Chapter 193: The Black Boat Arrives at Ezhou

Deep night, silent and still, the wild forest lay pitch black.

In this remote, uninhabited place, a simple thatched hut stood on a clearing in the woods.

The bright moon shone down, the night wind stirred, and wind chimes on the hut's eaves tinkled softly.

The chimes were peculiar—the clappers were copper talismans, each swing striking with a crisp, clear sound.

Inside the hut, the furnishings were bare: empty walls, a single square table, and a single straw mat.

On the table, a dim candle flickered; before it lay offerings, and on the tray behind, unmistakably rested a heart, already darkening.

An old monk sat cross-legged on the mat, muttering incessantly, his prayer beads sliding one after another through his fingers.

When midnight arrived, he suddenly opened his eyes, knelt on the mat, and bowed repeatedly toward the heart.

Huh!

In an instant, cold winds surged from all directions.

The moonlight outside the window seemed to grow even brighter.

A fierce wind rose in the mountains and woods; leaves rustled, and soon, a dense chorus of cries filled the air.

Wails, sobs, pleas for mercy, furious roars—human voices, ghostly whispers, strange and varied.

At the same time, will-o'-the-wisps drifted through the dense forest.

Pairs of blood-red eyes glowed in the dark trees; grasses rustled as if countless beasts ran through them.

To an ordinary person, this sight would have been terrifying—but the old monk ignored it all, bowing ceaselessly before the heart.

By the second half of the night, the strange noises gradually faded.

The earlier chaos of demons and spirits had been but a dream.

Inside the hut, the old monk's eyes flickered with delight.

He pulled a sachet from his robe, carefully placed the heart inside, then laughed aloud and picked up the wine jug from the table, splashing its contents everywhere.

Finally, he set fire to the hut and walked away…

…………

On the Golden Money River, spring rain fell fine as silk; droplets struck the water, rippling outward, while green hills on both banks shimmered in and out of view. Rain tapped the boat's bamboo roof, dripping through the woven gaps.

"Damn this weather!"

Seeing Sha Li-fei shivered, muttering under his breath.

Though the first month had passed, the biting chill of early spring lingered; with the endless drizzle, wet clothes soaked through, sending a cold that gnawed deep into the bones.

Seeing Sha Li-fei lifted the wine jug and poured a bowl for each of them.

"Drink up, quick—warm yourselves!"

"We've been traveling nonstop for days, haven't had a hot meal—once we reach Shangjin City, we'll sleep till dawn."

Li Yan drained his bowl, wiped his mouth, and grinned: "Uncle Sha, you've got money now, and you've grown soft."

"Back then, rain or wind, you never complained."

Seeing Sha Li-fei sneered: "Back then, we were poor—no choice but to tough it out. Life's only a few decades—why suffer if you can be comfortable?"

Wang Wang Daoxuan chuckled silently: "True enough."

Seeing Sha Li-fei sighed, shaking his head: "I'm not afraid of hardship—I'm just in a bad mood."

He glanced at the baggage in the cabin and whispered: "That stuff got damp—probably ruined."

He meant gunpowder.

"Don't worry," Li Yan shook his head, "we'll find more. Yuyang's docks are full of all kinds—nothing's impossible to get."

Lu San, meanwhile, crouched in the corner tending to his falcon, occasionally reaching out to scoop up a handful of river water—below, fish immediately swarmed.

At that moment, a man in straw raincoat and conical hat entered the cabin, bowing: "Gentlemen, Shangjin City is nearly here."

He looked at Lu San, eyes filled with regret: "Lu brother, I'm truly sorry I couldn't help you back then."

He was Wang Yong, a boat captain of the Manchuan Pass Canal Guild; when Lu San once served as their patron, he'd aided them several times.

Later, Lu San was wanted after Brother Qiao Brother Qiao Sanhu's incident.

The Canal Guild ultimately chose to stand aside—this angered veteran captains like Wang Yong.

Whether Canal Guild or Pai Jiao, though famed in the Some Jianghu, most were just hardworking laborers.

Their original purpose, above all, was to band together against corrupt officials and avoid exploitation.

Everyone in Manchuan Pass knew Brother Qiao Brother Qiao Sanhu's true nature.

Now, at this critical moment, the Guild abandoned its own brother—Wang Yong and the old captains felt betrayed.

So when Li Yan and the others arrived at Manchuan Pass, Wang Yong didn't wait to be asked—he came to them and offered to take them to Ezhou.

"It's fine."

Lu San, clearly familiar with Wang Yong, forced a smile: "It's over. I'm doing well now."

"Good."

Wang Yong nodded, then turned to Li Yan: "Li Li Shaoxia, you cut off Xiong Xiong Baodong's head on the Lantern Festival—your name shook Guanzhong! Lu San's lucky to follow you."

