Chapter 12: Du Daya

The sun rose and set, and before long, several days had passed.

Wang’s widow vanishing stirred up some commotion in the village.

Some said she had taken her daughter beyond the pass, hoping to return to her hometown…

Others claimed the woman was acting strangely, completely mad, and planned to sell her daughter to a human trafficker in Chang’an.

Of course, these were just rumors.

She was an outsider, a widow, and always reeked of filth—no one liked her.

Who cared whether she lived or died?

At most, people sighed and muttered how pitiful that child, not yet four, was.

Village chief Li Huairen didn’t care at all.

He immediately sent someone to the yamen to report her missing, then ordered his servants to seize the land Wang’s widow had left behind, angering several others who had the same idea—they cursed him behind his back.

This was all that remained of Wang’s widow’s family in Li Family Village…

…………

Gulu gulu!

Several old horses strained to pull the stone roller.

Summer harvest was near; golden waves of wheat rolled across the fields.

Though it wasn’t yet time to reap, the farmwork was no less heavy.

The women gathered mulberry leaves, raised silkworms, and cooked meals for the whole family.

The men took sickles, wooden forks, shovels, and wooden rakes from the storage shed, repairing and maintaining them in preparation for the harvest.

Besides that, the threshing floor had to be rolled smooth and level with the stone roller.

After all, seizing grain was like warfare—if preparations were inadequate and something went wrong during harvest, a sudden rain could ruin everything for the whole year.

Li Yan wasn’t idle either—he was feeding the horses at the threshing floor.

“Young Master Li, my beast is top-notch.”

The driver Du Sixi grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth, spitting as he hawked his wares.

“A ten-year-old horse is still in its prime, never injured—not fast enough for a thousand li a day, but shuttling between here and Chang’an? No problem…”

“How can you roam the rivers and lakes with a sword but no horse?!”

Li Family Village wasn’t wealthy—only Village Chief Li Huairen owned a few old horses for labor, occasionally riding them for a stroll.

Even that made the village’s young men envious.

Li Yan naturally wanted a horse too—not for vanity, but to practice mounted archery and make trips to Chang’an easier.

Yet now, he was distracted.

Watching Du Sixi boast endlessly, Li Yan felt a thought stir—he asked, “Old Du, what famous Daoist temples are there in Chang’an?”

Wang’s widow’s family had been gone for days.

No one knew a terrifying thing had once crept into the village to cause havoc.

Though the matter had settled, for Li Yan, it had only just begun.

First, he knew his family’s misfortunes—his father’s and his past self’s violent deaths—were caused by someone using yansheng curses.

The enemy’s methods were cruel; they had tampered with imperial gifts, and their power was no ordinary force. If they learned the spell had failed, they might strike again.

Moreover, Li Yan had no intention of letting this go.

Second, according to Wang’s widow, he had awakened the Six Yang Orifices and gained the divine sense of smell—he would inevitably draw the attention of yin evils soon.

Thus, entering the Xuan Gate had become his immediate goal.

This Du Sixi was a cart driver from the neighboring Du Village, regularly shuttling between nearby villages, transporting people to Chang’an or hauling goods.

These past two days, he’d been hitching horses to haul stone rollers for several villages.

Though he looked unremarkable, he was a man of the rivers and lakes.

The rivers and lakes had five trades and eight crafts: the five trades were carts, boats, inns, porters, and brokers; the eight crafts were various artisans—blacksmiths, carpenters, leatherworkers, and so on.

The rivers and lakes weren’t just about fighting—they were livelihoods.

And some of these five-trades-and-eight-crafts factions commanded such respect that even notorious outlaws on the green woods had to give them face.

For example, boats: in the south, the Pai Sect; in the north, the Cao Gang; on the seas, the Four Seas Gang.

For example, porters: though they were hard laborers, every dock had its own gang.

And as for inns, several famous ones served as resting spots for travelers and hubs for information exchange.

The cart trade was the same.

Imagine trying to make a living in one place, running a business of arrivals and departures—how could you survive without protection, let alone travel far and wide?

Where there are people, there are interests; where there are interests, there are rivers and lakes.

In Chang’an, there were two major cart companies: “Tai Xing” and “Chang Sheng.”

Not only did they control all cart and horse work in Chang’an, but even across the entire Guanzhong region—they had close ties with every escort agency, inn, Cao Gang, porter gang, and broker guild.

Their martial strength might be mediocre, but their information network was exceptionally sharp.

Du Sixi was a man of Tai Xing Cart Company; because of his crooked teeth, he was nicknamed Du Daya.

Though he had no real ability and held a low status, merely drifting between villages, he knew a great deal.

He had once received a favor from Li Yan’s father, Li Hu, so Li Yan asked him: “Need I even ask?”

Du Sixi grinned, “Chang’an has suffered many wars, but it’s been the capital of several dynasties—its 108 wards hold countless Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries.”

