Chapter 666: The Wang Family Seeks the Killer

"Holding a funeral?"

Li Yan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me about this man."

To be honest, he was already suspicious of this kid.

That symbol was used by the Yellow Springs organization to mark territory—like a gang boss claiming ground. Outsiders couldn't understand it, and once the job was done, they'd erase it quickly.

If they're holding a funeral, why is the mark still there?

Besides, this kid found it suspiciously fast.

These street rats are naturally deceitful and scheming.

He might've drawn the symbol himself to lure him over and extort money…

"Master, how would I dare deceive you!"

As if sensing Li Yan's doubt, Liang Biaozi quickly protested, "I won't hide it from you—I've gathered some beggar kids, feed them warm buns daily, and send them out to run errands and gather news."

"Any matter in Jinmen always gets wind of it. When they found the place, I didn't trust it—I went myself, checked the family's background, and it really was strange."

"Oh? Tell me—how strange?"

"That family's surname is Wang. The head is Wang Chaoyi. He used to be an old bamboo weaver, living in Filth Alley with nothing—so poor even rats could starve. The whole family had only one cotton pant, and in winter, whoever went out wore it."

"But five years ago, Wang Chaoyi fell seriously ill and died. He was seventy-five—considered a blessed death. His family prepared a cheap, thin coffin for burial."

"Just as the children were crying, the old man suddenly revived. The Wangs were too poor to care for him, yet feared neighbors calling them unfilial, so they gave him no good face."

"But after waking, the Wang family's fortune turned—within half a year, they became rich, ate well, drank spicily, and bought a large mansion in South City, holding on until just days ago when he suddenly dropped dead…"

A revenant!

Upon hearing this, Li Yan was certain.

Liang Biaozi was a gossip who loved to embellish.

But unintentionally, he revealed crucial information.

Ordinary people who walk through the Netherworld's Yin Court, even if they remember nothing, often awaken powers due to the corruption of miasma on their souls—perhaps the ability to curse, or to commune with spirits, gaining benefits.

But such power always comes at a cost.

The soul, tainted by miasma, gradually becomes bloodthirsty, turning into a malevolent entity.

Sometimes, no living yin officer needs to act—they're discovered and slain by sorcerers for their disturbances.

"Let's go. Take me there…"

…………

Dusk fell, and the scent of reeds from Sanchahe drifted through the city.

Li Yan followed Liang Biaozi into the street inside South Gate.

On both sides of the paved blue-brick alley, small commercial shops built in the early Da Ming era pressed tightly together, their lintels still bearing faded inscriptions: "Dunren Li," "Shude Fang," and others.

"Jinmen has a large population. The high officials all live in North City."

As he walked, Liang Biaozi explained: "We have an old saying in Jinmen: 'The Haihe River circles the city; North City's Eight Great Families never stay rich past three generations.' It means Jinmen's wealth is fleeting—the richest families, mostly salt and grain merchants, never lasted beyond three generations."

"But Jinmen's population is huge. A quiet, spacious mansion? Ordinary folk can't afford it. If they're only modestly well-off, they must squeeze into shops along the street…"

"Here we are—that's the house!"

He was right. The Wang residence was squeezed between a pawnshop and a mutton stall.

It was already evening; the street had thinned, and surrounding shops were closing.

Under the Wangs' porch, a white silk lantern swung in the crosswind, illuminating the freshly painted vermilion door panels.

It was an old custom: in Jinmen, respectable households holding a funeral must repaint their door panels with the "True Red Thick Paint" from San Yi Gong's shop.

Li Yan glanced at the old tree outside the Wang mansion.

In the shadowed branches, the Yellow Springs organization's symbol was clearly drawn in ink.

Crooked and uneven, interwoven with the tree's grain.

If you didn't look closely, you'd never notice it.

"Master Li, this family is definitely suspicious!"

Liang Biaozi glanced again, certain.

"Why?" Li Yan asked.

"Simple. Look there."

Liang Biaozi pointed to a drainage ditch outside the Wang gate. "I don't know feng shui, but I've helped people find homes and arrange affairs for years—I know some taboos."

"The mourning pavilion shouldn't face a ditch. Jinmen elders dread this 'Yin Gou Chong Sha.'"

The two hid beside a stone drain at the alley's corner across the street, perfectly visible to the Wangs' front gate.

Through the gate's crack, they could see the temporary reed pavilion inside the courtyard.

The pavilion faced directly toward the opening of the stone-lined underground drain.

Li Yan could even smell the salty, fishy stench of river water rising up.

"Thank you."

Li Yan nodded and tossed out a few taels of silver.

"Ah, this…"

Liang Biaozi's face lit up—he'd already been paid, yet now received a bonus.

"Then I'll leave you to your business, Master."

He was shrewd—he knew Li Yan was paying him to leave.

