Chapter 2: Lu Ban Master

As the rolling door slowly lifted, I saw a young guy standing outside through the glass door.

He looked about my age, at least six feet tall, neither skinny nor bulky, wearing a pair of black suit trousers and a black shirt. Under the glow of the streetlamps, he didn’t look much different from those wandering ghosts.

If not for the huge backpack strapped to his shoulders—something ghosts typically don’t carry—I might have taken him for a spirit and tried to deal with him accordingly.

His hair was cropped short, his skin very fair, his features almost too finely drawn. But the look in his eyes when he sized me up was filled with unconcealed contempt.

With a cigarette still dangling from my mouth, I stared back at him, annoyed by his gaze. So I spoke lazily through the glass door: “Who are you? Knocking around in the dead of night like this.”

He slipped the backpack off his shoulders and set it down, then raised his wrist. A red cord hung there, strung with three small copper coins. He smiled. “A Daoist from the Chen family. Ever heard of us?”

At the sight of those three spirit coins, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, and even my Judge’s Brush—which shares my bloodline—began to radiate a subtle warmth.

Holy crap. The Chen family! So they really exist!

My father had told me that the Chen family and our Lin family had been old friends for generations, going back hundreds of years.

He said that our two families both belonged to the Qingxiao Sect, and that our ancestors had been fellow disciples under the same master. The Qingxiao Sect is rather unusual: it never established a physical temple or headquarters, and each generation only takes on one student. When a master teaches an apprentice, he typically stays in that apprentice’s home, devoting himself to instruction. The apprentice, in return, provides food and lodging. After the training ends, the master departs, leaving the apprentice to live as he pleases—marry and start a family, or wander the land subduing demons. The Sect’s founder believed that Daoists are free to take wives and have children. In his words: “If every cultivator refused to marry and reproduce, humanity would die out.”

Anyway, that’s the gist of it.

Our family and the Chen family were exceptions. Once upon a time, our ancestors’ master was traveling and bumped into the Lin and Chen ancestors playing together. The old master immediately saw promise in those two kids, each bright in his own way. Not knowing which child to choose, he tested them with talisman paper and three spirit coins. One child had to learn how to draw talismans, the other to chant incantations. Turned out that the Lin ancestor picked up talisman-drawing instantly but fumbled incantations, while the Chen ancestor could chant flawlessly but couldn’t draw a proper talisman to save his life.

The master couldn’t bear to give up on either. Feeling the Qingxiao Sect was too small and that strict tradition no longer served a purpose, he made a bold decision to break the old rules and take both kids in.

Standing there looking at this guy now, I could hardly believe what my dad had told me was true: that the Chen family still existed.

“You’re a Daoist from the Chen family?” I stubbed out my cigarette in surprise. “The same Chen family that’s been friends with us Lin folk for generations?”

He flicked his wrist again, letting the sleeve of his black shirt slip back to reveal those three copper coins. “Three Spirit Coins as proof. Could I fake these?”

Seeing that, I broke into a grin. I didn’t care anymore about the disdain in his eyes; I hastily opened the glass door. Grabbing his backpack for him, I said, “Man, am I glad you’re here. My father told me on his deathbed that if I ever ran into someone from the Chen family, I wouldn’t need to worry about my predicament. Back then, I thought he was just making stuff up. Didn’t expect it to be true.”

He paused. “Uncle Lin… he’s gone?”

I stopped short, holding the bag. “Yeah, he died more than two years ago. If you hadn’t shown up, I might be joining him soon.”

He said nothing, just gave me a quick once-over and followed me upstairs.

Once we were up there, he finally spoke. “No wonder you’re covered in the aura of death. Clearly your luck is dangerously low. You really can’t see karma at all?”

I set down his bag and answered, “Nope. If I wipe out the wrong ghost or send the wrong one on its way, I’ll definitely die. And if I just sit here doing nothing, my luck drains by the day anyway. Living itself chips away at what’s left of my fortune.”

