Chapter 821: The Bond of Gentlemen

Li Banfeng asked, “Sister, would you like to come to my place for a while?”

“Mm!” A Yu nodded sincerely, “Last time I went to your house, General Zhao and General Hong bonded with me like sisters, and my unruly daughter clung to me for half a day, begging for affection—just thinking of them makes my heart ache.”

Li Banfeng nodded. “They miss you too.”

A Yu leaned close to Li Banfeng. “Little brother, talking about anything else is fake—our family ties are real. Aren’t both your sisters caught in the Tribulation? You absolutely cannot afford to be careless about this!”

Li Banfeng smiled. “I’d never be careless—I’m going home right now to remove the Tribulation from them.”

A Yu sighed. “Heng Wuyou’s methods are brutal—General Zhao knows better than anyone. If you can’t even see where the Tribulation lies, how will you pull it out? So I’ll have to go myself!”

Li Banfeng asked, “One sister, or two?”

A Yu played with her hair, tilting her lips upward, a dimple appearing on her cheek. “Last time, both sisters came together—”

“But going with just one this time wouldn’t be right, would it?”

Li Banfeng glanced at the celestial maiden on the bed. “This sister might be hard to host.”

A Yu sat beside the celestial maiden, gently stroking her pale face. “Little brother, if you’re this suspicious, then forget it. Your own Tribulation’s already gone—you won’t suffer. But your two sisters? Poor things, stuck with a heartless man.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Li Banfeng said, rising to leave.

A Yu smiled. “Little brother, don’t be so stubborn. I know you have Jin Qing Qiuhao—your eyesight is indeed sharp.

But when you get home, ask Zhao Xiaowan: does Jin Qing Qiuhao even work against Heng Wuyou? If it did, why did she die in Heng Wuyou’s hands?”

“Incredible, Sister—every word hits the mark!” Li Banfeng descended from the cloud and found A Yi.

A Yi asked, “How was it? The Curse-Gourd Ruins won’t explode, right?”

Li Banfeng nodded. “They won’t explode—I need to get some poison.”

A Yi didn’t understand. “Why poison? Can poison explode the Curse-Gourd Ruins?”

“I don’t need to explode the Curse-Gourd Ruins—just kill all the Xuyuan Silkworms!”

“Why kill the Xuyuan Silkworms?”

“The Curse-Gourd Ruins breed many Xuyuan Silkworms—probably to send them to Neizhou. I don’t know what they plan to do with them there, but since Neizhou wants them so badly, they can’t have them.”

A Yi brought Li Banfeng home and fetched a wooden box from the bedroom.

Inside the box lay a stone ring, with tiny black shadows floating at its center.

Li Banfeng studied it for a moment. “Is this your replica of the Great Totem?”

A Yi shook her head. “This isn’t quite the Great Totem—I can’t replicate its shape, but it’s somewhat similar.

Brother, do you know what these black shadows are?”

Li Banfeng stared at the slow-moving black dots. “Living things?”

A Yi used tweezers to pluck a black dot from the center of the stone ring and showed it to him. “You’re right—it’s alive. These are Xuyuan Silkworms. The Great Totem’s center held a mass of these shadows—that’s what the Peddler told me.”

Li Banfeng’s mind reeled—he realized something terrible had happened.

The Great Totem had long been destroyed by the Peddler, yet according to Li Yuping’s account, the Curse-Gourd Ruins had been desperately breeding silkworms just three days ago.

Why else would they breed silkworms?

“Sister, can you find the Peddler?”

A Yi thought. “I can try—but I can’t guarantee I’ll find him.”

“Find him. Use every means possible. When you do, tell him: Neizhou is rebuilding the Great Totem!”

Li Banfeng immediately left Hulucun and rushed to Lüshuicheng, arriving at the Bamboo Circle Workshop, where he pulled out the Landlord Seal.

Before going to Fool’s City, Li Banfeng had drained all the human qi stored in the Landlord Seal, because at that time the Peddler had just destroyed the Great Totem. Under normal circumstances, the seal would no longer accumulate new human qi after losing its connection to the Great Totem.

Now, when Li Banfeng placed the seal on his head again, it was utterly empty—no human qi remained.

