Chapter 725

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Captain Zhang of the yamen banged his bronze gong so loudly that his voice cracked over the clamor of the Eastern Market.

“Every household, watch your babies! A child-snatcher is loose in the capital—”

The clanging gong drew every passerby’s gaze.

A street thug crouched in the corner, a blade of grass between his lips, lounging lazily, half-joking: “Hey, Captain Zhang, child-snatchers in the capital? That’s nothing new—why the fuss?”

“You know nothing!”

Captain Zhang glared, roaring: “Shut your mouth if you don’t know anything. Don’t you think—if this were just some ordinary child-snatcher, would I be doing this? Say another word, and you’ll regret it!”

The thug shrank his neck, grinning but saying nothing more.

Captain Zhang’s eyes flickered, then stepped forward and ordered: “Tell your men to keep a sharp eye out—find out which neighborhoods have had the most children disappear. If you catch the culprit, five hundred taels reward!”

“Five hundred taels?”

The thug sucked in a sharp breath, then his eyes lit up: “Captain Zhang, you’re serious?”

“It’s an imperial bounty—every copper coin is guaranteed!”

“Got it!”

The thug didn’t waste another word—he stood, slapped his backside, and vanished down a dark alley.

Hearing their conversation, the surrounding crowd exchanged uneasy glances.

Soon, rumors began spreading through the neighborhoods…

The clang of the Eastern Market gong still echoed when the Commandant’s cavalry thundered into the Southern City.

Hooves like rolling thunder shook the cobblestone lanes, scattering a flock of sparrows huddled under eaves.

Zhao Sanshui, an apprentice blacksmith in Boiler Alley, had just pulled a dark red plowshare from the furnace when a constable yanked down the lantern at the alley’s mouth—steel blades and iron rulers flooded the workshop with firelight.

“Search! Leave no corner untouched!”

Captain Wang Biao bellowed, sparks flying. The steam from a newly opened steamed bun stall was violently scattered; several officers from the Metropolitan Prefecture burst from the white mist, lunging toward the cluttered corner behind the stove, making the shopkeeper’s wife freeze mid-motion, oil-stained rag clutched in her hand.

Apprentice Zhao Sanshui stared, dumbfounded, as the kitchen maid, Aunt Li, was dragged out by her hair.

Captain Wang Biao slapped her four or five times, roaring: “Black Crow, have you stolen any children lately?”

“Your Excellency, I’m innocent—”

Before she finished, more slaps landed—her face swelled instantly.

Her eyes darted in terror; she dared not speak again.

“Take her back for further interrogation—find the next one!”

Wang Biao dragged her off and hurried toward the next location.

Beneath the Sky Bridge, “Iron Arm Monkey” Sun Qi was mid-performance—his golden monkey leapt into a somersault, drawing thunderous applause—when two Daoists from the Enforcement Hall dropped from the rooftop above: one pinned the monkey, the other kicked Sun Qi to the ground.

In Waterwheel Alley, the beggar chief “Cripple Liu” was chewing half a cold pancake when he collided face-first with a cavalryman from the Commandant’s unit, a blackened gun barrel pressed against his lower back, eyes as cold as iron.

“Old Liu, get every brat hidden under your mat out now! Orders say—even cripples must be checked!”

“Gentlemen, let’s talk this through.”

Cripple Liu bit down hard on the pancake, heart pounding, using his dog-beating stick to fish out each curled-up beggar child from the mildewed straw mat, lining them up one by one for inspection…

In the underworld’s three teachings and nine streams, child-trafficking and organ-harvesting were rampant.

Take this seemingly honest kitchen maid—she was a Yanmen Black Demon, secretly doing countless wicked deeds.

That monkey performer, Sun Qi, commanded his monkeys to steal infants at night.

In the past, these matters were handled by the yamen.

Now, with imperial orders, the Commandant’s Office is investigating directly—and they’ve all been caught in the net.

But the mounting reports made Luo Mingzi feel a chill.

