Chapter 88: Strike East, Hit West

Yes, it’s gunpowder indeed!

Li Yan jolted, the hairs on his nape standing on end.

Chen Fa’s puppet threatened with gunpowder bundles, Zhou Pan died from a new-type firearm; since experiencing these two incidents, Li Yan had become especially vigilant toward gunpowder.

Kung fu requires grueling practice, arts demand diligent cultivation, but gunpowder weapons can be used by anyone—a single slip could mean death and the end of one’s Dao.

Fortunately, his nose was sharp enough.

Soon, Li Yan spotted his target.

Near the altar site, besides members of the Profound Heaven Sect, there were also some laborers.

So-called laborers were, in plain terms, logistical troops—they were not skilled in combat, handling chores like feeding horses, chopping wood, cooking, and digging ditches.

To level the ground for the altar, some trees had to be cut down; the City God Temple lacked manpower, so they hired these men from the yamen.

As the ritual began, some laborers stood respectfully and solemnly, while others knelt outright, burning incense and kowtowing, seizing the chance to pray for their families.

Only one man slowly pushed a wooden cart closer.

The man was thickset, bearded, and looked dull-witted; the cart carried only dirt and dry straw.

But Li Yan faintly smelled gunpowder seeping from the soil.

He pinched the Yang Seal and sniffed closely—sure enough, the scent grew clearer.

The man was alert; noticing Li Yan staring at him, he immediately sped up, his gaze turning dark and vicious.

“Someone’s sabotaging this!”

Li Yan let out a low shout and lunged forward.

Simultaneously, he bent down, snatched up several stones from the ground, and hurled them with the Flying Locust Stone technique.

He had just heard that the Profound Heaven Sect’s enfeoffment of the Mountain Spirit was a virtuous act, and since he’d just received their guidance, he naturally had to lend a hand.

But this was gunpowder!

To prevent disaster, he had no choice but to launch the Flying Locust Stones.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Three stones flew toward the man’s forehead.

The man was no slouch—he twisted aside, dodging left and right, easily evading the stones.

At the same time, he dropped his pretense, struck a flint against the cart, sending sparks flying that ignited the dry straw.

Fire oil had been poured over it—the flames erupted instantly.

“To hell with you!”

He strained his arms, roared, and sent the burning cart rolling toward the altar.

Simultaneously, several Daoists from the Enforcement Hall drew their swords and charged forward.

“Watch out—it’s gunpowder!”

Li Yan shouted a warning.

Yet though the Daoists’ eyes widened in shock, they did not slow their steps.

They guarded the altar—they would not retreat from danger.

Two of them unleashed hidden power in their feet, launching themselves into the air, sleeves flaring as they spun, both kicking the cart at once.

Whoosh!

The cart flew backward.

But the dirt and debris on it scattered, revealing several explosive packs.

The fuses on the explosive packs had burned to their ends.

BOOM!

A deafening explosion, smoke spreading thickly.

At the same time, whistling sounds filled the air.

Li Yan’s face changed—he rolled over and flattened himself on the ground.

The explosive packs had been stuffed with hidden weapons; when they detonated, the projectiles scattered like flowers in a celestial dance.

The Enforcement Hall Daoists nearest the blast bore the brunt.

They were skilled—their long swords whipped to block some projectiles—but the weapons were too dense; several were struck, letting out muffled groans.

“Ow, you cowardly bastard!”

At the same time, Sha Li Fei screamed in pain.

They were farther away; after Li Yan’s warning, Sha Li Fei had immediately grabbed Wang Daoxuan and thrown him to the ground—but a flying dart had struck his buttocks.

The Enforcement Hall Daoists all pulled hidden weapons from their bodies.

To them, missing vital spots meant nothing.

But one of them, after retrieving his weapon, sniffed it lightly—and his face turned ashen.

“Poisoned!”

Meanwhile, the man turned and fled.

The explosive packs contained unknown substances—smoke billowed, thick and acrid, providing perfect cover.

The man’s figure vanished instantly into the haze.

Hearing “poisoned,” Li Yan didn’t hesitate—he rolled over and sprinted after him.

Clang!

He drew his blade, held it horizontally, sprinted several steps, then unleashed hidden power in his legs—leaping with a sharp hiss, he brought the blade down.

This move he had learned from the Zhou family.

Red Fist was famed for its agile footwork; with the surge of hidden power, he leapt six meters, then unleashed the Guanzhong Fast Blade, slashing like a soul-reaping deathblow.

With his sense of smell as a divine ability, night fighting was no different from daylight.

A little smoke meant nothing to him.

The man’s footwork was slow; seeing the blade hurtling toward him, he twisted, crossed his arms to shield his head.

Ding!

Li Yan frowned slightly.

His cultivation was still insufficient—using hidden power in his legs to leap drained his arm strength.

But the Guanzhong Fast Blade never relied on brute force.

Even a transformed body was still flesh and blood—a single cut would still bleed.

Yet the man’s wrists now bore metal.

