Studying and Slaying Spirits in Daliang

“Erlang, it's time for your medicine.”

In a room adorned with ancient charm, a lovely young lady held a bowl of medicinal soup, spooning it gently into the mouth of a handsome young man. He leaned half his body against her, his gaze vacant and listless; even the medicine fed to him slipped from the corner of his lips.

“Erlang, why won't you take your medicine again? Are you disgusted by Man-niang?”

The young lady’s radiant smile suddenly turned cold as frost. With a sharp toss, she threw the spoon aside, grasped the young man's chin to force his mouth open, and poured the steaming medicine down his throat in one swift motion.

“That’s how you behave.”

After she had finished, she smiled sweetly once more, taking out a handkerchief to carefully wipe his lips.

“Someone, bring Erlang's chair over.”

Having done all this, she stood and turned to face the room.

“Yes,” a young maid replied, quickly turning to leave.

Just then, the young man lying motionless on the bed blinked rapidly, pain flickering in his eyes. But when the young lady glanced back at him, his gaze returned to its former emptiness, as though nothing had happened.

“Erlang, today is the fifteenth. It’s time to go to the ancestral hall in the rear courtyard for incense.”

As she spoke, she walked gracefully to the dressing table and sat, reaching for a comb as if to groom her hair.

“Man-niang has long heard that Erlang’s ancestor, Xu Jiugé, was once a disciple of the Sacred Ancestor, able to compose awe-inspiring poetry like