Chapter 107: The Wasteland Tomb

Li Yan possessed the Nascent Sense of the Nose and was highly sensitive to scents.

During Zhou Pan’s Golden Basin Retirement Ceremony, he had met Han Kun once, and with Zhang Yuanshang’s introduction, they had exchanged a few words.

Though not familiar, he had memorized the scent.

Li Yan’s heart stirred, and he stepped forward quickly.

According to intelligence, Lu San was also hiding within the Manchuan Pass Canal Guild; with his recommendation, he might soon find him.

“Stop!”

Hearing footsteps, Han Kun’s two subordinates immediately snapped alert, whirling around to block Li Yan.

Both men had slightly bulging temples and eyes gleaming with sharpness—they were clearly skilled.

Just then Han Kun turned around; Li Yan quickly bowed and clasped his fists. “Disciple Li Yan, greetings, Master Han.”

“Li Yan?”

Han Kun paused, then recalled, nodding slightly. “What a coincidence—you’ve come to Manchuan Pass for the rites too?”

Li Yan frowned. “What rites?”

Han Kun smiled. “Every year on the seventh day of the tenth month, Manchuan Pass honors Wu Hou, the Sage Strategist, and it’s also when our Canal Guild brothers gather. What brings you here, young Li?”

He hadn’t cared much to begin with.

The Canal Guild wasn’t some ordinary gang; even Zhou Pan himself would treat him with courtesy, let alone Li Yan, a mere upstart from Xianyang.

To such a junior, a single polite reply sufficed.

Yet Han Kun suddenly remembered something.

Guan Wanchen’s petty tricks at the Golden Basin Retirement Ceremony hadn’t escaped his notice—he was an old hand.

And now Guan Wanchen had joined the Commandant’s Office and slain the Maitreya Sect’s incense master alongside Li Yan at the Graveyard of the Unburied—this demanded attention.

The Canal Guild lived on waterways and needed good relations with the court; thus, Han Kun grew slightly more courteous in his tone.

“I came to Manchuan Pass to…”

Li Yan opened his mouth, but Han Kun waved a hand. “No rush. Too many eyes here. I’m due to meet an old acquaintance—somewhere quieter. We’ll talk there.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Li Yan had no choice but to follow behind him.

They walked on, passing through Qinjie, then into Chu Street, turned right after a few steps, and entered an alley.

The alley was far quieter, lined with high-walled mansions, each entrance adorned with large red lanterns—festive and bright.

“Master Han is here!”

Outside the second courtyard stood two burly guards and a young man in a white robe. Seeing Han Kun, he bowed deeply and hurried forward, flattering: “Aunt Fang guessed you’d come—she’s been waiting.”

“Hahahaha…”

Han Kun seemed in high spirits. “Got held up on the way.”

Li Yan’s expression grew odd.

Through the courtyard walls, he could already smell the heavy scent of cosmetics.

“Old acquaintance”? Clearly an old lover.

Led by a pimp, they circled the screen wall and entered the courtyard. Li Yan saw at once—it was a brothel, and a high-class one at that.

The architecture was intriguing.

Likely due to its position linking north and south, the mansion blended the grandeur of northern mansions with the delicacy of southern courtyards.

The main courtyard was clearly hosting a banquet; the side halls and main hall were packed with heads of cart and carriage guilds, drinking, gambling, shouting—drowning out the girls’ songs beside them.

They entered the rear courtyard through a side gate, where the layout grew intricate: corridors, arched gates, pebble paths, bamboo groves—all separating small courtyards, offering secrecy while expanding the sense of space.

Han Kun walked as if unconcerned, but secretly glanced at Li Yan several times. Seeing his calm, composed demeanor, he inwardly praised him.

Last time he brought a nephew here, the boy had gawked around, even trembling slightly.

No wonder such a young man had already made a name for himself—his inner cultivation alone surpassed ordinary youths.

Soon, they reached a quiet, elegant courtyard.

Inside, a small pavilion held a full banquet: screens blocked the wind, rows of lanterns glowed, and night breezes stirred sheer curtains.

Such an atmosphere called for a beauty plucking a pipa—but instead, an old man sat beside the pavilion, cradling a fish-drum, holding clappers, singing calmly: “In this world, loyalty and filial piety are rare—how many truly virtuous souls remain? At home, one thinks the Jianghu is grand; only when you leave do you learn how hard it is to be a guest…”

His voice was weathered, his face lined with time, and he spoke in the soft dialect of Wu.

Li Yan barely understood, recognizing it as Fish-Drum Ballad—a moral tale, likely.

But Han Kun stiffened, his eyes growing slightly damp as he sighed softly: “Qin Fang has thought of me.”

“You know it well.”

A soft voice spoke. From the side chamber emerged a woman in white, short and not young, yet still exuding the refined charm of a woman past her prime.

