Chapter 214: Southern Frontier Killing Array

Returning to Zheng’an Street, Xie Jinhuan first went to bid farewell to Mo Mo; upon hearing he was heading to the Southern Frontier to seek treasure, Qing Mo was eager but, alas, lacked the strength to face enemies above the First Rank, so he could only stay home and lock himself in seclusion to urgently bolster his cultivation, urging Xie Jinhuan to return soon.

During this time, the landlady also mentioned to him the upcoming diplomatic mission to Northern Zhou.

Xie Jinhuan could not miss this legitimate chance to visit his father, yet the opportunity at Phoenix Tomb was practically handed to him—he could not abandon it either—so he resolved to rush there and back, catching up with the party as soon as possible.

After finishing his arrangements, Xie Jinhuan went to Wanyi’s home to retrieve Meiqiu, who had grown lethargic and uninterested in joy; having just returned, he was off again, inevitably drawing a scolding from Wanyi, but after repeated warnings and instructions, she still saw him off.

Xie Jinhuan wasted no time, meeting up with his fellow disciples from the Vermilion Gate and Qingming Sword Manor, then flying southward in full haste.

At the First Rank, long-distance speed far surpassed that of horses, allowing straight-line travel over mountains and rivers; thus, all three traveled on foot, focused solely on speed, saying little along the way—merely sprinting hundreds of miles, using elixirs to restore their dantian and physique, then pressing on, repeating the cycle endlessly.

Such sustained high-intensity travel was indeed grueling, but the results were clear: the three passed through Weizhou, Huzhou, Ningzhou, and Ruizhou—the very route he had once trudged on foot in his youth, when his cultivation was low and he had to fight black-hearted gangs along the way just to earn silver; back then, it took him nearly half a year, yet now they covered it in mere days.

As they advanced further south, the landscape and climate changed markedly: while Luojing was nearly snowing, Ruizhou in Lingnan still felt like late summer.

The towns and villages they encountered were far poorer than those in the Jingzhao region and teemed with all kinds of rogue cultivators; poison rats were common major factions, and in one town, they even encountered disciples of the “Worship of the Moon Sect,” who revered the Moon God and regarded the Crescent Moon Manor as their mortal enemy, viewing Bu Yuehua as a profane demoness.

But “Crescent Moon” merely meant the night of the new moon—when yin reached its peak—having nothing to do with this sect; they were simply grasping at the name to find enemies.

Seeing this, Xie Jinhuan recalled Wanyi’s jest in her boudoir about renaming Crescent Moon Manor to “Debt-of-the-Sun Manor.”

Ice Lump strongly agreed, but Hua Shijie suddenly ignored him entirely, marching ahead in silence.

Traveling thus, the three reached Zhennan Pass in Ruizhou on the twenty-seventh day of the ninth month.

The garrison troops at Zhennan Pass were mostly convicts, and many laborers worked inside and outside the pass constructing defenses—not against Southern Dynasty troops, but against bandit cultists and wild beasts that wandered into towns during winter seeking food.

Xie Jinhuan had visited Zhennan Pass before and had no intention of revisiting; he originally planned to head straight south, crossing the thousand-li territory of the Crescent Moon Manor to reach Huofeng Valley deep in the Southern Frontier.

But as the three passed through a certain mountain hollow, Meiqiu, acting as aerial scout, suddenly issued a warning:

“Goo-goo…”

Hua Shijie, leading the way, immediately landed on the hillside and turned to gaze into the hollow.

Xie Jinhuan and Ice Lump landed beside her, pulling out their long-range lenses; inside the hollow lay a market, composed of over a hundred thatched huts, where numerous shamans and henchmen sold herbs and animal hides.

At the market’s edge, a circle of shamans surrounded three desiccated corpses—apparently, a rogue Daoist had murdered them here, and the local authorities were inspecting the scene.

The Southern Frontier was the stronghold of poison and gu sects, yet rogue Daoists and bandit gangs were also numerous; murders committed by rogue bandits, rare in the capital, were commonplace in the Southern Frontier’s wilds.

