Chapter 42: The Wild Star Lord

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It didn’t matter that it wasn’t that Lanruo Temple. Lanruo Temple held no particular significance for Shen Shi; if it wasn’t, so be it.

But while Shen Shi was content to leave it at that, Gongsun Ce and the others couldn’t help themselves—because it sounded so wonderful.

“Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio” was written during the Qing Dynasty, and when it was published, it caused a sensation. The reason was simple: it was brilliant.

Even Ji Xiaolan said, “I cannot match even a tenth of Liu Xian’s talent.”

“Brother Gongsun, didn’t you say you weren’t fond of listening?”

“The road is dull; a good story helps pass the time.”

Scholars are never honest. They desperately want to hear it, but act lofty and disdainful as if it’s beneath them.

Shen Shi had long noticed how popular tales of immortals and monsters were in this era. Whether it was Cao You or Gongsun Ce and his companions, all were passionate listeners. This was no surprise—the emperor himself loved them, so naturally everyone else followed suit.

Unable to resist their urging, Shen Shi began to tell the story of “A Chinese Ghost Story” from the beginning. It was famous, it had plot, and most importantly—

Just from its name, “A Chinese Ghost Story,” one could tell it was the classic trilogy from old Hong Kong cinema.

As for Master Pu’s original text? Sorry, he hadn’t read it.

“Splendid! Excellent! The argument is pure, emotions are measured, and reasoning cannot be refuted. Like a famous scholar lecturing, like an old monk discussing Zen, like a village elder reciting moral tales—delightful and beneficial to mind and body, a warning to the foolish. When it touches upon loyalty, filial piety, integrity, and righteousness, it brings tears and awakens the heart—surely a book relevant to the world’s teachings.”

Yet even as they listened, Gongsun Ce and Kong Xueli found themselves unsatisfied; they took out paper and brush, writing it all down, even adding commentary as they went.

Shen Shi was left bewildered.

Loyalty, filial piety, integrity, righteousness...

He didn’t read much, but surely, he thought, they were making this up. Yan Chixia resigned from office, the corrupt official in Jinhua County... Where was the loyalty?

He’d seen the film version of “A Chinese Ghost Story,” and apart from the actress’s fair legs, he recalled nothing about loyalty, filial piety, or righteousness.

“Alas! The only flaw is that you, dear brother, recited it entirely in plain speech, devoid of literary elegance. Such a pity for such a fine tale…”

Shen Shi was left speechless. He thought to himself: Are you even capable of conversation? I have a phrase—MMP—I really don’t know if I should say it or not. When words fail, silence is better.

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Faced with someone who constantly disparaged his literary style and flaunted his superiority, Shen Shi hadn’t resorted to his fists—testament to his self-restraint. And besides, wasn’t he just a child scholar?

How could people change so much?

“This scoundrel! He’s absolutely the corrupt magistrate’s wily advisor in ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’!”

Shen Shi unleashed his own Grand Curse Technique.

Jinhua County, “A Chinese Ghost Story,” and the advisor’s nitpicking attitude—it was no wonder Shen Shi cursed him so fiercely.

But the Grand Curse Technique wasn’t so easy to master.

If the posture was wrong, the curse would instantly turn into a blessing.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Their conversation had grown lively, drawing the attention of a famous figure with a face as dark as ebony and a crescent moon on his cap—Bao Zheng.

Of course, if there were another man in the Song Dynasty who looked like this, then Shen Shi would say nothing.

But there they were, chatting in a pavilion, telling ghost stories. Suddenly, they looked up and—wow—a face like black charcoal, a crescent moon atop his head. Astonishing, wasn’t it? A little chilling, too.

Let me tell you, this was only the Song Dynasty. If it were after the Song, people would ask if they’d died and arrived at the Hall of Yama.

“My apologies, gentlemen, if I startled you,” said Bao, seeing Shen Shi’s shocked expression.

“No, nothing at all,” Shen Shi replied casually, though his mind was pounding. Bao Zheng! Bao, the Black Judge! Wasn’t he the Prefect of Kaifeng? Why was he in Jinhua?

Shen Shi was deeply unsettled, unaware that he himself had caused this butterfly effect. While Cao You had presented the auspicious toilet and told Shen Shi’s story, even if the Zhao family needed a grand justification, the emperor wouldn’t believe just anyone claiming to be a cultivator. The emperor would always send someone to investigate.

And so, half a year ago, having just returned from a diplomatic mission to Liao and barely settled in, Bao Zheng took up the post—administrator of Jinhua County.

Eyes wide open...

Shen Shi’s gaze sharpened, subtitles appeared in his mind: “Impartial and incorruptible, famed throughout the land, crescent moon atop his head—judge of the living by day, the dead by night…”

And the crescent moon on his head shone with extraordinary lunar brilliance, starlight even, clearly the reincarnation of a Star Lord.

By now, Shen Shi understood exactly who Gongsun Ce was.

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A lifelong companion, a true friend! And as for the four men beside Bao—they could only be Zhang Long, Zhao Hu, Wang Chao, and Ma Han.

Not long ago, Shen Shi had encountered a wild immortal in Cao You, and now a reincarnated Star Lord had appeared. What was happening to this world? First Old Bao the Star Lord, then Song Jiang the Star Lord. Did heaven have a particular fondness for black-headed judges?

Shen Shi mused on the reversal between unlucky and lucky souls, while Gongsun Ce—a true friend—was bursting with camaraderie at their first meeting. As soon as the Star Lord arrived, his own supporting star position gleamed brightly, and their conversation was lively.

What is a lifelong companion, a true friend? The two of them embodied it.

The moment they met, such enthusiasm! Shen Shi believed, if he weren’t present, the two would gladly demonstrate sleeping foot-to-foot right there.

“Excellent! What a story! Though similar to others in the genre—tales of immortals, fox spirits, ghosts, and monsters—it is distinguished by its detailed narrative, orderly structure, and legendary style applied to the supernatural. The transformations are vivid, as if seen firsthand; sometimes the tone shifts, recounting strange people and actions, emerging from illusion and entering the mortal world; even the incidental anecdotes are concise, refreshing the reader’s mind and senses. Most supernatural tales are brief and often absurd, yet this one excels in its thoroughness, presenting the extraordinary as ordinary, making flower demons and fox spirits seem human, amiable and approachable, forgetting their otherness, though at times their actions reveal their true nature.”

“Only a shame that the prose falls short; it lacks beauty, making it unfit for the collection of court entertainment.” (Entertainment: another task of Bao, the unlucky judge—collecting folklore and stories for the Zhao emperor.)

What do scholars discuss with scholars? Naturally, literature. And Shen Shi—who could not write classical Chinese—was the obvious target.

Thus, these two lifelong companions met thanks to Shen Shi’s “A Chinese Ghost Story,” and proceeded to disparage his literary skill.

“My lord, this work was not written by me, but by this esteemed brother, Shen Shi.”

Honest as always, Gongsun Ce had no intention of taking credit for Shen Shi’s supernatural tale. He sold Shen Shi out completely on the spot.

Shen Shi stared, eyes wide, fixed on the scoundrel in front of him—an unscrupulous, cowardly villain.

He saw clearly with both eyes: Gongsun Ce and Kong Xueli listened to his story, wrote it down with brush and paper…

Then, in a turn, this fellow claimed he hadn’t written it!

He knew they were lifelong companions, eager to impress at their first meeting, but was it necessary to shower everyone with so much public affection?