Chapter 90: Yin Mountain Ghost King, Ten Years of Return (5k Chapter)

The next day, morning.

On Provincial Road 213, the Wu Ling Hongguang sped past, kicking up soda cans along the road, clanging as they rolled.

“You look like you didn’t sleep well,” Jiang Hu said, glancing at Zhang Fan through the rearview mirror.

“An uncle came by, and I had a couple extra drinks last night.”

Zhang Fan rubbed his temples, watching the cars flash by outside the window.

“The Xiong family isn’t in Yujing City.”

“They have plenty of businesses there, but their roots are outside the city—apparently a village,” Jiang Hu said casually as he drove.

“You’ve never been?”

“In the past, it was always Old Yu who went. The Xiong family is of the Yin Mountain line—they clash with me.” Jiang Hu spoke lightly.

He cultivated the orthodox Maoshan Shangqing talisman Dao, and instinctively resisted the Yin Mountain Sect.

“Why has Old Yu been taking so many days off lately? I haven’t seen him in half a month.” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

In any other company, such frequent absences would have gotten him fired long ago.

“You don’t know—summer brings lots of thunderstorms, and Old Yu’s rheumatism always flares up, so he usually takes over a month off,” Jiang Hu said without looking back.

“Where’s Old Yu from? Does he have family?” Zhang Fan asked.

Come to think of it, Old Yu was getting on in years, yet he’d never mentioned any family—he always seemed utterly alone.

“From Bashu. Seems like he has no family,” Jiang Hu shook his head.

Old Yu rarely spoke about himself at work. Of him, perhaps only Bai Buran knew the truth.

In fact, every person at Ye Bu Liang had their own story, their own secrets.

“Hm!?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan reached out idly and pulled a small booklet from between the seat back’s crevices. Black pages bore two large characters, their strokes twisted and curling.

“Dragon Chronicle!”

“Whose is this?” Zhang Fan shook it.

Jiang Hu glanced through the rearview mirror and said casually, “Probably Old Yu’s. I think I’ve seen it in his bag before.”

“Dragon Chronicle!?” Zhang Fan opened the booklet curiously.

“Dragon Water Spout at Gaoyou Lake!”

“Dragon Ascension at Qinghai Lake!”

“Dragon Fall at Ma Zang Mountain!”

…

“What’s this?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange. He flipped to a random page.

“Record of the Eastern Yang Dragon Transformation in Bashu!”

In Dongyang Town, southern Bashu, there lived a destitute family, impoverished for five generations, reduced by this generation to begging. At over thirty, the man had never married. Villagers avoided him like plague, fleeing at his approach.

Yet fortune shifts—three declines, six rises. That year, the beggar suddenly grew wealthy. He bought good farmland, even purchased the hill behind the village and moved his ancestral graves there. Neighbors were astonished.

Soon after, he became a renowned merchant, surrounded by concubines, spending gold and silver freely. When asked how he’d risen, he refused to speak.

Until the day of his eightieth birthday banquet, when he called his children to his side and revealed the secret he’d buried his whole life.

When he was thirty-six, winter came with heavy snow, sealing the mountains. Their food ran out; he thought he’d starve to death in that brutal cold.

But that night, thunder cracked like war drums, terrifying. His straw hut collapsed under the wind. He crawled from the ruins and saw steam rising from the hill behind.

Bold as he was, he ran over and saw a koi fish lying on the bank beside the stream, steaming as if scorched by lightning and fire.

Its scales shimmered with faint golden light; its mouth emitted a beast-like roar, deeply frightening.

The beggar was stunned—but having wandered for years begging, he’d heard tales: this creature was called a Dragon Fish, a demon that failed to ascend to dragonhood. Ordinary people who encountered it gained unexpected fortune.

He dragged the koi home, placed it in a jar, and nurtured it. Soon after, his fortunes improved.

Later, he spent a fortune to find a master who gave him advice: dig a deep well on the hill, keep the koi inside, then build a tomb above it and move the ancestral graves there. This would ensure generations of wealth—but after his death, ten years must pass before the tomb and well were opened, and the koi released.

