The old man, unwilling to waste any more time, ordered his son to immediately dispatch the rooster. This son, a simpleton in his thirties, seized the great rooster's wings from behind with his left hand, holding a rusty cleaver in the other. The method for dispatching a chicken usually involved a quick slice and a chop: dragging the blade across the neck to sever the veins and windpipe, letting the bird expire as the blood drained; or, a clean chop to sever the head. However, roosters, being the most spirited of fowl, often caused the headless body to thrash about wildly due to residual nerve activity—a sight both terrifying and bloody.

But for mountain folk and villagers, the task of slaughtering poultry was an everyday occurrence. Judging by the son's posture, he intended to use the head-chopping method. exchanged a glance with . Obtaining a chicken from these villagers should have been effortless for them; even without resorting to force, a single gleaming gold ingot—a “Great Yellow Fish”—would surely secure a purchase. However, as a , carrying gold was out of the question, which risked exposing their true identities. They had no choice but to play it by ear, stand up, and step forward to intercept the villager from his task.

Both men were leaders of notorious bandit gangs, veterans of robbery and murder. Despite their disguise as , their every move betrayed the authoritative bearing of seasoned outlaws; even their casual speech carried an implicit aura of coercion.

The father and son pair had been interrupted twice, prevented from killing the rooster. Though annoyed, they were hesitant to show anger, given the men's refined demeanor and eloquent speech. They could only voice their complaints: “These are so meddlesome! This poultry was raised with my own water and grain; I decide whether to kill it or keep it. No matter how I handle it, it's my own business—even the Heavenly King himself has no say in these matters…”

Seeing that was determined to acquire the bird, understood the situation almost entirely. The rooster was the mortal enemy and nemesis of the centipede. Furthermore, this particular rooster was unusually magnificent; even the six-winged centipede spirit lurking in the ancient tomb would fear it. Obtaining this creature meant success was assured. All that remained was to trick or bluff the bird away from them.

His eyes darted, and a plan formed. He smiled wryly at the old man and clasped his hands in greeting: “We have repeatedly disturbed the proper business of your honorable home; we beg your forgiveness, venerable sir. My supposed siblings and I are not actually related by blood; we only acknowledged each other as sworn senior and junior martial brothers and sisters during our apprenticeship. We travel the mountains and camps together, relying on our skills as masters for a living. In these chaotic times, we remain inseparable: one mouthful of clear water must be shared three ways, and a piece of dry ration must be broken into three segments. This is because, before our ancestor’s shrine long ago, we performed the ceremony of slaughtering a chicken and burning yellow paper, undertaking a ritual of sworn brotherhood. Though we dare not compare ourselves to the Oath of the Peach Garden, the vows we made still echo in our ears, witnessed by Heaven and Earth, gods and men. We swore an oath over a chicken that if any part of it were violated, our fate would be like that severed head. Therefore, my martial siblings and I made a solemn vow: to abstain from eating chicken for our entire lives and never to witness another household slaughtering one. If we see it, we are compelled to pay silver to redeem the bird’s life.”

spun this fabricated tale, then deployed his usual tricks, claiming the rooster’s plumage shone with five colors and its eyes sparkled like stars—certifying it as no ordinary creature. Killing it would surely invite misfortune, potentially bringing disaster or, worse, leading the host family to suffer a loss of life through a “calamity of swords and weapons.” After all, it was well known that woodworkers, following the secret techniques of since ancient times, were adept at applying Yansheng ① to dwellings and setting up talismans at doors. There was a story of a wealthy family whose fortunes plummeted after moving into a new house. They only recovered after a master revealed that the carpenter had skimped on his wages and placed a Yansheng charm inside the structure. Upon tearing open the foundation and pillars, they indeed found four carriages, each packed with copper coins and made of stiff paper, their directions pointing outwards from the four corners, as if transporting wealth away from the house. This was the carpenter’s secret array, but once discovered, the family didn’t destroy the paper carriages; instead, they reversed them, making them point inward, bringing wealth into the home, after which prosperity indeed flooded in.

