Chapter 638

The old monk has changed even more than before he left home.

Liang Qu thought.

Before he left home.

The old monk ate meat before, as if merely testing it; now he puts genuine feeling into it.

Hope to become a Wu Sheng soon.

Snap back to reality.

"Master, what do you mean by 'weak'?"

Su Guishan was also puzzled: "The Southern Frontier and the Northern Court have always been the Empire's two major rivals. The Northern Court is strong, the South is cunning—fierce creatures emerge endlessly, and soldiers are worn out trying to cope. How can this be called 'weak'?"

"This 'weak' is not frailty."

"I'm all ears."

The old monk put down his wooden chopsticks.

"In my youth, while traveling through ancient Shu, I visited a small village beside the Qingyi River. The villagers widely believed a woman had cursed her husband—after barely seven days of marriage, he went into the mountains to gather herbs, fell off a cliff, and died. Thus, everyone shunned her."

"Yet when I examined her face, I saw a woman of exquisite beauty: high cheekbones with full flesh, small even teeth, willow-browed, thick earlobes, clear eyes—clearly an excellent fortune-bringing face for a husband."

"Oh?"

Liang Qu and Su Guishan leaned in.

Was there a hidden truth?

"After careful inquiry, I learned her husband died not from her curse, but from impotence after marriage—ashamed and furious, he ignored her warnings, insisted on climbing the mountain to gather herbs to replenish his yang, and ultimately slipped to his death."

Su Guishan frowned: "Then why did the villagers spread the rumor that she cursed her husband?"

"Because she herself spread the false claim—using half a piece of malt to bribe children from neighboring villages to sing the rhyme, purely for self-preservation."

"Self-preservation?"

Liang Qu pondered briefly, beginning to understand.

Trouble gathers at the door of a widow.

With her beautiful face, dead husband, and young age, many would come knocking at night.

But with the "bad luck" of cursing husbands clinging to her, men grew hesitant—before acting, they'd weigh whether their own lives were strong enough to endure it.

Su Guishan fell into thought.

The old monk continued: "I've combed through historical records. Before the Great Li Dynasty, there was no mention of poison insects in the south. Tracing the origin, the term first appeared only when the Great Li collapsed and chaos engulfed the land."

"Elaborate."

"It's just one person's tale—take it as a guess, listen as a guess."

"No matter."

"I believe that at the time, disasters and human calamities were endless. Many northerners fled south to survive, resulting in massive migrations."

To feed themselves, they needed grain; to grow grain, they seized land from the southerners—whether they wanted to or not."

Added to this, the south was full of toxic miasmas and dampness; northerners, unaccustomed to the harsh environment, fell ill easily."

The two factors intensified their conflict, and the accusation of breeding poison insects became a mutual slander."

Historical records from that period began to mention poison insects, yet without detailed cultivation methods—proving the way of poison insects had not yet become real."

Su Guishan nodded silently.

The old monk turned his prayer beads.

"But northerners were dominant—martial arts, trade, craftsmanship, even textiles and fine clothing—all superior, all confident. They viewed the southern frontier as crude barbarians, and breeding poison insects became a slur against them."

"The discriminated southerners, on one hand, yearned for the north's power and prosperity; on the other, to protect their own interests, they embraced the slanderous claim of poison insects as a shield for self-preservation."

"Just like the woman by the Qingyi River—even with her cursed reputation, no one dared to molest her."

"Over time, the poison insect tale became legend, and even the southerners themselves could no longer tell truth from fiction."

"Talented southern martial artists, raised on these tales, gradually experimented with combining poison insects and martial arts, forging a unique path through trial and error."

"Thus, historical records mention poison insects centuries before the systematic way of poison insects emerged."

"Over thousands of years, southern martial artists have added brick upon brick—now the way of poison insects has unique strengths, and the abilities of these insects cannot be underestimated."

"Master's insight is novel indeed."

Su Guishan felt his horizons broaden.

He'd never heard the origin story of southern poison insects—and it made sense.

Liang Qu, while reaching for his chopsticks to eat, absorbed the knowledge deeply, letting it flow into his mind.