After telling his children, the beggar died the next day. Ten years later, his children followed his will, chose an auspicious day, and opened the ancestral tomb. Beneath three feet of earth lay an ancient well, sealed with iron chains. When they opened it, the water below boiled violently, accompanied by beast roars. Rumors spread that someone had seen a dragon fly out of the deep mountains that day.

“Dragon transformation!? Do dragons truly exist?” Zhang Fan murmured.

“What’s all this in the booklet?”

At that moment, Jiang Hu’s voice pulled Zhang Fan back.

“Just some little stories. Kind of interesting.”

As Zhang Fan prepared to flip further, the road curved ahead, revealing a village—his attention snapped to it.

“Xiong Family Village!”

Here lay the foundation of the Yin Mountain Sect’s Xiong family. Originally, it was nothing but a ruined Daoist shrine atop a mound—the ancestral altar of the Xiong forebears. He founded the sect here, established his altar, drew upon Yujing’s dragon qi, and gradually grew powerful.

Thus, the Xiong family’s present strength was born.

“This village sits north of the mountain, beside southern waters—its formation is yin,” Jiang Hu explained.

Zhang Fan looked up. Indeed, the village clung to the northern slope of the mountain, encircled by a river that wrapped it on its southern side.

North of the mountain is yin; south of the water is yin.

Thus, the pattern of profound yin concealment was formed. Had ordinary people lived here, within three generations, their lineage would wither and wealth vanish.

But the Xiong family came from the Yin Mountain line—profound yin concealment actually aided their Dao lineage.

“This is called seeking pure yang within profound yin—one spark of life breaks through death’s concealment.”

Jiang Hu, born of the great Maoshan sect, especially after breaking through his tribulation, had advanced by leaps and bounds.

“This village is insular. Don’t wander off after we arrive,” Jiang Hu warned.

“Don’t worry—I’m not trouble,” Zhang Fan nodded firmly, glancing toward the trunk.

There lay a coffin, barely over half a meter long, sealed with seven copper nails, each bearing Maoshan’s corpse-sealing talismans. No one knew what it contained.

But Jiang Hu had said this single delivery netted seven figures in pure profit.

As the Wu Ling Hongguang entered the village, Zhang Fan saw many luxury cars parked at the entrance—some with circles, some with bulls, some with horses… Compared to the Wu Ling Hongguang…

“The Xiong family is rich.”

“What’s that?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan spotted an odd plant in the village center: a long, thick stalk crowned with a fleshy crest. Even from afar, it emitted a faint, strange fragrance; intricate patterns covered its entire body.

Zhang Fan had never seen such a plant before.

“That’s Ruyi.”

“Ruyi!? Like the ceremonial scepter we know?” Zhang Fan’s eyes lit up.

“This is a treasure,” Jiang Hu murmured.

The Nanyang Strange Records note: During the Eastern Jin, a woodcutter from Lingling entered the mountains to chop firewood. By a mountain stream, he saw an odd tree.

It grew between massive rocks, its roots like fleshy tendrils, its crown resembling a bud, emitting a faint fragrance. Intrigued, he plucked it and took it home. The scent drew neighbors’ attention.

Someone recognized it—it resembled the Ruyi scepters held by temple deities. The news reached a wealthy merchant, who rushed over overnight, offering a fortune to buy it.

But when the merchant arrived, the woodcutter, swayed by neighbors’ whispers that eating Ruyi granted immortality, boiled it into soup and drank it all.

The merchant cried out in despair. “Ruyi is a celestial root, born rarely in mountains and great rivers. To find one is fortune. Enshrined in the home, worshipped daily with incense, it ensures all wishes fulfilled, eternal wealth.”

Now this woodcutter had devoured such a celestial root—grave sin against virtue. He’d bring ruin upon himself. Saying this, the merchant left.

Five days later, fire consumed the woodcutter’s home. All five family members, save him, perished in the flames.

Though he survived, he lost both legs, his body covered in festering sores. He spent the rest of his life begging—wretched beyond words.