Han Kun shook his head and smiled. “Twenty years without my homeland’s tune—suddenly hearing it stirs my heart. You must laugh at me, Qin Fang.”

The woman sighed. “Back then, we fled our hometown—I was a singing girl, you a boat hand. Who could’ve imagined you’d become a guild master now?”

Impressive!

Li Yan’s face remained calm, but he inwardly admired.

Though he didn’t know their true relationship, he suspected.

Even if she were his old lover, Han Kun spent most of his time in Xianyang—he couldn’t visit often. Their bond must have grown distant.

One melody of home, one memory—enough to soften the heart.

Then any request would be easier to grant.

Han Kun, a seasoned veteran, clearly saw her tactic. He smiled and changed the subject. “Qin Fang, let me introduce you—this is Li Yan, a rising talent from Xianyang…”

“I know.”

The woman covered her mouth with a silk fan and smiled. “When tigers are gone, monkeys rule the mountain. A young tiger’s first roar scatters the monkey troop—your reputation on Niu Bei Liang is quite the spectacle.”

This woman had problems!

Li Yan’s heart jumped, but his face stayed calm as he bowed. “Your praise humbles me, Elder.”

Han Kun chuckled. “Qin Fang, don’t scare the youngster.”

Then he explained: “Li Yan, this is Chu Qin Fang—an elder of Yanmen. No one in Shaanzhou’s Jianghu knows more about rumors than her.”

So that’s it…

Li Yan bowed again, using the Jianghu salute. “Greetings, Elder.”

Yanmen of the Eight Secret Guilds consisted entirely of women.

As a secret guild, they certainly didn’t run legitimate businesses—but within Yanmen, there were many branches: those who used seduction to swindle were called Yao Hei; others, Feng Huo Hei.

The white-robed concubine who harmed Lu Squire was Yao Hei.

This woman before him belonged to Jin Yanzi—they often operated through brothels, trading information or acting as intermediaries.

Places like Fengyang County’s Fengwen Hall typically served local clients—outlaws and the downtrodden.

Jin Yanzi dealt with Jianghu magnates, officials, and wealthy gentry—charging higher prices, hence the name “Golden Swallows.”

“Sit down and talk.”

Han Kun’s relationship with Chu Qin Fang was clearly intimate—he spoke as if in his own home. After they sat, he turned to Li Yan. “So, what brings you to Manchuan Town?” Li Yan hesitated, then thought: this matter was aboveboard, and he needed their help—he told them everything.

Of course, he mentioned nothing of Xuanmen.

“Oh?”

Han Kun’s eyes brightened with appreciation. “Good. To fulfill a promise is to act with integrity. Delivering a coffin a thousand li is a noble tale—young men must have some chivalry.”

He turned to the woman and smiled. “Qin Fang, this young man is far more principled than we were back then. Don’t think only of money on this matter.”

Chu Qin Fang shot Han Kun a look, laced with flirtation. “You’re the one playing the good man—why belittle me?”

It sounded like reprimand, but was clearly playful banter.

She turned to Li Yan, serious now. “A single piece of information isn’t much—but this matter is entangled.”

“First, Qiao Sanhu—he’s only at the Hidden Force realm, yet he acts with impunity because of his cousin, Yue Fachong.”

“Listen to me: you cannot afford to offend him. Do your task, but stay clear of Lu San’s feud with him.”

“Also, you must send word to Zhang Baijiao of the Manchuan Pass Canal Guild—explain why Lu San is being pursued. Let them handle him, to avoid misunderstandings.”

!

“Oh?”

Han Kun’s interest stirred. He laughed. “Zhang Baijiao never takes losses. What’s so special about Lu San that he’d value him so?”

Chu Qin Fang whispered: “I heard this—Lu San excels at taming beasts, his methods almost miraculous. When the Canal Guild faces water serpents or giant tortoises, they call him.”

Han Kun blinked. “He has such skill? That Zhang Baijiao—when I nearly drowned on Luoshui, he didn’t lift a finger, yet still calls me brother.”

“He’d like to.”

Chu Qin Fang smiled. “Everyone knows what Lu San wants—but Zhang Baijiao doesn’t want to offend Yue Fachong, so the matter’s stuck.”

“Now Lu San is barely a patronized figure—hard to deal with.”

Hearing this, Li Yan grew impatient. He bowed urgently. “Elder, where exactly is Lu San hiding?”

Chu Qin Fang smiled. “He has enemies and moves constantly—but I know: every night at Zi Shi, he trains at Heifeng Gully, beyond the town’s back mountain.”

Han Kun frowned. “What’s special about that place?”

