Chapter 457: Face-Changing, Bewitching the Spirit

The presence of the Caobang people didn't surprise Li Yan.

The root of this matter lies in the struggle among several factions: the Salt Guild and the Sichuan Merchants' Association, the Caobang and the Pai Jiao.

As for Han Kun and the Chen father and son…

Li Yan suddenly recalled that, just before leaving Ezhou, they had stayed at the Jiang-Zhe Merchants' Association, where the Chen father and son had invited him.

They called it "patronage," but in truth, it was about joining forces against the Pai Jiao.

Thinking of this, Li Yan shook his head slightly.

The Jianghu is like this—relationships never stay fixed.

Back in Shaanzhou's Manchuan Pass, he had once received help from Han Kun to find Lu San, and they had since interacted again; they were old acquaintances.

But when one's allegiance shifts, so do one's thoughts.

Ever since he became a senior elder of the Caobang, his horizons widened, his ambitions grew, and he colluded with the Chen father and son, plotting something vast.

As Li Yan's reputation grew, he too came into their sight.

The relationship between them had already turned sour.

As for the Chen father and son, Li Yan had been wary of them from the start.

Besides Han Kun and the Chen father and son, several others sat inside—some dressed as wealthy merchants, others as Jianghu figures—all radiating an air of distinction.

Outside, a grand funeral was being held; inside, they sipped tea and chatted idly.

The atmosphere was strangely eerie.

Li Yan activated a spell incantation, trying to use his spiritual power to eavesdrop.

Unfortunately, the fengshui array of this mansion had clearly been designed by a master—his spiritual power could not penetrate it.

Meanwhile, the Wu-class troupe members were each driven onto the stage, handling props, painting face masks, tuning instruments.

Each of them wore mournful expressions.

The guards standing nearby sneered and scolded, "Snap out of it, all of you! If the play goes wrong, none of you will get away!"

Their orders were to use both soft and hard tactics on these actors: keep them contained, but don't scare them off.

Earlier, letting some go home was meant to give them a glimmer of hope.

To prevent the actors from becoming stubborn and fighting to the death.

This tactic was called "the living noose."

Put a noose around their necks—pull tight if they move, loosen it if they behave. Either way, they can't escape; they must obey.

Once their value is fully squeezed out, their life or death no longer matters.

Just then, the old man who had come earlier to plead suddenly bowed and begged, "Gentlemen, could we perhaps start earlier tonight and perform the 'po tai'?"

"Po tai? You damn son of a bitch!"

The lead big man cursed, "What trick are you trying to pull?"

The old man's face was grim. "After last night's performance, several in the troupe died. Something's wrong. Without 'po tai,' no one dares to perform."

"You old bastard, daring to threaten us!"

The big man grabbed the old man by the collar.

The old man, having nothing left to lose, clenched his teeth and shut his eyes: "Beat us to death if you want. But without 'po tai,' we won't perform—death is death either way!"

"That's right! No 'po tai,' no performance!"

"It's the ancestral rule—we can't break it!"

Seeing this, the big man hesitated.

If these actors walked out, he'd be the one to suffer.

Creak~

The Zhou family mansion gate suddenly opened, and a middle-aged man stepped out, dressed in a black robe, pale-faced, with disheveled hair and darkened corners of his eyes.

Strangely, he wore an odd earring on his left ear—a tiny bronze statue, bearing a Tibetan Buddhist style.

So he was from the San Jiao…

From his attire, Li Yan had already guessed his origin.

The San Jiao is one of the southwestern magical sects, relatively obscure, blending primitive southwestern shamanism with esoteric Buddhist techniques; its members mostly wear disheveled hair and chaotic spells.

In short, they seek only technique, not the Dao.

They've dabbled in every school and ended up as a mishmash.

Though considered heterodox, their specialization in techniques, combined with all manner of esoteric methods, gives them remarkable effects—and they enjoy considerable reputation among the common folk.

This fellow must be the sorcerer behind the mischief.

Indeed, when he saw the troupe members clamoring, he merely glanced dismissively and said, "Breaking the stage is an old custom. Don't interfere. The play will proceed as usual."

"Yes, Master."

The big men, hearing this, stopped blocking them.

The troupe members immediately began bustling about.

The sorcerer's eyes flickered with mockery, then turned and closed the door, returning inside.

Seeing this, Li Yan exhaled in relief.

The troupe had hidden the Eight Trigrams Mirror sent by Wang Daoxuan, along with makeshift face-changing props.

This fellow's awakened power wasn't the scent ability—he hadn't detected their hidden items. Avoiding this disaster meant half the plan had succeeded.

Meanwhile, the sorcerer returned to the mansion and, with his men, moved several bronze mirrors, lanterns, and stone fish tanks, fully dismantling the fengshui array.

This was exactly what he'd been waiting for!

