Chapter 781: Storm-Tossed Jinling City

Morning mist was cold; waves slapped against the stones by the river.

Over the crackling bonfire, Lu San skewered several fish on branches and roasted them, occasionally sprinkling on spices and salt he carried, soon filling the air with fragrance.

He handed one to Wang Daoxuan, then took a warmed flask of wine from the Daoist, eating and chatting as they made do with breakfast.

As for Wu Ba, whose appetite was larger, he had long since devoured half a wild boar roasted the night before, grease dripping from his mouth, indifferent to his soiled clothes.

All three looked disheveled and reeked of stench.

There was no choice—since leaving Yangzhou’s dock and following the trail, they had not slept well, constantly probing, chasing, and fighting unknown enemies, with no time for washing.

But worse off were the few men across from them.

Dressed in black, some with long hair and beards, others with brutish faces, each looked fearsome, yet all were dusty and grimy, bound with hemp ropes, unable to move.

The pebbles beneath them dug into their flesh; all night the river wind had numbed their limbs, and now the tantalizing aroma made their heads swim.

“Great heroes, could… you spare us some food?”

One of them finally couldn’t hold back and asked.

“Easy.”

Wang Daoxuan smiled faintly, waved the roasted fish before them, making their mouths water, then said: “Who speaks first, eats first.”

The men exchanged glances but remained silent.

Wang Daoxuan didn’t care; he shook his head and sighed: “Pity—this fragrant fish meat is beyond their reach. May they die of hunger on the path to the netherworld, restless even in the underworld.”

The men gritted their teeth and shut their eyes, pretending not to hear.

“Daoist, don’t rush.”

Lu San spoke coldly from beside him: “When Li Yan and the others arrive, with Long Yan’s power, none of them will hold out.”

As he spoke, movement appeared on the distant canal.

There, the Lin family’s treasure ship cut through the morning mist, slowly approaching.

As soon as it docked, Li Yan, Sha Lifei, and Long Yan’er hurried ashore to join Wang Daoxuan and the others.

Gazing at the captives on the ground, Li Yan’s eyes flashed with cold light:

“These are they?”

He had received a hawk-borne secret message: Wang Daoxuan’s group had followed the trail, but arrived too late—the Yangzhou Cauldron had been taken, and the demons had rebelled in Taihu Lake.

Their only gain was capturing a few rear-guard ruffians.

“Correct.”

Wang Daoxuan brushed dust from his robes and shook his head: “I tracked them with paper cranes, caught their trail, but these men used firearms to hinder us, ruining the operation.”

“Good. Let’s board first, then talk.”

Li Yan called everyone aboard, and they sailed downstream toward Jinling.

After Wang Daoxuan and the others washed up briefly, they gathered again in the ship’s hold.

Looking at the men feigning unconsciousness, Li Yan had no patience for words—he turned to Long Yan’er and gave a slight nod.

Shhh shhh shhh…

Long Yan’er raised her hand and released a dense swarm of sesame moths.

These insects were small, like black sesame seeds, their legs and eyes barely visible, yet fiercely aggressive—they could burrow into human skin.

The itching and pain were beyond ordinary endurance.

“Aaaah—!”

Soon, piercing screams echoed through the hold.

These men were hardened, but even iron warriors couldn’t withstand the sesame moths—within half a stick of incense, they were weeping, sniveling, and spilling the truth.

They were all skilled outlaws from Jiangnan’s green woods, notorious local thugs driven to desperation by the authorities, who, through an introduction, joined the “Silk-Cocoon Sect.”

The “Silk-Cocoon Sect” was founded by Lei Yin Niangniang.

Its doctrine was tied to sericulture.

Since silkworms emerge from cocoons as butterflies, ancient people believed silkworms could commune with heaven; wearing silk woven from their threads allowed one to ascend like them.

Hence, the character “silkworm” is composed of “heaven” and “insect.”

“Silk-cocoon” thus signifies mortal flesh; its doctrine teaches inner cultivation, devotion to deities, and the hope that upon death, one sheds mortal form to become immortal, escaping the cycle of rebirth.

Lei Yin Niangniang claimed to be the reincarnation of Leizu, wife of the ancient Yellow Emperor, exploiting silkworm farmers’ devotion to the “Silk Flower Niangniang” by using dark arts to create miracles or spread plague, luring mulberry and silkworm farmers into her sect.

For important figures, she used the “Silk-Stiffening Art.”

They secretly expanded, with strict hierarchy, distinguishing rank by “silk-cocoon” garments, growing in secrecy and frequently holding gatherings to punish traitors with dark arts.

Lei Yin, aided by the Ghost Opera Troupe, subdued powerful underworld masters.

Thus, within a short time, her organization quietly swelled…

Li Yan’s brow tightened. “How did you take the Yangzhou Cauldron?”

This was his greatest puzzle.

Whether in Chengdu or Luoyang, the treasure cauldron’s emergence shook the earth—but this time, it vanished without a sound, leaving him deeply uneasy.

Upon hearing this, the captives fell silent, their eyes filled with fear and awe.

“Speak!”

Li Yan barked, and Long Yan’er activated the sesame moths again.

Finally, one broke:

“Lei Yin Niangniang appeared in our dreams, telling us to dig up a desolate grave, open the coffin—and inside was a newborn child, monstrous, eating its mother’s placenta…”

“The monster was taken back. Several waves of monks, Daoists, and shamans came, we don’t know what they did—but the child ate voraciously, grew wildly, and within half a year, it was as tall as an adult man, and began eating people…”

“It could also spin silk and weave cocoons. We found a cave in the mountains, tied it with hemp rope, and lowered it into an underground river. Soon after, we fished up a giant cocoon, loaded it onto a boat, and shipped it to Taihu…”

As they listened, all felt the tale was unbelievable.

Such a thing was rare even in tales of the strange and supernatural.

Wang Daoxuan stroked his beard thoughtfully: “How did you convince Zhou Yin Yao?”

“Who is Zhou Yin Yao?” The man looked bewildered.

Wang Daoxuan said: “He’s known as ‘Green Frost Boiling Stone Old Man.’”

“Zhou Yin Yao” was their earliest lead—a legendary immortal mentioned in the Taiping Guangji and Immortal Biographies, skilled in Yin Yin Cultivation Art, having faked death and been reborn multiple times; Li Yan suspected him of being a terrestrial immortal in hiding.

“That old man…”

The man nodded quickly: “He ignored us at first, but before leaving, Niangniang gave him a letter. After reading it, he turned pale, told us the location, then hurried away.”

“What did the letter say?”

“Niangniang placed a curse—no one dares open it.”

“Did she say what she intended to do with the Yangzhou Cauldron?”

“She said with this cauldron, the court would dare not act—otherwise, it would trigger a seismic rupture along the Jinling and lower Yangtze geology, causing the river to flood backward, killing countless lives…”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Unconscionable!”

All reacted at once, faces turning grim.

Though they knew the Jianmu demons were cruel, none expected Lei Yin to be this deranged—using millions of lives as leverage.