“Ruyi, Ruyi, fulfill my will… This thing, kept in an ordinary household, can pass down, ensuring seven generations of wealth. This Ruyi, grown so large, must be worth at least eight digits—and no amount of money can buy it,” Jiang Hu whispered.

“Eight digits? This must be the most valuable thing in the whole village.”

Zhang Fan couldn’t help staring, wishing he could uproot it and take it away.

Moments later, the Wu Ling Hongguang stopped beneath a crooked tree in the village. Jiang Hu walked to the rear, opened the trunk, and dragged out the coffin.

At that moment, two young men in Daoist robes approached.

“Ye Bu Liang?”

“Yes, we’re here to deliver,” Jiang Hu handed over the receipt. The men glanced at it.

“Follow us,” they said, stepping forward to lift the coffin.

“Wait here. Don’t wander off. I’ll be back after the handover,” Jiang Hu warned, then followed the two young Daoists.

“Brother Fan… Brother Fan…”

At that moment, a low growl came from a corner. Zhang Fan turned and saw Xiong Ba emerge from nowhere.

“You actually came.”

“Come on, the ancestral hall is over there,” Xiong Ba gestured.

“This… if anyone sees you, it’ll be bad for you.”

The clan ancestral hall was sacred ground. If an outsider entered freely and was caught, Xiong Ba would surely face consequences.

“Today, the elders are all in ritual seclusion. No one will notice,” Xiong Ba whispered.

He vaguely knew the clan was forging something extraordinary—many elders had locked themselves away.

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Besides, ancestral halls are rarely visited anyway—hardly anyone would notice.

Worst case, if caught, he’d be expelled from the clan. But he wasn’t a direct heir anyway.

“Let’s go. Delay invites trouble.”

Xiong Ba led the way. Zhang Fan hesitated briefly, then followed.

“This is the Xiong family ancestral hall?”

Zhang Fan looked up and saw the gate wide open, two lanterns hanging high like a demon’s mouth, the uneven threshold jutting out like exposed fangs.

Upon arriving here, Zhang Fan felt an immediate unease—the magnetic field around him seemed to have shifted; even in the scorching heat of midsummer, a chilling cold seeped into his bones, growing stronger the closer he got, until every hair on his body stood on end.

“That monstrous spirit is sealed deep inside,” Xiong Ba whispered.

He vaguely suspected that the monstrous spirit had a profound connection to Zhang Fan.

“I’m starting to feel it…”

Zhang Fan clenched his fists tightly, gazing into the depths of the ancestral hall, then followed Xiong Ba inside, passing through a long, dim corridor that led to the ancestral shrine where the Xiong family honored their lineage of masters.

“Xiong Ba, how dare you bring an outsider to trespass into our clan’s ancestral shrine!?”

At that moment, a cold voice echoed through the long corridor, and Xiong Qianxing slowly stepped forward, blocking the end of the passage.

“Xiong Qianxing, you never learn, do you? Your skin’s itching again?”

Xiong Ba paused, then quickly regained his composure. Since he’d been discovered, he might as well go all in.

He had to admit—after training with Zhang Fan for a while, his cultivation had advanced, and his demeanor had changed entirely.

In the past, faced with such a situation, he would have been utterly panicked and lost his nerve. But now, a bold, domineering courage rose within him.

“You want to die?”

“I’ll kill your mother—go ahead, I’ll hold them off,” Xiong Ba spat. Since he’d be finished in the Xiong family anyway, he might as well stop hiding.

“Xiong Ba, I underestimated you. I didn’t think our Xiong family had someone like you—a traitor.”

At that moment, a figure stepped slowly from behind Xiong Qianxing, an icy aura spreading like a ghostly mist, instantly engulfing the entire corridor.

“Xiong Qianshan!?” Xiong Ba’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning wary.

“Today, neither you nor him will leave the Xiong family,” Xiong Qianshan said calmly, his piercing gaze sweeping over Xiong Ba before finally settling on Zhang Fan.

…

Meanwhile, atop a mound in Xiong Family Village stood an ancient, rustic Daoist temple.

This was where the Xiong family’s fortune had begun.

“That brat Xiong Ba has sunk so low he’s bringing an outsider to trespass into the ancestral hall?”

