Chapter 965

The front of Xinglong Anbao never displayed banners or signs; outsiders only saw the finely carved window lattices and hanging drapes of this building.

A two-story house stood alone at the street corner, secluded and elegant, its door unusually hung with a curtain.

Among merchants, who in the freezing north would hang such thick door curtains? Isn’t that discouraging customers?

But Xinglong An specifically hung two heavy, thick door curtains, refusing to let anyone glimpse what business they conducted.

The customers entering here all wore brocade and silk, dressed in wealth and luxury.

Yet in Zhigucheng, no secret could be kept—street gossip and alley chatter made it clear: the owner of Xinglong An had a son without an anus, and ran a deadly opium den.

Zhigucheng’s water system was highly developed, and thus suffered frequent floods.

A local philanthropist named Li Shan built two rows of earthen houses on a wasteland northwest of his Rong Garden, naming them “Li Family Small Houses,” and rented them to flood refugees.

Some refugees could not afford rent and instead built their own “Rolling Dragon” shelters, tightly packed, uneven in height and size, jutting out and recessed, utterly chaotic.

This attracted many local hoodlums and ruffians from the Qingpi Xing, and gradually, public order deteriorated.

During the Boxer Rebellion, the court and foreigners agreed to use foreign ships and cannons to suppress the unrest, and in exchange for foreign tribute, sold another plot of land beside Li’s Rong Garden to the foreigners, who built the Church of the Holy Faith, Chongde Hall.

This cluster of disorderly dwellings thus became known as “Qiande Zhuang!”

In this place, opium dens and foreign trading houses were its hallmark.

Around Chongde Hall, in Aide Li, Shangde Li, and Ande Li, opium shops were scattered like stars.

Such shops required so little capital that only a counter and a brass scale were needed to open.

Yet the best-run shops, like Xinglong An, were exceptional.

They featured exquisite rosewood pearwood kang beds, exquisitely crafted opium pipes of cloud copper and yellow bamboo, Guangzhou-style lamps, and premium Yunnan opium pipes, all exuding nobility and refinement.

Upon lifting the curtain, thick smoke would rush forth—ordinary people called it foul, but only those emaciated, hunched, pale, and sickly-looking opium addicts deemed it celestial mist; inhaling it revived their spirits, and their sunken eyes glowed with feverish excitement.

Aside from the private rooms upstairs, the main hall held about twenty to thirty kang beds; each kang bed was divided into two sleeping spots by a central table, with one person lying on each side.

On each kang table burned a Guangzhou glass opium lamp, with delicate tea bowls and lamp trays.

The opium addict would curl up on the kang, holding an opium pipe, lighting it at the lamp tray, inhaling deeply, reluctant to exhale—often, servants or young attendants stood beside, leaning in to inhale the smoke exhaled by their master, their faces hungry with craving.

That unsettling sight meant nothing to their masters; some even deliberately blew smoke into their faces.

The clerk bowed and grinned, vividly describing this scene as a “heavenly realm.”

But Lao Guangming felt a chill run through him.

He removed his hat and scanned the room.

Every face in this den of poison wore a blissful, otherworldly haze, yet their rotten yellow teeth, sunken eyes, and dark circles betrayed their decay and degradation, no matter how richly dressed.

Even the young and strong here, puffing smoke, slumped with limp limbs and wept and drooled uncontrollably!

Their gazes, dull yet hungry, pupils shrunken like those of wolves, tigers, and leopards—greedy, yet numbed by the smoke.

They displayed greed and sloth.

They harbored hunger, desire, and rage, yet all that craving was dulled by smoke, revealing an arrogance… three parts demonic, seven parts ghostly.

Even Lao Guangming, accustomed to demons and ghosts, who had only yesterday dispatched a ghost child, felt his skin crawl at those eyes.

These opium addicts—were they even human? They clearly revealed the true form of ghosts, ready to show their cannibalistic nature!

The clerk, seeing him linger at the door, signaled to two hoodlums standing guard.

Two disheveled, slant-eyed, hat-askew ruffians swaggered over, sizing Lao Guangming up and down, sneering: “So you’re a black-skin dog. What, you don’t know this isn’t the place to cause trouble?”

Lao Guangming’s hand rested on his pistol holster, smiling coldly: “In Zhigucheng, are there people I can’t touch? Show me your eyes, brother—we’ll test the depths.”

“How dare you speak like that?”

Lao Guangming barked sharply.

“Eagle-claw braggart—five words inside the gate: Respect, Learn, Eat, Fear, Seek (we are Qingbang).”

The hoodlum glared: “Official arrogance—brothers drink tea (we take the small share).”

Lao Guangming bowed: “May I ask what water you drink, what wood you burn?”

The hoodlum replied: “Ask the gang, not the office; the office is Hai Lin Office. We drink flowing water, burn Kunshan firewood. Forty-six ships total, thirty-eight sailing, ten under repair. Normally fly white flags, white banners with moon phases; on the first and fifteenth, white flags with red trim, half-moon. Wooden boats, black-oiled spars, golden hooks and ruyi, also called Golden Stick, gang nickname Dead Eagle Wing.”

