Effective immediately, Volume Two will be updated concurrently with Volume One; they are two distinct stories that will not affect the reading progress. Volume Two chronicles the protagonist's journey of growth; having already established a foundation in Daoist arts, he now ventures into the harshness of the Northeast alone.

In 1967, the Ninth National Congress convened. At the meeting, the call was issued to mobilize the strength of the people to demolish the "bourgeois headquarters"—meaning to doubt everything and overthrow everything—and the entire nation entered the era of 'Struggle, Criticism, Reform.' The vast, surging Cultural Revolution finally began its curtain rise. Simultaneously, the monumental project of blasting tunnels through Phoenix Mountain in the Northeast reached its fever pitch. Laborers were continuously drafted from surrounding townships to support the effort; the atmosphere was vibrant, filled with the clamor of gongs and drums.

Young Master Liu, during that time, was brutally struggled against in his hometown. Zhang Enpu had completely passed away, and all remaining scores were summarily tallied against him. Every evening, he was forced onto the platform at study sessions to make self-criticisms and endure denunciations, branded as a representative of the 'ox-demons and snake-spirits.' By day, he was assigned the heaviest labor while being credited with the fewest work points. Just as Young Master Liu was nearing complete breaking point, Village Chief Tian approached the higher-ups and spoke many favors on his behalf. When the time came to transfer men for the mountain excavation, Tian secretly arranged for Young Master Liu to be moved out. The reasoning given was that such a sinner needed to be sent to the most arduous place for re-education, lest he contaminate the advanced spirit of their commune.

This move successfully shifted him from the center of the struggle. Excavating and blasting tunnels was, indeed, exhausting daily work, but the work points were high, and critically, being tired during the day meant nobody had the energy left for evening study and struggle sessions. As Young Master Liu boarded the Jiefang truck designated for transporting people, his thoughts were rather pleasant. Ma Xiaoyan prepared some pickled vegetables for him, her eyes brimming with tears. Young Master Liu smiled and said, "Why cry? It’s not like I’m being led to the execution ground."

Upon arrival at the mountain worksite, the moment he stepped off the truck, Young Master Liu was dumbfounded. Before him stretched a worksite as far as the eye could see, packed with people dense as ants. Some were digging pits, others carrying earth, still others paving roads. In all his life, he had never witnessed so many people working together. He felt a wave of dizziness: "Heavens above, so many people, such a vast area. How long will it take to finish this?"

However, he had not accurately estimated the scale of the site. Their truckload of people proceeded along the newly cleared, undulating mountain range for over twenty li before reaching their specific assignment area. When they arrived, everyone in the truck was stunned silent. In a muddy patch of ground stood a sparse dozen or so rough sheds. Not far off was a small hill, perhaps only a hundred meters high, with massive piles of broken rock heaped at its base. Boom... A deafening sound erupted, followed by a plume of white smoke as a large section of rock face collapsed. "Whoopee... Drillers climb up, blasters come down..." A stout man waving a red flag shouted with all his might. Young Master Liu and his group were mesmerized; even after the explosion subsided, small pebbles continued to rain down from the sky, making them inwardly apprehensive about the sheer power of the blast.

A cadre approached the stout man and explained the situation. The man turned, glanced at the group of newcomers still standing there in a daze, beckoned them over aggressively, and yelled into his small megaphone, "Goddamn it, are you waiting for me to personally invite you? Get over here!" These villagers had never witnessed such a scene. Seeing this man who was both fat with a prominent belly and sported a slicked-back, narrow pompadour, they immediately suspected he must be a high-ranking cadre. Ordinary cadres didn't have such impressive girth! Every one of them turned pale with fright and scurried over, keeping a safe distance of two to three hundred meters from the blast zone, fearing another explosion. The stout man tossed his helmet aside and strode towards them.