He grinned with malicious delight: "Brother Qiao Brother Qiao Sanhu's dead, his fortune's being fought over, and everyone's kicking him while he's down."

"His dogs have no protection now—some fled, others scattered. The Some Jianghu folks are settling old scores—none escaped."

"Hmph, when you're rich, you don't leave room for mercy—you really think wearing a government skin lets you live forever?"

He glanced sidelong at Li Yan.

Rumors in the Some Jianghu claimed Brother Qiao Brother Qiao Sanhu was killed on Li Yan's orders—though there was no proof, the timing was too convenient.

He meant no harm—just loved gossip.

Li Yan laughed it off: "Captain Wang, I heard your Canal Guild and Pai Jiao are clashing hard in Yuyang?"

"Yes."

Wang Yong didn't hide it: "Since the founding emperor sealed the mountains and established Yuyang Prefecture, the place has changed daily—it's now a major port on Shenzhou's waterways, a hub of six provinces."

"Here in Ezhou, it's second only to Hankou, the nine-province crossroads—and it's the dividing line between our Guild and Pai Jiao."

"We used to coexist peacefully—Canal Guild held the northern docks, Pai Jiao the southern. But this year, Pai Jiao went mad, trying to seize our territory. Our men refused, and it turned violent."

"Bah—it's just east wind vs. west wind, south wind vs. north wind. In a few years, it'll be the same old mess."

He glanced outside and smiled: "Gentlemen, Shangjin City—right next to Manchuan Pass, equally caught between Qin and Chu. Step ashore here, and you're in Ezhou."

"Rest tonight, change clothes—tomorrow I'll take you to Yuyang."

"You're too kind, brother."

Li Yan shook his head, smiling: "We've been traveling nonstop—we're tired. We plan to rest two more days in Shangjin Ancient Town before moving on."

"Some Jianghu brothers are always on the road, just trying to eat. To trouble you further would be rude."

Truthfully, though they'd slept rough since leaving Huashan, they weren't so worn out they couldn't manage one night.

Li Yan said this deliberately.

Even Some Jianghu loyalty has limits.

Helping someone along is fine; getting entangled too deeply is dangerous.

On the way, Seeing Sha Li-fei had learned the Canal Guild and Pai Jiao were already bloodied and furious—getting too close to the Guild might drag them in.

Better to avoid such trouble.

Wang Yong spoke boldly, but old Some Jianghu hands knew how to scheme—and none were gentle.

True enough, Wang Yong's eyes flickered with disappointment, but he didn't press. He saw them to the dock and waved goodbye, turning back to Manchuan Pass.

On the dock, Li Yan and the others looked up—before them stood a small town, built of weathered stone walls. "Is this Shangjin City?"

Li Yan was surprised: "They said it was the gateway to Yuyang—looks small."

Wang Wang Daoxuan smiled: "I've been here before. It's a small town, but since Tang times, it's been a canal port, a resting place for merchants. The four city gates are odd—named 'Connecting Qin,' 'Reaching Chu,' 'Linking Han,' 'Connecting Yuyang.'"

"But it's been burned down several times by mountain rebels, rebuilt each time—so it's worn."

"Ah, I see…"

Li Yan instantly understood Wang Wang Daoxuan's meaning.

It tied to the region's history.

Near Jingxiang's mountains, this place had always drawn displaced people—whenever chaos erupted, refugees flooded in.

During Qin turmoil, many fled here to hide; Tao Yuanming's famed "Peach Blossom Spring," unaware of Han or Wei-Jin, lay in Wuling County of Yuyang Prefecture.

Later came the Eight Princes' Rebellion, Song-Jin wars, the Northern and Southern Dynasties—refugees kept pouring in, numbering millions.

The vast Jing-Chu mountains gave them shelter—they ignored imperial orders entirely.

!.

Millions of refugees hidden in the mountains worried every dynasty; the court sent troops to clear them out.

But they failed—only sparked rebellions.

When Da Da Xuan was founded, the court issued the Mountain Sealing and Land Vacating Edict, establishing Yuyang Prefecture to handle the refugees.

Naturally, this triggered several major Jingxiang uprisings.

The most recent was led by a hero nicknamed "Heavenly Holy King," who gathered hundreds of thousands of refugees, daring to declare his own state and defy imperial law.

Naturally, he was crushed.

But that "Heavenly Holy King" was once a top Some Jianghu figure—even decades later, his followers still plotted secretly, seeking revenge.

Last year, refugees even attacked Shangyong County—news of it reached even Xianyang.

Wang Wang Daoxuan mentioned this to warn them.

All understood, lowering their hats as they headed toward the gate.

Yet no matter how quiet they tried to be, they couldn't hide.

A swordsman, a Daoist, a bald giant with a fearsome face, and a man with an eagle perched on his shoulder…

Wherever they went, they were the center of attention.

Sure enough, before they even entered the city, they were stopped.