His tense heart eased slightly—this proved the Great Totem had not yet been rebuilt.

He sprinted to the Peddler’s cloud, standing below and shouting, “Sister-in-law, I won’t burn your house—find a way to bring my brother back!”

The woman opened the window, looking at Li Banfeng. “I’m not your sister-in-law. Your brother can’t return yet—he’s gone to Bai Feng Alliance to pay off his debts!”

Indeed, Bai Feng Alliance’s assistance in attacking the Altar came at a cost.

Li Banfeng left a message for the Thief Cult Master, then rushed to the Soda Kiln, preparing to go to Neizhou and bring back Cui Ti.

Back at Haichiling, Cui Ti slaughtered every Last-Clan Mosquito—his skill could easily wipe out the Xuyuan Silkworms.

But the key question was whether he’d be willing to help.

To deploy a pathogen with high lethality and rapid spread, Cui Ti had to be present in person—but he refused to return to Puluo Province.

If he wouldn’t come, he’d be brought back by force.

He thought about it—but whether he could actually do it required careful consideration.

If Cui Ti was pushed too far, who knew what he might do? To persuade him, he’d need perfect restraint.

As Li Banfeng still pondered his approach, Qin Tianjiu called: “Seventh Brother, you’d better return to Moxiang Shop—someone important has arrived.”

Li Banfeng had no time for Moxiang Shop. “How important? If you can’t handle it, go find Old Lu.”

“Seventh Brother, I’ve had a falling-out with Old Lu. Even though we’ve cleared the air, I still don’t trust him. Besides, this visitor? Even Old Lu might not be able to handle him.”

“Who is it?”

“Poison Cult Ancestor Yang Xiangjun. He’s extremely famous—I heard Pan Lao say that just over ten years ago, he appeared at Kudai Kan and poisoned many people. Feng Daiku had no way to stop him.”

Seventh Brother, if Yang Xiangjun poisons Moxiang Shop, Old Lu won’t hold out. Even if Yang Xiangjun can’t kill Old Lu, the whole place will be ruined.”

Little Fat had grown up—he didn’t rush headlong; he understood the gravity.

Poison Cult Ancestor!

Had he defected to Neizhou—or was he here for another reason?

Yang Xiangjun was a man, appearing to be in his early thirties, with a neatly parted 30-70 hairstyle, glossy hair wax, thin, elongated eyebrows, and narrow, almond-shaped eyes lined with purple-red shadow.

His nose was high, his mouth slightly large, and his lips painted with care—distantly, they looked like a cherry blossom mouth.

He wore a white fox fur overcoat over a tight-fitting black leather suit, cinched at the waist, accentuating his refined figure.

In his left hand he held a tea tray, pinching the teacup lid between thumb and middle finger, scraping off the tea leaves, then blowing gently on the tea. “Everything prepared?”

Shao Yingzhen immediately rose, bowing deeply. “Ancestor, as you instructed, the traps and all medicinal ingredients are ready.”

Yang Xiangjun glanced at Shao Yingzhen, lips curling slightly. “Don’t call me Ancestor. You’re not of my sect—just call me by name.”

Shao Yingzhen waved his hand. “That won’t do—I must at least address you as Elder.”

Yang Xiangjun chuckled. “You make it sound like calling me ‘Elder’ gives me some great advantage. Have you prepared the money?”

Shao Yingzhen nodded eagerly. “All prepared—gold and silver are boxed and ready for your inspection. Also, I have a letter from Minister Qiao himself—after this is done, the court will grant you a noble title.”

He reached to present the letter, but Yang Xiangjun shook his head. “I won’t read it—keep it. What good is a title from Qiao Yi? Even if he made me a prince, what difference would it make?

Even if he named me his own ancestor tomorrow, we’re not of the same blood—he’d slit my throat without blinking if it suited him.”

Shao Yingzhen forced a dry laugh. “Elder, how am I supposed to respond to that—”

“Speak plainly!” Yang Xiangjun set down his teacup. “Where will you strike?”

Shao Yingzhen produced a theater ticket. “At the New Light Grand Theater. Tomorrow night, Chen Suliang performs. Zhou Wencheng has already bought tickets—you’ll act there.”

