Folklore and Strange Tales: At the Start, You Retrieve the Sea-Suppressing Black Iron

Chapter 124 A broken thread connects the iron pot, a bowl of food for a living person shatters the copper plate.

"nail?"

Han Shaobai nearly knocked the bowl of porridge in his hand onto the table.

Tieguai Li grabbed his wrist, causing the porridge to spill out and splash onto the rim of the bowl, scalding Han Shaobai and making him grimace.

The old ashtray lay on the coarse cloth. The white ash at the bottom of the ashtray was dispersed by the smell of porridge, and then it was gathered back into a half-vertical hook along with the fake burn marks.

Master Ma stared at Cheng Xiaojin. "Knock from the inside?"

Cheng Xiaojin stood outside the threshold, her sleeve still being held by Tang Wanqing's bandage, her shoes resting behind the incense ash line.

"Um.

""

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at the ashtray; the bottom had already settled down. The smell of old soup mixed with the aroma of corn porridge from the four corners of the table completely masked the sound of the copper plate.

But Shen Jiulou's plate wasn't really broken yet.

"He had just put the sound into the vat, and the copper plate was still hot."

Cheng Xiaojin lifted his foot and walked out.

"Take this opportunity to fight back. Once he's cleaned up the dishes, we'll have to suffer a second time."

Han Shaobai swallowed the porridge, his throat burning and throbbing.

Tang Wanqing didn't loosen the bandage, and moved her feet along with him.

"You must not touch the puppet corpse, you must not touch the iron wire, and you must not touch the well water."

"I'll just touch the air, okay?"

1

"Keep your mouth shut as much as possible."

Tieguai Li had already walked out.

"Uncle Ma, please keep an eye on the yard. If the ashtray makes a noise again, just smear it with porridge."

Master Ma nodded, "Don't bring back the broken thread."

When the group arrived at Huguo Temple, the gray circle at the street corner had been thickened, and three iron wire puppet corpses lay slumped beside the wooden planks, with bluish-black liquid seeping out from the cracks in their flesh.

Aunt Liu led the neighbors to place a basin of stove ash every three steps to enclose the corpses outside.

Tong Kexin stood guard by the pot, her hands newly wrapped in cloth, a long ladle placed across the edge of the pot, the soup noodles bubbling with red oil.

The moment she saw Cheng Xiaojin, her brows furrowed.

"Why are you here again?"

Cheng Xiaojin stopped outside the gray circle.

"I've come to borrow your pot."

"Why do you need to borrow a pot?"

"Hitting someone."

Aunt Zhang slung the rolling pin over her shoulder. "Go beat up that guy surnamed Shen from Deshengmen?"

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"He's across half a city trying to take his plate."

Old Li sat beside the tofu pudding stall, his injured leg propped up on a stool, holding up a strainer.

"Then does my strainer count as one?"

Tieguai Li squatted down next to the first puppet corpse and picked up the remaining thread on the back of its neck through the tattered quilt.

The broken thread was black and shiny, with salt-white residue on the cut end and thin copper wires embedded inside. As soon as the thread left the corpse's skin, the puppet corpse made a gurgling sound in its throat, and black liquid gushed from the corner of its mouth.

Aunt Liu took half a step back while holding the ash basin.

"Not quite dead yet?"

Cheng Xiaojin tilted his ear and listened.

"My body is ruined, I'm on the verge of death, and I'm only breathing this far because the copper plate part wasn't completely cleaned up."

Tieguai Li's hand stopped in mid-air.

"To cut or not to cut?"

"Don't cut it."

Cheng Xiaojin squatted down beside the blue bricks, his face still a hand's distance from the ground, not touching it down.

"If you cut too hard, the vocal quality will collapse, and we won't be able to find Shen Jiulou's position anymore."

Tieguai Li peeled back the rotten skin on the corpse's neck, revealing a blackened copper buckle embedded beside its throat, with three circles of black thread wrapped around its outer edge.

Han Shaobai held the enamel basin in front of his chest.

"This thing can be used as a phone?"

Cheng Xiaojin said, "It's more durable than your phone. After the separation of life and death, while your phone is just static, it can still eavesdrop on the bottom of the pot."

Tong Kexin picked up the long spoon.

"How do I answer?"

"Wrap one end of the old brine wire with a copper buckle, securing it halfway, but don't get it stuck."

Cheng Xiaojin raised her chin at Tang Wanqing.

"Connect the other end to the red thread."