"Stand straight, all of you, stand straight! Damn it, what are you scared of!" The stout man marched over quickly. Young Master Liu promptly whispered to those beside him, "Judging by the accent, he’s a high-ranking cadre from Harbin. Everyone, stand up straight!" Hearing that the cadre was from Harbin, the honest, simple young men from the townships immediately snapped to attention. The stout man swept his gaze across them: "So, you’ve all arrived under my command. The superiors told me to take you on, so I’ve taken you on!" He wiped his brow: "I tend to speak my mind sharply, so don't take offense. My name is Fan Debiao. If you fear me, call me Captain Fan; if you don't, call me Little Fan. Have you all met me now..." Hearing this high-ranking cadre speak with such peculiar flavor, the tension in the crowd eased considerably. Noticing how emaciated everyone looked, the stout man couldn't help but sigh, "Such heavy work, and only this few people coming—damn it, is this even a life fit for human beings?"

Young Master Liu, confident in his worldly experience and ability to navigate social waters, stepped forward, smiling to establish rapport: "Captain Fan, we came out this time to serve the people. We fear no hardship or fatigue. If we do anything improperly, please criticize us without reservation."

Fan Debiao glanced at him: "What’s your background? Are you the team leader?"

The actual leader, a man named Wei Fuguo, having shed his fear of the high-ranking cadre from Harbin, quickly stepped forward: "Captain, don't listen to this kid's nonsense. Back home, this fellow was a shaman who performed rituals. He’s out here now to reform his mistakes. I am the leader, hehe!" Young Master Liu cursed inwardly: "That damn Wei Fuguo! The year before last, when your wife was possessed, you came crying and wailing, and now this son of a bitch comes around to bash me every other day!"

As expected, Fan Debiao snorted: "I despise those who deal in spirits and deception the most. Common folks in the old society were ruined by your tricks! You sons of bitches, tomorrow you go smash rocks, and I'll work the death out of you."

Young Master Liu’s heart sank instantly...

That day, Fan Debiao assigned them their work sheds and gave them a brief on-site orientation. In reality, there wasn't much to learn: watch for the red flag or the whistle, and run from the blast. When not dodging explosions, they either smashed or dragged rocks. Those dragging rocks had draft animals, but the rock-smashers relied entirely on their bare hands... Seeing this, Young Master Liu felt utterly disheartened. If it weren't for the fear of being denounced upon returning, he would have surely bolted that very night.

After dinner—a thin gruel made from pumpkin—Young Master Liu and the others retired to their sheds. Thinking about starting work the next day, he couldn't sleep: "Master, I planned to learn your craft and get rich, but now I’m just reaping suffering..."

The next morning, Young Master Liu's group officially started work. None of them possessed technical skills; the jobs of drilling holes and setting explosives were handled by Fan Debiao's regular crew.

After mixing with them for four or five days and getting acquainted, they learned through casual conversation that Fan Debiao’s core group, during the height of factional fighting a few years prior, had formed a "Red Wugang Combat Team" and killed two men from the opposing faction during a major brawl. Those two men had powerful connections upstairs. To lie low, they used the opportunity of educated youth being sent down to the countryside to hide out here. Their families had also sent word: go out, achieve something tangible, and earn a promotion. If not for this glimmer of hope, how would these city-raised men like Fan Debiao endure such hardship in this desolate place?

Before they finished smashing rocks for a full week, Young Master Liu was close to weeping every night. Thinking about how long this toil would last, his mind drifted to his wife, then his Master, and then to Granny Fan... He drifted off into a daze thinking about them. He had actually practiced Daoist kung fu before, possessing a baseline of sharp senses. Before the third watch of the night, he suddenly heard the livestock outside stir slightly and woke instantly. He listened intently for a long time, but everything fell silent again. He drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, before he was fully awake, he heard Fan Debiao's booming voice from outside: "Damn it, why is there a dead mule? You, Hu Beikang, come take a look!" Young Master Liu's heart skipped a beat; he immediately scrambled out of bed, threw on his clothes, and rushed to the stable. A large crowd had already gathered. The short man named Hu Beikang ran over, flipped the mule lying on the ground back and forth several times: "Captain Fan, there are no wounds on it, it must have died from exhaustion, right?"

Fan Debiao crouched down to examine it: "Damn it, this rotten luck, even the mule died from overwork... Son of a bitch, is this even a life worth living?" He patted the mule’s head, then suddenly stood up: "I think it died from a common animal plague, maybe?" Hu Beikang chuckled, "An animal plague wouldn't kill it this fast. Should we notify the engineering command?"