Xie Jinhuan gave a brief glance and asked:

“Is this Crescent Moon Manor’s territory?”

The Southern Frontier was barren and hostile; though it had civilians, it could not form a state—only independent mountain clans and tribes, whose patron sects naturally served as their protectors; tribes paid tribute in herbs in exchange for peace, and wherever people gathered, ties inevitably stretched to various sects.

Crescent Moon Manor lay only a thousand li from Ruizhou; this area was indeed under its jurisdiction. Bu Yuehua spotted a Xiangzhu inspecting the scene and replied:

“This is Heishan Market; merchants inside the pass often trade here with the Southern Frontier. Crescent Moon Manor has already sent people; the situation seems minor—let’s focus on our mission.”

Xie Jinhuan said nothing further and continued with the two toward Huofeng Valley.

Meanwhile, inside the hollow’s market:

Dozens of Southern Frontier henchmen gathered around the three corpses, whispering among themselves:

“Who is this rogue Daoist? His cultivation seems high…”

“Probably came from Ghost Wailing Marsh—daring to strike on Crescent Moon Manor’s turf, bold indeed…”

…

Behind the crowd stood an old man and a young man, dressed plainly.

The elder was Lu Yan, Sect Master of Beizhou’s Wulingshan, second only in status among Northern Zhou Daoist sects to Huang Songjia, Sect Master of the Divination Sect.

The young man beside him, in his early twenties, was his nephew-disciple Xi Yanjun.

Xi Yanjun had never been to the Southern Frontier before; seeing corpses in the market and the locals treating them as commonplace, he frowned deeply:

“The Southern Dynasty’s Daoist sects still have the Witch Alliance—just like Beiming Sect, they’re useless sacks, hoarding the top positions yet failing their duties, letting rogue demons run rampant. Had the Divination Sect held the Tai Chang Temple, the realm would not be in this state.”

The Tai Chang Temple primarily oversaw imperial sacrifices; Northern Zhou revered the Sacrificial Line, so its successive Temple Ministers were always the Sect Masters of that lineage, also called Grand Sacrificer, holding the same position and duties as Lu Wu.

Meanwhile, Northern Zhou’s Imperial Astronomical Bureau was managed by the Divination Sect, tasked solely with observing celestial phenomena and revising calendars, lacking the vast authority of its Southern counterpart; the two had long been at odds.

Hearing Xi Yanjun’s words, Lu Yan replied with one hand behind his back:

“Daoist sects originated from ancient witch cults; the Sacrificial Line has deep roots in the north far older than ours, with vast popular faith—replacing them won’t be easy. Keep moving; don’t delay our mission.”

Xi Yanjun followed Lu Yan southward, asking along the way:

“Rogue Daoists have planted agents on the Southern Dynasty’s father-in-law and Crown Prince; they surely haven’t left a single pawn unplaced in Northern Zhou.”

“Forgive my frankness, but the Empress Dowager’s origins are mysterious, her achievements great, yet her rule is overly ambitious, with clear intent to wage war on the Southern Dynasty.”

“The North-South alliance was brokered by the ancestors of the Witch Cult. If we don’t dissuade her, when she breaks the pact and starts war, igniting Fengyan across the realm and plunging it into chaos, won’t that suit the rogue Daoists perfectly?”

Lu Yan, well aware of Northern Zhou’s situation, replied irritably:

“You’re still young; focus solely on your cultivation. When you can shoulder the burden of the Divination Sect, you’ll have the right to speak of realm affairs.”

Xi Yanjun bowed his head:

“I merely fear this peace will be destroyed by the ambitious. I was just speaking aloud—I’ll focus solely on cultivation from now on.”

“Before you left, your master divined your fate: half auspicious, half ominous, with inevitable change. That’s why I’ve come to guard your path—be exceedingly careful. The Southern Frontier seems desolate, but within its ten thousand mountains lurk more ancient rogue spirits than both Northern and Southern Dynasties combined…”

“Yes…”

…

—

On another side, Ghost Wailing Marsh.