I offered him a cigarette. He took it and lit up. Glancing at the window and walls—crowded with ghastly faces—he inhaled deeply. “All right, let’s raise your luck a bit tonight. This batch of wraiths should buy you at least ten days, maybe half a month of peace.”

I grinned widely. “Thanks a ton, man!”

“No need. I’ll be needing your help soon enough. Question is, is your talisman-drawing skill any good?”

Damn—another jab.

“Don’t worry. Let’s just say my skills are definitely more impressive than your pretty-boy face.” I reached under my pillow and pulled out a small jade box. Opening it revealed a metal writing brush resting quietly inside.

This brush stood out for sure. Its black-and-red shaft was carved with a scene called the “Judge Over Ghosts,” which gave it a strange but solemn aura. There was, however, a thin crack around the end of the shaft, secured with a strip of cloth tape.

“This is the Lin family’s Judge’s Brush?” He leaned closer. “Why is there a crack? And what’s with the tape?”

I held it carefully, running my fingers over it. With a bitter smile, I replied, “Because my father once misjudged a person, costing him his life. The Judge’s Brush was punished along with him—struck by heavenly lightning and split open.”

At those words, the Brush quivered slightly, as though echoing a sorrow of its own.

He watched for a moment, then dropped the subject. After finishing his cigarette, he flicked it to the floor and crushed it beneath his heel. “Let’s do this.”

He raised his wrist again, and I saw the Three Spirit Coins tremble. A thread of black light flickered across them, instantly followed by countless crimson beams shooting out in all directions like a flurry of red cords, latching onto the wandering ghosts around us.

“Destroy!” His voice was curt but brimming with authority. Oddly enough, I understood his meaning right away. I quickly channeled my spiritual energy. The Judge’s Brush began to glow with starlike radiance, releasing a faint yellowish aura from its tip, delicate as silk spun by a golden silkworm.

Seeing me ready, he moved his wrist once more. The red cords snapped back, dragging the evil ghosts straight toward us.

I froze for a second. Damn, he’s like Lu Ban—hauling them in so handily.

But even if my mind drifted, my hands didn’t. I poured energy into the brush, and the tip flared brilliantly. One after another, fine golden threads coiled and writhed in midair. In a blink, they took shape as streaks of talismanic light, blasting into the onrushing ghosts.

It sounds complicated, but all of it happened in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, dozens of ghosts vanished without a trace.

Wiping out that many in one go made me feel noticeably lighter, as though my body had been pulled back from the edge of death.

Maybe you’re curious why I was convinced he was from the Chen family just because the Judge’s Brush reacted to him. The explanation is simple: the Three Spirit Coins and the Judge’s Brush aren’t ordinary tools. Legend says our Qingxiao Sect’s founder traded thirty years of his life to petition the Three Pure Ones in the heavenly realm. Supposedly, the Supreme Lord Laozi himself forged these artifacts. My father told me about the Three Spirit Coins—that they’re smaller than typical copper coins, only about the size of a thumbnail, dull black in color, and soothing to behold. Only a true Chen family descendant can wear them. More importantly, they and my Judge’s Brush share the same source: some divine metal. And since the Brush is tied to my bloodline, as soon as the Three Spirit Coins appeared, the Brush felt an excitement it hadn’t shown in ages.

These coins can’t be faked. So if they’re real, then the person carrying them must be from the Chen family.

“Send them on.” He pulled back another cluster with his crimson cords, and I fired off another round of talismans. The ghosts vanished again.

After three or four waves, I saw him preparing his Three Spirit Coins once more. I said, “Lu Ban Master, doesn’t that big move of yours have a cooldown?”

He shot me a glare. “A cooldown for what, exactly? Could you maybe stop with the nonsense? My name’s Chen Tutu. Now quit slacking and keep at it.”

Chen Tutu?

He had a sharp, handsome face, but at the sound of that name, my gaze drifted to his ears—half-expecting him to wiggle them and say, “Heh heh, check out my wiggling ears technique…”

I felt a laugh rising in my throat, but I swallowed it again, thinking it might be impolite.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on it anyway. Another wave of malevolent ghosts was closing in...

Suddenly, I realized something was off about this batch of ghosts.