Though this was merely a folk legend, it demonstrated that the arcane arts of the had ancient origins. Consequently, the local people harbored no doubt that these possessed esoteric knowledge. used this to create a sense of foreboding, appealing to both emotion and reason. By recounting the oath his supposed siblings took over a chicken, his ultimate goal was to secure this extraordinary rooster.

possessed broad knowledge and spoke eloquently, weaving in timely wisdom—fate seemed dictated by his words, fortune and disaster shaped by his intent—all hoping to sway the old man's mind. But the elder appeared stone-hearted; he wouldn't budge an inch. He shook his head and told them: “Masters of the Zha Lou, you know one thing but not another. If I gave you this rooster, I would only be leading you into trouble. I would never undertake such an unvirtuous act lightly. This bird is not a chicken; it is a demon. Have you young men never heard the saying: a dog must not live past eight years, and a chicken must not live past six?”

and had not considered these old folk beliefs. Hearing this, they suddenly realized: Ah, so that’s why they are killing the chicken! It turned out the old man was a disciple of the Jinzhai Lightning Altar—one of the two renowned Taoist sects in the Xiangxi mountains, the Hu and Jin altars. These sects comprised both Taoist priests and esoteric practitioners who excelled in using Chenzhou talismans, historically making a living by controlling corpses, guiding water spirits, dispelling poisons, and curing ailments. In recent years, with the warlord conflicts creating widespread suffering, the fortunes of the Taoist sects had waned considerably. Many, like this old man, were left living in isolated mountain areas. While this elder was not a major figure in the Jinzhai Altar, he understood some esoteric arts and firmly believed in the principles of the Yi Yao.

The Yi Yao was an ancient text circulating since the Three Kingdoms and Jin dynasties, dedicated to explaining the strange phenomena of the world. What constituted a "demon"? The Yi Yao held that anything contrary to the natural order was a yao (demon/anomaly). The appearance of unusual, unnatural phenomena signaled that the world was tipping toward chaos or a great disaster. The saying, “a dog must not live past eight years, and a chicken must not live past six,” originated from the theories within the Yi Yao. Under the feudal superstition of the old society, this belief was widespread.

This notion suggested that any poultry or livestock kept in a household could not be allowed to live too long. Because if they existed too long within human society, constantly hearing human speech and observing every human action, they would gradually gain sentience, eventually becoming spirits or demons and causing harm to humanity.

There was a legend of a wealthy man with many grandchildren, daughters, and servants, who kept a white dog that was intelligent and beloved, never leaving his side, even accompanying him on outings. Later, the wealthy man suddenly died of a swift illness. His family gave him a lavish burial, but the old white dog vanished immediately afterward. People assumed the dog had left out of loyalty or perhaps died elsewhere; the matter was not deeply considered.

Yet, exactly one year after the man’s death, one evening, the wealthy man suddenly returned home. His family was horrified, thinking he was a reanimated corpse, but his speech and actions were identical to when he was alive. He claimed that a year prior, he had merely fainted due to suffocation and was mistakenly buried alive. Fortunately, a passing Taoist rescued him, and he traveled with the priest visiting famous mountains until his return that day.

The family rejoiced at his survival, and life resumed as normal. The man ate and drank as before, managed household affairs with clear judgment and fairness, earning respect, and retired to sleep with his three wives and concubines each night. This continued for over half a year, bringing prosperity to the household. But one day, during his birthday celebration, he drank too much and fell asleep at the table. Suddenly, a cold gust swept through the door, extinguishing all the lamps in the hall. A servant rushed to relight them and tried to help the master inside to rest. However, when the light shone, there was no wealthy man—only a shaggy, old white dog curled up asleep on the armchair, its breath reeking of alcohol. Everyone gasped in terror, realizing the master had long been dead and this was clearly a demon at work. While it slept, they hacked it to pieces with various blades and burned the remains.

Legends like this were common from the Qin-Han through the Jin dynasties. Not only did ordinary people believe them, but even scholars often discussed them. Such demonic signs were regarded as specific omens—some presaging war or fire, others predicting tyrannical rulers. In later generations, the theories of predictive omens faded, but the custom of not keeping dogs past eight years or poultry past six remained firm. Many believed that if these animals lived too long among humans, witnessing human behavior would affect their minds, and after six or eight years, they might commit unbelievable evil deeds that could not be guarded against. Even Confucius said, “One cannot associate with birds and beasts.”

The elder in had kept this rooster for nearly six years. The rooster possessed extraordinary spirit. Among countless eggs laid by the village hens that year, only his had hatched this bird; the others were sterile shells. It was clearly favored by the energies of heaven and earth, thus cherished. He fed it the finest meals daily, and the rooster repaid his care: mountain vipers and poisonous insects were the greatest menace to the villagers, yet the rooster patrolled under the stilted house day and night, pecking them away. Every dawn, its crow was perfectly punctual, even more reliable than a self-winding clock, making the owner reluctant to kill it. Nevertheless, six years had passed; keeping it longer invited ill fortune. According to tradition, the rooster had to be killed and bled before sunset that day, lest severe trouble befall the household. Thus, he had fed it a final large meal, sharpened his cleaver, and prepared to slaughter it immediately.

finally grasped the reason. In any other circumstance, he could have easily tricked the rooster away. But a six-year-old rooster was considered inauspicious. If kept alive beyond that age, it spelled doom for the owner. The Xiangxi villagers deeply believed this, and the old man’s stubborn nature meant no amount of persuasion would change his mind; two Great Yellow Fish wouldn't persuade him. Now, they had to resort to other means.

