Chapter 503: The Decapitated Village

Overnight, snow fell across the Sichuan region.

This was unusual for past years.

Snowfall in Sichuan usually came a month later, and mostly concentrated in high mountain areas.

The Neijiang region was relatively warm, and snow rarely fell in winter.

Yet now, it fell like grains of salt.

Neijiang City was no small place, situated midway along the lower reaches of the Tuojiang River, at the center between Chongqing and Chengdu, long known as the "Throat of Southern Sichuan" and the "Stronghold of Bashu."

The Tuojiang formed a massive bend here.

It not only nourished the lands on both banks but also served as a major wharf.

Though not as grand as Chongqing Prefecture or Chengdu Prefecture, its scale was still considerable; the small city thrived in commerce, with ships constantly coming and going at the wharf.

Architecture in Sichuan primarily used black, white, and gray tones.

Snowflakes drifted through heaven and earth; from afar, the entire small city resembled a landscape ink painting, with wisps of smoke rising from hearths and the river roaring on, exuding a quiet charm.

On a distant hillside, Li Yan looked up at the town, a cold glint flashing in his eyes, then wrapped his cloak tighter and vanished into the deep mountains through the snowstorm.

Last night, someone had dispatched troops to hunt him down.

Only then did Li Yan realize the monks of the Law Sect had been deceived—they thought they were coming to raid and kill, unaware that the Shu Prince's Mansion had merely used them as bait.

The goal was to trap him in place.

With the state ritual artifact masking his aura, the troops could not lock onto him; only this tactic offered any chance of capturing him.

Last night, he had traced them in return, located their position, and originally intended to kill them and eliminate the threat—but now, he decided to let it go.

The ones hunting him were the City God Temple's troop forces of Neijiang.

This area was not under Qingcheng's jurisdiction but under temple stewards from Mount Emei.

Given this situation, they were clearly tied to the Shu Prince's Mansion.

The Xuanmen's doctrine naturally forbade meddling in affairs between the Shu Prince's Mansion and the imperial court, to avoid inviting disaster—but some could not resist temptation.

The Shu Prince's Mansion's move was ruthless.

Destroying the City God Temple would affect many civilians and sever ties completely with the orthodox Xuanmen sect—too costly for him.

But the Shu Prince's Mansion had misjudged two things.

First, his abilities: even without the Gang Ling, even if all stored thunder was exhausted, those monks could not easily handle him.

Second, the artifact.

The one he carried was not the "Ruyi Treasure Pearl," but the "Dragon-Snake Tablet."

The true "Ruyi Treasure Pearl" had long been taken by Wang Daoxuan and hidden in a secret location outside Nanchong—both to distract attention and to serve as Wang Daoxuan's escape route.

Should danger arise, they could flee beyond the city walls, using the "Ruyi Treasure Pearl" to conceal their aura and evade disaster.

Li Yan was not worried about Wang Daoxuan's side.

Wu Ba's performance had surprised him; even a Hua Jing expert would find it difficult to get close enough to harm Wang Daoxuan.

With their coordination, they could handle many situations.

What unsettled him was the golden mask.

It was now certain: Er Lang Zhen Jun and Jiang Shen Da Jun had both reincarnated; even if their post-reincarnation power was not as mighty as in legend, they were certainly extraordinary and had been secretly arranging matters.

Jiang Shen Da Jun was Er Lang Zhen Jun's calamity.

One was the source of water disasters, the other the suppressor of floods; both were ancient in origin, natural mortal enemies.

Jiang Shen Da Jun sent people to seek the Ghost Qiang treasures.

What they found were relics of the ancient Shu people.

The worship of Er Lang was far older than imagined, tied to ancient Shu…

That mask was absolutely the key to this matter!

Unfortunately, the mask had been seized by the demon cultists of the Worship Dragon Sect.

To profit from this matter for himself and his brothers, he would need more intelligence…

Li Yan's mind churned with thoughts, yet his movements were swift.

He used Jia Ma to travel, accompanied by snow and wind, so that from afar, only swirling snow mist and blurred human shapes could be seen.

He crossed mountains and ridges, leaving no footprints in the snow.

Between the peaks, faintly visible through the haze was a mountain path, overgrown with wild grass from years of disuse.

This was the road leading to the Decapitated Village.

Huh~

The snowstorm howled; Li Yan stopped.

But on the mountain path, a fresh cart track suddenly appeared, alongside scattered footprints, growing from shallow to deep, leading deep into the mountains.

Li Yan saw at once what had happened.

A group had entered the mountains at least since last night; caught in the snowfall at midnight, their footprints appeared midway, growing deeper.