Yang Xiangjun examined the ticket’s time. “Let’s clarify: if you merely get Zhou Wencheng to come out and attack me, the job’s done, correct?”

Shao Yingzhen hesitated. “According to Minister Qiao’s orders, you should take a few more lives—otherwise, I fear Zhou Wencheng might not take the bait.”

Yang Xiangjun’s face darkened. “Don’t waste my time! Whether Zhou Wencheng takes the bait is none of your concern. We’re only discussing payment.

If you only want him drawn out, this price suffices. If you want me to kill others, you must pay extra—per head, clearly accounted!”

Shao Yingzhen couldn’t fathom it—a revered Ancestor, obsessed with money, utterly beneath his station. “Elder, we’ll follow your every wish. We’ll prepare the theater in advance—your skill alone will decide the outcome. As long as Zhou Wencheng engages you in battle, win or lose, we pay in full. If you can also draw out Li Qi, we’ll double the reward.”

“Go,” Yang Xiangjun waved his hand. Shao Yingzhen hurried away.

The mansion was left with only Yang Xiangjun.

It was his rule: those who hired him must provide lodging, but no servants.

He paced before the hall’s entrance, calculating how to strike at the New Light Grand Theater.

He knew the theater well—Chen Suliang was Puluo Province’s most popular male lead. Tomorrow night, the theater would be packed.

If Yang Xiangjun released a deadly poison to kill everyone inside, the scandal would force Zhou Wencheng to appear.

But the cost would be too great.

For years, Yang Xiangjun had never vanished from Puluo Province precisely because he’d never broken the Peddler’s rules—he always avoided killing in any territory.

He’d killed too many at Kudai Kan, but he’d explained each death clearly: who, why, with proof. The Peddler had found no fault.

This time, he didn’t want to break the rules. He planned to use a mild poison to make the audience suffer—just enough to scare Zhou Wencheng into showing himself.

If Zhou Wencheng stayed hidden, Yang Xiangjun would take a few lives—there were always deserving targets in a crowded theater—then observe Zhou Wencheng’s reaction.

If Zhou Wencheng still didn’t appear, Yang Xiangjun would withdraw immediately. He wouldn’t risk his livelihood in Puluo Province for this much money.

Night deepened. Yang Xiangjun adjusted his makeup, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and prepared to scout the location.

He’d visited Moxiang Shop more than once, and the theater many times—but to earn this money, he’d give it his full attention. Yang Xiangjun never cut corners.

Snow fell heavily. Yang Xiangjun held an umbrella of paper and arrived at the New Light Grand Theater.

The crowd was large tonight—famous dan actress Luo Xiaolou was performing. Yang Xiangjun bought a back-row ticket, watched for ten minutes, and had already mapped his entry and exit routes.

Yang Xiangjun left the theater, walked two streets, and entered an empty alley. He couldn’t resist mimicking Luo Xiaolou’s posture.

He flicked his orchid finger, dipped his waist, cast a soft glance, and drew out a long, melodic cry: “Wei ya~ Zhou Badou, how’s this timing and precision?”

Old Lu emerged slowly from the darkness. “Brother Yang, after all these years, you’re still as cautious as ever. I’d barely followed you a few steps before you noticed me.”

Yang Xiangjun sighed. “Honestly, I was careless. Normally, I never let the local master know I’m in town. But now, I’ve barely arrived at Moxiang Shop and you’ve already spotted me—if this gets out, I’ll be humiliated.”

“Brother Yang, it’s not your fault—it’s Shao Yingzhen’s fault for leaking your whereabouts in the newspaper.”

Yang Xiangjun sighed. “True enough. I can’t fathom his motives—but he’s the boss.

We take the money, we do the job.

How about this: today we pretend we never met. Tomorrow, at the theater, I’ll make some noise—you appear, spar with me briefly, then we both leave. You avoid danger, I complete the job—we help each other. Deal?”

Mr. Lu clutched his pipe and struck a match. “I don’t think this will work. If I show up at the theater tomorrow, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ll walk into an ambush—and escaping won’t be as easy as Brother Yang says.”

