stone shelter.

The stone shelter was tiny, three slabs forming a roof; inside sat a broken pottery bowl with three half-burnt incense sticks.

The incense had burned halfway down.

Oddly, despite last night’s heavy wind and snow, the three half-burnt incense sticks hadn’t gone out. Their ash stood rigid and upright, unchanged.

Kneeling before the shelter was a person.

An old woman in a blue padded coat.

She faced away from them, bowing her forehead to the snow again and again, muttering prayers.

“Protect-Life Master, bless us.”

“Bless my grandson through the night.”

“I’ll give you three years of my life.”

“You take mine, don’t take the child’s.”

Mister Meng’s face changed; he wanted to step forward and help her.

Lu Yuan raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t touch yet.”

He circled to the side and got a clear look at the old woman’s face.

Her eyes were tightly shut, lips frost-numb and purple; her forehead had been split from repeated knocks.

But she did not appear truly awake. She seemed pulled by the three incense: when the smoke moved, she knocked her head again.

Asheng said softly, “She’s Granny Liu from Xiaoman Stockade.”

“Her grandson is gravely ill.”

Lu Yuan crouched and examined the three incense.

The incense ends were not stuck into ash but into the holes of three copper coins.

Under the coins was a red paper; the red paper had birthdate and time characters written on it.

Wang Cheng'an glanced and immediately turned anxious.

“This is a borrowed-life incense—using years of life to exchange for another’s life!”

Lin Zhaoxuan frowned.

“The evil offering is already severed, how can this still work?”

“It’s not that it works,” Lu Yuan said.

“It’s that she believes it works.”

He pinched off a bit of incense ash and smelled it under his nose.

“The incense is mixed with sedative herbs and stupefying grass.”

Song Qinghe’s eyes went cold.

“Someone deliberately made her bow here.”

“Mountain-mouth three incense,” Lu Yuan said.

“This isn’t left by the Malevolent Deity. It’s left by the living.”

Xu Erxiao ground his teeth.

“That gray-clad man did this earlier?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Lu Yuan looked behind the stone shelter.

There were two sets of footprints: one shallow, one deep.

The shallow were the old woman’s small prints.

The deep were men’s boot prints.

The boot prints came from the Xiaoman Stockade direction, then headed back toward the stockade.

“This man led Granny Liu here, lit the incense, and pressed the birth-date under the coins.”

“If we go down and do nothing, she’ll freeze to death at the mountain mouth.”

“The stockade people will say the Protect-Life Master took her three years to save her grandson.”

“If we forcibly snuff the incense and the child does not improve after she wakes, they’ll accuse us of cutting off her life-offering.”

Mister Meng hugged the small blue lamp tighter.

“What do we do then?”

“Break the people’s faith—do it openly before them.”

Lu Yuan looked toward Xiaoman Stockade.

“Ring the bell.”

Xiaoman’s bell hung on the old elm at the stockade’s west.

That bell had originally been for warning of bandits or reporting fires; when the Protect-Life altar rose, the altar-keeper turned it into the Summon God Bell.

If a household had a serious illness, a missing person, or someone lost in the mountains, three strikes of that bell would bring the stockade folk bearing incense to pray.

Xu Erxiao ran into the stockade and struck the bell.

At the first peal, dogs began barking throughout the stockade.

At the second, doors opened across the settlement.

At the third, dozens of villagers, half-dressed, came running—some carrying poles, some torches, some cradling incense sticks.

Seeing Lu Yuan and the others standing at the mountain mouth, many faces showed fear.

A middle-aged man in a black padded coat squeezed forward from the crowd.

“You’re back?”

Lu Yuan recognized him.

The headman of Xiaoman Stockade, Fan Changhe.

Earlier, when the stockade’s evil altar was broken, this man had kept to the back, insisting he only took care of odd jobs and didn’t know about the altar.

Now it seemed he knew more than he’d said.

Fan Changhe looked at Granny Liu kneeling on the ground and his face hardened.