Tang Wanqing pulled out the red thread, and the end of the thread trembled twice in the night breeze.

"The red thread guides sound, and it also carries the aura of corpses."

"So they don't enter people's bodies, but instead build a rim on the pot."

Tong Kexin took a cloth and wiped a clean spot on the edge of the pot.

"Use my braised pot as a transfer container?"

Cheng Xiaojin nodded, his expression unusually serious.

"Your pot is more imposing than any magic weapon. Shen Jiulou's plate is filled with Southeast Asian black blood, while our pot is filled with pig lungs, intestines, and tofu puffs. Who's afraid of who?"

Aunt Zhang laughed when she heard this.

"That's a nice thing to say."

Tieguai Li wrapped the old brine wire around the copper buckle. As soon as the salt crust touched the copper buckle, black smoke billowed out, and a muffled sound came from the corpse's throat.

Tang Wanqing used a copper coin to hold the end of the thread and handed it to Tong Kexin.

"When setting up the pot, don't wrap your hands around it."

Tong Kexin used the handle of a long spoon to hold the red thread and draped it over the edge of the braised pot.

The oil on the noodles shrank towards the center.

The compass in Zhou Banxian's hand spun around, the needle first touching the wellhead of Huguo Temple, then veering northward.

"It's connected."

As soon as the words were spoken, black water gushed from the puppet's throat, climbing up the copper buckle onto the old brine wire, softening the salt crust.

Tieguai Li cursed.

"It blocks the vocal cavity."

Cheng Xiaojin tapped the blue brick twice with the tip of his shoe.

"Don't let water fill your throat."

Tong Kexin didn't ask any more questions. She picked up a small iron ladle and scooped up a ladleful of boiling oil from the pot.

Just as Tang Wanqing was about to raise her hand, Tong Kexin pressed the red line with the handle of the spoon and poured the boiling oil down her throat along the side of the copper clasp.

The hot oil forced out the black liquid, and the stench instantly filled the street corner.

Han Shaobai held the enamel basin to his nose, choking and his eyes watering. A soft, rattling sound came from the brass clasp.

Cheng Xiaojin shut his mouth and turned his ear to the north.

The echo of the bronze plate's base pressing against the old bricks at the other end of Deshengmen reached my ears.

The three-legged plate has one short leg and the other leg supported by a piece of wood.

There is water under the plate, and there are cracks next to the water.

The sorcerer's hands gripped the edge of the plate, his rhythm already disrupted.

Shen Jiulou's footsteps are located three and a half steps east of the crack at the base of the Deshengmen city wall, next to the old archway.

Cheng Xiaojin opened her eyes.

"Brother Li, don't move the wire."

"Kexin, add more heat to the pot."

"Aunt Liu, Aunt Zhang, tell the neighbors to bang on the basin."

Aunt Liu slapped the pot lid onto her palm.

"What time should we knock?"

"Don't align them, the more chaotic the better, you can even curse them."

Aunt Zhang swung the rolling pin.

"I'm very familiar with this job."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Han Shaobai.

"Serve me a bowl of cornmeal porridge."

Han Shaobai ran to the stall, filled a half-bowl with porridge, and brought it back. The rim of the bowl was so hot that he had to switch hands twice to steady it.

Tang Wanqing stood in front of Cheng Xiaojin, preventing him from reaching out.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't answer either.

"Pour it over the edge of the pot, and follow the red line."

The porridge, mixed with the steam from the braising, clung to the red line along the edge of the pot, with wisps of steam rising upwards.

"Food for the living is too hot to serve; someone has to eat it."

Han Shaobai looked at the remaining half bowl and his face fell.

"Do we still need to eat?"

Tieguai Li urged him from the side.

"Only when you contribute both money and effort can your merits be considered complete."

Han Shaobai closed his eyes and took a bite. It was so hot that sweat beaded on his nose, but he stubbornly refused to spit it out.

The sound of pots and pans from the neighbors' basins began.

Pot lids, enamel basins, rolling pins, strainers—all the cheap gadgets on the street rattled together, making the lamplight tremble. Curses mingled with the steam of hot porridge, the aroma of braised meat, and the salty taste of old broth, all poured into the puppet's throat along the red thread and wire.

In Cheng Xiaojin's ears, the blood on the bronze plate at Deshengmen began to bubble.

The sorcerer's incantation broke rhythm.

Cheng Xiaojin made a virtual press from a distance.