These child-traffickers, beaten half-dead, had yielded no leads.

The Japanese demon needed blood—only newborns, barely a month old. The capital isn’t huge, but it’s not tiny either; infants meeting that condition are few. If too many vanished, the uproar would be unavoidable.

So there was only one possibility:

He’s bringing infants in from elsewhere!

“Let’s go to the Caobang !”

…………

Though the Caobang is rooted in the canal’s lifeline, its headquarters isn’t in Jincheng—it’s near the Tonghui River docks.

This river, also called Tongji River, was built over a century ago under Guo Shoujing’s direction.

The Caobang chose this location for a reason.

Just like their relationship with the court.

They couldn’t be too distant: the Caobang had ancient roots, monopolizing northern canal transport for centuries, controlling the vital grain route from the capital to Tianjin Port, delivering three million shi of grain annually to sustain the capital.

At the founding of Great Xuan, they aided in driving out the Golden Yurt Khanate and were granted an imperial gold plaque inscribed “Cannel Transport Tongji,” hung proudly in their hall as a mark of honor. Their ties with the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of Works were deeply entangled.

But they couldn’t be too close either—after all, the Caobang was a criminal guild.

Just like their location: surviving in the crack between court and underworld.

“Hong Zhenyue probably won’t see us.”

Captain Tian muttered as they walked: “The Caobang ’s chief is said to be at the brink of the Master realm, nearly fifty, with one final chance to break through. He’s been in seclusion for years.”

“Even if we can’t see him, it doesn’t matter.”

Luo Mingzi’s face darkened: “Whether on water or land, the Caobang has the most reliable intelligence in the capital. They must know something about these secret dealings!”

As they spoke, the two arrived at the Caobang headquarters with their full entourage.

The Caobang headquarters was peculiar: though built by the docks, its perimeter was a labyrinth of stacked cargo crates, reeking of salt and fish, each corner guarded by disciples.

It was originally built to resist the Golden Yurt Khanate.

Inside the crates: nothing but sand and stones—easy to defend, hard to breach.

With their status, the Caobang disciples dared not obstruct them—they led the group past oil-stained, blackened wharves and pavilions, until a fortress-like structure, built from the massive keel of a sunken ship and rough stone blocks, suddenly came into view.

This was the “Shunfeng Hall,” the Caobang ’s main headquarters in the capital.

Before they even approached, the air grew thick and stagnant.

Salty river mist, riverbed silt, cheap tobacco’s acrid sting, and a faint metallic tang of blood—mixed into a unique “scent.”

Inside the gate, dim light came from whale-oil lamps hanging from pillars.

The flickering yellow flames barely illuminated the hall:

The main chamber was vast, its high ceiling supported by rough, unpolished wooden beams. From them hung spiderweb-like ropes, iron anchors of all sizes, oars, and removed rudders—like a monstrous forest, heavy with oppressive weight.

On the dark walls hung a massive map: “The Nine Tributaries of the Canal.”

Winding waterways crisscrossed the map, dotted with colored markers—symbolizing the Caobang ’s vast network.

Along both walls stood dozens of bare-chested Caobang enforcers.

Most were shirtless, revealing iron-hard, knotted muscles and a web of scars.

Their gazes, like hooks, scanned the intruders with wary intensity.

The might of the northern water tyrant was unmistakable.

Luo Mingzi skipped formalities, growling: “If Chief Hong isn’t here, who speaks for you?”

Before he finished, a bald man stepped swiftly from the side door, bowing with a wide smile: “Master Luo, long time no see—I’m Xue Li of the Caobang . The chief is waiting for you inside.”

Hong Zhenyue wanted to see them?

Luo Mingzi was taken aback.

Though he was a Zhengjiao Daoist and held a high office, Hong Zhenyue was no ordinary man—a near-Master, skilled in the Caobang ’s arcane arts, equal in status to the heads of all Daoist sects.

From the Six Ministries to every underworld guild, all treated him with deference.