Li Yan smiled faintly and activated the incantation again.

Wang Daoxuan had told him: the Disaster Transfer Method has its rules—during casting, you cannot hide, or the curse won't transfer.

Opening the mansion's fengshui array was inevitable.

With the ear-spiritual power, the conversation inside now drifted to him.

After entering the main hall, the sorcerer was immediately questioned.

"Master Luo, what's happened?"

"Nothing. Those actors want to break the stage."

"Won't that cause trouble?"

"Hmph! That won't do a thing."

The voice asking belonged to Han Kun.

Someone else chimed in: "Why make it so complicated? In my view, just go straight to Huo Jiao."

"We're numerous and powerful—no need to give him face!"

"That's mistaken. The Pai Jiao is powerful. If they fight to the death, we'll suffer losses. The Salt Guild is watching too—if they stir things up and the Pai Jiao fully aligns with them, it'll backfire…"

"Senior Elder Han, what's your opinion?"

"If we can persuade him to submit, the Caobang will make him a senior elder…"

Listening to their conversation, Li Yan finally understood the cause.

The Sichuan Merchants' Association, to resist the Salt Guild, had allied with the Caobang, even gaining support from other merchant groups, and even the Ge Lao Hui had joined their side.

The Pai Jiao, however, found itself in an awkward position.

They were a powerful force spanning southern provinces, but some Pai heads had participated in the tribal chieftain rebellion, drawing the court's displeasure.

The Salt Guild had already pledged allegiance to the Wang Fu. If the Pai Jiao got involved too, it would be a complete mess—no explanation could clear them.

On the other hand, facing the Caobang 's massive invasion, they refused to surrender their territory.

The Caobang, meanwhile, didn't want to push things too far; they wanted room to maneuver, hoping to persuade the Pai head Huo Jiao to defect…

All these calculations had led to this situation.

This battle centered on the Zhou family was a test of strength.

If the Sichuan Pai Jiao won, even if they later chose to submit, they could secure greater leverage…

Knowing the reason, Li Yan no longer cared to engage.

The court, the Jianghu, the marketplace—no matter the method, all fight for interest. He'd seen too much of this already.

This is the red dust. This is the Jianghu.

Whether you like it or not, it's always this way.

National righteousness, Jianghu loyalty, upholding the weak and crushing the strong…

Many speak of them; few live by them.

Outside the Zhou family mansion, the troupe was busy.

Crackling—firecrackers exploded.

A martial male actor with red hair and red beard, face painted in greasepaint, whipped his horsewhip and burst forth, eyes bulging, hair standing on end in fury.

A woman portrayed a female ghost.

The martial actor played Wang Lingguan; after driving off the ghost, he lightly kicked the chair back, lowered himself, and hung his red beard on the curtain. Meanwhile, the old man who had spoken earlier killed a chicken and splattered its blood all over the stage.

By custom, outsiders must not watch during "po tai."

The big men clearly knew this rule—they turned their backs, refusing to look.

They vaguely understood what had been happening these days.

If they angered something, they'd be in deep trouble.

Meanwhile, the young actor playing Wang Lingguan, while hanging his beard, quietly withdrew a small Eight Trigrams Mirror from his robe and, unseen, concealed it behind the beard…

Crackling—firecrackers exploded again.

Three gongs and drums, the grand opera officially began.

This piece, "The Execution Platform of the Dragon King," was originally a segment from the Sichuan opera "Tang Wang's Journey to the Underworld," telling how Tang Wang, at the behest of the Jing River Dragon King, delayed his fate by playing chess with Wei Zheng—yet ultimately failed.

First to take the stage was Tang Wang Li Shimin; after a lengthy aria, he ordered the eunuch to summon Wei Zheng.

!.

The arias were laced with many local dialects and slang; Li Yan understood none of it, yet found it fascinating.

According to the people of "Huangquan," Wei Zheng had once been a living yin official, but merely an ordinary man.

During his time in Ezhou, he too had slain a dragon in a dream.

But there were differences between the two.

The dragon Wei Zheng slew was a dead dragon's soul, haunting the living.

But the one he slew was a living jiao.

It didn't seem he was merely doing the Underworld's bidding…

As he pondered, the dragon-patterned jade tablet in his chest trembled again.

Here it comes!

Li Yan's heart stirred; he gazed toward the distance.

Hoo~

From the northwest, a furious wind howled in, mist surging, the night seeming to grow even darker.

Li Yan immediately smelled the stench of rotten fish and spoiled shrimp.

This Dragon King is odd…

"Turn off the lights!"

As he hesitated, a shout came from within the Zhou family mansion—servants hurriedly extinguished the lanterns, everyone fell silent, their heads covered in black cloth.

The entire Zhou mansion plunged into utter silence.

Not just them—even the guards outside turned their backs, pulled black cloth from their sleeves, and covered their heads.