“Grain delivery: Shimen and Tongxiang counties, Jiaxing Prefecture, Zhejiang. Each ship carries 1,225 shi, total 45,000 shi. Lead ship master: Li Yanlin. Deputy master: Yu Rui. Moored at Crown Prince Wharf, grain stored at Lao Niu Temple, delivered at Shiba Li Xiao Hongqiao Wharf, Zhaozhou Dam.”

“Imperially granted Phoenix Ticket: Ship name Shi Shaozi.”

This long recitation was the family’s identity.

It was also a secret ritual: Qingbang disciples entered strictly, required an incense hall, paid homage to three masters, and received all secrets through coded phrases.

What banner? What water? What wood? What office? What grain carried? How many shi? Where unloaded? What marks? How many ships sailing? How many under repair? Total grain ships? What flag on first and fifteenth? Flag design? Tassels?

These questions symbolized Luo Zu’s synthesis of the Three Teachings and the secret path opened by the Canal Gang.

Qingbang, Canal Gang, Hongbang, and Gelaos all originated from this path, each branching out; Qingbang and Canal Gang submitted to the court and ran businesses; Hongbang and Gelaos clung to the fallen dynasty and plotted rebellion.

One upheld purity, the other lost the land—that was why they split.

Lao Guangming merely sneered: “So you’re Qingbang’s Jiahai Guard!”

Lao Guangming crossed his arms, one thumb up, one down; beneath, his right hand still gripped middle and ring fingers, forming the Three Saints Seal, then made the Xuanzhen Seal.

“Fought the two dragons of Qing and Canal, crushed nine rivers with one palm. In home temple, worship the Three Saints; on the road, ask for Xuanzhen!”

(At home we worship the Three Saints of Creation; on the road we are Xuanzhen disciples. Our sect defeated your Qing and Canal gangs twice in ritual combat; by custom, Zhigucheng is ours to command.)

“You asked not about gang matters, but about the teachings outside the gate!”

(I’m not here as a constable—I’m here for Xuanzhen teachings.)

The two Qingbang disciples exchanged glances but said nothing.

Lao Guangming stepped forward again: “Anything else to say?”

The two Qingbang disciples reluctantly bowed: “On the road, all are brothers. Your sect won two rounds, but a third remains. Qingbang loses men, not face. After the grand duel, this establishment will pay its due.”

Lao Guangming replied coldly: “Our sect forbids firearms and opium—money won’t settle this. When the time comes, our enforcers will speak with you. But I’m here now to investigate a ghost incident. A woman floated up in the river before the door, wearing a false queue of a widow, pregnant. Today she became a floating corpse. I ask you: what’s the truth?”

At this, the shopkeeper, seeing Qingbang unable to handle it, stepped forward himself.

He first offered a pouch of silver, then smiled: “Sir, we truly don’t know who this woman was. This place serves gentlemen; how could I keep a widow?”

“Take this silver for tea. I’ll personally visit your sect’s temple, pay respects to Xuanzhen Luo Temple.”

Lao Guangming said calmly: “I was dispatched. Though not here as a constable, my superiors have spoken, and our sect has made it clear: in Zhigucheng, we observe propriety. You know the principle of courtesy before force.”

“I ask you now with courtesy. Since I came to inquire, there must be reason. If you brush me off, you won’t brush off those who come after.”

This was half threat, half truth.

After yesterday’s ghost incident, Xuanzhen Sect members summoned him for questioning; only then did Lao Guangming realize his constable identity had never fooled the sect.

Xuanzhen Sect had tasked him with investigating.

Hence, he had come to the opium den—partly willingly, partly compelled.

Outside Xinglong An, the constabulary captain and his men hid in a narrow alley, waiting long before Lao Guangming emerged, hands tucked in his sleeves, making a gesture toward them.

“Wait and hold position?”

The captain wiped sweat from his brow, glancing skeptically at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau Daoist beside him.

The Daoist’s face was grave, but he nodded: wait.

Lao Guangming hurried to the entrance of Chongde Church, lowered his hat, and entered, recalling the shopkeeper’s first grim expression, then his rapidly shifting pallor.

“When the woman floated up, half the city saw her! I sent men to investigate—the runner recognized her. She was a sect woman; her husband was a Christian, often bringing her to the foreign church. He was a dock foreman, sometimes came here to buy opium—last week he bought the most, saying the foreigners were unloading a huge ship, exhausting everyone!”

“All that’s what I tell outsiders.”

“Since you asked, sir, I’ll tell you the truth: her husband was a dock foreman, smuggling goods on foreign ships. Our shop sometimes took his goods—mostly blood opium.”

“You know: foreign opium is first grade, native opium third. Foreign opium’s superiority lies in the blood medicine.”

“Her husband is a traitor to his ancestors—a blood demon, a bat spirit!”

Lao Guangming closed his eyes before the church.

The great door slowly opened, revealing a massive silver triangle above the altar.

At its apex hung a silver lamp; along its two horizontal arms stood altars, each holding a silver cup and a mirror…