The Southern Frontier’s wilds stretch vast, bordering Jiangzhou to the east and Xirong to the west; its ten thousand mountains hide countless sects and tribes, among them three great dangers—Huofeng Valley, Ghost Wailing Marsh, and Misty Mountain.

The Poison and Black Yin Sects operate near the pass or the coast, still among the safer regions of the Southern Frontier. Ghost Wailing Marsh lies in the central Southern Frontier, an eight-hundred-li expanse of marshland; legend says even souls cannot escape if one dies here, and at night, the wails of vengeful ghosts are often heard.

The legend is no fabrication, but not natural—it’s because Ghost Wailing Marsh is the stronghold of the Corpse Witch Sect, hiding countless Corpse Witches and Ghost Witches; among the most famous is Linglu Valley, the second master of Taishu Dan.

At night, deep within the foul, smog-choked marsh, faint crow cries echoed:

“Gaa—gaa—”

A vast complex of buildings stood within the marsh, all elevated stilt-houses, with chains hanging iron cages below, containing living humans snatched from unknown places, half-submerged in putrid, insect-infested mire, lips and eyelids sealed shut, emitting only muffled moans:

“Oooh…”

This method was not punishment—it was the “Ancient Art of Raising Minor Spirits”—forcing a person to die in extreme agony so their resentment lingers, transforming them into vengeful ghosts bound to the mortal world.

As a standard rogue technique, the Poison Sects banned it; only the Corpse Witch Sect dared use it. The Corpse Witch Sect was not even a member of the Southern Witch Alliance, openly hostile to the Poison Sects and all orthodox sects—only slightly less vile than those who directly ate people.

Under the new moon, few lights glowed in Linglu Valley’s compound; only cloaked disciples moved between the buildings.

In the central spacious hall, Jiang Qizi, the valley’s master, held a black needle, inscribing incantations onto a complete corpse.

Around the hall stood no fewer than thirty figures, all clad in black cloaks obscuring their faces, swords and blades at their waists, seemingly observing the master’s work.

But in truth, only one person in the entire hall was alive—the rest were all extensions of Jiang Qizi.

As he worked, footsteps sounded on the wooden bridge outside.

Tap… tap…

Splash~

All thirty puppets simultaneously gripped their sword hilts and turned toward the door.

Jiang Qizi paused, looked up—and saw a figure walking across the bridge.

The figure was a tall man, clad in brocade robes, wearing a blue-faced Rakshasa mask, his steps leisurely as he casually surveyed the iron cages hanging beside the bridge:

“Master Jiang, after all these years, still wallowing in the mud? Don’t you find it dull?”

Jiang Qizi set down his tools, glanced briefly, his dim yellow eyes showing surprise:

“Blue-Faced Buddha? I’ve been pondering how to repay that old grudge—never expected you’d dare come to my door…”

He Tianqi entered the hall, gazing at the white-haired old ghost beside the corpse table:

“The cultivation path has always been this way: if you lose, accept it; as long as you’re alive, it’s good. I’m not here to settle scores—only to deliver a message.”

Jiang Qizi harbored nothing but hatred for this man.

More than twenty years ago, Jiang Qizi was still young, diligently building puppets and accumulating strength in Ghost Wailing Marsh—until one day, a well-dressed young man appeared, claiming to be the Blue-Faced Buddha, an agent of the Great Qian’s Second Prince, seeking to play a grand game with him.

His proposal: secretly serve as the Second Prince’s enforcer, help him launch a coup and seize the throne, and in return, grant him the opportunity of Qilin Cave and help eliminate the Siku Ancestor.

Linglu Valley’s original sect had once occupied the site now held by Chilong Cave; a century ago, the Si family arrived, raising the banner of “orthodoxy” and exterminating the local natives; Linglu Valley was nearly wiped out, its survivors fleeing to this mud pit to regroup.