A thought flashed through his mind, and he subtly signaled to . She nodded secretly; she was an expert in the Moon Gate style of sleight of hand, the Gu Cai magic. This art employed many concealed, mechanical tricks known by eight key principles: “Stick, Swing, Combine, Pass, Moon, Separate, Chase, Open.” The “Moon” technique was a form of visual illusion. Observers, even standing right beside the practitioner, could not discern how the magician moved mountains, crossed seas, or transposed objects. The Moon Gate artists were masters of this art. Once acted, she could cloak the rooster with an illusion in front of the father and son. Even with Fiery Eyes, they wouldn't see how she did it. They would only see the bird vanish, spirited away by a group of . Without physical evidence, they would have no grounds for complaint.

As prepared to move, she saw holding his hand inside his sleeve, revealing only two fingers, which he shook gently. This was a hand signal for covert communication among the Green Forest factions—a signal to halt any rash action. Causing a disturbance in the village would not be hard to escape, but it would jeopardize their grand plan to rob the ancient tomb at Bottle Mountain.

Knowing the Moving Mountain Daoist likely had a superior strategy, and held back, waiting to see what would happen. Secretly, however, they drifted close to the villagers, prepared to seize the bird by force if negotiations failed, absolutely determined not to let them slaughter the colorful rooster.

Then, spoke to the old man: “The saying ‘a dog must not live past eight years, and a chicken must not live past six’ is indeed an old tradition, and it is true. But the world is full of wonders, and many things cannot be judged by old standards. I, though humble, wish to offer a reasoning that will convince you, venerable sir, not to kill this rooster.”

The old man observed ’s calm and refined demeanor. He thought that despite the youth’s age, even if he truly were a , he was certainly no ordinary figure. Still, he doubted the young man could offer any truly convincing argument, suspecting it would be just more snake oil and nonsense like ’s. Still, he decided to hear him out. “Very well,” the old man conceded. “I will listen to what high insight you young masters possess. If you can convince me wholeheartedly, I will give you this rooster for free. Truthfully, I am loath to kill it, but the old rule stands, and how can I dare defy it? If you, young master Moshi, cannot present a sound argument, then do not interfere with my slaughtering the fowl.”

already had a plan. He did not wish to use the crude methods of the Green Forest bandits on ordinary villagers. He was waiting precisely for this invitation from the elder. The two men slapped hands in agreement, and immediately reached out to take the colorful rooster from the villager’s grasp. Despite facing death, the rooster neither struggled nor flapped; it held its head high, gazing fixedly, displaying the composed majesty of a general in battle.

asked everyone to look closely at the rooster. The rule concerning dogs not living past eight years and chickens not past six was indeed an ancient custom, widely believed even today, and thus should not be ignored. Any ordinary house chicken or fowl should not reach six years of age, but this bird was not an ordinary chicken, and therefore should be exempt from this rule.

The old man shook his head repeatedly, and secretly despaired, thinking: For you to be the chief of the Moving Mountain faction, , and claim this great rooster isn't a chicken—if it's not a chicken, what is it? A bird? Even a three-year-old wouldn't believe that. How can you persuade this old man? Looks like we’ll have to revert to the old ways of the Green Forest bandits… and just take it by force.

Before could finish, seeing their disbelief, he continued: “All chickens and fowl in the world have their eyelids grow in the opposite way from human eyes. Human eyelids grow from above; the upper lid moves to blink. But for fowl, the eyelids grow from below. Everyone can look and see how this rooster’s eyelids are formed.”

The old man had never paid attention to this detail, but any keeper of poultry knew that a chicken’s lower lid moved. Upon closer inspection, the rooster with the five-colored plumage and proud, upright stance indeed had its eyelids positioned above, just like a human’s. If one hadn't looked carefully, this detail would have been missed. Even the well-informed and were astonished, exclaiming in unison, “How can this be?”

stated: “Its eyelids grow this way because it is not a chicken or fowl.”

Hearing this, everyone was still bewildered—if not a chicken or fowl, then what was it?

chose not to flaunt his knowledge of rare treasures and revealed the truth directly: “Xiangxi has revered the totems of the Phoenix and the Black Bird since antiquity, and many place names are related to these ancient legends—like this county, named Nüqing County. Nüqing signifies the sound of the wind singing. A fowl with its upper eyelid, coupled with its multicolored feathers and golden talons, how could it be an ordinary chicken? It is fundamentally a rare and extraordinary species of the Phoenix—it is the Nüqing Chicken, found only in Nüqing County, Xiangxi!”