“Granny Liu is praying of her own will, and you want to stop her?”

Xu Erxiao immediately spat, “The Malevolent Deity is gone—what are you still praying to?”

The crowd stirred.

Fan Changhe sneered.

“You say it’s gone just because you say so?”

“Last night the mountain lit up and clamored—who knows what you did up there?”

“The Protect-Life Master has sheltered so many. A few outsiders go up once and pronounce it gone?”

He turned to the villagers and raised his voice:

“Neighbors, Granny Liu’s grandson is near death. She gives three years of her life for her grandson—that’s a grandmother’s heart!”

“If these Daoist masters put out her incense and the boy dies, whose fault will it be?”

The villagers all looked toward Lu Yuan.

There was suspicion, fear, and some resentment.

Lu Yuan didn’t argue.

He went to the stone shelter, pointed at the three half-burnt incense, and asked Fan Changhe:

“Who lit these?”

Fan Changhe’s eyelid twitched.

“Granny Liu lit them herself.”

“Can she read?”

Fan Changhe paused.

Lu Yuan slid the red paper out from under the copper coin.

“Who wrote the birth-date and time on it?”

Granny Liu’s daughter-in-law pushed through the crowd. Seeing the red paper, her face went ashen.

“My mother didn’t write this—she can’t read.”

Lu Yuan asked again, “How long has your child been sick?”

“Three days.”

“Who told you to come to the mountain mouth to burn incense?”

The woman bit her lip and looked at Fan Changhe.

Fan Changhe’s expression turned ugly.

“Why look at me? I only follow the methods passed down by the elders.”

Lu Yuan held the red paper up.

“This is not a method.”

“This is a borrowed-life contract.”

The crowd erupted.

Fan Changhe immediately shouted:

“Don’t listen to his scare tactics! What harm can one red paper do?”

Lu Yuan ignored him and said to Wang Cheng'an:

“Read it.”

Wang Cheng'an took the red paper, glanced, and his face darkened.

“Liu’s Wang Guizhi willingly gives three years of life to exchange a night’s vitality for her grandson Chen Mancang. If the wish fails, she enters the mountain mouth, her shadow returns to Protect-Life.”

Someone cried out.

The daughter-in-law nearly dropped to her knees.

“My mother never said those last things!”

Lu Yuan said, “Because those last lines weren’t meant for her to read.”

He flipped the red paper over.

On the back was a line of small writing:

“Witness: Fan Changhe.”

Fan Changhe turned as if to retreat.

Zhou Heng stepped behind him in one motion, the short blade not drawn but pressed at his waist.

“Stop.”

Fan Changhe’s face went pale.

“What are you trying to do? Take action in front of the whole stockade?”

Lu Yuan said, “Not to use force.”

“To test the incense in front of everyone.”

He had Granny Liu helped three steps away from the shelter, then fetched a bowl of clear water, sprinkled in some stove ash, and put a copper coin in.

With his right hand he formed the “supply-inspection seal.”

Thumb pressed the ring finger, index finger tapped the incense, middle finger tapped the water, little finger tucked inward.

“If the incense is righteous, the smoke rises.”

“If the wish is true, the paper does not hide.”

“If the offering is respectful, the ash remains unblackened.”

“If it borrows life, borrows name, or borrows shadow, the three items will reveal themselves.”

“Inspect!”

With his middle two fingers he flicked; the smoke from the three incense suddenly reversed, not rising but instead spiraling down toward Fan Changhe’s feet.

Fan Changhe’s shadow was wrapped by the smoke, elongated, and within it a small black nail appeared.

The villagers saw it clearly and screamed, recoiling.

Lu Yuan then tossed the red paper into the stove-ash water.

The red paper did not dissolve; instead black characters surfaced:

“Collecting incense money on behalf: twenty-seven strings.”

Wang Cheng'an sneered on the spot.

“Good accounting.”

“You take incense money while Granny Liu trades her life.”

“Is that your Protect-Life Master?”

Fan Changhe collapsed and knelt.

