Chapter 402: The Iron Chest Buried in the Courtyard

Snow and rain mingled in the dawn light, like countless silver threads scattered sparsely across the sky.

Along both sides of Yong’an Street, the glazed tile roofs were coated with a layer of icy water, which then froze into frost under the northward-blowing cold wind.

At that time, the emissary delegations from the northern and southern immortal sects were departing the Great Xia Imperial Palace in their carriages, taking up residence in the Shengjing Immortal Garden.

The restoration of the Sages’ Sacred Ground was nearly complete, yet the demon clans in Yunzhou had grown increasingly restless, even infiltrating Zhongzhou multiple times after the New Year Festival, causing the human race to feel intense tension and a growing sense that war was imminent.

Zhongzhou and Youyun provinces were not like others; they housed the ancestral temple of the human race, bearing its destiny and a connection to the Dao, and could never be allowed to fall into demon hands.

Thus, to prepare for possible war and to determine how to enter and inspect the destiny link after restoring the Sages’ Sacred Ground, the human race held a multi-day emergency meeting within the Great Xia Imperial Palace.

At that time, among the returning immortals resting at the Immortal Garden, Mu Jing, Inspector of the Immortal Supervision Office, was walking under a paper umbrella toward Chunhua Alley, arriving at a house without a courtyard.

It was clear the courtyard was still under repair, with a deep pit dug in the center for laying the heating duct.

Yet judging by its depth, the pit was deeper than a normal heating duct.

Just then, Kuangcheng emerged from the house: “Has the meeting ended?”

After snapping out of her thoughts, Mu Jing looked at him: “It’s over, but it didn’t go well.”

“Why not?”

“There was a dispute between the Heavenly Book Academy and the Questioning Dao Sect—they think the latter can’t be trusted and refuse to let them guard the Sacred Ground’s core. I suspect this still stems from Young Master Ji’s incident.”

Hearing this, Kuangcheng understood his meaning.

Though Young Master Ji ultimately perished due to cultivation mishaps, it was widely known that someone had assassinated him during his breakthrough.

Though no one knew the assassin’s identity, the Heavenly Book Academy noticed that on the day of the incident, the three sects had each sent envoys under the pretense of discussing the Sacred Ground, deliberately delaying matters.

So despite lacking direct evidence, they were certain the assassin had been sent by one of the three immortal sects—this conflict was hardly surprising.

After speaking, Mu Jing pulled out a scroll from his sleeve: “I’ve brought you what you asked me to copy—records of tax revenue deposit dates from Tai Chang Year One to Tai Wu Year One, spanning four years.”

Kuangcheng snapped back to attention and bowed: “Thank you, Brother Mu.”

“We’re friends—no need for thanks. I’m just curious: why do you need these transport records?”

“The craftsmen I hired unearthed something while repairing the courtyard.”

“?”

Kuangcheng glanced around, then whispered: “Come inside.”

Seeing his expression, Mu Jing grew wary and nodded, following him into the house.

The newly built house still carried the scent of damp plaster, but the warmth from the stove made the chill barely noticeable.

Yet what drew attention was a small iron chest, entirely coated in dirt, placed beside the stove, its corners corroded and rusted.

Kuangcheng’s house had been shattered during the Linxian Realm demon attack on the Heavenly Book Academy two years ago; he’d had no money to repair it since.

Later, when Qingyun fell into famine, Ji You raised grain prices and profited from the noble families, then gave Kuangcheng the funds to repair his courtyard.

After a year of repairs, the house was finished, leaving only the heating ducts to be cleared, the courtyard leveled, and the walls built.

During the New Year, heavy snow blanketed Shengjing, and with the festival approaching, he told the craftsmen to go home for the holiday and resume work afterward.

On the first day of resuming work, they unearthed a chest while digging from the kitchen to the main hall’s heating duct.

Kuangcheng told Mu Jing the story of the chest’s discovery, and Mu Jing’s face showed a flicker of confusion.

“You didn’t bury it?”

“The craftsmen said the corrosion suggests it’s been buried about ten years. But I’ve only owned this courtyard for four.”

Mu Jing opened his mouth: “Then it must have been buried by the previous owner?”

Kuangcheng nodded: “Since the new policies began, many corrupt Ministry of Revenue officials were investigated and their lands and homes seized by the state, then redistributed to officials of the Immortal Supervision Office—our houses were both acquired this way.”