“What, Young Master Li, you want to burn incense? I’m heading to Chang’an tomorrow…”

Li Yan waved him off, speaking gravely: “Old Du, I want to know where the true Xuan Gate masters are.”

“Xuan… Xuan Gate?”

Du Sixi froze. “Why are you asking about that?”

The tone suggested he actually knew something?!

Li Yan’s heart leapt—he smiled and pulled Du Sixi into the shade of a tree. “Old Du, no—Uncle Du, if you know, tell me.”

Du Sixi was pleased by the “Uncle Du,” but knew Li Yan’s background—he dared not be careless, and chuckled nervously: “Young Master Li, don’t tease me. Your father, Master Hu, was a man who carved his name across Guanzhong.”

“Who doesn’t know the title ‘Tiger of Guanzhong’? How could he not know these things?”

Li Yan pondered. “Just tell me. Don’t drag in other things.”

His father had told him many tales of the rivers and lakes—even taught him secret slang—but had never mentioned anything about the Xuan Gate.

!.

Could it be… he deliberately concealed it…

Du Daya noticed Li Yan’s expression darken and hesitated—then spoke quickly: “In the rivers and lakes, among the three teachings and nine streams, aside from skill, there’s hierarchy.”

“I’m just a cart driver, a lowly errand-runner in the guild—I don’t know much, but I’ve overheard a few things.”

“The term ‘Xuan Gate’ is broad—anyone who knows odd arts can be called a Xuan Gate practitioner, but it’s a mix of true and false. Yet if someone truly has power, no one dares underestimate them.”

“There are two schools.”

“One is officially sanctioned by the court, registered with the Ministry of Rites’ Xuan Sacrifice Bureau, granted Dao and Buddhist charters, and oversees famous Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries—they call themselves the True Xuan Path, the most famous being the Tai Xuan Zheng Jiao.”

“The other is far more numerous: yin-yang masters, witch doctors, shaman priests, and Jianghu practitioners of esoteric arts—all count.”

“Though the True Path looks down on them as heretical, in the rivers and lakes, their status is considerable—powerful ones are revered and supported by various gangs.”

“But ordinary folk can’t tell the frauds from the true masters…”

Li Yan pressed: “Do you know any Xuan Gate practitioners?”

“Young Master Li, you’re joking.”

Du Daya chuckled nervously: “I’m just Du Sixi, scraping by, not even a hair in the guild. And I’m just a mortal—how could I know those high ones?”

Seeing Li Yan frown, he lowered his voice: “Young Master Li, don’t rush—I may be useless, but I know one man with wide connections who also has ties to your family—he likely knows.”

“Who?”

“Sha Li Fei!”

“Him?!”

Hearing the name, Li Yan’s expression turned strange.

…………

After chatting with Du Daya, Li Yan returned home.

As soon as he arrived, he saw his grandfather Li Gui squatting on the threshold, smoking a long pipe, puffing clouds, looking furious.

Li Yan smiled. “Grandpa, what’s wrong now?”

The old man scowled, grumbling: “That dog Li Laoshuan cheats at chess—he’s never eaten a decent meal in his life!”

Li Yan chuckled. “Calm down. Go beat him tomorrow.”

These old men didn’t compete with skill—they competed with their mouths.

Losing a game didn’t matter; losing an argument was what angered them.

But wasn’t that a good thing?

Since the yansheng curse on the plaque was broken, Grandpa Li Gui had visibly changed—he no longer sulked all day, seemed to have let go of many things.

Either he played chess with village elders, or fished by the West Little River, even muttering about wanting to go to Chang’an to hear opera.

Seeing the old man like this, Li Yan was genuinely happy—but at the same time, his hatred for the one who cast the curse grew fiercer, and he now harbored murderous intent.

In two lifetimes, he had never been the type to suffer in silence.

Besides, on his way back, he had pieced together something.

Logically, his father was an old hand of the rivers and lakes—he couldn’t possibly be unaware of Xuan Gate matters. Yet he taught him everything… except this one thing, which seemed deliberately hidden.

Could it be that his father, Li Hu, is also secretly investigating?

But it didn’t seem right—if his father knew someone had secretly cursed their home, how could he allow that plaque to hang above the gate?

And as for the cause of death, it hadn’t seemed odd before, but now the more he thought about it, the more suspicious it became…

Thinking of this, Li Yan’s heart stirred; he looked at Li Gui, crouched down, and smiled: “Grandpa, who exactly did you offend back then?”

Li Gui’s white eyebrows twitched. “Why ask that?”

Li Yan grinned. “Just curious. Besides, if it weren’t for this person, I might’ve been some yamen brat myself—when I felt annoyed, I could at least have a reason to curse.”

“Pfft, yamen brat!”

Li Gui spat smoke as he cursed: “You’re born to dig in the dirt—don’t go dreaming of nonsense. How many years have passed? Do you still plan to take action?”

“Besides, that person is already dead.”

“Dead?!”

(End of Chapter)