Chapter 96: Family Rule

“Alright, open the coffin.”

Ning Zhe tossed the heavy iron chain aside, and together with Lan Shiwen, each grabbed one side of the coffin lid and lifted upward simultaneously.

The tightly sealed lid separated from the coffin body with a crack, releasing powdered lacquer downward; a faint scent of oil mingled with the stench of decaying protein emerged from within. The two combined their strength to lift the lid and set it down on the empty ground beside the chain, revealing a withered old corpse wrapped in a thin Confucian robe, hunched and slack-skinned, its mouth missing most of its teeth—surely over seventy when it died.

“Rosewood? Good stuff.” Ning Zhe ran his fingers over the wood exposed beneath the cracked lacquer—it gleamed with a translucent amber hue, far more prestigious than the poplar wood coffin Ji Bochang had been buried in.

This coffin wasn’t assembled from multiple planks; it was carved from a single massive log, soaked in lacquer and coated with white paint, seamless even after centuries submerged in the pond—the corpse inside remained dry.

Beneath the corpse lay a thick layer of copper coins, neatly stacked and filling the coffin’s base like a mattress.

“Old bastard, even dead he wants to sleep on money.” Ning Zhe dragged the corpse out of the coffin and tossed it onto the pond’s bank—the ghost inside had already been taken; a corpse was nothing to fear.

“Wait—this corpse…” Lan Shiwen crouched, pulling back the Confucian robe over the corpse’s chest, revealing a strange, branch-like pattern etched onto the withered, age-spotted skin.

“What is it?” Ning Zhe also looked at the branch-shaped tattoo on the corpse’s chest.

“This corpse is Ji Bochang,” Lan Shiwen pulled the robe back into place: “Though the body is unrecognizable, I recognize the lightning-struck wood tattoo on its chest—it’s Ji Bochang.”

But if this corpse was Ji Bochang, then who was the body wandering through Yunmeng Marsh, possessed by the God of Wealth?

Both felt an eerie urgency—as if some unseen force warned them that if they didn’t act soon, something irreversible would happen.

Lan Shiwen resealed the coffin lid, bound it with the iron chain, and said: “Let’s go. We need to find the God of Wealth and buy our lives.”

“Alright.” Ning Zhe said nothing more—they weren’t archaeologists or curious explorers seeking to unravel the past; they were here for Ji Bochang’s inheritance. Now that they’d found it, they needed to leave—every extra minute in this haunted mansion was a death sentence.

Protected by the Snake God’s rules and guided by Lan Shiwen’s foresight to avoid danger, they endured a perilous but unharmed journey, dragging the heavy coffin full of copper coins back to the main gate where they’d entered.

But the gate was closed.

“What’s going on?” Ning Zhe turned to Lan Shiwen—he clearly remembered that when they entered, Lan Shiwen had deliberately left the Grand Immortal Garden’s gate open, even leaving the key inserted in the lock; they’d walked straight in.

Could Lan Shiwen, who could foresee the future, make such a mistake?

Of course not.

“Of course…” Lan Shiwen showed no surprise; he gazed at the locked gate ahead and smiled: “They’ve arrived.”

“They? Who?”

“A bunch of fools dreaming of a family-run world,” Lan Shiwen said casually. “Few can find this place. Tu Yu is outside, Wu Tong is dead—only the Yin family remains.”

“The Yin family…?” Ning Zhe frowned slightly—he already understood.

He remembered what Lan Shiwen had said before: the Grand Immortal Garden had once been a Daoist temple, and the official who converted it into the Bishushanzhuang had been surnamed Yin.

Had the official’s descendants returned here?

“Correct,” Lan Shiwen’s expression stiffened slightly as he nodded. “As soon as Ji Bochang died, they came back—likely after the ghosts in the garden.”

Ning Zhe sensed something odd in Lan Shiwen’s tone: “Do you have a grudge against them?”

“Blood feud,” Lan Shiwen said without hesitation. “To be precise—I killed their entire family.”

“Holy shit.” Ning Zhe was stunned.

“Not entirely by myself,” Lan Shiwen walked to the gate, touching the crimson lacquered door panel, and said calmly:

“In 2000, during the Millennium Massacre—Tu Yu, Fen Wu, Wu Tong—and I—we slaughtered all five hundred and twelve members of the Yin family, from the elderly patriarch to the newborn infants, even the janitors—eradicated every last one.”

“…But I was only four years old in 2000, still held in Tu Yu’s arms—I don’t remember the details clearly.”

“Four?” Ning Zhe was stunned again.

But then he realized—even in a four-year-old child, Lan Shiwen’s rule remained terrifying.

“Can I ask why you killed them all?” Ning Zhe asked.

“Do you need a reason to kill Shijia dogs?” Lan Shiwen sneered. “A bunch of fools dreaming of a family-run world—no different from the alligator gar in the brocade carp pond. Killing them is a public service.”

All men must die, and those who ascend are no exception—even the God of Wealth, who trades lives like currency, cannot escape death.

Some ascended ones descend into madness before death, venting their fear of death upon innocent mortals—Ji Bochang was such a madman.

Some accept death calmly, entrusting their rules to other ascended ones to bury their bodies and prevent supernatural events from spilling into reality.

Others grow greedier still—these ones reveal their rules and how to break them to chosen heirs, ensuring their descendants seamlessly inherit their power after death, keeping control of the rule within their bloodline, generation after generation, forever elevated.

Ascended ones wielding supernatural power, passing their rules down through bloodline—that’s what Lan Shiwen called “ Shijia dogs,” a bunch of “family-run-world fools.”

“They believe their bloodline-based inheritance lets them forever ride atop ordinary people, ruling with impunity.”

Lan Shiwen whispered: “Those who broke rules on their own to ascend despise these fools most—hence the Millennium Massacre.”

From 1999 to 2000, in just one year, tens of thousands perished in Yunzhou alone; deaths in other provinces were incalculable.

Ascended ones from across the Nine Provinces slaughtered every last member of these arrogant families—the Millennium Massacre was only the beginning. Another massacre came in 2008, another in 2012. Ascended ones have kept slaughtering these clans like dogs, year after year—until now, not a single family in the Nine Provinces remains unbroken.

But to Lan Shiwen, this still isn’t enough.

“Fen Wu was too soft back then—he didn’t kill every last Yin. Now that Wu Tong is dead, a few stray dogs can’t resist sneaking back to the Grand Immortal Garden, probably dreaming of restoring their ancestral glory.”

Lan Shiwen chuckled, revealing a row of clean, even teeth:

“Still daring to show their faces? Looks like these Shijia dogs need another slaughter.”

(End of Chapter)