The Guanshan Blade had sliced through his sleeves, revealing a string of copper rings.

Li Yan narrowed his eyes. “Iron Thread Fist?”

The explosion echoed; distant hoofbeats sounded.

The Enforcement Hall Daoists had been caught off guard, struck by poisoned darts—but the Commandant’s office still had nearly a hundred troops guarding the perimeter.

The man, seeing Li Yan standing with drawn blade, knew he had no chance to escape unless he defeated this man—he sneered, and swung his fist.

Iron Thread Fist belonged to the Hongquan system, popular in the south, emphasizing rigid stances and bridges, using the Twelve Bridge Hands as its framework, balancing yin and yang, channeling qi to generate power—its strength was formidable.

The man was powerfully built, his nine linked copper rings indicating mastery of hidden power; though not at peak, his cultivation far surpassed Li Yan’s.

Hu! Hu! Hu!

His punches were fierce and relentless, each strike accompanied by a whistling wind, amplified by Iron Thread Fist’s unique Seven Emotions Breathing sounds—truly terrifying.

Li Yan felt as if facing a ruthless general—fists like hammers, unceasing, forcing him to retreat step by step.

The man’s attacks weren’t fast; they even had openings.

Yet Li Yan only dodged—he didn’t rush to strike.

His father had once mentioned: though Iron Thread Fist looked fierce, it was stronger in defense than offense, skilled at turning weakness into strength.

All these moves were bridge hands—“cross the bridge if there’s a bridge, ask if there’s a bridge if there isn’t”—those openings were traps; the man moved swiftly but without disorder, steadily but without slack.

Moreover, this man used Iron Thread Fist—when mastered, the gaps between the rings could trap weapons with a flick of the wrist.

If Li Yan attacked, the man would seize the opening to deliver a devastating counter.

He only needed to stall him—why risk his life?

“Cunning brat!”

Seeing Li Yan wouldn’t bite, the man spat, turned, and ran.

“Oh, your fists are so hard—why run?”

Li Yan sneered, stepped forward, and slashed again.

His footwork was sharp; the Guanzhong Fast Blade excelled in speed—in a breath, the blade was at the man’s nape.

But the man had clearly anticipated this—he twisted his body, raised both fists, and unleashed a Tiger Crouching Shadow strike; the copper rings clanged, locking Li Yan’s blade—seeing Li Yan dodge, he had feigned flight to lure him in.

Now that the weapon was trapped, he could strike to kill.

But he had underestimated Li Yan.

Li Yan’s cultivation might be slightly weaker, but his mind was sharper.

He had foreseen exactly what the man would do—he released his grip on the blade, shifted his stance sideways, and delivered a side kick.

Boom!

The kick unleashed hidden power—the man was kicked flying.

He crashed to the ground, groaned, blood seeping from his lips.

This was the way of martial combat—life and death, victory and defeat, separated by a thread.

Li Yan’s cultivation was slightly weaker, but his mind was sharp, his moves ruthless, and since the opponent was desperate to flee, he was at a disadvantage.

Whizz!

At that moment, the Guanshan blade, flung through the air, flipped and landed.

Li Yan didn’t even look—he caught it instinctively and sheathed the blade.

!.

His kick carried hidden force, shattering the man’s internal organs—he couldn’t escape far, and now he had no chance left.

Sure enough, hoofbeats sounded in the distance.

Whizz! Whizz!

Two wolf-tooth arrows whistled toward him.

Thud-thud! Blood sprayed as the arrows pierced straight through the man’s thighs.

Li Yan frowned slightly but said nothing.

It was the Commandant’s Office—they always acted this way: to prevent escape, they crippled the legs first, never caring if the target was left maimed.

The man was tough—he let out a cry of pain, then clenched his teeth, shut his eyes, and waited for death.

Neigh!

Horses neighed as several men dismounted and strode forward.

At their head was Battalion Commander Chang Xuan, who glanced coldly and said calmly, “Take him away for interrogation. Move him farther off—don’t disturb the Daoists.”

“Wait!”

At that moment, a man rushed over—it was the Enforcement Hall’s Daoist, his face grim. “The projectile is poisoned—extremely potent.”

Before he finished speaking, he knelt and began searching the man’s body.

“Don’t bother—I have no antidote.”

The man, drenched in sweat, lips pale, let out a bitter laugh. “If you’ve got the power, cure the poison. If not, talk to me like a man!”

The Enforcement Hall Daoist’s gaze sharpened. “Ignorant and fearless—it’s just corpse-worm poison. After the ritual concludes, someone will know how to cure it.”

The man laughed loudly. “I fear you won’t live that long!”

At that moment, Guan Wanchè suddenly spoke coldly: “No wonder you’re a Maitreya Cult fanatic—let’s see whether your stubborn mouth or the Commandant’s Office’s methods are harder.”

“Maitreya Cult?”

The man visibly froze, shaking his head quickly. “Don’t frame me—I was merely hired. I have nothing to do with the Maitreya Cult.”