Fan Debiao waved his hand: "Notify my ass! If a mule dies from plague, it needs to be buried immediately to prevent contagion..."

Then, he scanned the crowd: "I think burying it in our bellies is the safest, what do you say?" The smarter ones understood his meaning, swallowing hard while grinning. In those days, getting a taste of meat could keep the mouth happy for months.

Fan Debiao continued, "If the higher-ups ask how this mule died, what do we say?" Several people started shouting along with the joke: "From plague, Captain! Died from the plague!" They laughed as they spoke. Fan Debiao then asked, "And how do we dispose of it?"

The crowd roared back: "Bury it! Haha! We buried it long ago..."

Fan Debiao called over a tall, thin man: "Huang Peng, you’re off work today. Drag this thing out tonight." Young Master Liu was inwardly ecstatic; they were finally going to eat meat. Before he could wipe the drool, Fan Debiao added, "With one less mule, today... um, uh, Liu Dashao! You’re helping drag rocks today!" Tears instantly welled up in Young Master Liu’s eyes...

When the workday ended that evening, the smell of mule meat made Young Master Liu forget all his fatigue. He meticulously cleaned his mess tin early and waited expectantly.

At dinner assembly, Fan Debiao had somehow procured a small flask of liquor. Standing by the large cooking pot, he asked, "Comrades, shall we finish it tonight, or save some for tomorrow?" Everyone’s mouths were watering so much they dared not speak, fearing a single word would let their drool escape.

Fan Debiao laughed heartily: "Save nothing! We finish it tonight!"

Based on his experience back home, Young Master Liu expected that with nearly two hundred people present, the higher-ups would keep the choice cuts for themselves, leaving the rest—perhaps only a few bones and some broth—for everyone else. Unexpectedly, Fan Debiao’s crew proved to be decent folk. Everyone received a generous bowl, and only after that were their few acquaintances allowed to fish for actual pieces of meat in the pot. Young Master Liu took a massive, scalding bite of meat, bringing tears to his eyes from the heat, yet it was so delicious he couldn't bear to open his mouth; tears of sheer happiness streamed down his face.

Fan Debiao’s group ate merrily, and seeing the ravenous eating scene all around them, he sighed. Fan Debiao called over a young man: "Huang Shitou, take this wine and give everyone a thimbleful..." This man was Huang Peng's younger brother, a very honest fellow. Without a word, he took the flask and poured a shallow capful for each person, ensuring everyone had a small taste. When Young Master Liu drank his share, all his resentment toward Captain Fan vanished. For some reason, a strange thought suddenly crossed his mind: "If another mule dies, won't there be more to eat?" The moment the thought formed, he slapped himself in shame: "Captain Fan treats everyone so well, and I’m thinking about taking advantage of public property. That’s wrong..."

Who would have thought, this passing thought would materialize. Less than two days later, while Young Master Liu was still dreaming of gnawing on mule bones, Fan Debiao was heard cursing loudly outside: "Son of a bitch, are you still dying on me for sport?!"

When Young Master Liu rushed out, he froze. A mule lay dead in the stable, having died inexplicably! Fan Debiao was furious; this mule was public property, and its inexplicable death would be very difficult for him to explain.

"Huang Peng, damn it, get a cart and drag this dead thing to the engineering department! Tell them to investigate the cause thoroughly!" Young Master Liu was also skeptical. He had seen livestock die from plague in the countryside, but not this quickly. Could it be sabotage through poisoning? But if so, why poison an animal? What did that achieve?

After ordering Huang Peng to haul the mule away, Fan Debiao kicked the stable wall fiercely: "Damn it, I’m standing watch tonight! Let’s see how you die, you son of a bitch, today!" In his agitation, he threw down his cigarette: "Son of a bitch, is this even a life worth living?!"

