Chapter 63: Mr. Gao

Someone like Mr. Gao can only be used once.

He lives alone in a small courtyard in northern Cheng.

He is not under Master Qiao’s command—he comes from the Northern Capital.

After Chen Liangxuan explained the situation, Mr. Gao extended two fingers and said, “Two things. First, since we’ve moved, we must send word to the Northern Capital—their follow-up arrangements must begin immediately.”

“The message has already been sent.”

“Second, today’s weather is perfect—but to perform the ritual, I need five human lives.” He emphasized: “They must be Ming subjects!”

“Good.”

Master Chen agreed without hesitation.

…

The servants of the Chen household treaded carefully for two full days, yet still could not escape.

Master Chen returned from an outing, entered the gate, and found some flimsy excuse to fly into a rage—he had five servants beaten to death in succession!

The front courtyard reeked of blood, and even heavy rain could not wash it away.

Only a few elderly stewards inside the household suspected something, but dared not speak out: all those beaten to death were Ming subjects.

Jiaozhi Province has been conquered for over a century; the local natives have been fully sinicized—they speak Chinese and use Chinese characters—but Ming subjects and local natives still differ greatly in treatment.

Especially for a retired Ming official like our master, who in the past clearly favored local natives when punishing servants—those punished were always locals.

But this time… why?

…

A carriage rolled into River Works Alley.

Carriages in Jiaozhi are mostly woven bamboo bodies with thin wooden roofs, lacquered in dark paint—light, cool, and waterproof.

But now the season is late autumn, and in recent years, Jiaozhi’s autumn and winter have grown increasingly cold.

Yan Lao sat inside the carriage, outside which a fine rain moistened the vehicle’s surface.

A thin chill seeped in; Yan Lao pulled his padded Daoist robe tighter, muttering to himself: old man, can’t take the cold anymore.

Last night, Yan Lao and Ma Tianshou discussed and analyzed the case—the broad outline had emerged:

The mastermind appears to be Chen Liangxuan; the executor is Qiao Zia’ang.

Qiao Zia’ang is a pawn long planted in Qihetai Town.

Otherwise, no matter what methods or hidden artisan weapons he possessed, a mere ninth-rank literary cultivator could never have monopolized Qihetai Town’s interests for so long.

Because behind him stood Master Chen, and the power Master Chen represented, ready to handle any trouble Qiao Zia’ang encountered.

Now, evidence to implicate Chen Liangxuan is insufficient, so we must return to the true “epicenter” of the case—Qihetai Town.

More precisely: Ghost Witch Mountain.

This morning, Ma Tianshou ordered Fu Jingyu to prepare for departure, and sent Yan Lao to invite Xu Yuan to the county yamen “for further discussion.”

If the young man wants to bargain, give him some benefits.

First, Ma Tianshou trusts Xu Yuan—and the unfathomable strength behind him in River Works Alley.

Second, to reach Ghost Witch Mountain, Xu Yuan is indeed needed as a guide.

But then it started raining, so they couldn’t set out—they had to wait and see if the rain would stop.

Yan Lao volunteered: “I’ll go fetch Xu Yuan.”

The rain is light; traveling within the city should be safe.

Ma Tianshou agreed.

Yan Lao arrived at the alley and knocked on the courtyard gate; Xu Yuan opened it, holding an umbrella.

Yan Lao saw at once—it was the same umbrella Xu Yuan held when he killed the two seventh-rank cultivators yesterday!

It was an artisan weapon.

“So cautious?” Yan Lao teased. Xu Yuan invited him in: “On a day like this, why have you come, Elder?”

“Don’t come in,” Yan Lao said. “Lock the gate, get in the carriage—I’m taking you.”

Xu Yuan shook his head under the umbrella: “I’m not going. Today is inauspicious to leave.”

One stood inside the gate, one outside.

Yan Lao clarified further: “The old lord summoned you specifically. You can voice your thoughts to him now.”

Xu Yuan understood perfectly, but still shook his head: “Elder Yan, I’m not leaving today. Qiao Zia’ang’s accomplices will strike again today!”

Yan Lao said, “I’ll protect you—what’s to fear? Once we reach the yamen, the old lord is there—no need to worry.”

Xu Yuan gazed at him quietly: Yesterday, it was you who escorted me.

Yan Lao’s face flushed; he coughed twice and said, “Fine then—I’ll come in for some tea.”

Yan Lao left the carriage and walked toward the courtyard; Xu Yuan held the umbrella for him.

Yan Lao leaned into the shelter, reaching to grip the umbrella handle together.

His aged, spotted hand, mere moments before touching the handle, suddenly transformed into a dozen fleshy tendrils—half wrapped tightly around Xu Yuan’s umbrella-holding hand, the other half lashing swiftly toward his chest!

Xu Yuan was caught off guard; his right hand and the umbrella were bound fast by seven or eight fleshy tendrils. Thick yin energy surged from them, instantly staining his arm a dark, bluish-black.

The seven or eight tendrils aimed at his chest pierced through his clothes and touched his chest.

But Xu Yuan’s face showed no panic—only the same polite, welcoming smile. “Try mine,” he said.

From Xu Yuan’s left hand, a flexible, supple “tendril” whipped out.

Swish!

Xu Yuan’s tendril swiftly coiled around “Yan Lao.” The beast-sinew rope tightened—“Yan Lao’s” skin split open, revealing dark red flesh beneath.

After Xing Guolong severed the beast-sinew rope, Xu Yuan reclaimed and re-refined it.

The flesh monster beneath the “Yan Lao” skin frantically drove its tendrils forward—but found them blocked by something supple at Xu Yuan’s chest, unable to penetrate an inch.

The tendrils binding Xu Yuan’s arm felt the same—something seemed to lie between them and his skin.

That morning, Xu Yuan had sensed something amiss, so he returned to refine the beast-hide he’d consumed.

The range of the hide-dan had expanded.

And it could be split into parts.

At the instant “Yan Lao” struck, half the hide-dan became a glove, the other half shielded his chest.

After the sinew-dan trapped the flesh monster, Xu Yuan opened his mouth: Huh—

His belly-fire blasted forth, striking the flesh monster’s face at less than three feet.

The skin instantly turned to ash—it was a painting, depicting Yan Lao’s face.

A literary cultivator’s ink-and-brush technique.

The flesh monster writhed in roaring flames, rapidly melting.

Pretending to be a familiar to ambush a life cultivator is not impossible.

After all, a life cultivator cannot keep “Seeing Life” active forever.

But Xu Yuan, seeing the rain, sensed trouble—and grew extra cautious.

When he opened the gate, he used “Seeing Life” for one glance—sure enough, it wasn’t Elder Yan.

The flesh monster was already half-burned; the carriage driver outside spun the vehicle, aiming the rear at the courtyard gate.

Splash!

The light body of the carriage was ripped off—a black, hollow tube pointed at Xu Yuan!

As thick as a baby’s fist.

The carriage’s shaft was, in truth, a disguised shoulder gun!

And unquestionably, a “New Artisan” creation.

A shoulder gun normally requires one man to carry it and another to fire—but mounted on a carriage, it was perfect!

Boom!

A burst of flame erupted from the barrel; the report was deafening, as if a bolt of heaven’s thunder had struck the alley.

(End of Chapter)