Guan Wanchè and Chang Xuan exchanged a glance.

Chang Xuan said calmly, “Whether you’re with the Maitreya Cult no longer matters. Using gunpowder is a capital crime. Speak clearly—make your death swift.”

The man drew a deep breath and grinned. “Don’t scare me—I’m already in your hands. Whether you kill me or torture me, I won’t beg. That’s your business.”

“But someone asked me to deliver a message: his elder has no wish to oppose the Profound Heaven Sect, but the thing in the mountains must be taken.”

“Either you halt the ritual to save the lives—and the antidote will be delivered.

Or else, some of you die with me!”

Meanwhile, Luo Mingzi had returned. Seeing the scene, he said gravely: “More than one group is acting—they’re all diversions. Someone has slipped into the mountains during the explosion’s chaos.”

Guan Wanchè nodded. “Looks like an old, seasoned thief.”

Listening to their words, Li Yan now understood the full picture.

The enemy's tactics were indeed sophisticated—they never intended to launch a direct assault. Instead, they sent agents to incite chaos through explosions and used poisonous toxins to injure and intimidate.

Once the ritual to enshrine the mountain spirit began, it could not be stopped.

If the Profound Heaven Sect halted the ritual to save lives, the thieves could take the treasure unimpeded. If they didn’t halt it, they’d exhaust most of their forces in the siege, giving the thieves a chance to escape.

And—did Guan Wanchè imply the Maitreya Cult had also sent people?

Beside him, Luo Mingzi said gravely: “The ritual will not stop. If I’m right, one concession will only lead to more demands.”

Seeing negotiations failed, the man fell silent.

Chang Xuan said coldly: “Do you know this is a crime punishable by family annihilation?”

The man chuckled. “I have no ties. Doesn’t matter.”

Chang Xuan said: “The world is just about surviving—worth it?”

The man’s face was calm. “A life saved—I repay with my life.”

With that, he shut his eyes.

Chang Xuan nodded. “Pity.”

Plop!

One man stepped forward and drove his blade straight through the man’s heart.

The man had already embraced death—further questioning would only waste time.

The group returned to the altar. Sure enough, the enshrinement ritual had not stopped. Qingyangzi and several elder Daoists still stood atop the altar, solemn and precise, performing the rites.

Nearby, the wounded had all been moved into tents.

Each lay pale-faced, eyes closed, breathing faintly. In mere moments, their entire bodies emitted the stench of decay.

Among them was Sha Lifei.

Around each person burned a lotus lamp, with talismans pressed to their chests, and a strange incense burned inside the tents.

Li Yan could smell it—the incense was suppressing the stench of decay.

“It’s corpse-worm poison.”

Luo Mingzi said gravely: “Only long-practiced necromancers who deal daily with corpses can wield such methods. And the cure varies wildly depending on the burial site of the corpse.”

“Only Master Qingyangzi can forcibly expel the poison—but only one person at a time. With our techniques suppressing it, we should hold out until tomorrow…”

“Rest assured, Daoists.”

Chang Xuan suddenly spoke: “Since they’ve entered the mountains, we’ll trap them like fish in a barrel. Catch them, and we’ll get the antidote.”

Li Yan glanced at the unconscious Sha Lifei and said gravely: “I’m going too.”

With urgency, Luo Mingzi didn’t hesitate: “Good. Among the brothers skilled in the Nasal Sense, one has been poisoned. With Li Xiao’s help, we’ll surely catch them.”

At that moment, a Commandant’s Office Platoon Leader hurried in, bowing: “Report, my lord—we’ve captured three live prisoners!”

The group stepped out of the tent. Three men lay on the ground, arrows piercing their legs, blood gushing, eyes wide with terror.

These men lacked the previous man’s toughness. Without coercion, they trembled and spoke: “Spare us, sir! We were coerced!”

“I was poisoned by Mo Laowai…”

“Who is he?”

“An old tomb robber.”

“I was forced by the Beggar King Shan Ye…”

These men were also decoys.

They’d been poisoned and sent from all directions to draw away the Commandant’s Office.

According to them, the main attackers were two groups: one, a notorious tomb robber from Guanzhong; the other, the escaped Beggar King Shan Ye.

Originally rivals, they’d clashed—but seeing the graveyard’s defenses were tight, they’d temporarily joined forces to enter the mountains and claim the treasure, each relying on fortune.

The poisoner was none other than the tomb robber, Mo Laowai.

Hearing their names, Chang Xuan’s eyes flickered with disappointment.

But Li Yan suddenly recalled the black-robed elder he’d met while searching for Zhao Lüzi. He said gravely: “That man is from the Xunyou Line—a treasure-seeker. I have a friend who lives in seclusion at the Mountain God Temple in Shangyi Village—he’s also a treasure-seeker. He might know the cure.”

“The Xunyou Line… no wonder…”

Luo Mingzi nodded to the side. One of the Daoist acolytes immediately mounted a horse and rode off.

After making arrangements, the group also headed toward the graveyard…

(End of Chapter)