“It wasn’t only me!”

“It was Liang Chenglin who taught us!”

“He said the mountain offerings couldn’t be fully severed; as long as the mountain-mouth incense continued, they could be renewed!”

“He also said you might not return from your trip up the mountain; if you didn’t come back, we should ring the bell and open a new altar!”

Xu Erxiao drew his sword in fury.

Lu Yuan raised a hand to stop him.

“Anyone else?”

Fan Changhe trembled and dared not speak.

Suddenly someone in the crowd tried to slip away.

Lin Zhaoxuan flicked his ink-line and caught that man’s ankle. The man fell in the snow; a stack of red papers spilled from his arms—all blank borrowed-life contracts.

The stockade descended into chaos.

Some cursed, some wailed, some rushed forward to attack.

Lu Yuan shouted:

“Stop!”

His voice was quiet but overrode the din.

“Today isn’t to let you vent.”

“It is to let you see clearly how the evil altars eat people.”

He pulled the three incense out, but did not snuff them. Instead he stuck them upright into the snow beside the bowl of stove-ash water.

“These three incense: one borrows life, one borrows name, one borrows shadow.”

“If you snuff them, Fan Changhe can say we cut people’s living paths.”

“If you leave them, Granny Liu will be dragged to death.”

“So we return them in public.”

He had Granny Liu supported by her daughter-in-law and asked her to call out her full name.

The woman sobbed out:

“Mother, you are Wang Guizhi!”

“You are not an offering!”

“You are Mancang’s grandmother!”

Dazed, Granny Liu’s lips moved.

“I… I am Wang Guizhi.”

Lu Yuan nodded and formed the “return-life sending-incense seal.”

With his left palm cupped upward holding the stove-ash bowl, his right hand’s index and middle fingers slowly brushed from the incense base to the tips.

“Life belongs to its owner; it does not enter red contracts.”

“Wishes belong to the heart; they do not depend on other witnesses.”

“A grandmother’s love for her grandson is human righteousness.”

“Evil people co-opt emotion for offerings; the contract cannot be fulfilled.”

“The incense’s path is changed: smoke returns to the heavens, ash returns to the earth.”

“Wang Guizhi’s three years of life return to her.”

“Send!”

All three incense gave off white smoke at once.

The white smoke no longer wrapped Fan Changhe nor dove into the shelter; it rose straight up and was blown away by the morning wind.

The red paper dissolved into a pool of black mud in the stove-ash water.

Granny Liu suddenly coughed up a mouthful of cold air and opened her eyes.

“Where is Mancang?”

Her daughter-in-law sobbed while holding her.

“Mother, we won’t pray. We’ll go home and ask the town physician, make ginseng soup.”

Lu Yuan turned to the villagers.

“Did you hear?”

“If a child is ill, fetch the town physician, warm the kang, feed him broth and medicine.”

“If an elder is in crisis, neighbors lend a hand.”

“If anyone ever offers birth-dates, ages, or shadows as exchange to save someone, seize them first—don’t worship them.”

The crowd fell silent for a long time.

An old man leaning on a staff asked, “Daoist Lu, is the Protect-Life God really gone?”

Lu Yuan said, “It never existed.”

“Then if people prayed before and the sick recovered or the lost ones returned, how do you explain that?”

“Some illnesses get better by themselves; some people find their paths again by walking them.”

Lu Yuan looked at the people.

“When you credited surviving to it, you also handed your dead to it.”

“Over time, it truly developed rules for eating people.”

The old man lowered his head and said nothing further.

Mister Meng took the name-register and wish papers from one of the seven boxes.

“Neighbors, these were taken down from the skylight.”

He flipped to the first page, voice trembling.

“Here are wishes your ancestors wrote and names that were taken away.”

“Who recognizes them, come and register.”

“If you can’t fully identify, post temporary names, and don’t leave behind unclaimed wandering souls.”

Song Qinghe placed the bronze lamp beneath the old elm.

“The lamp only reveals names, not altars.”