After all, this job was easy and profitable. He had no desire to stir up trouble.

Whether Li Yan was robbing, looting, or killing, he'd pretend ignorance afterward.

After he left, Li Yan slipped into the dark alley and waited calmly.

This time, he came alone.

After all, Jinmen's population was vast—being alone made movement easier.

Soon, darkness fully descended.

The entire street was dark except for one tavern still lit by candlelight; all others were shuttered.

Hidden in the alley, Li Yan formed a hand seal with his left hand, flicked his little finger, and several straw spirit paper figures flew from his waist, spinning around him. As he chanted the "Northern Emperor's Dark Water Escape" incantation, a chilling wind arose, and his figure vanished swiftly.

A breeze swept through the night, and Li Yan stood atop the Wang mansion's courtyard wall.

He crouched low, peering down.

Though not a noble household, the Wang residence was a proper three-court, three-hall Sihe Academy.

The blue-tiled gatehouse bore carved characters: "Harmonize with Neighbors." Before the shadow wall stood a blue-and-white fish tank, where several red-lion-head carp swam merrily, lending an air of elegance.

The mourning hall was set in the front courtyard; the coffin was covered with a brocade quilt patterned with endless swastikas.

Three children in sackcloth and mourning caps knelt on cushions. One son burned paper money in a fire basin; beside him sat a monk, eyes half-closed, tapping a wooden fish and chanting sutras.

It looked no different from an ordinary family's funeral.

Yet Li Yan clearly saw the problems.

On the eight-legged table before the coffin, three gold-painted chopsticks stuck upright in the funeral rice.

Li Yan had handled many funerals with Wang Daoxuan—he knew the customs.

This was common: "Incense, candles, fruits, and offerings honor the dead; five grains and funeral basins. The Five Emperors bestow funeral rice; three chopsticks stand in the center."

Three chopsticks in the funeral rice symbolized Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—signifying that the living's meals for the deceased are finished.

But usually, the chopsticks on funeral rice were wrapped in cotton.

The taboo was: "Three funeral incense sticks—chopsticks must not touch gold."

Anyone with even basic knowledge wouldn't do this.

Also, the coffin and eight-legged table's arrangement didn't resemble a mourning hall—it looked like a woodblock print of a netherworld judgment scene.

And the mourners' faces held no grief—only fear and dread.

"Brother, do you think this matter is over?"

"How would I know? The old man's dead. Those people should leave us alone."

"I'm afraid they won't keep their word."

"Don't worry—I've arranged it. After burying the old man, we'll immediately sail to Jiangsu and Zhejiang, stay a few years, then return when the heat dies down."

"What about the city properties…"

"At this point, who cares? The old man left us more than just this."

Listening to their conversation, Li Yan fell into thought.

The Wang family was indeed suspicious—they seemed to be being hunted.

Thinking of this, Li Yan immediately activated the Yang Seal.

He triggered both the Smell and Hearing Talents simultaneously.

The moment he sniffed, he frowned.

From inside the coffin came a foul, rotting stench.

This wasn't the odor of a corpse dead only a few days. Though lime and heavy spices masked it, to him the smell was unmistakable—along with a strong urine reek.

Only elderly people bedridden for long periods with chronic incontinence emitted such a smell.

A living corpse!

Li Yan instantly understood the reason—his eyes turned icy.

The old man had revived, awakened some power, and brought wealth to the Wangs—but his body, aged and decayed, was already dead. He could only be preserved with massive quantities of embalming agents.

It was a cruel, desperate agony—watching one's own flesh rot away step by step.

Ordinary people would have long since collapsed and committed suicide.

That old man holding out for five years? Probably the work of these "filial sons and virtuous grandsons."

The question is, who taught them these methods?

At that moment, Li Yan frowned and looked beyond the wall.

Under the moonlight, three men strolled down the street, slouching and swinging their arms.

The lead man, short and stocky, wore a coarse indigo cotton short robe, its collar crooked, revealing a tattooed wave pattern on his chest. A crude straw rope held a blackwood pipe at his waist, and his six-panel hat had long been stained yellow by sweat and grease.

Li Yan had seen many like him—he was a typical member of Jincheng's "guohuo."

"Guohuo" is a Jincheng dialect term meaning "eating from the same pot."

In Jincheng, vagrants and ruffians who shared meals and lodging were called "guohuo."

As a hub of canal transport and commerce, Jincheng had drawn in vast numbers of mobile populations over the years.

Porters, laborers, bankrupt farmers, deserters—you name them. Too lazy to endure hardship for a few coins, they banded together to commit crimes: extortion, blackmail, and intimidation.

They were shameless, stubborn, fearless, and violent—that was their hallmark.

Thud!

The three kicked open the Wang family's gate and swaggered into the courtyard.

"W-what's this?"

