C50 Mountain Protecting Craftsman

Ghosts don't cast shadows, so the figure behind must be...

I spun around to find an elderly man with snow-white hair standing at the temple's entrance, clutching a kerosene lamp in his hand.

The weak light, struggling through the mist, illuminated his face, which was etched with deep wrinkles and utterly devoid of expression. In that eerie setting, he seemed more terrifying than any specter.

"Who are you? How dare you come here so late at night?" the old man rasped.

I stole a glance at Deaf Zhang, uncertain of the old man's intentions, and replied, "We've come to tame the spirits of Hundred Ghost Slope. He is the Pond Collecting Man."

Upon hearing this, astonishment crossed the old man's face. He peered at the burly Deaf Zhang and inquired, "You're the Pond Collecting Man? What's your connection to Ghost Seven?"

Deaf Zhang, having not caught the question, leaned in and asked, "Eh? Sir, could you speak up? What about Ghost Seven?"

"Your relationship with Ghost Seven!" the old man repeated loudly, breaking into a cough.

"Ghost Seven is my master! Old man, do you know my master?" Deaf Zhang exclaimed, his voice booming with surprise, causing the old man to retreat a few steps.

As it turned out, Deaf Zhang's master had once visited Hundred Ghost Slope and, like us, had been disoriented by the mountain fog. It was this old man who had eventually led him out.

Realizing we posed no threat, the old man invited us to his home for a respite. His abode was a short distance from the Mountain God Temple, a traditional brick house with a tiled roof.

Lacking electricity in this remote wilderness, the house was devoid of any electrical appliances, save for a flashlight resting on the table.

The old man served us two glasses of water. I gulped mine down and, surveying the sparse room, asked out of curiosity, "Old man, how come you live out here all by yourself?"

Settling into his chair and waving his palm-leaf fan, he shared with us, "I am a Mountain Protecting Craftsman. My family has lived in these deep mountains for generations, safeguarding Yin Spirit Mountain through the ages."

"Mountain Protecting Craftsman?" This was the first time I had ever heard the term. I was familiar with Coffin Carriers and Paper Craftsmen, but not this.

"It's quite normal that you haven't heard of us, young man," the elder explained. "We Mountain Protecting Craftsmen are even rarer than Pond Collecting Men. Society has progressed; who would choose to live out their days in the wilderness, enduring a life of poverty and solitude?"

"Old man, then why don't you leave the mountain to live? Is it because of ancestral teachings?" I inquired.

He shook his head, "It's not just about ancestral teachings. We Mountain Protecting Craftsmen guard more than just a mountain; we protect the centuries-old secrets hidden within Yin Spirit Mountain."

"A centuries-old secret?" His words ignited my curiosity, and I sat up straight.

"It's not exactly earth-shattering," he continued, "but it's knowledge that few possess. As the years pass, it's been largely forgotten. If you're interested, I'd be happy to share the tale with you."

My interest was piqued, and I nodded eagerly. Meanwhile, Deaf Zhang lay on the bed, snoring like a storm.

The old man chuckled, pulled out his pipe, and filled it with tobacco. Noticing matches on the table, I instinctively struck one and lit his pipe for him.

As he smoked, I found myself reminiscing about Old Master Jiang, and a sigh escaped me.

Between puffs, the old man recounted the bizarre and mysterious events that had unfolded over centuries at Hundred Ghost Slope and Yin Spirit Mountain.

Little did I know, one of these tales would reveal a profound connection to my own heritage.