Wang Cheng'an brought over an old door plank and laid out the accounts on the spot.

“Incense money, wish money, cart fees, righteous-well fees—whoever collected what, list it today.”

“If it’s explained, compensate according to stockade rules.”

“If things are hidden, when we reconcile with Ma Family Gully and Northern Guan Righteous Manor, we’ll account for them.”

Xu Erxiao stood with his sword in hand, “I won’t be lenient.”

Lu Yuan looked at him.

Xu Erxiao immediately corrected himself.

“I’ll just stand watch.”

One household after another stepped forward.

At first no one dared to speak. Then Granny Liu’s daughter-in-law was the first to kneel and confess that their family had once written a wish paper for the child, not knowing it had been taken to the skylight.

One by one others wept and acknowledged the little names on the birth-date plaques.

Fan Changhe knelt in the snow, his face like ashes.

Lu Yuan did not immediately punish him.

He had Lin Zhaoxuan write a “Notice to Break Evil Offerings.”

The notice was short, but each sentence hammered into public view:

1. No collecting birth-dates in the name of Protect-Life.
2. No trading life for incense money.
3. No pawning the living in the name of the dead.
4. No night sending of offering carts into the mountain.
5. No privately establishing unnamed deity positions.
6. The righteous well is only for water, not for vows.
7. The righteous manor buries the dead, not retains living souls.

The final item Lu Yuan wrote himself:

“There are no gods in the mountains; the living guard themselves.”

When he finished, he had Mister Meng read it aloud to the entire stockade.

As Meng read the last line, the bell on the old elm suddenly rang with no wind.

Dong.

One peal.

The crowd’s color shifted again.

Fan Changhe’s eyes flickered with a brief mania.

“Hear that? The Protect-Life Master still exists! It forbids you from writing!”

Before he finished speaking, the bell pealed again.

Dong.

This peal was not deep; it hollowed out.

Lu Yuan looked up at the bell, eyes narrowing.

From the bell’s mouth dangled a thin black thread.

At the end of the thread hung a small bone bead.

On the bone bead was engraved a tiny character listening.

Lin Zhaoxuan said softly, “A listening-bell bone.”

“Someone uses the bell to eavesdrop on the stockade.”

Lu Yuan finally understood the gray cloth’s line about “a bell in the stockade.”

This bell wasn’t for summoning gods.

It was the old altar-keepers’ ear for hearing each stockade’s comings and goings.

When they had seen the gray-clad man at the skylight, the other party hadn’t merely left a reminder; they were guiding them to break this bell first.

Lu Yuan took a copper coin and tossed it toward the bell’s mouth.

The coin struck the bell and gave a third peal.

Dong.

The bone bead split at the impact.

From the crack came an ancient voice:

“Lu Yuan.”

“Rules weren’t set by you alone.”

The whole stockade fell to their knees in terror.

Lu Yuan stood beneath the bell and raised a hand to stop them.

“Everyone stand up.”

“Kneeling makes it a god again.”

He stared at the bone bead.

“Who are you?”

The old voice said, “The Mountain Rules Council, the gray-clad guide.”

“The evil offerings are severed. We won’t stop you.”

“But if you want to change the mountain rules, come to the West Ridge Grass Temple.”

“The headmen of the seven stockades and three gullies are waiting there.”

Xu Erxiao snapped angrily, “You tell us to go and we just go?”

The bone bead ignored him and continued:

“If you don’t come, each stockade will continue under old rules.”

“The incense can rename, the altar can be moved.”

“The mountains in people’s hearts, no one single sentence can sweep away.”

With that, the bone bead crumbled into dust.

The bell’s reverberation faded.

Xiaoman Stockade was left in a deathly hush.

Song Qinghe looked to Lu Yuan.

“The Mountain Rules Council?”

Mister Meng’s face darkened.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Some old stockades beyond the Great Wall hold Mountain Rules Councils to divide mountain plots, protect trade routes, and avoid bandits.”

“Originally it was mutual restraint and agreement among neighbors.”