“Then whose house was this originally?”

“A Ministry of Revenue assistant minister surnamed Wang—the official in charge of tax transport. This was his mistress’s residence.”

After speaking, Kuangcheng took a leather-wrapped bundle from his lacquered red cabinet: “These are what was inside the chest—a stack of ledgers. Very strange.”

“What’s strange about ledgers?”

Mu Jing asked, reaching out to take the bundle and opening the ledgers to examine them.

After just a few glances, he realized these were also transport records—and the dates seemed familiar. He picked up the copy he’d made of the Great Xia tax records and placed them side by side. The coincidence became clear.

The outbound dates and vehicle numbers in the leather-wrapped ledger matched exactly with inbound records and identical numbers in the Great Xia tax records.

Great Xia’s tax revenue was collected door-to-door by county offices; apart from the hidden taxes paid to local immortal sects, all else was sent to the Ministry of Revenue for auditing and redistribution to major immortal sects and noble families.

In other words, these were partial transport records compiled before reaching the national treasury.

“They’re just ordinary transport records,” Mu Jing said, then frowned at his own words. “Why hide such mundane things? And why not keep them at home—why bury them in a mistress’s courtyard?”

“Could the records be ordinary, but what they transported wasn’t?” Kuangcheng countered.

Mu Jing paused: “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what they transported may not have been grain.”

“How is that possible?”

“If you don’t believe me, look at these inbound dates,” Kuangcheng said, pointing to the earliest entries. “According to the ledger, the items were recorded as received in February, March, and May—but the autumn harvest hadn’t come yet. Where would they get grain to collect and deposit?”

Mu Jing immediately frowned, grasping Kuangcheng’s reasoning.

Great Xia’s tax quotas were crushing; the people barely survived, tightening their belts until autumn harvest, when they could finally breathe. They couldn’t possibly hand over anything before harvest.

After a moment’s thought, he raised his eyes: “Then what were they transporting?”

“Look further.”

“Further?”

Mu Jing flipped the ledger over and turned to the back.

His gaze swept across it, and a line of large characters appeared before him.

I too am a parent. To aid in such evil deeds, I know I shall surely face heavenly retribution. But I fear I shall be silenced before punishment comes. I pray only that the heavens punish me alone, and spare my children.

Heaven’s justice is clear: good and evil are repaid. May the souls rest in peace.

Mu Jing stared for a long time, suddenly feeling a chill, especially upon reading “I too am a parent” and “may the souls rest in peace.”

Kuangcheng waited until he finished, then spoke in a low voice: “When I read this line, I didn’t understand it either. But I felt it carried hidden meaning. I spent hours breaking down the characters—and the implications terrified me.”

“Brother Kuang, stop teasing—what does it mean?”

“Children.”

“What?”

“I think they’re children. They used tax transport as cover, but were actually moving children. Only then does the opening line ‘I too am a parent’ make sense.”

Hearing this, Mu Jing’s scalp prickled: “Why so many children? To raise them?”

“Brother Mu, after the thousand-year clans’ plot failed, you participated in the interrogations of the Du and Bai families. What do you think they wanted children for?”

At these words, Mu Jing’s mind was instantly pulled back over a year.

At that time, the thousand-year clans’ scheme had collapsed, and countless suspects were imprisoned in the Celestial Prison, interrogated daily.

He was temporarily assigned to assist with recording, learning much about their crimes—including the most horrifying part: how they smuggled out the relics’ immortal fortunes.

“You mean these children are being used as vessels?”

Mu Jing looked again at the ledger, then immediately shook his head: “No, that doesn’t fit. According to the confessions, the clans only understood how to use children in the later stages—but these ledgers go back over ten years.”

Kuangcheng looked at Mu Jing: “One possibility is I’m wrong. But another is that someone else—someone even earlier than the thousand-year clans—knew how to extract the relic’s immortal fortune.”

“You lean toward the latter?”

“Not just lean—I’ll show you something else.”

Kuangcheng set down both ledgers, then pulled a small booklet from the bottom of his jujube-red cabinet.

Mu Jing took it and saw it listed only nicknames, each followed by a date.

“What is this?”

“There are three orphanages in Shengjing and its surroundings. This is their compiled list of missing children and their disappearance dates—nearly all match the inbound dates in this ledger.”