Chapter 486: Five Sons

Inside the pavilion stood another figure in a black robe, his face painted with a grotesque mask—the "Ghost Face."

Li Yan's guess was correct; this man was a notorious evil-path expert.

Years ago, the "Ghost Troupe" was also famous throughout the Jianghu, much like Li Yan's group, also operating as "Wandering Immortals," but on a far larger scale—with forty to fifty members—and considered a significant force within the Daoist sects.

Unlike Li Yan's group, the Ghost Troupe's members were unstable in character, roaming aimlessly and using any means necessary to achieve their goals, drawing the wrath of the entire cultivation world and earning a warrant from the Enforcement Hall.

When righteous sect experts swarmed to crush them, their leader was killed, and the rest either died or fled.

Talent emerges in every generation of the Jianghu; few now remember them.

The Ghost Face, gazing through the window at the crowded crowd afar, said coldly: "When the chance comes, open fire!"

One of the gunners spun around sharply: "What do you mean?"

This gunner dressed as a peddler, yet his manner and bearing were those of a hardened military general.

Indeed, he was a personal bodyguard of the Prince of Shu, assigned to lead this small team—not under the Ghost Face's command—and he despised these sorcerers' ways.

If they fired recklessly and exposed the Wang Fu's hidden force, he would bear full blame; moreover, since the Ghost Face had changed plans on a whim, he had every right to demand an explanation.

"You must be flexible in your actions."

The Ghost Face said calmly: "The situation has changed. That boy is likely already prepared—he knows escape arts. If he flees, finding him again won't be easy."

"I've already arranged for some explosives. When the time comes, detonate them among the crowd—it will mask the sound of the divine fire guns and make it seem as if the boy's enemies did it…"

"No!"

Upon hearing this, the gunner commander grew even more disgusted and refused without hesitation: "There's no wall without cracks. The Censor is in Chengdu—proceed with caution. Absolutely no reckless actions!"

"And remove all your arrangements immediately. The wilderness is one thing, but this crowded place must leave no trace."

Seeing him lose his temper, the gunners halted their movements.

They were all elite soldiers; though they still appeared to be aiming out the window, their back muscles were taut, ready to turn and fire at any moment.

One reason this fire gun unit was formed was

to counterbalance these sorcerers.

"Since the senior has ordered it, we'll follow your wishes."

The Ghost Face said, expressionless.

Seeing him yield, the gunner commander quickly offered a face-saving remark: "If this fails, Master, find a way to lure him outside the city—then we'll make sure he's reduced to dust!"

"Hmm."

The Ghost Face nodded in response.

His mask was grotesque, revealing no hint of expression.

…

Above, the atmosphere was tense; below, the danger was even greater.

"State your name."

Li Yan slowly drew his Dunchen Blade and said coldly: "You're old enough to know better. I don't kill nameless men."

"Lotus Sect, Wang Han."

The black-faced man drew his long spear from behind and sneered: "You're bold now, but you won't be laughing soon."

"Speak—how do you intend to fight?"

According to Jianghu rules, the challenged party sets the terms of combat.

Though he had no intention of holding back, he still had to ask.

"Fight to the death!"

"Good! You've got guts!"

Wang Han laughed loudly, spun his right spear, and slammed it hard into the ground; with his left hand, he pinched a yellow talisman.

The talisman was large, adorned with lotus patterns at the top and bottom, flanked by green dragons and white tigers forming a shrine-like frame, with a shadowy figure holding a spear drawn inside, the incantation head inscribed with commands, the spell filled with magical formulas, and the divine name written in cinnabar.

He gave his left hand a slight shake—the talisman burst into flame.

He closed his eyes and chanted, stomping his left foot repeatedly.

"Banner, drum, incense burner reflect the three altars; the first drumbeat shakes the nine heavens, the second drum stirs the earth, the ghost gong softly tolls and shakes the cosmos. Incense curls, candlelight flickers—I humbly summon the heroic spirit, Yang Wulang…"

Li Yan's eyelid twitched; he shouted to those around: "Fall back! Don't get hurt!"

The Divine Possession technique is also a form of spirit invocation.

But true gods do not descend—so it's called "invoking the spirit," yet in truth, it summons ghosts.

According to orthodox Daoist teachings, this is a chaotic art.

It consumes the practitioner's innate vitality to absorb spiritual energy.

The lowest form is summoning a nameless spirit.

The more advanced form is called "invoking the spirit."

But true gods never answer—so this method uses special rites to cultivate spirits, using incense ash from offerings to true gods to forge a divine vessel, transforming it into a false deity.

In plain terms, even if you summon the Buddha of the Western Heaven, it's still fake.

And this technique carries serious drawbacks.

A warrior's body is as precious as oil; a sorcerer's spirit is no less so.

The spirit thrives on purity and clarity, yet this method requires absorbing both spiritual energy and the residual karmic fragments of mortal offerings—inevitably corrupting the spirit.