There was reason behind this.

Humans possess three yang fires; the strongest burns atop the head, and many yin entities and dark arts use this to locate their targets.

Covering the head with black cloth offers only partial protection, but compared to the actors on stage, it was still remarkably weak.

Meanwhile, the stage grew eerie.

Around them, darkness, howling wind, and thick mist swirled—as if some colossal creature darted and soared within the fog.

The opera troupe members felt a chill crawl over their skin.

They exchanged glances, wiped their faces—and instantly, their masks changed, all becoming silver-gray shrimp and crab soldiers.

Li Yan had seen many operas on his journey; he roughly understood the symbolism of the masks.

Red meant loyalty and bravery—like Guan Yu, Jiang Wei, Gan Ning…

Black meant fierce integrity—like Bao Gong, Zhang Fei…

White meant treachery and cunning—most famously Cao Cao.

Yellow meant ferocity; blue meant stubborn strength.

Gold, silver, and gray were typically reserved for Buddhas, gods, immortals, demons, and ghosts.

Since the Wu Troupe was portraying shrimp and crab soldiers, silver-gray was natural.

Their arias remained unchanged, but their movements turned comical; with the masks, they became pure farce.

The guards, with their backs turned, naturally noticed nothing.

And with the howling wind surrounding them, the people inside the Zhou mansion had all suppressed their qi—they knew nothing of what transpired outside.

Li Yan smirked, nodded.

"Hmph, still a bit short of the mark…"

Suddenly, a withered voice sounded beside him.

Li Yan's scalp prickled; he spun around instantly, the Soul-Severing Flying Knife already screaming through the air, hovering beside him.

There, on a tree branch beside him, a shadow had appeared—clad in a black robe, wearing a theatrical mask.

The figure's form was indistinct, neither real nor illusory.

A yin spirit wandering!

Li Yan's eyelid twitched; he braced himself.

Yet the figure paid no mind, casually bowed, and spoke in a withered voice: "This idea—was it yours, boy? Thank you."

"Who are you, Elder?"

Li Yan narrowed his eyes and asked.

The yin spirit turned its head, chuckling: "I'm just a performer, scraping by in the opera world. This outfit's clearly meant to hide my identity—why are you still prattling on?"

Li Yan's face darkened, unsure what to say.

The yin spirit paid no mind, gazing down at the stage, muttering: "Face-changing has 'moba,' 'chuipizi,' and 'chelieqiao'—but to deceive heaven and earth, you must at least use qi to swap faces."

"Not bad—but likely to be exposed. Let me give them a little boost…"

Saying this, he formed a hand seal; the theatrical mask flickered rapidly, then spat out a white mist.

The mist shot like an arrow into the stage.

The Wu Troupe members, as if struck by illusion, grew vacant-eyed, their qi shifting instantly.

The shrimp soldiers leapt vertically.

The crab generals sidestepped.

They truly seemed like water palace minor demons.

The howling wind, wrapped in mist, carried the thick stench of rotten fish and shrimp, swirling above and below—but always avoiding the opera troupe.

"That's more like it."

The withered figure nodded in satisfaction.

Seeing the master meant no harm, Li Yan eased his guard slightly and bowed respectfully: "I wonder, Elder…"

Before he could finish, the old man cut him off.

"That brat at the Dragon King Temple—he's carrying a treasure called the 'Dragon-Snake Tablet.'"

"The 'Dragon' is that old Jiangshen lord from back then; the 'Snake' is the Ba Snake. There are too many tangled threads here—I don't want to wade into that mess. But you, boy, carry the aura of the Underworld—find who you're looking for, quickly…"

As he spoke, his form grew hazy.

"I'm just a dying vagrant—not seeking Buddhahood or immortality, just wandering this mortal world. Don't look for me. Don't come looking."

The voice faded; the figure vanished.

Li Yan bowed slightly, and did not pursue.

He could tell this was likely a hidden xuan master within the opera world, who had come to lend aid upon hearing of the matter.

Even if he found the person, the master would never admit it.

The mortal world teems with extraordinary people…

Li Yan sighed inwardly, and his form swiftly disappeared.

The opera troupe had successfully passed the trial; he had also learned from the mysterious master the whereabouts of the Jiangshen Lord.

What remained was to find a way to steal the treasure from the head of the Paijiao before leaving.

The man was a master—he must be planned for carefully.

Soon after his departure, the wind died, the mist lifted, and the Wu Troupe members staggered, pale-faced, pretending to have been affected.

Amid the mocking gazes of the guards, they fled in haste…

…………

Returning outside the mansion, Li Yan immediately frowned.

He smelled strong blood.

He leapt over the wall—inside the main hall lay a man: Liu San, the beggar who had helped them gather information, drenched in blood, barely clinging to life.

The others all wore expressions of righteous fury…

(End of Chapter)