After work ended at dusk, Fan Debiao truly set up a straw pallet and sat beside the stable. His friend, Wang Jun, brought over another straw bed, and the two began smoking and chatting casually. Young Master Liu, preoccupied, wasn't really concerned about how the mule died; he was fixated on where the dead mule went and whether it had been eaten. If a person isn't properly fed, all other thoughts vanish—ideals, morality, they all become meaningless drivel. Thinking this, he couldn't sleep soundly.

Fan Debiao and Wang Jun were reminiscing about their glorious days in Harbin. Mid-conversation, Fan Debiao sighed: "Back then, the few of us ruled Harbin unchallenged. Who knew we’d end up guarding livestock in this godforsaken place..." Wang Jun comforted him: "Brother Biao, don't worry. In a couple of years, when things quiet down, we’ll go back and turn Nangang upside down—no, turn all of Harbin upside down!"

As they were talking, they saw Huang Peng returning in the dark, pulling a cart. Fan Debiao immediately stood up and asked, "Well? Did they find out how it died?" Huang Peng’s face was ashen: "Investigate what? The moment they saw it, they said it died of plague. Before I could even speak, they sent the master cook over to skin it and prepare it for eating..."

Fan Debiao spat: "Did you eat some at noon too, you brat?" Huang Peng looked embarrassed: "They kept me there, and Brother Biao, the department staff said it wasn’t your fault; just write a statement." Hearing this, Fan Debiao finally relaxed slightly.

Huang Peng then performed a trick, pulling a small sack from the cart: "Brother Biao, on the way, I saw a few early pear trees bearing big fruit, hehe, so I pilfered some."

Fan Debiao spoke gruffly: "This is all the ambition you have... Have a smoke, keep us company for a while before you sleep." Huang Peng sat between them, offered the pears from the bag, and the two men, who hadn't eaten enough dinner, immediately devoured them. Young Master Liu’s hearing was excellent; he could hear the sound of them crunching the pears, making his mouth water, but he was too embarrassed to ask for one, which made it even harder for him to sleep.

It was fully dark now, and since it was nearing May, small mosquitoes were already buzzing relentlessly near the stable. After eating several pears, Huang Peng suddenly felt a heavy churning in his stomach and let out several loud farts. Fan Debiao held his nose and cursed: "Go farther away to relieve yourself! I told you to eat less."

Huang Peng smiled sheepishly, pulled a sheet of newspaper from the pile Fan Debiao used for rolling cigarettes: "I ate too much at noon, and now I’ve munched on pears, my stomach must be upset. I’m going to take a dump!" He laughed and ran off. Hu Beikang cursed after him: "Go fire it off far away! If I smell a whiff of it, I’ll plug your goddamn mouth with a stick of dynamite..."

Hu Beikang and Fan Debiao watched Huang Peng disappear, then exchanged a knowing smile. The darkness was as thick as ink. Inside the stable just a short distance away, the silhouettes of the large animals were faintly visible as they ceaselessly swished their tails to ward off the insects. Fan Debiao suddenly spoke with feeling: "Say, when will this miserable time ever end? Will our best young years all collapse in this poor mountain ditch?" Hu Beikang, a sharp and dependable member of the group, fell silent for a moment before saying, "I estimate the project will last at least another three years."

The two fell silent, both moodily smoking their harsh, smoke-scented newspapers, which did keep the mosquitoes away.

Just as they were quiet, they suddenly heard Huang Peng’s loud "Ayee!" from a distance, a cry both urgent and sharp, followed by a few groans. Fan Debiao and the other man immediately stood up and peered into the darkness. They couldn't see anything in the deep blackness. "Kangzi, go back and fetch that miner's lamp..." Fan Debiao felt a knot of panic tighten, and he yelled toward the sound, "Huang Peng, what’s going on?" There was no response from the darkness; the silence was terrifyingly deep...

Fan Debiao’s heart sank: "Huang Peng, you bastard, give me a reply! Kangzi, the light? Hurry up!" Hu Beikang fumbled around in the dark shed for several minutes before finding a miner’s lamp, by which time he was sweating profusely from anxiety. Both men felt a profound sense of unease. They had a nagging feeling that the cry sounded strange. Liu Junqiang fiddled with the switch of the lamp in his hand several times, but it remained dead: "Damn it, this broken lamp too! Is this life even worth living?!" Fan Debiao cursed loudly and, along with Hu Beikang, started groping their way toward where the sound had come from in the dark.

