Dark Blue Frost - Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Rakshasa
The Zhao family was indeed the wealthiest household in Ranchou Town.
(T/N: The town’s name is supposed to be Ranchou, but I mistakenly translated it as Hongchou in the previous chapter.)
It was said that nearly all the townsfolk relied on the Zhao family’s business for their livelihoods.
Most of the women worked as embroiderers or weavers in the embroidery and weaving workshops, while the men labored as dye-house workers or manual laborers in the Zhao family’s cloth shops.
Even those who ran inns and food stalls mostly did so to accommodate the merchants who came from all over to purchase fabric from the Zhaos.
Upon entering the Zhao residence, Qingxuan felt his eyes were practically overwhelmed.
Not to mention anything else, just the intricately carved beams and painted rafters of the courtyards, along with the winding corridors, left him utterly awestruck.
Even the notoriously stingy Zhao Fugui knew that Qianse was no ordinary figure and acted with extreme caution, his words and demeanor respectful and deferential, a far cry from his usual domineering arrogance, lest he inadvertently offend her.
The Zhao steward had initially arranged guest quarters for Qianse and Qingxuan in the section reserved for the Zhao family’s most esteemed visitors.
Fortunately, he had inquired beforehand and overheard Qingxuan muttering, “My master dislikes excessive luxury,” prompting him to rearrange their accommodations to the most secluded spot in a side courtyard.
Yet, to his surprise, Qianse was still unsatisfied.
“Qingxuan and I can share a room.”
Seeing that the steward had prepared two separate guest chambers, she glanced at him—her gaze indifferent, her brow slightly raised.
Though her words were direct, her tone carried an undercurrent of frosty detachment.
“Ah!?”
The steward, already on edge, was taken aback by her request.
After a moment’s pause, he ventured a presumptuous suggestion: “Master, the guest room only has one bed. It’s early autumn now, and the floor is cold at night. Should I prepare a mat for this young master to sleep on?”
From his tone, it was clear he assumed Qianse intended to make Qingxuan sleep on the floor.
“One bed is enough.”
Qianse responded flatly, her eyes reflecting cool detachment.
Without another word—and paying no heed to whether the steward would misunderstand—she pushed open the door and entered the guest room, leaving the steward standing there, mouth agape in shock.
One bed is enough?
How scandalous!
Judging by the steward’s expression, Qingxuan knew he had jumped to the wrong conclusion—thinking there was some unspeakable impropriety between master and disciple.
In truth, he himself had misunderstood the night before, only to later realize that Qianse had spent the entire night copying scriptures without resting a moment.
Indeed, one bed was enough.
But seeing Qianse’s calm, indifferent expression, he couldn’t be bothered to explain.
Instead, he hurriedly followed her into the room, his heart brimming with uncontainable excitement—
Tonight, his master would teach him the “Dream-Entering Technique”!
The steward stood frozen for a long while before finally snapping out of his daze.
Only after walking some distance away did he spit in disgust, muttering under his breath: “These days, morals are truly in decline. First, there was that tutor who eloped with his female student, and now this female master shamelessly shares a bed with her male disciple…”
Night fell.
After supper, Qianse meticulously explained the intricacies of the “Dream-Entering Technique” to Qingxuan.
This technique was a method of peering into another’s mind, requiring the separation of one’s primordial spirit from the body—a feat nearly impossible without centuries of cultivation as a foundation.
Even if the spirit managed to leave the body, the vacant physical form could not afford the slightest mishap.
Given her profound cultivation, Qianse only needed to cast a protective barrier around her body while dream-walking.
But Qingxuan was different—he was still a mortal, and the slightest misstep could lead to unimaginable consequences.
Thus, she needed to remain by his side, carefully guarding his body to prevent any accidents.
Qingxuan had been frail since childhood.
Even after years of nurturing atop Mount Yan, absorbing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, his constitution had not improved much.
What Qianse found effortless required repeated attempts on his part, all ending in failure.
She knew the reason, of course, and could only sigh silently to herself.