The old monk had passed the provincial exam, once been a Daoist priest, then became a monk, and traveled the world endlessly. His learning and insight were truly unmatched by ordinary men.

Halfway through the meal.

He suddenly remembered something.

"Uncle, what's this about southern blood sacrifices of civilians?"

Su Guishan blinked: "How do you know about that?"

"I heard a word about it from the county magistrate in Huangzhou. Since Master mentioned it, I thought I'd ask."

"Always eager for secrets, eh? One day you'll get caught and tortured—don't say I told you."

"I'm just seeking knowledge and improvement."

"Hmph." Su Guishan sneered. "Southern affairs have nothing to do with the Jianghuai prefectures. I don't know much, but one thing: the south wants to create a false god."

"False god?"

Liang Qu froze.

What a grand title.

Sounds even more powerful than the Ghost Mother.

"Didn't I say before that there are only three true dragons in the world?"

"I remember, I asked that."

"Only great rivers can birth true dragons—whether because of the cycle of life and death at midday, or the violent stirring of spiritual energy where water and land meet—this is common knowledge."

"Yet within the southern frontier lies the Lu Cang River—not huge, not tiny—and by all logic, it shouldn't birth a true dragon. But several powerful southern clans have unexpectedly joined forces, attempting to compensate elsewhere by artificially creating a false dragon for the Lu Cang River!"

"I don't know exactly how the tribes plan to do it, but the imperial court takes it seriously—the difference between a river with a true dragon and one without is immense."

"When a true dragon appears, the entire river seems reborn—rare treasures emerge endlessly, and it can forge a heavenly chasm."

"Thus, many Grand Masters have been newly dispatched to the south. I suspect even a Wu Sheng is secretly preparing—likely because they believe this isn't mere folly, and there's a chance of success, requiring preemptive defense against surprise attacks."

"A time of turmoil."

Liang Qu sighed.

Su Guishan shot him a sideways glance.

"Why are you sighing? The court isn't worried—why should you? When the sky falls, the tall ones hold it up. Even if you achieved Grand Martial Artist today and broke Yuan Yuan Yuwen's record by over a year and two months, the Ghost Mother and the False God have nothing to do with you."

You've just achieved Great Martial Artist, pushing Yuan Yuan Yuwen's Great Martial Artist record forward by over a year and two months—Ghost Mother, False God, you have nothing to do with them.

Liang Qu coughed awkwardly—he had indeed overestimated his own importance.

Supper: one-third full.

Bowls and chopsticks soaked in water for Aunt Zhang to clean tomorrow.

Return to the room to rest.

The next day.

Liang Qu summoned Uncle Chen and Xiao Chen, the manager of the Changchun Branch in Yixing Town, to inspect this year's breeding harvest in the fields.

Today was exactly the first day of the twelfth month.

The weather was cold, the ground covered in white frost.

The rice in the paddies had been harvested clean, entering fallow season; only a few patches retained wintering black-spotted frogs. Walking to the field ridges, one could clearly see countless small, pitch-black holes.

Two herbal merchants, informed of Liang Qu's arrival, hurried over with two farmers, nearly tripping on the way, yet their faces beamed with smiles.

Two herbal merchants, upon learning Liang Qu was coming, hurried over with two farmers, nearly tripping on the way, yet their faces beamed with smiles.

No need to say it.

First attempt at hybrid breeding—a tremendous success!

"Your Excellency, look—this year's leeches, a bountiful harvest! I've raised leeches for years, and this batch is top-grade—I'm confident that after drying, eight out of ten will be high quality!"

The herbal merchant lifted a wooden bucket, scooping up a handful of this year's harvest.

Dozens of leeches wriggled on his palm, full of vitality.

"Yes, Your Excellency, feel them—weigh them. How good, how plump! Don't be afraid—the golden-line leech doesn't suck blood; it eats meat, loves snail flesh, and won't bite you!"

"Hey, that's the truth—if it did bite, could it even pierce Master Liang's flesh? It'd burst from overeating!"

The two herbal merchants sang in harmony.

The two herbal merchants played along with each other.