Chapter One: The Lady Prince Consort

In 1988, my father went to Long City in Fujian Province to mine coal. There was a gas explosion. His body was never found, and the boss disappeared. At the time, my brother was in his final year of high school, and I was in fifth grade. Our mother had remarried years ago. Life plunged into utter hardship.

We banged our heads until they bled, enduring the scorn and humiliation of relatives and neighbors, yet we couldn’t borrow enough for a coffin or a grave marker. My brother resolutely dropped out of school and went to Guangdong to work.

Before he left, he gripped my shoulders, his eyes bloodshot. "Meng Xun, study hard. I’ll support you all the way to a doctorate!"

Rumor had it he joined a tomb-raiding gang and became their chief cook. A few years later, our house had not only been renovated but also boasted the first Santana car in the whole area. And for the first time in years, the house once again had a woman’s touch—my brother brought home his wife.

I will never forget the moment she stepped out of the car at the village entrance. Her hair was in soft waves, she wore a pale pink blouse and flared jeans. The sunset shone gently across a face reminiscent of a Hong Kong movie star, Zhang Min. All the men, young and old, were spellbound by her charming dimples.

She gently tousled my hair, her laughter as clear as an oriole’s song. "My name is Liao Xiaoqin. I’ll look after you from now on."

Like wind over blue duckweed, life on the fringes is full of ups and downs.

When I was in my third year of middle school, I cured meats in advance for the New Year, waiting for my brother and sister-in-law to come home as usual. But only she returned.

My brother had been set up, trapped in a tomb pit. His death was gruesome—his body used to serve a coffin, blood staining the entire burial chamber. My sister-in-law escaped by a hair’s breadth and returned to the village to hide from disaster.

The day after she got home, she couldn’t get up, her legs gravely injured, paralyzed in bed. I didn’t cry, just gritted my teeth and asked her, "Who did this?"

She lit a woman’s cigarette, smoking in silence, her face as calm as still water. "Your brother wanted you to study well."

She would say no more. I stopped asking and went to find Granny Three, our neighbor. Since my sister-in-law couldn’t move, I had to pay Granny Three to help her to the toilet and change her clothes.

Meanwhile, I went to school during the day. After class, I sought out doctors, folk remedies, and even shamans, hoping to heal her legs. In just over two months, all the money my brother had left was gone. Results were negligible.

A widow and her nephew alone, rumors spread through the village: Liao Xiaoqin was keeping her brother-in-law, and there were passionate cries from our house at night.

Though young, I was not to be trifled with. Whenever someone said such things, I’d sit on their doorstep all night with a sharp hatchet, silent and pretending to nap. The gossip quickly died away.

On New Year’s Eve, incense smoke curled and firecrackers thundered. I poured my sister-in-law a cup of wine and brought her a bowl of eight-treasure rice covered in savory toppings, wishing her peace and good fortune.

She tipped her head back and drained the wine, but then flung the rice at me, her beautiful face brimming with disappointment.

"Not only did you drop out of school, you’ve been secretly studying your brother’s feng shui books?!"

I silently brushed the food from my clothes, replying coldly, "I need to avenge him before I’m worthy of honoring his spirit!"

On the second of February, the day the dragon raises its head, a chubby man came to the village digging for old relics. Perched on his shoulder was a small monkey, golden-furred, red-eyed, the size of a fist, dressed in a red vest, its antics drawing a crowd.

I was engrossed in my feng shui books, uninterested.

That night, the fat man crept into our house with the monkey, his smile both enthusiastic and sleazy. "Kid, got any antiques at home?"

"No."

"Don’t lie."

The monkey leapt from his shoulder, darted into the back room, and came out clutching a blue-and-white porcelain teapot. My brother had brought it back—a genuine haunted object—hidden away with utmost secrecy. I was stunned by the monkey’s ability.

Only later did I learn it was a feng shui monkey, kept by those in the trade—capable of finding dragon veins, locating tombs, unearthing treasures, and warning of danger, rivaling any veteran tomb raider.

The fat man’s eyes gleamed with cunning as he picked up the teapot. "Well, well! Such a treasure hidden in the sticks. Let’s see what else is here!"

He pushed open the west room’s door, thinking no one was around. It was my sister-in-law’s room. I had already picked up my hatchet.

The door swung open, and she sat in her wheelchair, smiling, her eyes alluring, crooking a finger at him. "Wu Lao’er—down to digging up dirt now, are you?"

"Lady Groom?!" The fat man’s face changed, pupils contracting. He turned to run.

Bang!

I’ll never know how she did it, but suddenly her left hand flashed with an iron fan, from which a hook shot out, dragging the fat man back. Her right hand jabbed at him viciously—he clutched his chest, staggered back several steps, blood oozing from his lips and his eyes bulging. His two-hundred-pound body crashed to the ground, motionless, his head lolling to the side.

The monkey bolted out the door in terror. I swung my hatchet down on it. It let out a piercing shriek, blood spraying, and collapsed in a pool of red.

In a daze, I checked Wu Lao’er’s breathing—he was dead.

My brother had once said that many of those who roamed the underworld had lethal skills to protect themselves. I never imagined my sister-in-law could be so ruthless.

You can never imagine the terror and dread that fills a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy when he witnesses someone being killed right in front of him.

Almost by instinct, I hoisted my sister-in-law onto my back and fled into the night. I don’t know how long I ran, but behind me she laughed and laughed, as if she were riding a galloping steed.

Exhausted and angry, I dumped her down, fixing her with a cold stare. She brushed off the dried grass from her clothes with an elegant hand.

"Smart, decisive, loyal—not inferior to your brother."

"You killed someone!"

"You killed the monkey!"

"The monkey doesn’t matter!"

"If you’re afraid of trouble, you can forget about avenging your brother!"

She lifted her radiant chin, her beautiful face full of wild defiance.

I fell silent, snatching her cigarette and lighting it. It was my first time smoking. I choked and coughed, my eyes hot and red.

She lit one too, blowing out perfect smoke rings.

"Wu Lao’er isn’t dead, just winded."

"You have two choices. First: seek out dragon veins and plunge into the underworld—what I do is not what you imagine. You can turn back and go to school. Second: be my legs, walk this road with me, become a dragon of the underworld, seal the gates of death—only then do you have a chance to avenge your brother!"

Go back?

Mother left us when we were young. Father was always away working. My brother was like both brother and father to me, like a bandage staunching the wound from the days we had to beg our relatives on our knees. Now, the bandage had been ripped away, and the blood was flowing again.

With wounds on your head, you cannot look up and smile at the world. With hatred in your heart, you cannot bask in the sun or enjoy the rain. There was no turning back.

I flicked my cigarette butt to the ground and ground it out, then hoisted her onto my back once more.

I never expected that from that moment on, I would carry the weight of a blood-soaked, stormy life.

She had come to the village to hide from disaster, but now that her identity was blown, we had to leave at once. I carried her across rivers and mountains, by bus and train, through villages and cities, until we finally settled in a rented room on the outskirts of Chang City, hundreds of kilometers away.

"I’m going out for breakfast."

"Meng Xun!"

"Take your time getting to the bathroom; it’s not like you’re completely immobile."

She bit her hairband with her teeth, gathering her hair up, and smiled radiantly.

"Let’s get properly acquainted. Liao Xiaoqin, thirteenth-generation heir to the Yin-Yang Walkers. Others call me Ghost-Eyed Qin, Lady Groom, Iron Fan Princess. I’m not actually your sister-in-law, but I’ll always have your back!"