Though he was naturally gifted, his body was simply too weak.
Originally, she had planned to let him recuperate for a few more years before truly embarking on the path of cultivation.
But this time, after he sneaked out of the Eastern Extremity, a twist of fate had presented him with an opportunity.
(T/N:Previously, I translated this as “Dongji,” but I feel it is better to translate it into an English word.)
If he could seize it and subdue the Rakshasa, it would only benefit his future cultivation.
Unfortunately, with his current lack of skill, success seemed nearly impossible.
With this in mind, when he once again attempted to steady his breath and separate his spirit to enter another’s dream, she decisively pressed her fingers against the acupoint at the nape of his neck.
Channeling her spiritual energy, she began transferring her hard-earned immortal energy into his bones, blood, and meridians.
Qingxuan suddenly felt his entire body grow light, as if floating on the wind, drifting toward some unknown destination.
A mix of excitement and nervousness surged within him—this must be what his master had described as “spirit separation.”
Keeping his eyes shut, he silently repeated Zhao Fugui’s name over and over.
Only after a long while did he dare to open them.
A hazy illusion unfolded before him.
Misty white vapors swirled, seemingly within reach.
His spirit, now detached from his body, stood within Zhao Fugui’s dream, surrounded by layers of fog that obscured everything from view.
After what felt like an eternity, the mist slowly dissipated, and he realized with a start that he was now standing inside the dye house—face to face with Zhao Fugui and a stranger.
Clearly, Zhao Fugui was reliving a memory of something he had done!
The stranger appeared scholarly and thin, dressed in Confucian robes, like a man of letters.
He seemed to be anxiously questioning Zhao Fugui about something, while Zhao Fugui wore an evasive smile.
Qingxuan couldn’t quite make out their words and edged closer to listen—only to see Zhao Fugui suddenly shove the man into a dye vat when his back was turned!
The man, caught completely off guard, choked on the dye water.
Just as he lifted his head above the surface, Zhao Fugui’s thick, powerful hands pressed him back under, leaving only his flailing arms visible above the murky liquid.
Gradually, the frantic movements slowed… until finally, his hands floated motionless atop the vat.
Moments later, Zhao Fugui fished out the corpse, hauled it over to the massive stove used to boil water in the dye house, piled on firewood, and vigorously worked the bellows—incinerating the evidence in a blaze.
Yet, murder and corpse-burning were not the most horrifying part.
In the end, Zhao Fugui scooped up a mix of ashes—bone and charcoal—and sprinkled a pinch into every dye vat, stirring it in before finally cracking a satisfied grin.
Witnessing this replay of cold-blooded murder firsthand, Qingxuan stood dumbfounded, his mind blank.
For a moment, he couldn’t even recall the method Qianse had taught him for returning his spirit to his body.
And then—Zhao Fugui slowly turned his head, his eerie gaze locking onto Qingxuan’s direction.
With a sinister smile, he began advancing step by step—
With a muffled cry, Qingxuan jolted awake, his eyes flying open blindly.
His entire body felt weak and hollow, his bones stiff and aching with cold, as if the blood in his veins had frozen solid.
Seeing his dazed state, Qianse knew it was due to his spirit’s first separation—his body struggling to adjust.
Immediately, she doubled the flow of her immortal energy into him.
It took a long while before Qingxuan finally regained his senses.
He spun around urgently, ready to recount everything he’d seen—but when he turned, he found Qianse with her eyes tightly shut, her face deathly pale, her lips tinged blue, her forehead glistening with cold sweat.
The sight was terrifying!
“Master, what’s wrong?!”
Panicked, though unsure of the exact problem, he could guess things were dire.
He leapt up from his chair, pacing around her like an ant on a hot griddle, helpless in his lack of skill to assist.
He didn’t know that his earlier spirit separation had only been possible because Qianse had transferred centuries’ worth of her immortal energy to him.
She had done so knowing he would soon face the Rakshasa—figuring that even if he failed, the extra power would at least prevent a total loss.