In Divine Possession terminology, this is called "pressing the qi."

Some practitioners slap their bodies violently—not to show off, but to expel the impurities, called "slapping the curse."

The hidden dangers are great, yet many still use it, for its power is undeniable.

Summoning a nameless wilderness spirit is one thing.

But any spirit with a known name is dangerous.

Wang Han is summoning Yang Wulang of the Yang Family Generals—a figure with deep folk devotion, also called "Yang Gong Taishi."

If he loses control of the qi, everyone nearby will suffer.

Yet the crowd gathered on the street, unaware of the danger and packed too tightly, only pressed closer, making the space even more cramped.

Meanwhile, Wang Han had begun to change.

Hssss~

Dark winds surged around him, thick with the scent of incense, rushing toward him; his demeanor and aura transformed.

His eyebrows arched sharply, his eyes turned cold, his spine straightened, he stood with spear horizontal—as if he had grown taller.

Boom!

He suddenly kicked sideways, striking the spear shaft.

The spearhead had been planted in the ground—this kick was so powerful it sent up a spray of earth and stones toward Li Yan.

Simultaneously, the spearhead snapped upward; Wang Han gripped it with one hand in the central thrust, his foot planted firmly as he lunged forward with a roar, aiming straight at Li Yan.

It was indeed the Yang Family Spear.

In the Jianghu, "Yang Family Spear" usually refers to two styles.

One was created by Yang Miaozhen, wife of Li Quan, leader of the Red Robe Army in the late Southern Song, famed as "Twenty years of pear-blossom spear—unrivaled under heaven."

The other is this one—the Yang Family Generals' spear technique.

Known as: "Front hand firm, back hand rigid; upward and downward strokes leave openings."

"Thrust like an arrow, retract like a thread; swift hands, sharp eyes—strike the face."

This move—"Poisonous Dragon Emerges from the Cave"—perfectly matched its essence.

Of course, seeing Wang Han summon Yang Wulang, Li Yan had already anticipated it—he'd guessed the trick.

But he didn't meet it head-on; instead, he drew back his blade, spun his body, and leapt upward, stepping on the inn's beams to rise into the air.

Crack!

Wang Han's spear was too fast—it pierced clean through the inn's wooden pillar, thick as a water barrel, with tremendous force.

In midair, Li Yan did not turn to attack.

It looked as if the spear was stuck—but it was a trap.

With their strength and control, how could they make such a mistake?

Indeed, when Wang Han saw Li Yan didn't bite, he shook his right hand—the wooden pillar shattered instantly.

Had Li Yan slashed downward from midair, Wang Han would have unleashed a storm of spear thrusts; the short blade would have left Li Yan exposed, vulnerable, and defenseless.

This is the nature of weapon combat—one misstep, and death is certain.

Of course, Li Yan had another concern.

This old ghost had used Divine Possession—his mind was corrupted, focused only on battle, utterly indifferent to collateral damage.

Splash!

As Li Yan predicted, the damaged pillar collapsed, bringing down a corner of the inn—bricks and stones rained down on the crowd.

"Damn it!" "Watch where you're going!"

Amid curses, the onlookers scrambled back.

Fortunately, only the front eave collapsed; even if someone was struck by debris, no one was killed.

After this, they understood the danger.

The crowd retreated en masse, no longer daring to approach.

Ignoring the shouts around him, Wang Han leveled his spear, his cold gaze fixed upward: "Running away?"

Li Yan replied calmly: "This space is too narrow—I can't fight properly."

With that, he pushed off and leapt sideways.

Wang Han also gripped his spear, leapt onto the roof in three quick strides, moving like lightning as he gave chase.

The two raced one after the other, leaping across eaves and scaling walls toward the docks.

!.

In the blink of an eye, both vanished from sight.

The onlookers exchanged glances; some felt a thrill, but others, seeing the injured, shook their heads slightly and decided not to get involved.

As for those of the Jianghu, they would not miss the chance.

Such a clash between masters was not common.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

"At the docks!"

Immediately, shadow after shadow surged after them.

Amid the chaotic crowd, several men exchanged glances—they were the other masters who had come to kill Li Yan.

They frowned slightly, gazing toward the distance.

That was where the musketeers lay in ambush.

Li Yan's sudden move left the musketeers useless; the distance was too great, no matter how powerful their guns, they couldn't hit him.

And at the docks, there was no way to hide.

Could this brat know the musketeers had arrived?

If the musketeers succeeded, that would be best.

If not, they might have to act themselves.

Just complete the mission—that's all. Unless you're Wang Han, the fool, no one wants to risk their life.

Yet the task from the Shu Prince's mansion had to be fulfilled.

The men sighed in resignation and followed toward the docks.

Meanwhile, inside the distant pavilion, "Ghost Flower Face" fell silent for a moment, then said grimly: "Let's go first—intercept on the river."

The musketeer commander narrowed his eyes. "Do you not trust Wang Han?"

"Or… was he meant to be bait all along?"

