Lin'an, the Southern Song capital, glittered under the autumn sun. Its canals reflected the willow-lined banks and the bustling traffic of pleasure boats and cargo barges. In the market districts near the Imperial Way, the air was thick with the scent of roasting meats, fragrant teas, expensive silks, and the murmur of a thousand transactions. Wealth flowed through Lin'an like the Qiantang River itself, and few families embodied this prosperity more visibly than that of Merchant Guo Feng.

  Guo Feng’s success in the southern trade routes – dealing in everything from rare woods to exotic birds – had bought him a sprawling mansion in the city's affluent eastern quarter. But more than mere wealth, Guo Feng craved status, the kind that elicited envious whispers and secured invitations to the most exclusive gatherings. His chosen avenue for displaying this status was through feasts of legendary extravagance. His banquets were renowned not just for the quality of the food, but for its sheer, overwhelming abundance. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted pigs, mountains of delicate pastries, rare seafood delicacies piled high, and rivers of fine wine. To be invited to Guo Feng’s table was a mark of favour, a testament to his influence.

  Recently, Guo Feng had acquired a new centrepiece for his displays of conspicuous consumption: an ancient bronze ding, a ritual cauldron of archaic design. He claimed it dated back to the Shang or Zhou dynasty, purchased for a small fortune from a shadowy dealer who hinted at its discovery in a disturbed tomb. Heavy, three-legged, and covered in intricate, barely decipherable carvings depicting monstrous faces and swirling patterns, the ding possessed a somber, imposing presence. Guo Feng intended to use it not for ritual, but as a magnificent serving vessel during his feasts, imagining the awe it would inspire.

  His timid wife, Madam Lan, found the cauldron unsettling, its dark bronze seeming to absorb the light, its carved faces appearing to writhe in the flickering lamplight. His eldest son, Guo Liang, ambitious and eager to inherit the family business, saw only another tool for enhancing their prestige. But it was Uncle Fu, the family’s elderly, loyal steward who had served them for decades, who first felt the wrongness seep into the household, like a subtle poison tainting the rich fare.

  It began shortly after the ding arrived and was proudly displayed in the main hall before being integrated into the feasting preparations. Food started disappearing from the kitchens and larders at an alarming rate – not just choice cuts, but entire sacks of rice, jars of preserved vegetables, quantities far exceeding petty theft by servants. Then came the unsettling reports from guests after the first banquet where the ding, filled with a steaming, fragrant stew, took pride of place. They spoke of leaving the feast feeling strangely… unsatisfied, despite having gorged themselves. A gnawing emptiness lingered, a hunger that water or simple snacks couldn't quell, fading only after a day or two.

  More disturbing were the changes in Guo Feng himself. Always a man who enjoyed his food, his appetite now escalated into something voracious, almost grotesque. He devoured immense quantities at every meal, tearing at meat with his teeth, stuffing his mouth, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. His table manners, never refined, disintegrated entirely. He grew irritable, impatient, prone to sudden, terrifying bursts of rage, especially if his meals were delayed or deemed insufficient. He began spending hours simply staring at the bronze ding in the main hall, tracing its monstrous carvings with a thick finger, a low growl sometimes rumbling in his chest.

  Livestock in the mansion’s small paddock began vanishing overnight – chickens, ducks, even a goat – leaving behind only a few drops of blood and an unsettling stillness. Uncle Fu, his heart heavy with dread, noticed the subtle physical changes in his master: Guo Feng’s teeth seemed sharper, his fingernails thicker, his eyes, when caught in certain lights, held a disturbing, non-human glint. The steward confided his fears in Guo Liang, but the young man, caught between ambition and filial duty, dismissed them as the anxieties of old age, though his own unease was palpable. Madam Lan retreated further into herself, her prayers growing longer, her face etched with fear she dared not voice.