Not a few steps later, they vaguely saw a white figure slowly approaching: "Wearing a white shirt, it must be Huang Peng!" Fan Debiao breathed a sigh of relief, wiped his forehead, which was slick with sweat, and Hu Beikang immediately cursed, "You son of a bitch, why didn't you answer? I thought you'd kicked the bucket silently like that ghost mule..." The Huang Peng figure didn't speak, just walked slowly, step by step, toward the stable. As he drew closer, Fan Debiao noticed the young man’s belt wasn't even fastened, and his face was as pale as if he'd been sick for seven or eight days. He was about to scold him, but a wave of pity mixed with amusement washed over him: "Look at you, you pathetic thing! Damn bastard, all you know is eating! You almost gave up the ghost from diarrhea this time..." He pointed at the man’s trousers and laughed to Hu Beikang, "Look at him, he was pulling so hard he couldn't even keep his pants up..."

Hu Beikang let out a few laughs: "I say, Huang Peng, don't strain yourself too much. If you ask for leave tomorrow, our Brother Biao won't approve... Learn your lesson this time, see if you still eat so much?"

The two laughed and sat back down on their mats, shaking their heads. Over there, Huang Peng had already entered the nearest work shed. Now, Young Master Liu had long been woken by the commotion and was lying on his mat, peering out... He saw Huang Peng, clad in white, walking into the shed. Young Master Liu slept by the outermost bunk because the smell of sweat from the others in the shed kept him awake. Seeing Huang Peng enter, he was curious. Didn't he usually sleep in Fan Debiao's shed? Why had he come into their shed?

As he wondered, Huang Peng suddenly sat directly on Young Master Liu’s bunk. Young Master Liu thought maybe he was bringing him a few pears and was delighted! But after waiting a moment and hearing nothing, Huang Peng abruptly lay down beside him. Young Master Liu was startled but hesitated to ask anything; after all, he belonged to Captain Fan, and it wouldn't do to offend him. He moved further inside and pretended to fall asleep. But the moment he drew a breath, he nearly choked. Why did this Huang Peng smell overwhelmingly of feces? Now Young Master Liu didn't want to pretend to sleep anymore, but he didn't want to open his eyes and see the other man’s awkwardness, so he kept his eyes shut and whispered softly, "Hey, kid, did you... forget to... wipe your butt?"

There was no response. Young Master Liu, with his acute hearing, realized something was wrong within a minute: "Why hasn't this guy breathed in so long?" His heart clenched, and he snapped his eyes open, immediately trembling with shock. He saw Huang Peng staring at him with dead fish eyes, his pupils twitching upwards, and thick saliva dribbling from his mouth. Young Master Liu’s scalp tingled. It was better not to have opened his eyes, for the moment he did, Huang Peng seemed to notice him, opened his mouth wide, and lunged directly toward Young Master Liu to bite. The years of martial arts training finally paid off: his left hand shot up, lifting Huang Peng’s chin upwards, while his right hand slipped under Huang Peng’s ribs. With a sudden exertion, he flung Huang Peng toward the shed entrance.

"Damn it all, this bastard isn't human!" Liu Dashao had only this single thought churning in his mind. He didn't call out to anyone; instead, he immediately dropped onto Huang Peng's body, driving the index and middle fingers of his right hand into a precise spot on the man's forehead, channeling the Shangqing Zhengqi Jue. Simultaneously, his left hand shot behind the neck, locking onto the third cervical vertebra and applying significant pressure—the very nexus of the Ghost Meridian. Normally, if the living pressed hard on this spot, it was enough to calm a reanimated corpse, a trick born from experience with spectral disturbances.

The sudden commotion violently woke the men inside the lean-to. Someone mumbled groggily, "What the hell's going on? Who's fighting?" Another voice cursed, "We've been at this all day, and you bastards still have the energy to brawl!?"

Liu Dashao broke out in a cold sweat, his voice tight with panic. "Hurry up and light the lamps! There's a ghost here..."