"Ghost Flower Face" replied coolly: "You overthink. I merely wish to avoid failure—just in case."

His voice grew colder. "Once we reach the river and find no one, won't you finally be able to act?"

"Naturally."

…

Shhh!

On the dock, Li Yan had barely stopped when a sharp whistle came from behind—Wang Han had caught up, crouching low, dragging his spear.

The spear's blade carved a long groove into the blue stone slabs.

As the two drew near, Li Yan suddenly raised his hand—the invisible Soul-Grabbing Cord shot out with a whistle, aimed straight at Wang Han's face.

No matter how long the spear, it could not outreach the Soul-Grabbing Cord.

Yet Wang Han seemed prepared—he exhaled sharply, pulled his spear back, and released a flood of Yin-Death energy that flung the Cord aside.

The Soul-Grabbing Cord was invisible, but after invoking the Divine Strike, Wang Han's eyes were veiled in black mist, allowing him to faintly see it.

Moreover, the spear was infused with incense energy, enabling it to block the Cord.

Li Yan saw this and was not surprised.

During his travels through the Jianghu, he had learned the Soul-Grabbing Cord was no great secret—skilled Yin Officials could all wield it.

From past battles, he suspected his signature move was already known, and future foes would be prepared.

Of course, his Soul-Grabbing Cord could store Heavenly Thunder—a fact few knew, still making it a hidden trump card.

But in public, he clearly could not reveal it.

Seeing Wang Han parry the Cord, Li Yan leapt forward, closing the distance.

In blade combat, distance mattered.

One inch longer meant one inch stronger.

One inch shorter meant one inch riskier.

In an instant, Li Yan was pressed against him.

His crossblade technique combined the hundred battlefield cuts of the military—thrust, stab, slash, chop, sweep, lift, push—with the swift blades of Guanzhong.

Before the man moved, the blade was already near.

Ding!

A sharp clang—Wang Han blocked with his spear, intercepting Li Yan's blade just as it neared his skull.

The "Long Weapon, Short Use" technique was second nature to Wang Han—he spun the spear, unleashing a powerful spiral force that deflected Li Yan's blade, then yanked it back, half-turning his body to thrust the spear's shaft toward Li Yan's throat.

A spear's danger was not limited to its tip.

A solid strike with the shaft would shatter Li Yan's throat bone.

But at that moment, a flash of blade-light appeared.

Wang Han gasped in shock and yanked his spear up sharply.

Ding!

The clear ring echoed as the Soul-Cutting Flying Knife spun midair, veered off course, and struck again.

"Flying Sword Art!"

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

Ordinary Jianghu figures, unaware of the truth, believed Li Yan had mastered the legendary Flying Sword Art—though he used a knife instead.

To wield such a technique was to be on par with a Sword Immortal.

"Bullshit Flying Sword Art…"

In the crowd, an old Daoist snorted softly.

He was Tan Wanpei, the Dharma Master of Putan Temple in Shu.

Beside him, a woman in a wide-brimmed hat whispered: "Tan Daoist, don't mock—Wang Han may not hold out. Help him secretly."

"Very well."

Tan Wanpei nodded, fixing his gaze on Li Yan, fingers forming a seal in his sleeve, murmuring incantations to cast a spell.

But halfway through, he shook his head: "No good—this brat carries the 'Ruyi Treasure Pearl.' Without a magical medium, I can't curse him from afar."

Even as they spoke, Li Yan closed in again.

Using the Soul-Cutting Flying Knife to distract, he swung his crossblade left and right, one cut following another without pause.

Wang Han was equally skilled, retreating step by step, his spear whirling left and right—sparks flew with every clang, and neither the Soul-Cutting Flying Knife nor the Dust-Cutting Blade could pierce his defense.

The man was using his spear like a club, executing the Five Brothers Eight Trigrams Staff.

The Five Brothers Eight Trigrams Staff, created by Yang Wulang, emphasized "turning spear into staff: Taiji gives birth to two poles, two poles give birth to four images, four images give birth to eight trigrams, evolving into sixty-four staff techniques."

It perfectly matched the inner and outer eight trigrams, eight eights totaling sixty-four—hence the name "Five Brothers Eight Trigrams," blending long and short, single and dual, endlessly variable.

With Divine Strike enhancing him, he seemed as if Yang Wulang himself had appeared.

Moreover, as he swung his spear, dark winds surged instantly, dust spiraled, and one figure split into two.

Two became four.

It was the Lotus Sect's martial art: Lotus Body.

He certainly could not create true clones; in a sense, this technique was illusionary—but combined with the transformations of the Five Brothers Eight Trigrams, it rendered truth and falsehood indistinguishable.

Li Yan was startled.

Using his spiritual senses, he detected multiple scents simultaneously, intertwined, with flickering figures—he could no longer tell which was real.

He did not know this was Wang Han's ultimate technique:

Five Brothers Shadow-Splitting Spear.

(End of Chapter)