Chapter 1

Old Mr. Li is dead.

The news spread like a stone thrown into a pond, causing some ripples.

Old Mr. Li was a well-known figure in the area, not only because he was an old intellectual but also because of his stubborn and unyielding personality.

Many years ago, a developer had his eye on the village land, planning to build a high-end residential area. Other villagers gradually took the compensation and left, but Old Mr. Li refused to budge, no matter what. As one by one, magnificent buildings rose from the ground, Old Mr. Li's two-story villa stood like a nail in the middle.

Isn't this just asking for trouble?

But despite the developer's numerous attempts, the old man refused to move, leaving the developer in a state of frustration.

Now, with the old man's passing, the developer immediately reacted, bringing in an excavator and a group of "black suits" to take advantage of the situation.

The excavator drove onto the small embankment in front of the house, its heavy tires crushing the embankment, and the bucket was about to touch the brick wall.

Suddenly, a cacophony of gongs, drums, and suonas erupted, and a group of people in mourning attire charged in from the side.

The black suits were about to intervene, but a few mourners threw strings of firecrackers from a distance, and the explosions sent the black suits into a frenzy.

Taking advantage of the chaos, a few strong and robust men carried a large wooden coffin, which was not yet covered, and placed it in front of the bucket. Inside, Old Mr. Li lay stiffly, looking much more peaceful than in life.

The firecrackers, which were of poor quality, stopped after a few explosions, but even so, the black suits were in a sorry state. Even the developer, who was standing far away, suffered, as a firecracker flew over and landed on his shiny, oiled head, changing his hairstyle with a "bang."

The developer's face turned black, and the leader of the black suits, without bothering to count the holes in his clothes, quickly pulled open his collar, revealing his well-developed chest muscles and tattoos, and shouted, "Your father..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

"Father!"

A few women with loud voices had already taken the lead.

Then, a cacophony of other voices joined in, "Heaven is blind! Your body is not even cold, and scoundrels are already bullying your descendants and tearing down your house!"

After this round of chorus, the women and children gathered inside, crying and throwing paper money into the sky.

The young and strong men stood guard outside, brandishing steel pipes, machetes, shovel handles, and table legs...

"Spit!" The leader of the black suits spat on the ground. Since he entered this line of work, he had seen everything. A few broken sticks and blades couldn't scare him. He had always been the one to throw feces at others' doors; who would dare throw firecrackers at him?

It's unreasonable!

The black leader was about to give these "filial sons" a good lesson, but one of his subordinates quickly held him back.

"What are you doing?"

"Boss," the subordinate pointed to the crowd with a panicked look.

The black leader looked closely and saw a few young men hiding in the crowd, holding homemade shotguns.

"Boss."

The black leader turned to the developer and said, "Don't bother with these troublemakers; it's bad luck!"

...

Although one side was protecting the house and the other was demolishing it, both were ultimately seeking profit.

The two sides quickly agreed on a specific amount. The developer, fearing future complications, had cash brought from the bank. The Li family, on their part, didn't hesitate and started dividing the money on the spot.

You take a bit, I take a bit, and by the time it reached Chang'an's hands, there were only a few crumpled bills left.

The uncle who was dividing the money looked a bit embarrassed, and the aunt holding a child quickly said, "Chang'an, don't mind the small amount; we're dividing it based on the number of people."

Oh, that's why you even brought your niece from your hometown.

Chang'an smiled but didn't say anything.

He had lost his father at a young age, and although his grandfather, Old Mr. Li, had raised him, his daily expenses were mostly covered by his uncles and aunts. Therefore, he never intended to compete with his relatives for anything.

"No need."

Chang'an pushed the money back.

"I'll just pick some things from the house later."

"Alright!" The aunt snatched the money, stuffed it into her pocket, and looked pleased.

The valuable items in the house had already been moved.

...

"One, two, three, lift!"

A few uncles in their prime shouted in unison and lifted the coffin.

A group of people in mourning attire charged in, carrying pots, pans, tables, and chairs, and then charged back.

Chang'an, walking among the satisfied and smiling people, turned back.

Amid the roar of the excavator, the small building that held many of his memories collapsed into a pile of rubble, and with it, his last bit of attachment to the land.

"Let it be, let's go back!"

...

That night, the banquet in front of the memorial hall had just ended.

The older ones called their friends to play mahjong, while the younger ones gathered to play with their phones and watch TV.

Chang'an was alone in a bedroom, holding an old, bound book.

This was one of the small items he had brought from his grandfather's house, mostly worthless, but he kept it as a memento.

But this book was different. Chang'an chose it from the house because he had no memory of it.

He grew up in that house, and every corner and every item was familiar. When Chang'an found the book, it was lying quietly in the bookshelf, covered in dust like the other items, but he had no recollection of it.

This puzzled Chang'an, and he carefully examined the book.

The cover was a hard, yellow leather, with a layer of dust on it. The pages inside were yellowed, and the binding was irregular, as if the holes were drilled by hand and the coarse hemp thread was used to bind it.

Chang'an opened the first page.

It was filled with small characters, two characters per group, covering the entire page. However, the ink had faded due to age.

Chang'an turned up the light and carefully read each character.

"Passage to the Netherworld, Driving Away Spirits, Carrying Mountains, Controlling Water, Borrowing Wind, Spreading Fog, Praying for Clear Skies, Praying for Rain..."

"Isn't this the Daoist 72 Earthly Techniques?"

The 72 Earthly Techniques, or more famously known as the 72 Transformations, are part of the Daoist art of transformation. These techniques are not just about changing men into women or humans into sheep but involve the power to transform all things, such as summoning clouds and rain, moving mountains and boiling seas, and even swapping the sky and the earth, considered the foundation of all Daoist arts.

Realizing what the book contained, Chang'an stopped reading and flipped to the second page, which had a drawing of a hideous and fierce demon.

"Could this be a book of demon illustrations?"

Chang'an flipped through the subsequent pages and was surprised to find them all blank.

"This is really strange..."

Chang'an shook his head and was about to close the book.

Suddenly, as his eyes left the page, a buzzing sound filled his ears, and his mind became hazy.

He felt dizzy and disoriented, and everything in his field of vision began to distort. Colors blended and mixed, making him feel suffocated. Various voices filled his ears, indistinct and incomprehensible, with different accents. It was as if a gong had been struck, and Peking opera, bangzi, Huangmei, and flower drum music all started at once, making Chang'an's stomach churn.

Just as he was about to lose it, everything in his vision and hearing suddenly cleared. He quickly grabbed the table and took deep breaths, finally regaining his composure... Wait, a table? Wasn't I just lying in bed? Where did this table come from? He suddenly lifted his head and was stunned... My God, where am I?

Chang'an found himself in a small, shabby house. The walls were rough and yellowish, with the faint outline of bamboo strips visible, indicating that they were made of a mixture of bamboo, straw, and mud.

Looking up, he saw a roof made of logs, with most of the tiles missing, allowing the cold moonlight to shine down, leaving Chang'an bewildered.

"Could it be?"

He muttered to himself, lowering his head.

The moonlight fell on the demon illustration in the book, and the lines seemed to come alive, making the image even more vivid, as if it were about to jump out of the book and attack.

Chang'an was stunned.