Chapter 82: Dream Vision

Inside the grand house of Shangyi Village, craftsmen worked day and night, creating considerable noise; Wang Daoxuan preferred quiet, and with his spirit wounded and needing rest, the Wendaoguan was far more suitable.

After bidding farewell to Master Wan, Li Yan and his two companions returned directly to Xianyang.

“Master Wang, you’re back?”

“Young Master Li, if you keep beating that drum, we’re calling the authorities!”

The residents of the old alley were just as “warm” as ever.

An elderly neighbor woman trembled as she fetched a copper key. “What a tragedy—those officers smashed open the master’s gate; the lock’s broken. I feared thieves, so I locked it myself.”

“Thank you, Aunt Liu.”

Wang Daoxuan took the key and opened the gate.

As the woman said, the Wendaoguan had been ransacked by the yamen runners—everything was in disarray, and some unscrupulous ones had even stolen the few plum vases the place owned.

Worse still, the ancestral altar had been overturned.

Sha Lifei saw Wang Daoxuan’s grim expression and quickly smiled. “Master, don’t be angry—old things must go before new ones come. We’re rich now; rebuilding your Wendaoguan is no problem!”

He wasn’t wrong.

During this time, the three had faced many troubles—but also struck a windfall.

In the bandit stronghold, they found several gold bars; after accounting, it was enough for Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan to build a Louguan, with some left over.

When rescuing people from the desolate mountain tomb, Yuan Qu and Zheng Heibei had no money, but Chen Fa’s puppet had hoarded many silver notes—all found by Sha Lifei, totaling about seven hundred taels, enough to cover their expenses for now.

And the horses belonging to Yuan Qu and Zheng Heibei.

Luo Mingzi and the others didn’t want them, so they went entirely to the three.

In short, they weren’t wealthy, but food and drink were no longer a concern.

After tidying up the Wendaoguan roughly, night had fallen; Sha Lifei, being the type to show off when rich, immediately went to Qingfeng Tower, ordered fine wine and dishes, and had them delivered to the Wendaoguan to celebrate escaping disaster.

As they ate and drank, they discussed their next plan.

“In two months, it will be the Winter Solstice Grand Rite.”

Wang Daoxuan smiled. “At that time, every temple and Daoist abbey on Mount Taibai will hold fairs; pilgrims will flood in, even from other provinces.”

“To prevent accidents, several spiritual nodes on Mount Taibai will be sealed until next spring.”

“We must finish building the Louguan before the Winter Solstice.”

“Fine.”

Li Yan paused briefly. “I promised Elder Wu I’d return his coffin to his hometown and rebury his wife and daughter; after that, I’ll head to Mount Taibai.”

“Also, in two days, the Taixuan Zhengjiao will hold a ritual at the Graveyard of the Forgotten to help the Mountain Spirit reclaim its place. Elder Luo Mingzi has agreed to let us observe.”

“Oh?”

Wang Daoxuan’s eyes lit up. “That’s a rare opportunity. The Taixuan Zhengjiao’s rituals are unmatched worldwide; even I wish to broaden my knowledge.”

After finalizing the plan, the three returned to their rooms to sleep.

As if a heavy burden had been lifted, they soon fell into deep slumber.

Wang Daoxuan’s spirit was wounded, and Sha Lifei was carefree—both slept soundly.

Only Li Yan, after falling asleep, began to twitch his eyelids, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

In a daze, he suddenly sat up—but found himself still in the Wendaoguan, surrounded by thin mist, everything blurred.

“Master Wang, Old Sha!”

Li Yan sensed something wrong and called out—but no one answered.

He quickly formed the Yang Seal—but no spiritual power manifested.

This… was a spell cast upon him?

Li Yan grew wary, cautiously pushed open the door—and immediately paled, a chill rising.

In the courtyard, someone had appeared out of nowhere—wearing a white robe like funeral attire, bound in chains, drenched in bloodstains.

The figure bowed its head, tangled black hair hiding its face, then slowly raised a pale left hand, pointing toward the courtyard’s exit…

Whoosh!

Li Yan jolted awake, glancing around.

Still the Wendaoguan; from the opposite side room, Sha Lifei’s snores were clearly audible across the small courtyard.

“Just a nightmare…”

Li Yan formed the Yang Seal again, smelled nothing unusual, and finally exhaled in relief, lying back down to sleep.

This time, he didn’t dream again.

Yet he didn’t know that the mark on his left palm—the Gou Die seal—was slowly emitting a faint blue glow, starkly visible in the dark…

…………

In the quiet night, on a dilapidated street in western Xianyang.

In the darkness, accompanied by noisy footsteps, two groups of figures appeared at either end of the alley.

Each wore black clothes and black hats, wielding long knives and staffs; several carried a heavy iron hook net together.

This iron hook net, woven from fine chains with sharp iron hooks at every joint, was called “Ghost’s Dread,” designed specifically for dealing with martial artists.

They were all constables from the Xianyang yamen.

A middle-aged man stepped forward slowly, his temples streaked with gray, his features stern and imposing—it was Xianyang’s chief constable, Guan Wanchè.

He gazed at the distant mansion, then turned and bowed.

“Your Excellencies, the informant says they’re here!”