  Knowing the family was blinding itself, Uncle Fu took a desperate step. He had heard rumours circulating among the city’s undercurrents – tales of a wandering Taoist priest, Xuanzhen, known for his ability to perceive and address afflictions that lay beyond the ken of physicians or magistrates. Through discreet inquiries, he located Xuanzhen at a modest temple outside the city walls and, under the guise of seeking blessings for the household, poured out his fears.

  Xuanzhen listened patiently, his calm demeanor a soothing balm to the old steward’s terror. He heard the details – the insatiable hunger, the disappearing food and animals, the master's changing behaviour, and the arrival of the ancient bronze ding. The cauldron immediately struck him as significant. Ancient vessels, especially those potentially linked to tombs or forgotten rituals, could retain potent energies or even act as anchors for entities drawn to specific human emotions.

  Agreeing to investigate, Xuanzhen arrived at the Guo mansion presenting himself as a scholar researching ancient bronzes, a plausible pretext that Guo Feng, flattered by the interest in his acquisition, readily accepted. Xuanzhen was ushered into the opulent main hall, where the ding stood on a heavy rosewood pedestal.

  The moment Xuanzhen’s senses reached towards the cauldron, he felt it – a powerful, stagnant qi, cold and intensely focused. It pulsed with a primal, consuming hunger, an energy signature utterly alien yet disturbingly resonant with the mansion’s atmosphere of excessive consumption. The carvings seemed to writhe not just in the light, but in his spiritual perception, imbued with a latent, predatory consciousness. He noted the fear that flickered behind the servants’ eyes, the strained formality of Madam Lan, the forced heartiness of Guo Liang, and the almost palpable aura of gluttonous obsession radiating from Guo Feng himself.

  During his initial stay, Xuanzhen observed Guo Feng at mealtime. The display was even more unsettling than Uncle Fu had described. Guo Feng ate with a frantic, desperate energy, ignoring conversation, his focus solely on the food, his chewing loud, his throat working constantly. There was no pleasure in it, only a relentless, joyless compulsion to consume. Xuanzhen felt the qi within Guo Feng was distorted, overlaid with the cold, hungry energy emanating from the ding. The man was being consumed from within, his own desires acting as the gateway for something ancient and ravenous.

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  Xuanzhen subtly examined the ding when Guo Feng was occupied. The bronze felt unnaturally cold to the touch, and the carvings, upon closer inspection, depicted not just monstrous faces but scenes of devouring, of sacrifice. He recognized elements reminiscent of the Pao Xiao, a creature described in the Classic of Mountains and Seas – a being of insatiable hunger, sometimes depicted with features that blurred the line between human and beast, a creature drawn to excess and capable of consuming endlessly. The ding, likely used in ancient rites intended to appease or perhaps harness such entities, had become a vessel, a focal point for this specific, hungry spirit. Guo Feng's own gluttony and pride had acted like a beacon, drawing the dormant entity forth and allowing it to latch onto him, feeding on his life force while amplifying his base desires into monstrous proportions.

  The situation escalated. A young kitchen maid vanished, her sleeping mat found empty. Panic began to ripple through the household staff, contained only by Guo Liang’s threats and bribes. Guo Feng grew bolder, his demands for food becoming incessant, his physical appearance subtly coarsening, his movements taking on a predatory crouch.

  Xuanzhen knew he had to act, but a direct confrontation with the entity while it was so deeply entwined with Guo Feng could prove fatal to the host. He needed to weaken the connection, to address the source – both the cauldron and the man’s own amplified desires. He spoke with Guo Liang and Madam Lan, revealing not the full monstrous truth, but explaining that the ding possessed an unhealthy energy, drawn to and exacerbating Guo Feng’s obsessive nature, creating a sickness of both body and spirit. He proposed a ritual of purification, ostensibly to cleanse the cauldron and the house, but secretly aimed at weakening the Pao Xiao's grip.

  Guo Feng, however, in his increasingly erratic state, overheard fragments of the plan. Possessed by a mixture of the spirit's paranoia and his own pride, he flew into a rage, refusing any interference. He declared that the ding was a source of power and prosperity, and to prove it, he would host the grandest feast yet, using the cauldron to serve the main course – a whole roasted lamb.