Yang Xiangjun thought for a moment: “You’ve got a point. Since you know there’s an ambush waiting, don’t go to the Xin Guang Theater tomorrow. Let them chase air.”

Mr. Lu looked at Yang Xiangjun with shame. “If they find nothing, that’s fine—but if you also find nothing, won’t this business be wasted?”

Yang Xiangjun pulled a round incense fan from his sleeve, fanned it twice, and smiled. “What’s my little business compared to the bond between us?”

Mr. Lu exhaled a plume of smoke; its odor dispersed the fan’s fragrance.

The fragrance was poisoned.

Mr. Lu said: “Brother Yang, your move was seamless—you’ve left me no path to live.”

Yang Xiangjun covered his mouth with the fan and chuckled: “Brother Zhou, you’ve trailed me all night. If I hadn’t spelled it out, you wouldn’t have held back when you struck.”

Mr. Lu said: “Shouldn’t we settle this today?”

“Pfft!” Yang Xiangjun clicked his tongue. “You’re so stubborn. Let’s pretend we never met tonight. I’ll watch the show tomorrow and leave. Isn’t that settlement enough?”

“The Ink Fragrance Shop is this small, and I have only one life. If everyone acted like you—taking my life when they wanted, and walking away when they failed—how could I ever live?”

“Here’s the deal: we exchange three blows. If you walk away unharmed after three, you’re free to go.”

“Reunion should be joyous—you insist on breaking the harmony!” Yang Xiangjun spun his fan’s handle. “Fine, Brother Zhou. I’ll follow your rules. Three blows it is.”

“You’re a gentleman—I’m not afraid you’ll cheat. But let’s be clear: you’re not the god of this shop. If anything goes wrong within three blows, I won’t be violating the peddler’s code!”

The words were plain: don’t assume Yang Xiangjun is only on the defensive. Within three blows, who wins or loses remains uncertain.

Mr. Lu tucked away his pipe, swept back his robe, and shouted: “First strike—Upright and Honorable!”

As his voice ended, the four characters “Upright and Honorable” floated midair, blazing with brilliant golden light, illuminating the narrow alley like daylight.

Where the gold passed, Yang Xiangjun was surrounded by swirling red, yellow, blue, and green vapors.

These vapors were all poisonous. Ordinary eyes couldn’t see them—but under Mr. Lu’s “Upright and Honorable,” their types, concentrations, and directions were laid bare.

Without surprise, the poison cultivator’s power plummeted. Mr. Lu slipped past the toxins, moving to strike Yang Xiangjun down.

Yang Xiangjun suddenly sucked all the poison around him into his body, then exhaled it toward the four glowing characters.

Thick poison veiled the characters’ glow. Mr. Lu couldn’t tell if other toxins lingered near Yang Xiangjun—he dared not strike.

Yang Xiangjun smiled: “One down.”

Zhou Wencheng nodded: “Second strike—Sincere and True.”

He pulled a book from his robe. Two Confucian scholars leapt from its pages, one to the left, one to the right, charging Yang Xiangjun.

These scholars were ink-made. The correct tactic was to avoid engagement, stay put, and wait for the technique to fade.

But after circling awhile, Yang Xiangjun realized these scholars wouldn’t vanish soon—and their movements were unnervingly sharp.

Yang Xiangjun quietly tossed his fan. It passed through both scholars, flying straight at Mr. Lu. He was a veteran of battle—he knew when to strike back.

This fan was a top-tier weapon. If it landed, Mr. Lu would be wounded and poisoned. One hit, and the tide would turn.

But Yang Xiangjun’s move was sudden—and too wide. Mr. Lu sidestepped effortlessly.

Yang Xiangjun recalled the fan and struck again. This time, his motion was even larger. Mr. Lu not only avoided injury—he caught the fan in his hand.

Ambush was the poison cultivator’s greatest strength. Two failed attempts, both due to his own missteps—Yang Xiangjun sensed something was wrong.

The problem wasn’t with him—it was with the two scholars.

The technique was called “Sincere and True.” The name seemed linked to its effect.

As he fought them, Yang Xiangjun found his own moves growing honest, direct. His usual feints and deceptions vanished.