Jiang Qizi longed to restore his sect and return to its ancestral seat; finding the man truly capable of contacting the Second Prince, he agreed to cooperate—even planted a “dead hand”: if the Second Prince reneged and tried to silence him, he would expose the prince’s collusion with rogue Daoists to the public.

The result? Jiang Qizi spent years laboring, crafting over a hundred puppets, gathering a band of rogue demons, secretly infiltrating Luojing, aiding the Second Prince in assassinating the Crown Prince and eliminating all rivals to the throne.

Just as success seemed within reach, the Qian Emperor inexplicably appeared in the palace and slashed the Second Prince’s throat.

Fortunately, Jiang Qizi had brought his disciple Taishu Dan; Taishu Dan, ever slippery, sensed something too smooth, realized something was wrong, and urged Jiang Qizi to flee immediately—since the mission was nearly complete and the evidence already in hand, there was no need to fear the prince reneging—and so Jiang Qizi barely escaped death.

Jiang Qizi held the evidence of the Second Prince’s collusion with rogue Daoists—but it could not threaten the Qian Emperor; revealing it would only invite Qian’s wrath and a nationwide purge, so he swallowed his teeth and returned to the mud pit to rebuild.

For twenty years, Jiang Qizi believed he had simply been unlucky, his plot failing—he accepted his misfortune—until recently, when he heard of the He family’s annihilation for consorting with demons, and suddenly realized: he had been used as a blade.

The rogue Daoists had directly orchestrated the Qian Emperor’s coup: killing the Crown Prince and Second Prince, leaving the new emperor with an illegitimate claim, inviting suspicion from all sects and schools.

Meanwhile, the Second Prince bore all blame for the coup; the Qian Emperor then purged the traitors and restored order, making his ascension appear righteous.

The Qian Emperor himself had been trapped in the Ten Royal Mansions massacre; his father-in-law’s family was hunted down by the Second Prince, leaving only the father-in-law and two grandsons—over thirty others slaughtered by rebels. Could that possibly be an act?

Yet He Tianqi had truly sacrificed his own brothers and family to grant the Qian Emperor a spotless reputation—and earned his unquestioning trust!

Now, seeing the Blue-Faced Buddha who had come to him all those years ago, alive and standing before him, Jiang Qizi’s heart burned with murderous intent!

But the Mingshenjiao ’s deterrent power beyond the pass far exceeded its influence within, so after brief deliberation, he asked:

“What message do you have?”

He Tianqi replied calmly:

“A few days ago, the newly emerged Xie Jinhuan from the Great Qian is heading south—likely to Huofeng Valley seeking opportunity. Xie Jinhuan never travels empty-handed; if he’s come, the opportunity has surfaced.”

“You’re quite the schemer.”

Jiang Qizi leaned on his cane and sneered:

“You tricked me once twenty years ago, ruined me completely—now you want to use me as a blade again? Your entire He family was wiped out by Xie Jinhuan—how dare I challenge such a man for his opportunity?”

He Tianqi turned and walked out.

“I’ve told you the news—the Phoenix Tomb’s opportunity lies there; whether you go is up to you. Also, I’ve already alerted Yan Lang of the Black Yama Gang—he and Xu Guan have already set out to block Xie Jin. With your skills, you can play the mantis catching the cicada while the oriole waits behind; it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Why don’t you go persuade Old Sikong?”

“That old immortal doesn’t lack this opportunity—he spends his days dreaming of washing clean and becoming the leader of the orthodox path. He’d never touch Xie Jin.”

Having finished speaking, He Tianqi vanished in a flash.

Jiang Qizi leaned on his cane, watching the plague depart. In the end, he did not act, and returned to handling the corpses.

But the Fire Phoenix Valley lies right next to the Wailing Marsh, and this year there have indeed been frequent wildfires and ground fissures—if the opportunity truly emerges…

Old Sikong may not need it, but this old body of mine—without this thing to transform my essence—I may not live many more years…

After bustling about for a while, Jiang Qizi’s heart grew uneasy; finally, he dropped his tools, leaned on his cane, and stepped out of the dwelling…

(End of Chapter)