Chapter 20: Ancient Xianyang City

How could this be!

Many passengers waited for the ferry; the old man’s tobacco smell, the woman’s perfume, sweat, fish stench, and the rotting wood of the dock all surged into his nostrils.

The smell was utterly nauseating.

Li Yan nearly stumbled from the stench.

He understood: his sense of smell had once again surged unexpectedly.

Since that night’s life-or-death battle with the Cold Altar’s demon soldiers, this was the third explosive surge in a short time.

Besides these ordinary odors, he detected many unusual scents.

Several hundred meters from the dock, a cold, sticky stench lingered—something sinister had left its mark, and despite the waves crashing against it, the smell refused to fade…

On the large riverboat of the Cao Gang, someone at the bow burned incense, tied red cloth, scattered spirit money, and poured animal blood; a fierce heat swirled around the prow…

Even more terrifying was the distant city of Xianyang.

Like a monstrous beast resting on the plain, it emitted an ancient, desolate odor, and within its walls, countless incense offerings rose.

Each one was dozens of times stronger than the incense at Li Family Fortress’s land god shrine.

Is this the real world…?

Li Yan was shaken.

Since awakening his sense of smell last year, he had never set foot in Chang’an City, not even in Lantian County—he had always stayed holed up in Li Family Fortress.

Now that he had come to Xianyang, he immediately sensed the difference.

No wonder Wang the Widow and the others hid in the remote village of Li Family Fortress; if they had gone to Chang’an, they would have been exposed immediately, drawing their enemies.

At that moment, Li Yan suddenly saw black.

Waves of dizziness surged, and his astonishing sense of smell vanished.

Li Yan grabbed a nearby willow tree and took a long while to recover.

His face turned grim; he cursed silently.

Clearly, this divine sense came at a cost.

Wang the Widow hadn’t mentioned it—perhaps she hadn’t realized his sense of smell would surge explosively so many times.

Worse still, his ability had gone out of control.

Any loss of control was a major problem.

It must be resolved quickly!

“The ferry’s coming—!”

The ferryman’s voice broke his thoughts.

Fortunately, his sense of smell had shut off; though his head spun and sweat soaked his back, Li Yan walked toward the ferry.

The ferry was small, about seven or eight meters long, with no canopy.

After paying the fare, Li Yan found a random spot to sit.

A cool breeze blew across the river; the chatter of the townsfolk filled his ears:

“Auntie Wang, why aren’t you harvesting your wheat? Why go into the city?”

“I hired wheat harvesters from Longyou—I must go into the city to burn incense, pray for no rain these days, then hurry back…”

“You’ve got plenty of able-bodied men at home.”

“Don’t mention it—my second and third sons went to Jinmen, saying the factories there earn more money, and they won’t even come home for the New Year. I figured, since our land isn’t much, the eldest got his share, so the second and third need some hope…”

Li Yan knew these things from his village.

The Great Ming Dynasty had stood for a hundred years and now stood at its peak.

Yet beneath this golden age, hidden currents stirred.

Large-scale land consolidation had begun; refugees multiplied across the land, and in the past decade, numerous uprisings had erupted.

At the same time, the court had opened the seas for trade; major artisan workshops rose in port cities, absorbing many refugees.

In the imperial court, rumors said unrest brewed—factions formed, attacking one another.

Of course, Li Yan had no interest in any of this.

He only wanted to resolve his own predicament as soon as possible.

After crossing the Wei River, Li Yan’s mind cleared noticeably; his sense of smell returned, but now it was weak—roughly as it had been before confronting “Blind Old Three.”

Li Yan didn’t bother to dwell on it; he lowered his straw hat and entered the city.

After all, it was an ancient capital of the Qin dynasty; ancient texts described it as having “palaces and pavilions, terraces and towers, stretching over three hundred li, blocking out the sun and sky.”

Though battered by war and rebuilt multiple times, the city had shrunk considerably, yet it remained prosperous; as soon as he entered, a wall of noise and bustle hit him.

Unlike Chang’an’s orderly grid of 108 wards, Xianyang’s layout was irregular; Li Yan entered through the South Gate, where the area near the dock was a tangled maze of old commercial streets.

Shops lined the road, banners fluttered, vendors shouted incessantly; mules, carts, and pedestrians interwove, creating a scene of bustling chaos.

Of course, beggars were everywhere.

Perhaps because Li Yan carried a sword, no one bothered him—but other unfamiliar travelers were immediately surrounded by a gang of beggar children as soon as they entered.

They wore tattered clothes; some were missing limbs; they clung to people, pleading, “Kind sir, may you gain a thousand taels this year!” “Madam, bless me with sons and grandsons…”

Li Yan glanced at them and turned away.

Among the beggar sects of the jianghu, there were Eastern and Western factions.

The Eastern faction were soft beggars, mostly performing arts on the streets—songs like “Singing the Tunes,” “Literary and Martial Tones,” “Worshiping the Deities,” “Wandering the Five Lakes,” and more.