From the cart tracks, they were hauling a heavy load.

Sichuan's waterways were well-developed; nearly all major cities were accessible by river, especially for merchant caravans—few ever took mountain paths.

This was surely the Du family's sacrificial party.

Seeing this, Li Yan felt doubt rise in him.

According to the Du family's testimony, their sacrifices were usually held on the summer solstice; yet now it was barely winter.

A sudden change suggested other matters…

Without hesitation, Li Yan immediately sped up.

Whether for the Yin Si mission or his vendetta against the Ghost Sect, these people could not live—and the demonic aura released by the demon god must be reclaimed as well.

Thinking this, he deliberately avoided the path, instead weaving through cliffs and dense forests high above, and within half a stick of incense, he spotted them.

The group numbered about thirty.

Nearly half were ordinary cart drivers and laborers, pushing two heavily laden carts, pulling horses, frequently slipping, looking utterly exhausted.

Ten Du family death warriors, identical to those he had encountered that night, clad in black robes, wielding swords and knives, their eyes cold and devoid of emotion.

The remaining few were clearly Du family scions.

Three middle-aged men and two elders, all dressed in lavish robes, walking with light, agile steps—clearly trained in martial arts.

"Master Du, how much longer until we arrive?"

After struggling to pull the horse out of the slippery path, the lead cart driver could not help asking, though his face showed no impatience.

He had spent considerable effort to forge a connection with the Du family.

The Du family was Sichuan's largest wine merchant; if he performed well, he might not become rich, but he would never lack work again.

To be honest, he was puzzled.

This man before him was Third Master Du, the family's accountant—old and frail; what wealthy household in these mountains warranted his personal escort?

"Didn't Liu Shan tell you?"

Third Master Du cast him a cool glance. "When you work for the Du family, don't ask too many questions, don't speak too much. If you think the pay is too little, don't come back after this job."

"I spoke out of turn, Third Master, forgive me."

The lead cart driver quickly apologized.

Joking—he'd been paid in full this time, enough for a fat New Year; the labor was hard, but what was there to complain about?

Seeing his unease, he dared not ask further.

Affairs of the wealthy were beyond the understanding of common folk.

Though distant, Li Yan, perched atop the cliff, formed a spell with his fingers; his ears, though normally ordinary, used his divine hearing to catch every word clearly.

It was indeed a human sacrifice.

The cart driver thought he had climbed a high branch, unaware he had become the offering himself. Thinking this, Li Yan grew even more cautious.

He dismissed the Jia Ma, gripped the Dragon-Snake Tablet, stepped the Northern Emperor's Stepping Stars, and activated the Northern Emperor's Dark Water Escape Technique, his form slowly vanishing into the snowstorm.

The snow and wind amplified the escape technique's power—perfect weather for killing!

…

The cargo on the carts was unusually heavy, and the snow falling like salt made the mountain path slippery, slowing progress greatly.

As dusk approached, the party climbed a ridge and finally saw the abandoned village in the distance.

The village was surrounded by mountains on all sides, with two abandoned quarries nearby; amid the swirling snow, it looked like a forgotten paradise.

"It's getting late—let's rest at the village ahead."

Third Master Du spoke calmly.

The cart drivers, unsuspecting, eager for warm food and not to sleep in the wild, immediately quickened their pace.

But as they neared the village, they realized something was wrong.

=9+book_bar

"This is an abandoned village!"

"We've never heard of this place!"

Worse, the horses seemed frightened, stamping their hooves and snorting, refusing to take another step forward.

The deputy cart leader grew uneasy and quickly spoke: "Master Du, don't enter abandoned villages or ruined temples—this place feels wrong. Shouldn't we find another spot to camp?"

"What's wrong?"

Third Master Du's eyes turned cold. "It's about to be dark. My body is weak. Freezing in the wild—do you want me to die of cold?"

"I… I'll follow Master Du's orders."

The head coachman's face darkened, and he dared not speak again.

More often than not, people are like this.

When you need something from someone, you must bow your head.

Especially when facing high officials and nobles, when you have no power, no influence, and no wealth, the vast majority cannot hold their heads high—they can only read others' expressions and act accordingly.

And this often leads to a loss of vigilance.

The coachmen and laborers never thought along these lines.

After all, they owned nothing of value, so poor their coins clinked empty, how could they imagine the Du family cared only for their lives?

Thus, the group forcibly led their horses into the village.

Along the way, every household courtyard was either dilapidated or reduced to crumbling walls, overgrown with wild grass, utterly unable to block the wind and snow.

Only when they reached the village center and saw the still-intact ancestral hall did the deputy coachman flatter, "Master Du, we're lucky—this village's ancestral hall is perfect for shelter. But I suggest we go up onto the opera stage."