If he kept fighting, and Zhou Wencheng himself joined, Yang Xiangjun would be at a disadvantage.

He released a wisp of poison mist toward one scholar. The mist was colorless and odorless—but under the glow of “Upright and Honorable,”

it flashed brilliant red.

The scholar, being ink-made, had no instinct to avoid poison. One scholar charged straight into the mist. From head to limbs, his body dissolved instantly into a puddle of ink on the ground.

Yang Xiangjun’s poison worked on ink beings!

What poison was this?

Mr. Lu gasped and pulled the remaining scholar back: “Truly, you’re a patriarch! Brother Yang, your poison can affect ink and brush?”

“Brother, you flatter me. Poisons number in the thousands—some act on skin, some on bone, some enter the heart, some the brain, some roam the five viscera and six bowels.”

Horizontal and vertical strokes are the skeleton; iron strokes and silver hooks are flesh; flying dragons and dancing phoenixes are spirit. The characters on paper hold everything.”

“Why shouldn’t they be poisoned? If I didn’t learn a little calligraphy, how could I dare do business in the Ink Fragrance Shop?”

Yang Xiangjun wiped sweat. He didn’t want to use this poison lightly—but the situation had been desperate.

Mr. Lu waved his hand, revealing his third strike: “Gentleman’s Bond.”

Yang Xiangjun laughed: “Brother Zhou, you flatter me. What gentleman am I?”

Even as he joked, Yang Xiangjun braced for mortal combat.

Though he’d deflected the first two strikes, Mr. Lu had always held back.

After the first strike, the four characters “Upright and Honorable” still hung in the air—giving Mr. Lu a second pair of eyes.

After the second strike, one scholar remained—giving Mr. Lu an extra arm.

For the third strike, Yang Xiangjun had to block the new technique while guarding against the old ones. If he couldn’t hold, he’d have to fight to the death.

Mr. Lu stepped forward. Yang Xiangjun focused.

The ink scholar darted along the wall, as if to ambush. Yang Xiangjun had already prepared poison mist there—didn’t care if the scholar saw it, only whether he dared come.

Mr. Lu drew a book from his robe. From the technique’s name, “Gentleman’s Bond” should summon a gentleman carved from ink. Mr. Lu would fight alongside him, using a two-on-one advantage to win swiftly.

Yang Xiangjun didn’t know the gentleman’s strength or methods. He chose the safest response: left sleeve held poison mist for the book-gentleman; right sleeve held two venomous snakes for direct combat with Zhou Wencheng. Defense and offense combined—he’d block this strike and make Zhou Wencheng admit defeat!

The moment battle began, Li Ban appeared behind Yang Xiangjun, threw a sack over him, and pulled it tight.

The gentleman arrived!

This sack was Mr. Lu’s prized shop treasure. Yang Xiangjun struggled inside, unable to escape.

Li Ban tied the sack shut, stepped forward, and pummeled Yang Xiangjun with fists and kicks.

Mr. Lu frowned: “Seventh Master, don’t do this—it’s unbecoming.”

Li Ban stopped. Mr. Lu pulled two iron rods from his book and handed one to Li Ban: “He’s poisoned. Touching him is dangerous. Use these.”

Li Ban looked at the rod: “This is more civilized?”

*Thud!*

Mr. Lu swung his rod: “It’s scented with ink!”

The two men swung their rods for a long time in the alley.

Yang Xiangjun’s voice came from inside the sack: “Gentlemen, stop! Let’s talk!”

Li Ban lowered his voice: “Do you know a poison called Wu Wang Jin?”

Yang Xiangjun replied: “That poison is lost to history!”

Li Ban nodded: “Others say the same.”

Mr. Lu asked Li Ban: “So… should we stop tormenting Brother Yang?”

Li Ban looked at the sack: “We’re cultured men. Brother Yang has suffered—let’s keep beating him!”

Mr. Lu swung his rod again. Long after, the sack’s voice returned: “Gentlemen, wait a moment—I think I remember the formula.”

PS: I have a fever of 39 degrees, but I didn’t skip a chapter. Dear readers, come praise me.