These beggars wandered the land, drifting with the tide. The Western faction were mostly stationary beggars, typically entrenched in a single city under a beggar boss who took a cut of their daily takings.

Eastern beggars, when arriving in any city, had to first pay homage to the Western beggars’ den, gain permission to perform, and pay their cut.

If they didn’t know the rules, they’d be dead before nightfall.

Among Western beggar bosses, many were “fake beggars”—families who passed down control of the city’s beggar dens; by day they wore rags, by night they changed into brocade robes and enjoyed themselves in brothels and theaters.

Worse still, some engaged in kidnapping, human trafficking, and body mutilation, closely tied to the city’s human traffickers.

Their specialty was hard begging; though those beggar children looked pitiful, they were ruthless—ordinary people dared not provoke them.

Indeed, when the unfamiliar merchant refused to give money, the beggar children instantly changed their faces, banging their broken bowls and chanting the Lotus Sutra curses:

“No money, no blessing—spend your remaining cash on a coffin!”

“You won’t give? Then I won’t beg—see how desperate you get, you little brat!”

The merchant flew into a rage and chased the beggars—but didn’t notice his money pouch had already been stolen…

Of course, there were many Eastern beggars too.

!.

Li Yan walked through the streets and saw a blind beggar telling stories on the roadside.

His eyes were clouded, his voice ancient and weary, carrying a deep classical flavor.

“Glory and profit come and go, wealth and splendor vanish like mist.”

“The world rolls like a tide—how many attain immortality…”

“To cultivate the Dao!”

…………

“Excuse me, is Master Wang Daoxuan here?”

Outside a small shop, Li Yan asked the shopkeeper.

Near Xianyang’s City God Temple, aside from snack stalls and breakfast vendors, nearly every shop sold paper offerings, incense and candles, coffins, funeral garments—there were also many fortune-telling and divination booths.

For instance, the shop Li Yan asked about was an incense and candle shop, stocked with everything from ordinary earth incense to thick arm-length sticks, from plain red and white candles to ornate dragon-and-phoenix candles, and every kind of spirit money and ingots imaginable.

Li Yan had come here because the temple’s incense smell was so thick it made him dizzy, so he hadn’t approached it directly—he followed the address given by Sha Li Fei.

According to Sha Li Fei, Wang Daoxuan ran a shop offering character divination, feng shui, fortune-telling for weddings and funerals, exorcisms, and demon hunting—anything and everything.

But the shop at the address had changed owners.

Li Yan had no choice but to ask around.

“Wang Daoxuan?”

The incense shop owner, a squint-eyed fat man, frowned in confusion, then suddenly brightened: “You mean Old Wang the Quiet!”

He smiled knowingly: “He’s buried in debt—sold his shop to me. Now he runs his business from home.”

Wang… the Quiet?!

Li Yan’s face froze; anger surged.

Sha Li Fei was utterly unreliable.

Though he’d mentioned Wang Daoxuan took any job, likely a fool, at least he was a Daoist who might know something.

But from the shopkeeper’s words, Wang was probably worse than imagined.

In debt, couldn’t even keep his shop…

“Wang Daoxuan” was surely just a self-styled alias, like Sha Li Fei’s!

Li Yan’s ability was already out of control; now his temper flared.

The shopkeeper noticed, quickly stepped forward, bowed with a smile: “Sir, are you seeking character divination, feng shui, or help with weddings or funerals? Tell me—I know every shop on this street, and I can give you a better price…”

“Thank you, I’ll decide later.”

The words sounded polite, but Li Yan didn’t believe a word.

He’d seen too many like this—merchants who’d tear down each other’s walls; with customers, they’d be even more ruthless.

Besides, the items in this incense shop—he smelled them at once—were all ordinary junk; even the deity statues had no incense aura. Just an amateur.

Sure enough, when Li Yan showed no interest, the shopkeeper’s attitude turned cold.

Li Yan’s mind stirred; he feigned anger, bowed, and said: “I have a debt to settle with Old Wang the Quiet—please tell me where he lives.”

The boss glanced sideways, saw the knife at his waist, and a hint of malicious delight flashed in his eyes; he raised a finger and said, “Easy enough—guest, see that alley? Walk three hundred meters inside, and the Questioning Dao Hall will be on your right.”

…………

The shopkeeper’s direction led to an old residential lane.

Li Yan entered it, and all he saw were ancient, simple houses; though each stood alone behind its own walls, they were secluded and narrow, clearly the dwellings of common folk.

Many of these houses had walls built from reclaimed Qin bricks of old Xianyang, and the ground was paved with weathered blue stone slabs, lending the place a distinct antique charm.

He walked three hundred meters ahead and soon found the place.

Above the gate of an old house hung a wooden sign.

Made of ordinary jujube wood, coated with a thin layer of lacquer—worse than even a tavern’s sign—but the three characters “Questioning Dao Hall” were ancient, forceful, and remarkably distinguished.

Li Yan’s anger subtly lessened.

Then he sniffed the air.

The small courtyard carried several unusual scents…

(End of Chapter)