He pointed toward the opposite side.

There stood an ancient opera stage, its foundation built of blue stone, its upper structure of brick and wood—weathered bricks mottled with age, wooden pillars and eaves with ornate brackets, worn yet still revealing their former elegance.

The coachman added eagerly, "This stage faces the ancestral hall directly—it's for singing to the ancestors. Such stages are always built in the village's most auspicious spot; should anything evil appear, it won't dare approach easily."

The third master of the Du family flickered a hint of mockery in his eyes but replied indifferently, "The opera stage is open to the wind and snow—what's the difference from being outdoors? Let's go inside the ancestral hall."

Saying this, he led his men straight into the hall.

The coachmen had no choice but to follow.

Once inside, their hearts settled slightly.

In some places, ancestral halls store coffins.

Whenever an elder in the family dies, the coffin is placed in the ancestral hall for a time, so that descendants and clan members may come to pay respects.

Keeping a coffin at home isn't always inauspicious.

Some wealthy households even build a special room in the back courtyard specifically for storing pre-made funeral coffins.

If they encountered one, they'd likely feel uneasy.

Fortunately, this ancestral hall seemed to have been recently repaired by descendants—nothing messy or cluttered, just empty, even the ancestral tablets removed.

The coachmen settled the carts, lit bonfires, cooked meals, and busied themselves happily.

None noticed that the third master of the Du family gave a signal; one of the middle-aged men beside him led several death-soldiers to the back of the ancestral hall.

In the back courtyard, they found a side room, inspected it thoroughly, then pulled up the broken canopy bed's wooden plank.

Beneath it lay a hidden tunnel.

Gazing at the pitch-black passage, the middle-aged man's eyes flickered with fear, but he lit a torch and led the others down.

The plank was replaced—no one knew where they had gone.

The coachmen traveled far and wide, and in Sichuan, people are laid-back and fond of fine food, so their cooking skills were decent.

The Du family's expedition naturally carried ample supplies.

They chopped fine cured pork, boiled it with pickled vegetables, added vermicelli, and paired it with soft, grilled glutinous rice cakes—eating with deep satisfaction.

"Come, come!"

The third master of the Du family ordered another jar of wine brought out. "It's freezing cold—drink some to warm yourselves. This is five-grain liquor from Yibin, fragrant and rich. The Du family just bought those cellars—everyone, taste it."

"Thank you, Master Du!"

The coachmen's eyes lit up instantly.

Yibin's five-grain liquor had grown increasingly famous in recent years, but it was expensive—they'd only heard of it, never could afford it.

After breaking the clay seal, the aroma indeed filled the air.

"Smooth on the tongue, rich aftertaste—excellent wine!"

"But it's strong!"

"Pah, unrefined fools—good wine always is!"

With the fine liquor inside them, the coachmen couldn't resist—each took a bowl, then another, afraid of drinking less than the others. Soon, they grew dizzy.

After two jars were emptied, the ground was littered with drunk men.

The Du family drank too, but only sipped lightly—and from a different jar—so they showed no signs of intoxication.

Seeing the coachmen sprawled everywhere, one middle-aged man frowned. "Third Uncle, why waste words with them? Just drag them in. Why go through all this trouble?"

"You've been here too little—you don't understand."

The third master of the Du family said coolly, "The Master prefers living offerings. And wine—well, it's always been an offering to the gods. Perfect for this."

"We arrived early—we must please the Master."

"Go. Bind them all. Tonight, we summon the Master from the mountain to help the Du family turn misfortune into fortune!"

At his command, everyone sprang into action.

On the now-empty ancestral tablet altar, they placed a statue—one of the Seventy-Two Demon Lords: Zuo Shouquan.

Then, the middle-aged man who emerged from the tunnel, along with several death-soldiers, carried out a large iron basin and set it before the altar.

The coachmen were tied tightly with ropes, lined in two rows before the altar, like lambs awaiting slaughter.

When this was done, the five Du family members burned incense and prayed before the altar, then pulled out a string of beads carved with strange, arcane symbols.

They closed their eyes, fingering the beads while chanting an odd scripture, thick with trilled consonants—utterly incomprehensible.

Meanwhile, Li Yan hid in a nearby peasant's house.

He formed the hand seals and faintly sensed a pall of yin-evil qi spreading through the village, the air echoing with distant screams.

Yet he could not locate the demonic energy.

Thus, without realizing it, the night wore on.

Suddenly, Li Yan slowly rose, lifting his head.

The summoning scroll in his arms had finally begun to warm…

(End of Chapter)