Yet she hadn’t explained this to him.
Now, she focused on regulating her breath, slowly cycling her energy until, after a long while, her complexion improved slightly.
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes remained closed, her expression solemn.
“Qingxuan, what did you see in Zhao Fugui’s dream?”
Seeing her color return, Qingxuan calmed his frantic heart and recounted everything in detail.
He didn’t know what grudge Zhao Fugui held against the man, nor why he had burned the corpse and scattered the ashes into the dye vats.
The whole thing was so bizarre that even thinking back on it sent chills down his spine.
Qingxuan, with his limited experience, could only shudder at the horror.
But Qianse, well-versed in such matters, opened her eyes and, after a brief contemplation, arrived at an answer:
“By scattering the man’s ashes into the dye vats, he trapped the victim’s three hun and seven po souls within them. This prevents the man from entering the Netherworld, condemning him to eternal unrest, his ghost unable to seek revenge.”
(T/N: “Three Hun Seven Po（Three Souls and Seven Senses）” is a concept in traditional Chinese culture that is believed to represent the core of the human soul and spirit within the body. The three hun/souls refer to three types of spiritual essence within the human body.)
Pausing, she frowned and added, “But no—if the man’s resentment were the cause, he would have manifested as a Yecha ghost, not a Rakshasa. The lingering spirit must belong to a wronged woman.”
(T/N: Fearsome and malevolent demons. The Chinese transliteration of the Sanskrit word “yaksha”.)
“A woman?!”
Qingxuan shuddered.
The dye house, draped in fabric by day, now seemed a place of unspeakable horror—not only housing the trapped soul of a man doomed to never reincarnate, but also the vengeful ghost of a woman.
The thought alone made his hair stand on end.
“Master, should we return to the dye house tomorrow to investigate further?” he suggested hesitantly, his voice unsteady.
“No need to wait.”
Qianse stood, her dark eyes regaining their usual calm, like a still pond without a ripple, betraying no emotion. “The hour between Zi and Chou is the time of peak Yin energy. We go to the dye house now.”
(T/N: 1:00 AM to 3:00 AM)
……
Due to the recent incidents, the dye house was completely deserted by nightfall, not a single worker in sight.
Now, the dye house lay in utter darkness, the howling night wind amplifying its eerie atmosphere.
Qingxuan trailed behind Qianse, peering around nervously, his heart pounding with unease.
Qingxuan examined the dye vats closely and confirmed they were indeed centuries-old artifacts, infused with the essence and spiritual energy of the Zhao ancestors—no wonder Zhao Fugui had dared to imprison the stranger’s souls within them.
After a thorough inspection of the premises, however, she found no trace of any other lingering spirits or remains.
If not the man’s vengeful ghost, then where had the Rakshasa come from?
Such mysteries were rare even for her.
It seemed the only way to uncover the truth was to take a gamble.
“Qingxuan!” Her sudden shout startled him. “Do you remember the sword-controlling soul technique I taught you?”
His hands trembled slightly.
Though he had never actually performed it, leaving him understandably unsure, he answered firmly: “Yes.”
“Good.”
She gave a slight nod, her sharp gaze fixed on a row of dye vats about ten feet away.
A cryptic smirk played at her lips.
“Then I’ll summon the Rakshasa now!”
Before Qingxuan could react, Qianse closed her eyes and began chanting the “Mystical Northern Dipper Divine Incantation.”
Countless thin streams of blue light erupted from her body, refracting around her at blinding speed, intertwining in a dazzling, eerie glow.
Clasping her palms together, her entire form gradually turned blue, levitating mid-air under the moonlight like a spectral apparition.
When her eyes snapped open, their usual indifference had sharpened into a blade-like intensity, shimmering with an eerie blue light.
Almost instantly, as if answering her call, a black mist surged up from beneath the dye vats, coalescing into a massive shadowy figure!
So it wasn’t just inside the vats—
Beneath them, buried in the earth, lay yet another wronged soul!