“But once the Protect-Life altar rose, the Mountain Rules Council became half open, half hidden.”

“They may not all worship the Malevolent Deity, but they tacitly allowed it.”

Lu Yuan folded the notice.

“Then we’ll go to the West Ridge Grass Temple.”

Wang Cheng'an pointed at Fan Changhe.

“What about him?”

Lu Yuan looked at the villagers.

“He belongs to Xiaoman Stockade.”

“Xiaoman Stockade will watch over him themselves.”

He looked back at Fan Changhe.

“You took incense money, wrote borrowed-life contracts, and drew Granny Liu into the mountain mouth.”

“These accounts will be cleared item by item.”

“But I will not kill you now, nor hand you over to the mountain.”

“You must live and tell everything you know about the old rules.”

Fan Changhe slumped in the snow, no longer daring to lift his head.

Lu Yuan nailed the Notice to Break Evil Offerings under the old elm and drew a cinnabar line across the bell’s body.

“From now on the bell reports only fires, bandit attacks, and urgent threats to life.”

“Anyone who rings the bell to invite a god—if the bell cracks, the person bears responsibility.”

He formed the “rectify-bell seal.”

“The bell is a human tool, not a god’s ear.”

“Sound spreads to neighbors; it does not reach spirit altars.”

“If disaster occurs, ring; for evil, fall silent.”

“Rectify!”

The cinnabar line seeped into the bell’s metal.

The old bell shuddered slightly; the last wisps of black qi cleared from its mouth.

The sun rose higher; the snow glare was piercing.

Lu Yuan did not linger long in Xiaoman Stockade.

He left Mister Meng and Meng An behind to register names; Song Qinghe stayed to tend the bronze lamp and temporary-name yellow talismans.

Lin Zhaoxuan also stayed to write a second notice to send to Ma Family Gully and Northern Guan Righteous Manor.

Xu Erxiao remained uneasy.

“Brother Lu, who will you take to West Ridge?”

“You and Wang Cheng'an come with me.”

Zhou Heng stepped forward.

“I’ll go too.”

Lu Yuan gave him a look.

“West Ridge Grass Temple is not a place for fighting.”

“All the more reason someone should watch your back.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

The four set out from Xiaoman Stockade’s west gate.

Before leaving, Asheng chased after them and shoved a hot corn cake into Lu Yuan’s hands.

“Brother Lu, eat a bit.”

Lu Yuan took it and found it still warm.

That small warmth felt more real than all the incense of the skylight.

He took a bite and turned west toward the ridge.

The West Ridge path wasn’t high, but it wound around.

Along the way they passed many old boundary stakes; each stake had a stockade’s name carved, some half buried in snow.

At every stake Lu Yuan stopped to look.

Wang Cheng'an asked, “Senior Brother, what are you looking at?”

“Looking at old rules,” Lu Yuan said, pointing to a stake.

“This one originally marked mountain plot ownership; later someone added an incense mark beside it.”

Xu Erxiao leaned in and indeed saw a small incense burner mark on the stake’s side.

“When did the Mountain Rules Council start to go wrong?”

Lu Yuan said, “When mutual support turned into mutual debt.”

Zhou Heng said in a low voice, “If the seven stockades and three gullies are all entangled, the trip to the Grass Temple won’t be easy.”

“Mm.”

Lu Yuan put the remaining half of the corn cake in his bosom.

“So you can’t only break the rituals.”

“You must break the reasoning they use to justify them.”

In the afternoon the four finally saw the West Ridge Grass Temple.

The grass temple sat on a barren slope with earthen walls and a thatched roof. Seven white-paper lanterns hung from the front.

The area under the lanterns was packed with people.

There were headmen from beyond Xiaoman Stockade, an old household from Ma Family Gully, grave-keepers from Northern Guan Righteous Manor, and several gray-sheepskin-coated guides.

Seated in the center was a one-eyed old man.

There was no deity statue before him.

Only an empty offering table.

On the table were three items:

a bowl of cold rice,

a mountain-rules ledger,

and a broken incense stick.

