Chapter 64: Jiang Hu

After that night, Jiang Hu was imprisoned for three years, eventually expelled from the sect, his lineage severed.

Framed by others, unaware of the plot, stained with blood, nearly shattered his Dao heart, confined for three years, then finally cast out from his master’s door.

Jiang Hu’s life took a sharp downturn; misfortune seemed to favor him above all others.

From that day on, he lost everything.

“During his three years of confinement, he attempted suicide twenty-one times—each time, he was saved,” Shen Qingli said solemnly.

“Though ignorance may excuse blame, the lives he took were real—Maoshan cannot tolerate him.”

At these words, a shadow of sorrow passed over Shen Qingli’s eyes.

Since then, Jiang Hu’s inner demon took root, impossible to eradicate; his cultivation faltered, his day and night reversed…

“On the path of talismans, he is utterly ruined.”

“I never imagined… he had such a past,” Zhang Fan mused.

This Jiang Hu was hard to reconcile with the carefree, cynical man he knew daily.

“That was his disguise… his inner demon runs too deep; one day, he will fall into [Great Night Unlit],” Shen Qingli sighed.

The path of cultivation is like walking on thin ice; once the spirit stirs wildly, the risk of [Great Night Unlit] looms—even a Tianshi may regress.

“Immortals are made from mortals; it’s just that mortals lack steadfast will… Is that why Heaven sends endless trials?” Zhang Fan said gravely.

“Pure Yang Ancestor faced the hardship of losing his family and failing the exams; Purple Yang Master suffered exile to Lingnan; Chen Xiyi struggled with repeated failure in the imperial tests… Since ancient times, every great master of the elixir path has endured the trials of mortal suffering, weathering a hundred calamities without breaking,” Shen Qingli murmured.

“His trial… is too hard!”

“Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Shen Qingli suddenly called out, pulling Zhang Fan’s thoughts back.

“Our family has a major event coming—can you help me keep him here to witness it?”

“The Xuanjian Baolu?” Zhang Fan blurted.

“So he told you…” Shen Qingli gazed thoughtfully at Jiang Hu’s retreating figure: “He still has talent in talismans—but…”

“Perhaps the emergence of this treasure will stir him.”

“I understand,” Zhang Fan nodded.

“I’ll arrange lodging for you,” Shen Qingli smiled faintly, showing gratitude, then nodded and turned away.

“Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Jiang Hu’s voice came from afar; Zhang Fan hurried over.

“Finished unloading—these five barrels of pulp are damn heavy,” Jiang Hu leaned against the Five Spirit Rainbow Light, exhaling deeply.

The cargo for Night Unlit was all specially made pulp: harvested from southern mountain peach wood, processed through over thirty steps, bathed in moonlight on the fifteenth of each month when the moon was full, then soaked and sun-dried for a full month starting at the height of summer before delivery.

These were top-grade materials for talisman paper—one barrel cost two hundred thousand.

Just this single cart was worth a million; his commission alone was one percent.

“Ten thousand… I’m not afraid of having no cash, betraying the pretty girl in the alley,” Jiang Hu grinned. “Let’s go.”

“You didn’t spend all your money on foot baths, did you?” Zhang Fan glanced sideways.

He’d seen it before—Jiang Hu’s drawer held at least seven or eight VIP gold cards from nearby spas.

“I’ve got a question for you,” Jiang Hu said suddenly, serious.

“What?” Zhang Fan, seeing his tone, grew serious too.

“If you met a girl who didn’t want a house, a car, savings, a diamond ring, didn’t ask you to take her out to eat, watch movies, buy things, or give gifts—even didn’t bother you…”

“Just wanted to talk with you when you were tired, help you relax your mind and body…”

“Would it be too much to pay her 498 each time?”

“…”

“Too much or not?” Faced with Jiang Hu’s question, Zhang Fan had no reply—this bizarre logic had opened a new door in his mind.

“Don’t say I don’t look out for you.”

As he spoke, Jiang Hu pulled from his chest a bright yellow talisman, folded into a triangle and bound with red silk thread.

“What’s this?”

“The Xiongqi Talisman!” Jiang Hu whispered.

“Xiongqi Talisman? What kind of talisman is that?” Zhang Fan looked curious.

These days, he’d studied the Dao Mi Lu closely and knew many talisman secrets—even some strange ones.

For example, the Shizhi Talisman: said to be written with ink ground from a special insect that only grows inside corpses three years after burial—extremely rare.

Especially in modern times, with cremation widespread, such insects are nearly extinct.

A Shizhi Talisman applied three inches below the navel causes visible fat loss within days; a skilled talisman master’s version can shed thirty to forty jin in a month.

Far more effective than the “Shouyou” sold by the He family—and with no side effects.

“This is my exclusive recipe!” Jiang Hu lowered his voice, sounding mysterious.

“I made the ink from bull semen powder, donkey semen powder, horse semen powder, oyster semen powder, tiger semen powder… a blend of potent ingredients…”

“Oysters have semen!?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

Jiang Hu shot him a sidelong glance. “Anyway, it’s labor-intensive and costly—when used, burn it, mix the ash into water, and drink it…”

“The effects? Only users know. I sell it online for 1,200 per talisman.”

“This thing costs 1,200? What does it actually do?” Zhang Fan asked, puzzled.

“It makes old oysters produce pearls, causes iron trees to bloom—one talisman equals five blue pills,” Jiang Hu whispered.

“So powerful?” Zhang Fan stared at the talisman in his hand.

“If I sold it online for 2,000, someone would still buy it.”

“…”

“You’re here to make a profit off me, aren’t you?” Jiang Hu rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go.”

As he spoke, Jiang Hu gestured for Zhang Fan to get in the car.

“I heard Shen’s Xuanjian Baolu is nearly complete—let’s stay and watch.”

At that moment, Zhang Fan changed the subject abruptly.

“Nearly complete?”

Jiang Hu paused, then looked toward the incense smoke rising from the Shen family estate.

“They’ve been cultivating it for three generations—do you really think they’ll succeed now?”

“Don’t you believe it?” Zhang Fan said casually.

“Uniting ten thousand talismans into one—how easy is that?” Jiang Hu sighed.

He himself came from Maoshan, trained in talismans—he knew exactly what those four words meant.

The Dao begins with addition; later, it becomes subtraction.

Every mountain and sect has talisman lineages, and all have tried merging their own talismans into one—though all keep it secret.

“The Longhu Mountain has gone the farthest…”

“Longhu Mountain!?” Zhang Fan’s heart stirred.

“All talisman arts return to Longhu—but eighty years ago, during the great Daoist calamity, the Zhang family of Longhu were wiped out,” Jiang Hu sighed softly.

(End of Chapter)