Chu Qin Fang’s gaze deepened. “An ancient Qin-Chu battlefield—graveyards everywhere, snakes and foxes abound. Unless you’re a sorcerer, you won’t even find a person there.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Li Yan rose quickly, bowing. “I mustn’t miss the hour—I’ll take my leave. Forgive my abruptness.”

Seeing them nod, he turned and left.

After he departed, Han Kun picked up a brush, wrote a quick note, and handed it to a subordinate. “Deliver this to Zhang Baijiao.”

“Yes, Boss!”

The subordinate immediately bowed his fists, then turned and left.

Han Kun waved his hand again, signaling everyone around to depart; once the small courtyard was empty, his expression turned grave, and he spoke in a low voice: “Qin Fang, have you made any progress on that matter?”

“Impossible.”

Chu Qinfang smiled bitterly: “In Chang’an, there was a major commotion. After Battalion Commander Chang Xuan returned, he devised a plan to capture and kill the Company Commander Yu Chen, and obtained evidence of his collusion with the Maitreya Sect.”

“Now, Chang Xuan has been promoted to Company Commander and is solely responsible for firearms secrecy. That man is deeply cunning; trying to gather information from Chang’an now is hopeless.”

After hearing this, Han Kun frowned tightly: “I’ve seen the power of this thing myself—if the Pai Sect gets hold of it…”

“You can rest easy on that.”

Chu Qinfang shook her head: “Many in the capital are also probing for information. Right now, only two things are clear.”

“First, this new type of gunpowder may require a special heavenly essence or earth treasure as an ingredient, and the formula is complex—likely beyond the capacity of any martial sect to produce in large quantities.”

Han Kun’s expression eased slightly: “That’s more like it. Without it, many things won’t change.”

“You’re wrong.”

Chu Qinfang spoke with deep implication: “Just two days ago, it was rumored that the Emperor has issued an edict ordering all Regional Military Commissioner battalions to select elite talents to report to the capital—and suddenly, Vice Minister Han Mo has been promoted to Minister of Works.”

Han Kun froze, fell silent for a long while, then sighed:

“From now on, the martial world will surely be troubled…”

…………

Goo goo!

In the darkness, a night owl suddenly cried out.

Shhh!

Li Yan swung his staff, flinging a venomous snake from the bushes into the air.

He glanced at the sky, his heart easing slightly.

After leaving Manchuan Pass, he had run nonstop, climbing toward the back mountain, and finally arrived at Heifeng Gully before Zi Shi.

Ahead lay a deep gully on the mountain, sizable in area, with large, mottled ancient bricks scattered across the ground—long aged, mostly shattered.

Judging by its appearance, a military fortress once stood above, but perhaps due to the Qin-Chu wars, even its ruins have vanished; the path down the mountain was destroyed by mudslides, leaving only climbing as an option.

This place is indeed an excellent hiding spot.

But why did Lu San come here—and what is he cultivating?

As Li Yan pondered, his expression suddenly changed; he immediately pulled out yarrow stalks, formed a hand seal, and chanted: “Nuo Gao, open alone for the grandson Wang Jia…”

The Bao Pu Mountain Climbing Art—he was thoroughly familiar with it—and soon his entire aura vanished. Even a bird landing on the tree above failed to notice him.

Of course, his sense of smell remained sharp.

Li Yan could detect the strong, musky odor of many foxes.

Unlike ordinary beasts, these carried a chilling, malevolent aura.

His left hand tightened the hand seal and yarrow stalks; his right hand formed the Yang Seal—and his sense of smell instantly activated.

While practicing the Bao Pu Mountain Climbing Art, one cannot use other techniques; even internal force disrupts it—but divine senses are exempt.

Instantly, every scent from the mountaintop flooded into his nostrils.

Li Yan narrowed his eyes, stepped forward slowly, making no sound, then hid among the bushes to observe ahead.

Inside Heifeng Gully, the terrain was relatively flat, with many broken walls reduced to mere earthen mounds.

Foxes of all sizes lay on the ground or stood atop the earthen walls, their gazes fixed on a single grave.

The grave was ordinary—the kind found on battlefields.

When soldiers’ corpses were hard to handle, and limbs were scattered, they’d dig a large pit and bury them together.

Often, these were nameless mounds.

The more meticulous might erect a stele to mark them.

Such mounds held little value and were saturated with yin and malevolent energy—rarely visited by tomb robbers.

Yet now, sounds continuously emanated from within the mound.

Swoosh!

Suddenly, something flew out, rolling across the ground with a clatter—it was a human skull.

Then, a dark shadow slowly crawled from the grave, speaking in a low tone: “This will do. Barely usable.”

A white-browed old fox heard this and immediately stepped forward, rising on its hind legs, carefully lifting the skull with its forepaws, and placing it atop its own head.

Jiji jiji!

The surrounding foxes cried out incessantly.

And the old fox, wearing the skull, began to worship the moon…

(End of Chapter)