"The wok's smokiness goes down the throat, the rice's steam presses down on the plate, put it back in his mouth."

Tong Kexin slammed the long spoon against the edge of the pot.

The sound, carrying with it the sounds of people and the smells of food from the entire street, flowed back into the culvert along the broken wire.

Inside the old house in Deshengmen, the copper plate hummed and spun around once, and the short leg at the bottom of the plate slid to the side by half a step.

The sorcerer lunged forward and pressed down on the edge of the plate, black blood seeping through his fingers.

The tea lid in Shen Jiulou's hand stopped in mid-air.

The next moment, a crack the size of a fingernail appeared on the bottom of the bronze plate, and black blood flowed along the crack, covering the tabletop.

On the Huguo Temple side, the copper buckle in the puppet corpse's throat snapped open, and the old iron wire dangled onto the blue bricks.

The red thread was burned half an inch black, but fortunately it didn't burn the edge of the pot.

Zhou Banxian's compass needle jumped off Deshengmen, circled around, and returned to Huguosi.

"The plate has a hole."

Tieguai Li slapped the broken-corner pliers behind his waist.

"How much did this trip cost?"

Han Shaobai held a half-bowl of porridge, his lips burning red from the heat.

"The porridge is on me, and the tofu puffs are on Sister Tong's."

Cheng Xiaojin patted the dust off his cuffs, but didn't touch the broken piece of wire.

"Shen Jiulou's plate won't be able to hold the blood tonight."

Tong Kexin stared at his bluish hand.

"How far could you hear it?"

Cheng Xiaojin pulled his ear back from the north, and his mouth became a little irritating again.

"I heard that the legs of his table are uneven."

Tang Wanqing looked down at the blackened parts of the red thread, where there were specks of yellow wax mixed in with the ash.

"There's something hidden in Shenmen's thread."

Just then, Mr. Ma called.

Cheng Xiaojin held the phone between his shoulder and pressed the answer button.

Master Ma spoke first.

"Xiao Jin, the ashtray isn't making any noise."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Master Ma added, "But the half of the vertical hook at the bottom of the jar has just been repaired by itself."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the wellhead of Huguo Temple, where the black water under the gray circle had shrunk by an inch.

On the other end of the phone, Mr. Ma paused for a moment before continuing.

"There's one more horizontal line."

Cheng Xiaojin's smile vanished completely.

The Cheng family's vertical hook is joined with a horizontal stroke.

That was the second code that Cheng Shouyi taught him twenty years ago.

"Don't open the door, first break people's hearts."

After Cheng Xiaojin finished reading those seven words, the half-burnt red thread at the entrance of Huguosi Street burned to the edge of the pot and fell into the ashes with a thud.

Tong Kexin used the spoon handle to pry open the thread. "What does this mean?"

"The code my dad taught me."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at his phone. "A vertical hook with a horizontal line means there's someone in front of the door; we can't force it open."

Han Shaobai, holding a half-bowl of cornmeal porridge, his lips still red, said, "Did you really intend to put it in the ashtray?"

Tieguai Li kicked the copper buckle that had popped off the back of the puppet corpse's neck into the ash basin. "Don't think about the butcher shop, Xiao Jin. Your father was talking about the human heart nail."

'

Cheng Xiaojin didn't answer; instead, Master Ma's voice came through the phone first.

"Come back first. The ashtray is temporarily sealed, but that horizontal stroke was too precise. It looks like someone is using the crack in the copper plate to pass a message out."

Zhou Banxian, clutching his compass, remarked, "Shen Jiulou's compass is faulty, but the ashtray is actually responding?"

"Only when there's a leak can there be a crack."

Cheng Xiaojin looked to the north. "He can't hear it over there; only the people inside can make it out."

Tong Kexin put the spoon back into the pot. "Who's inside?"

Cheng Xiaojin's lips moved, but he couldn't say anything.

Tang Wanqing looked at the back of his hand, "Don't rush to acknowledge him as your father."

Tong Kexin picked up a small jar of old soup and handed it to Tieguai Li, saying, "Take it back to Master Ma's courtyard, don't let him take it with his bare hands."

Cheng Xiaojin raised his arm. "My two hands are very valuable now, who would want to use them?"

"Are you willing to give it up?"

Tong Kexin looked at him and said, "You're the one who's most willing to ruin yourself."

The neighbors were still patching up the ash rings, while Old Li was shoveling black water with a strainer, cursing under his breath.