  The night of the feast arrived, thick with unspoken dread. Guests, lured by Guo Feng’s reputation, filled the main hall, unaware of the true horror lurking beneath the opulent facade. The bronze ding, polished to a dark gleam, sat steaming in the centre of the room, filled with the roasted lamb. Guo Feng presided, his eyes glittering, his smile wide and predatory.

  As the servants began to ladle the meat, Xuanzhen stepped forward. He held aloft a string of consecrated peach-wood beads, their simple nature a stark contrast to the surrounding luxury. "Merchant Guo," he said, his voice cutting through the festive noise, "true prosperity lies not in endless consumption, but in balance. This vessel," he gestured towards the ding, "carries an ancient hunger. It feeds on excess, and it is consuming you."

  Guo Feng roared, a sound more beast than human. "Insolent priest! You envy my fortune! This ding is my strength!" He lunged towards the cauldron, plunging his hands directly into the steaming meat, stuffing chunks into his mouth with frantic greed.

  As he did so, the air grew deathly cold. The qi around Guo Feng and the ding surged violently. Guo Feng’s form seemed to shimmer, distort. For a horrifying moment, his features blurred, overlaid with a monstrous visage – gaping maw, sharp teeth, eyes burning with insatiable hunger from beneath his arms, the spectral echo of the Pao Xiao. A collective gasp of terror swept through the guests.

  Xuanzhen acted swiftly. He cast the peach-wood beads towards the ding, chanting a powerful Taoist mantra of purification and severance. Simultaneously, he produced a talisman, inscribed with symbols designed to bind and pacify hungry spirits, slapping it firmly onto the side of the bronze cauldron.

  There was a soundless explosion of energy. The ding resonated with a deep, groaning hum. Guo Feng screamed, clutching his head, staggering back as if struck. The spectral overlay flickered violently, then seemed to recoil, torn between its host and its anchor. Xuanzhen pressed the advantage, his voice ringing with authority as he recited verses emphasizing control over desire, the virtue of moderation, the power of the human spirit to overcome base appetites.

  The Pao Xiao spirit, weakened by the ritual, its connection to Guo Feng disrupted and its anchor point sealed by the talisman, let out a final, silent shriek of frustration that vibrated through the room. Its presence receded, drawn back into the depths of the cauldron, suppressed but perhaps not entirely destroyed.

  Guo Feng collapsed, unconscious, his features settling back into their human, albeit coarse, lines. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, leaving behind the smell of roasted meat, spilled wine, and stark terror. The guests fled in panic, the feast dissolving into chaos.

  In the aftermath, the ding felt inert, the talisman holding its ancient hunger dormant. Xuanzhen instructed Guo Liang to have the cauldron filled with consecrated earth and buried deep outside the city, in a place unlikely to be disturbed, warning him sternly against ever unearthing it.

  Guo Feng eventually recovered consciousness, but he was a changed man. Weakened, gaunt despite his previous excesses, the experience seemed to have burned away his aggressive bluster, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell. He lost interest in feasts, in commerce, spending his days staring blankly, the memory of his monstrous hunger a constant, silent torment. The Guo family’s reputation was shattered, their wealth dwindling as Guo Liang struggled to manage the business amidst scandal and his father’s incapacitation.

  Xuanzhen departed Lin'an, leaving the Guo family to their diminished fortunes. The Cauldron of Insatiable Hunger served as a grim reminder that monstrosity often lurked not in distant mountains or shadowy forests, but within the human heart itself. Greed, gluttony, the relentless pursuit of status – these desires, left unchecked, could become gateways, inviting ancient hungers to feast upon the soul, transforming prosperity into a terrifying, self-consuming plague. The echoes of the Pao Xiao lingered, not just in the buried ding, but in the cautionary tale of a man devoured by his own appetites.