Behind the constables, three more figures emerged. They wore black brocade robes, embroidered on chest and back with the fierce beasts Yazi and Bi’an in silver thread, crowned with official hats, their leather waist guards and wrist guards intricately engraved with fine patterns.

This attire clearly marked them as members of the Commandant Office.

The Commandant Office was like the Embroidered Uniform Guard—obeying only the Emperor’s direct orders, handling everything from intelligence gathering and suppressing rebellions to monitoring officials. With superior martial skill and mastery of coordinated combat, they were infamous throughout the martial world.

Their leader was a middle-aged man with one eye, wearing a black eye patch; a deep sword scar ran vertically across his left cheek, making him look terrifying.

“Move!”

He gave the order; two Commandant Office men dashed forward with bows, sprinted to nearby high walls, unleashed hidden strength, leapt up with a soft *whoosh*, and landed silently atop the wall.

Simultaneously, they drew their bows, the strings creaking as they aimed at the courtyard.

Guan Wanchè showed no surprise.

These two were Commandant Office squad leaders—both experts in hidden strength.

He waved his hand; the constables surged from hidden side alleys, securing every possible escape route, then kicked open the gate and stormed inside.

Yet no one emerged from within.

!.

Guan Wanchè’s heart sank.

Soon, a constable ran out, bowing. “Sir, they’ve fled!”

Guan Wanchè’s face turned ashen. He accompanied the Commandant Office men into the courtyard, searching every room—indeed, empty.

“Lord Chang, this is my failure.”

Guan Wanchè quickly bowed in apology.

“No matter.”

The one-eyed man showed no surprise, speaking calmly. “They stole from the Chang’an yamen—they’re no ordinary folk. That you tracked them down so quickly is already impressive…”

Before he finished, his gaze suddenly sharpened.

He walked to the corner, picked up a stone jar.

Guan Wanchè stepped closer, whispering. “Sir, this is a mortar used by apothecaries to grind herbs. Questioning craftsmen might yield clues.”

The one-eyed man said nothing. He scooped out a pinch of black powder from the jar, sniffed it, his eyes narrowed, then flicked it away lightly.

He looked around, then said calmly, “Constable Guan, with your talent, staying in Xianyang is a waste. Would you consider joining the Commandant Office?”

Guan Wanchè’s eyes lit up; he bowed quickly.

“I humbly serve Your Excellency!”

…………

In the eastern district, on Pai Fang Street, at the Jinbao Gambling Den.

In a dark alley behind, the short, stout Master Wu peered out nervously, his face anxious.

At that moment, two figures darted swiftly along the shadowed wall—exactly the two men who had caused chaos at the Zhou household earlier that day.

Master Wu’s face brightened; he quickly turned and opened the door.

After the two slipped inside, Master Wu glanced around, confirmed no one followed, then slammed the door shut.

All the servants in the back courtyard had been dismissed; the group descended a hidden passage into a secret chamber hidden within the gambling den’s corner, and only then did they remove their wide-brimmed hats.

The white-clad concubine had been waiting long; seeing them, she beamed, and together with Master Wu, bowed deeply, forming a lotus-blooming gesture.

“We pay homage to the Incense Master!”

The middle-aged man, dressed as a wandering physician, reached to his neck, rubbed gently, then peeled off a finely crafted human-skin mask.

Beneath it lay a handsome face—sharp brows, star-like eyes, radiating nobility—but his eyes held a distinct crimson vein piercing the pupil, and his skin glowed a deep red, unlike any normal man’s.

In physiognomy texts, these two signs are called “Crimson Vein Piercing the Eye” and “Ruined Heavenly Net”—both omens of imminent death.

Yet this man clearly lived well.

“No need for such formalities.”

The man’s voice carried a certain magnetic softness. “We are all brothers of the sect; I merely walked ahead a little—there is no hierarchy here.”

“Thank you, Incense Master.”

The white-clad concubine and Master Wu rose respectfully.

Wu the Shopkeeper said with lingering fear, “Yesterday I heard the Fragrant Master and Fire Ghost brother caused chaos at the Zhou household, and then the Commandant’s hawks came sniffing around—I couldn’t sleep a wink all night.”

“No matter.”

The man smiled, “I’ve tangled with those hawks for a long time—I know their tricks inside out. I already made it look like I left, to avoid dragging Brother Wu into trouble.”

“Fire Ghost brother has avenged his great Chou , even if caught, it’s worth it.”

“Fragrant Master, it was all my recklessness,” said the scar-faced young man beside him, his face filled with shame, yet his gaze toward the man grew ever more reverent.

The man paid it no mind and continued asking, “What’s the current situation in Xianyang City?”

Wu the Shopkeeper hurriedly bowed, “That traitor Chu Shan has sent countless beggars scouring the city for Miss Wang, and the White Ape Gang’s boss, Yuan Qu, is also eyeing my gambling den with hunger.”

“To protect myself, I spread word that Chu Shan’s planned Shantai Sui has been discovered by all the martial clans—I hear the Profound Heaven Sect is even coming. His stronghold won’t last, and with the Zhou family wiped out, the Fragrant Hall is temporarily safe.”

The man’s eyes grew cold. “Don’t worry—I’ll kill that traitor before I leave.”

Then he turned to the two of them, his voice unconsciously sharpening with urgency:

“Where’s the painting?”

(End of Chapter)