"What kind of day is this? Even selling tofu pudding requires guarding against corpses stealing the pots."

Aunt Zhang tapped the wooden board with a rolling pin, "Don't scatter, keep the window lights on, don't let the pot fire go out, whoever has more hot water, send it to the street corner."

""

As Cheng Xiaojingang was about to get into the car, a short, sharp cracking sound, like porcelain breaking, came from the north wind.

He stopped in his tracks.

Tang Wanqing's hand tightened immediately. "What are you listening to now?"

"Someone is throwing plates over at Deshengmen."

Cheng Xiaojin listened intently. "No, the blood from under the bronze plate has leaked onto the wooden table."

Han Shaobai shrank back. "Won't that guy surnamed Shen be furious?"

"Shen Jiulou isn't crazy."

Zhou Banxian tucked the compass into his robes. "The one who's crazy is the one working below."

Inside the old house in Deshengmen, a cracked bronze plate was held in the hands of a sorcerer, black blood dripping from between his fingers onto the table.

The opening at the bottom of the plate wasn't wide, but it soaked all three iron wires until they were completely soft.

Boss Lin stood by the door, his face even more unpleasant than the old white plaster on the wall.

"Master Shen, what about Huguo Temple—"

Shen Jiulou sat in the armchair, not touching the teacup again. The black blood on the table flowed to the foot of the cup, which he covered with the tea lid.

"explain."

The sorcerer knelt before the plate, his back soaked with sweat.

"They used the remaining threads from the puppet corpse to cook the food, and then used the steam from the living people's food to cook it. I never expected that people on that street would dare to do this."

The Southeast Asian ruler on the left put the copper ruler back into the box. "It's not that I dare not, it's just that the atmosphere in this city is too mixed. There's lard, stove ash, old soup, and street cursing all mixed in."

The sorcerer looked up and said, "Give me another plate, and I can put it back on."

Shen Jiulou used a teacup lid to brush away the black blood on the table. "You can't suppress it."

The sorcerer's Adam's apple bobbed. "Master Shen."

"We can no longer force our way through the waterway to Huguosi Street."

Shen Jiulou looked at the crack, "Cheng Xiaojin heard the cross-legged sitting posture, and the ashtray in Ma Wenchang's courtyard also woke up for a moment. Let's stop tonight."

The sorcerer's knees scraped against the blue bricks, making a sound. "Stop?"

Boss Lin glanced at him but didn't dare to interrupt.

Shen Jiulou said, "The copper plate is cracked, which means that what Cheng Shouyi left behind still recognizes BJ fireworks. If we try again, the result may not be Cheng Xiaojin."

The sorcerer lowered his head, and black blood dripped from his sleeve into the cracks between the bricks.

"Understood."

Shen Jiulou stood up and paused half a step as he passed by him.

"Don't touch the local new corpses."

The sorcerer hunched his shoulders.

Shen Jiulou led two rulers into the inner hall.

The wooden box in the corner of the courtyard still had its lid on, and the talisman paper was being pushed out by the fingernails inside, making a short sound.

As Mr. Lin stepped over the threshold, he glanced back.

The sorcerer remained kneeling, his head still, but his hand reached for the cracked bronze plate, smearing the remaining black blood into his palm.

After the door to the main room closed, he stood up. The aroma of braised food from Huguosi Temple wafted from the culvert outside the courtyard and lingered on the tip of his nose.

Salty soup.

He threw the cracked plate into the wooden basin, the plate making a dull thud.

The young apprentice, who was guarding the corridor, came over and said, "Master, Master Shen said to stop."

The sorcerer looked at the crack at the base of the city wall. "He said not to touch the new local corpses."

The young apprentice swallowed hard. "Then let's—"

"Looking for someone who just died."

The sorcerer smeared black blood on the copper needles, saying, "The resentment hasn't landed, so it can't be considered an old corpse."

Turn northwest from Huguosi Temple and go down two alleys. There is a dilapidated courtyard house with half of the gatehouse collapsed and only the trunks of the jujube trees in the courtyard remaining.

The window of the side room was screwed shut from the outside with wire, and half a chipped bowl was stuffed into the crack of the door.

Inside the house, Old Mrs. Wang lay on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), covered with a thin, moldy quilt, her lips chapped, and her eyes still open.

Inside the main room, the son, Wang Ergui, slammed a stack of banknotes on the table.

"Tomorrow I'll say that Mom passed away tonight, from illness. I'll talk to Old Liu in the neighborhood."