The short, stocky ruffian spoke with a stutter, neck bulging as he glared: "You… you dare come to our Jinghai Gang's territory and beg for free meals with just a string of cheap prayer beads?!"

The monk, merely an ordinary priest, trembled in terror.

He looked desperately behind him, but the Wang family had already turned pale and were retreating step by step.

Jinghai Gang? Interesting…

Li Yan narrowed his eyes—he saw something amiss.

On his way here, a Canal Gang disciple had said Jinghai Gang was the most powerful in Jincheng, controlling not just the docks but also having subdued every "guohuo" in the entire city.

The ruffian's waist pipe still carried the scent of opium.

And the Wang family clearly recognized these few "guohuo" members.

"Get… get out!"

The lead ruffian shoved the monk aside; his two henchmen blocked the doorway.

The one with the missing tooth picked up a bronze bell and weighed it in his hand; the scarred one had his tunic open, revealing three jagged, centipede-like scars across his ribs, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his face dripping with malice.

The Wang family's leader, a middle-aged man, bowed with a bitter expression: "Brother Wu, didn't Master Zhou say once the job was done, we'd be even? He…"

Before he could finish, the short, stocky ruffian shoved him aside.

The man strode boldly to the coffin, pulled out his pipe, and pounded it against the nanmu coffin lid—thump, thump—making the candles on the altar flicker wildly as he sneered: "Old Master Wang, this coffin you're lying in? We built it for you."

He peeled off a patch of lacquer and ground it between his fingers.

"Huanghuali wood, San Yi Gong's lacquer—still unpaid for!"

His words were pure nonsense, but the Wang family's leader instantly understood. He rushed inside and returned with a small black box. Inside lay ten gleaming silver ingots.

"Brother Wu, here's your payment in full."

"Oh? The Wang family really is rich and powerful…"

The short, stocky ruffian nodded in satisfaction, gave a signal, and his men gathered the silver.

But after extorting the money, he didn't leave. Instead, he slapped the middle-aged Wang man's face, palm against cheek: "Heard… heard you hired a boat to leave?"

The Wang man shuddered, silent.

"Tsk tsk."

The ruffian slapped his face until it turned red, sneering: "Jincheng's so nice… don't… don't leave. Watch out—you might end up feeding the turtles!"

The man, filled with grief and rage, blurted: "Master Zhou promised…"

Slap!

Before he could finish, he was struck hard across the face.

"You… you threatening me?!"

The ruffian glared. "I'll tell you straight—Zhou's dead!"

With that, he and his men left, smug and triumphant.

As they departed, the scarred "guohuo" suddenly turned back, grinning wickedly: "We'll be back tomorrow. Your Wang family's got money—next time, you'll be footing our meals. Hahahaha…"

After they left, the Wang family collapsed onto the ground, pale and utterly lost.

"Big brother, how did they know?"

"Obviously—we were sold out."

"What do we do now?"

Before the words finished, everyone's eyes widened.

Before them, mist swirled in the courtyard, revealing a figure—Li Yan.

Clang!

A woman opened her mouth to scream—Li Yan's blade pressed against her throat.

"I ask, you answer. Lie once, and you won't live."

Li Yan's killing intent was palpable. The Wang family dared not hide anything—they confessed everything.

After their patriarch returned from death, he seemed to have awakened his spiritual power—he often dreamed of becoming a fish swimming in Sanchahe.

Jincheng's canal transport was heavy, and floods were common; countless ships had sunk. The patriarch used this ability to guide fish into the wrecks, retrieving gold, silver, and jewelry. The Wang family, skilled in business, bought storefronts and gradually prospered.

But the patriarch grew stranger.

He feared light, avoided people, stank terribly, and craved raw flesh.

Frightened, the Wang family sought a sorcerer to exorcise him.

But the sorcerer, Master Zhou, didn't act. Instead, he taught them a secret method: to make corpse oil to preserve the patriarch, then marked a tree branch outside the gate.

What happened after that, they didn't know.

They only knew that since then, Master Zhou had lived in their home, and Jinghai Gang members came and went, lying in wait nearby—unknown what they were hunting.

"Oh, by the way!"

The eldest Wang son suddenly spoke: "A few days ago, Master Zhou captured an old fortune-teller and locked him in the woodshed. He forced the old man to write a letter to Cangzhou. The old man refused, but after days of torture, he finally wrote it."

"After that, Master Zhou left our home, saying it was his last visit."

Hearing this, Li Yan instantly understood.

This was a trap targeting the Huangquan Organization!

The Huangquan Organization had fractured, its members scattered across the land.

Such an obvious target would naturally draw many Living Yin Officers.

Realizing this, Li Yan's killing intent could no longer be contained.

"Do you know who he wrote to in Cangzhou?"

"I didn't see it, but I heard them mention someone with the surname 'Wu'…"

(End of Chapter)