"Stop! Where are you from?"

The city guards' eyes were filled with suspicion.

Li Yan sighed and revealed his Daoist credential. "We come from Changancheng, traveling to Ezhou to visit friends. Don't worry—we'll register at the Yunnanyang Chenghuangmiao."

Though the court had tightened restrictions on the Daoist sects, it wasn't without benefit.

For instance, his Daoist credential was a mark of universal passage.

At every location, simply registering at the Chenghuangmiao allowed him to take on all manner of Daoist business locally.

This was the court's cleverness.

Though the Grand Supreme Orthodox Teaching was vast, the countless Daoist practitioners scattered across Shenzhou remained thinly spread.

In some places, when demonic disturbances arose, they still had to summon help from afar.

With this credential, as long as Daoist cultivators didn't incite the masses or abuse their arts for evil, the court welcomed their travels—sending them to exorcise spirits, hunt demons, and suppress malevolent forces.

The city guards must have been instructed on this.

Sure enough, when the guards saw the black Daoist credential, their eyes widened in alarm, and they quickly bowed. "Gentlemen, our apologies—please enter the city."

"Shall I escort you to the inn?"

"No need. Just tell us where it is."

Li Yan waved his hand, learned the location, and led the group into the city.

Shangjin City was small, laid out in one street and nine alleys.

The main street running through town was narrow, no more than two hundred meters long and less than four meters wide, paved with blue stone slabs, rainwater trickling through the cracks.

Shops lined both sides, bustling with traffic; old brick-and-wood doors, moss growing in the corners. Though small, the place radiated extraordinary prosperity.

As this was a major grain transport town, there were many inns, mostly modest stables for laborers; only one inn could be considered decent.

Of course, even the best inn paled beside Changancheng—it was merely a large Sihe Academy, with upper and lower floors for lodging.

Li Yan and the others had no intention of staying long; they casually rented four connected rooms on the second floor, had the servant bring hot water, ate some wine and dishes haphazardly, then prepared to rest.

They hadn't stopped at Manchuan Pass; here, at last, they could sleep soundly.

At this moment, the rain outside grew heavier.

Li Yan opened the window and took in the entire small city beneath the mist and drizzle.

The sky had begun to darken; candles glowed dimly across the ancient town, smoke rose from chimneys. Below the opposite building, an old Tujia man squatted by his door, puffing a pipe nearly five feet long, clouds of smoke curling around him—a scene of tranquil peace.

Farther away, in several stables where boatmen rested from the rain, they drank old yellow wine, shouted dice calls, laughed and joked—their voices carrying down the entire street.

Li Yan paid it no mind, changed out of his wet clothes, sat on the bed, and took up his Duanchen Blade, caressing and examining it.

He subtly focused his spirit; his fingers traced the hilt, and the twelve ancient coins embedded upon it instantly sparked with lightning, crackling loudly.

Li Yan couldn't help but smile.

The old man from Mount Hua was undoubtedly a master swordsmith.

This ability was incredibly useful: within the twelve copper coins now resided Yin Thunder, and when clashing blades with an enemy, he could activate it with his spirit, using the Yin Thunder's power to shake the opponent's soul.

Remember, in blade combat, victory hangs by a thread.

Losing focus in battle—even if the Yin Thunder couldn't directly harm the enemy's soul—could be fatal.

And as his Daoist cultivation advanced, his thunder arts would only grow stronger.

With a clang, Li Yan drew the blade, mimicking the old man's posture, forming a sword seal and lightly brushing the edge.

Of course, he could not yet produce that extremely subtle, refined force, nor could he make the blade sing like a dragon.

But the blade's gleam reflected his face; at its core lay copper essence from Mount Shou, and along its ridges, a dark yellow dragon pattern emerged.

Remember, the old man had no mechanical tools from Li Yan's past life—yet he had crafted such a pattern, both practical and exquisite, truly divine craftsmanship.

Of course, there was also the change in the blade's shape.

Li Yan gripped the blade and thrust it sharply forward—the blade felt like an extension of his arm.

No wonder the old man had molded his bone structure and hand shape.

If his ancestral blade had merely been familiar, this sensation now felt as though he had been born to wield this blade.

But with the blade's shape changed, his sword techniques must change too.

More rigorous training would be unavoidable.

Also, several techniques from the Bei Di Jing had reached their threshold, but practicing them was extremely troublesome and required rare materials.

When we reach Unlike Yichang, after saving the person, find a place to settle, first cultivate these techniques, then refine the swordplay…

After pondering his future journey for a while, Li Yan felt weary. He briefly focused his spirit into meditation, then lay down and fell into deep sleep.

Unaware, night deepened, the rain drumming against the window.

Dang-dang-dang!

As dawn neared, urgent gongs and drums shattered the ancient city's stillness…

Rest today—only two updates.

(End of Chapter)