The one-eyed old man raised his head and looked at Lu Yuan.

“You are Lu Yuan?”

“Yes.”

“You severed the skylight evil offerings?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should know: evil offerings are sustained not because the mountain is evil.”

The old man patted the mountain-rules book.

“It’s because people’s lives are hard.”

“Without these rules, the seven stockades and three gullies would long ago be in chaos.”

Lu Yuan stopped three steps from the temple door.

“Rules can remain.”

“But rules that eat people cannot.”

The one-eyed old man chuckled.

“You say it lightly.”

“You come from outside, with no kin or clan; you can come and go.”

“We need to live in the mountains.”

“People fall ill, people are poor, people die in the snow.”

“If you forbid them from praying, forbid them from offering, will you give them a way to live?”

Lu Yuan looked at him.

“Yes.”

Silence fell among those before the grass temple.

Lu Yuan placed the Xiaoman Stockade notice onto the offering table.

“First, the seven stockades and three gullies shall establish a joint relief granary.”

“Each stockade contributes grain by household to first save the sick, weak, and lonely. No replacing grain with incense money.”

“Second, the righteous manor shall be jointly managed by the stockades: register the dead, enter temporary names into the ledger; do not privately keep households’ bones.”

“Third, mark mountain routes with clear stakes; in winter close ridges by bell report; do not use divine will to trick people into the mountain.”

“Fourth, town physicians, midwives, and ridge-runners shall be paid by each stockade; no more trading birth-dates for life.”

“Fifth, the Mountain Rules Council may remain, but henceforth only manage living affairs.”

“Divine matters are all forbidden.”

The one-eyed old man’s smile faded.

“You intend to strip the Mountain Rules Council of power.”

Lu Yuan said, “I am taking life off your table.”

A gray-clad guide sneered, “If we refuse?”

Lu Yuan met his eyes.

“Then in front of the seven stockades and three gullies, we’ll test the offering again.”

He put the seventh box he had taken from the skylight on the table.

The broken incense inside had turned to ash, but a half-length of black incense butt remained in the ash.

With his joined fingers he tapped the incense butt.

“Who once established evil offerings, who collected bad debts, who used the Mountain Rules Council’s name to coerce people to offer names—reach into this incense ash.”

“The clean will have no ash stick to their hand.”

“The indebted will have ash sink into their flesh.”

Those before the grass temple recoiled.

The one-eyed old man did not move.

Lu Yuan looked at him.

“Come on, you first.”

Wind rattled the paper lanterns; the old man stared at the ash and his face twitched.

After a long moment he slowly extended a hand.

Before his fingertips touched ash, the ash surged on its own, coalescing into two black characters:

“Established offerings.”

The crowd exploded.

The old man abruptly pulled his hand back, but it was too late.

The incense ash crawled into the skin under his nails; black lines crept up his hand along the wrist bones.

His face drained of color; he clenched his teeth and said, “I set up offerings to save people!”

Lu Yuan’s voice was level.

“Who did you save?”

The old man opened his mouth but could not answer.

Lu Yuan asked again, “Who did you harm?”

From the wind and snow behind the grass temple came many low voices.

Not the Malevolent Deity.

These were the names of people crushed under the Mountain Rules Council’s old ways.

One, two, ten, dozens.

Their voices were not wailing but each name spoke clearly.

“My name is Zhang Shun.”

“My name is Ma Gui.”

“My name is Zhao Xiaohe.”

“My name is Li Xiulan.”

The one-eyed old man finally slumped down before the offering table.

Lu Yuan withdrew his hand; the black incense butt crumbled into dust.

He turned to everyone before the grass temple.

“The Malevolent Deity is already severed.”

“What must be severed now is your willingness to call your wrongdoings rules.”

No one spoke.

From Xiaoman Stockade direction a bell rang again.

Just one clear peal.

Bright and pure.

Not a summons to a god.

A report about a person.

Lu Yuan knew the first notice had been firmly posted.