The daughter-in-law cracked sunflower seeds and said, "The house smelled terrible. We need to move it out quickly. It took half a month for the old man to die. He was really tough."

A seven- or eight-year-old boy was hugging his knees by the bedside. "Dad, my grandma is still hungry today."

Wang Ergui turned around and glared at him, "You misheard."

The daughter-in-law spat out the sunflower seed shells, saying, "Child, don't talk nonsense. The old lady has been paralyzed for two years; we've been more than kind to her."

A soft sound of fingernails hitting wood came from inside the side room door.

The little boy's face turned pale. "Grandma is still moving."

Wang Ergui grabbed a half-bowl of steamed buns and water from the table, walked to the door of the side room, and kicked it in through the crack in the door.

Hungry? Have a drink.

The bowl crashed to the ground, and the steamed bun liquid spilled onto Old Lady Wang's hand.

The withered finger moved half an inch, but couldn't reach it.

As she breathed her last, the jujube tree branch outside the window swayed.

When the sorcerer scaled the wall into the courtyard, the main house was still discussing the death certificate.

The young apprentice followed behind, carrying a black cloth bag. He glanced at the side room and his legs went weak.

"Master, the resentment in this house is rising from the roof beams."

"Good stuff."

The sorcerer used a copper needle to pry open the wire on the door.

As soon as the side room door opened, the smell of steamed buns mixed with the stench of death wafted out.

The apprentice covered his mouth and nose, and was kicked aside.

"If you don't like the smell, don't eat this rice."

He walked to the kang (a heated brick bed) and looked at Old Lady Wang's open eyes.

"They starved to death, their own son locked the door, and their own daughter-in-law brought them swill—that was enough."

The young apprentice opened the black cloth bag, inside which were iron wire, black oil, bone needles, and two thick male corpse arms dug up from a mass grave.

"Master, if Master Shen finds out—"

The sorcerer inserted a copper needle into Old Lady Wang's wrist bone, saying, "Once it tears open the pot at Huguo Temple, Master Shen will only ask me how many bodies I have left."

Iron wires were threaded through the limb bones, black oil covered the chest, and the male corpse's arms were sewn to the sides of his shoulders and back with bone needles.

The sorcerer chanted a Southeast Asian incantation, and copper needles fell one by one, causing the plaster on the side room walls to peel off.

Inside the main room, the daughter-in-law stopped eating sunflower seeds.

"Did you hear me?"

Wang Ergui stuffed the money into the tin box. "Rat."

"Can mice scratch at doors?"

The little boy shrank into the corner of the bed. "It's Grandma."

Wang Ergui grabbed a broom, "Say that again and I'll hit you."

Inside the side room, Old Lady Wang raised her neck, her six arms hanging down by the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), her fingernails digging into the wooden board.

The sorcerer threaded the last thick iron wire through the back of her neck, and caught the end of the wire in his own palm.

"Go to Huguo Temple."

The six-armed vengeful corpse did not move.

The sorcerer reeled in the threads. "Go."

Old Mrs. Wang turned her head towards the main room and squeezed out a dry, lifeless word.

"Hungry."

The sorcerer's expression changed. "Come back."

Six arms simultaneously grabbed the broken clay pot from the side of the kang (a heated brick bed), stuffing it into their mouths along with bits of moldy rice, the porcelain shards and teeth shattering together.

The apprentice stepped back to the door frame. "Master, it won't listen to the wire."

The sorcerer bit his tongue, spitting blood onto the end of the thread. "Beast, run!"

Outside the main room, the six-armed vengeful corpse had already lowered its head and crawled to the steps.

As soon as Wang Ergui opened the door, he bumped into the old lady's bruised face.

The tin box fell to the ground, scattering banknotes everywhere.

"mom?"

Old Mrs. Wang opened her mouth, and black blood and porcelain shards fell down.

"Hungry."

Screams ripped open the Huguo Temple in the middle of the night.

Outside Master Ma's courtyard, Cheng Xiaojingang washed the dust off his shoes, tilted his ear to the side, and his face darkened.

Tieguai Li was fixing the jaws of his pliers when he heard, "Again?"

Cheng Xiaojin threw the wet cloth into the basin, "This time the puppet corpse won't look for a pot."

Tang Wanqing picked up the medicine bag. "Where is it?"

"The dilapidated courtyard in the northwest of Huguo Temple."

Cheng Xiaojin turned and walked away, saying, "A living person has been bitten."