Xiong Baoping gazed toward the ancestral hall, a cold expression crossing her face.

“Some little brats always side with outsiders—just like Xiong Sanqi back then. Never tamed.”

Beside her, a middle-aged man in a Daoist robe, half his hair gray, sneered coldly.

“Xiong Baoping, that man’s been gone ten years—why bring him up again?” Xiong Baoping’s brow twitched, as if the name triggered an aversion.

“Heh…” Xiong Baofeng grinned. As a senior of the Xiong family, he knew the taboos and fell silent.

“Sigh… I thought he was talent. Too bad he was born with a rebellious nature.”

At that moment, Xiong Guanchen emerged, hunched over, gazing toward the ancestral hall and shaking his head.

“Better to eliminate him. We can’t let another Xiong Sanqi grow.”

“Agreed,” Xiong Baoping nodded firmly.

The Xiong family had suffered one Xiong Sanqi—enough. They could not repeat the mistake. Ungrateful wolves must be crushed in the cradle.

“Today’s youth are too naive. How dare one man walk in alone and trespass into the Xiong family?”

Xiong Baoping sneered.

In truth, since Zhang Fan had followed Xiong Ba toward the ancestral hall, he’d already been noticed.

Such a youth, with no depth, no foundation, daring to break in—pure suicide.

“Father, the boy who came in with Xiong Ba…”

“Eliminate him too… Those who can’t control their own, who break the rules, must pay the price,” Xiong Guanchen said without blinking.

“What about Bai Buran…”

“A discarded disciple of Zhenwu—what trouble could he stir up on Yujing’s soil?” Xiong Baofeng sneered.

Yinshan Xiong Family could shake the ground of Yujing City with a single stomp. They knew Bai Buran’s background—but so what?

The Xiong family had always maintained good ties with the Jiangnan Dao Alliance, their annual donations astronomical, granting them free rein across Jiangnan Province.

As for Bai Buran, even if he were still within Zhenwu’s walls, his reach couldn’t stretch this far.

Thus, in Xiong Baofeng’s eyes, the young man was utterly foolish. This village—no one, not even Bai Buran himself, would dare trespass.

To act so recklessly—wasn’t that asking for death?

“In this world, some people just hate their lives,” Xiong Guanchen said, sealing Zhang Fan’s fate.

Who did that brat think he was? The Xiong family was no place he could enter or leave at will.

Unless a miracle occurred, today he’d only serve as fertilizer for the flowers.

Boom…

At that moment, dark clouds churned in the sky, wind howled, and under the bright blue heavens, a muffled thunderclap rang out, startling all.

“Hm!?” Xiong Guanchen’s aged face twitched slightly, a sudden unease rising in his heart.

“Ten years gone—how fares everyone!?”

At that instant, a loud, resonant voice, as if carrying the weight of heaven, echoed throughout the entire Xiong Family Village.

“This is…”

Xiong Guanchen’s hunched body trembled violently, his wrinkled face instantly flooded with shock.

Even Xiong Baoping and Xiong Baofeng beside him lost their composure; they exchanged glances, both seeing disbelief and terror in each other’s eyes.

Boom… boom… boom…

Terrifying auras erupted from deep within the Xiong family, surging like wildfire, roaring like hurricane winds—as if that single quiet voice had shattered the calm of every hidden master within.

“Impossible… He’s returned… That man has returned!?”

“He swore an oath—he would never set foot in Yujing again for the rest of his life.”

“Damn… damn… he’s back again…”

Roars of fury and terror erupted from deep within the village, each one steeped in dread—the past, like a nightmare, returned, crushing the nerves of every senior in the Xiong family.

Meanwhile, a burly man with an eye patch strode forward, slowly appearing at the village entrance.

In that moment, the entire village fell utterly silent, like frozen, lifeless water—no one dared even breathe.

“He’s come back after all…”

Xiong Guanchen’s aged face trembled violently as he helplessly closed his eyes.

“Yinshan Ghost King—Xiong Sanqi!” Xiong Baoping gritted her teeth, her fear now impossible to suppress.

(End of Chapter)