The moon was dark, the wind high, and the sound of shoveling earth ceaseless.
Li Yan and Sha Lifei toiled at digging, while Wu Laosi sat nearby in meditation.
His manner of meditation was somewhat peculiar.
He lay flat on his back, facing the sky, legs bent with the soles of his feet pressed together, resembling the "Yang-returning posture," yet his hands were clasped palm-to-palm in an odd, interlocking gesture, forming a strange seal.
After a short while, he suddenly opened his eyes, flipped upright with a carp-like leap, his demeanor entirely transformed, his eyes now gleaming with intensity.
"Done!"
Glancing at the deep pit in the ground, Wu Laosi said gravely, "Three feet above the earth dwell the gods, three feet below leads to the nether. This depth is sufficient. Lift the coffin!"
At his words, Li Yan and Sha Lifei promptly tossed aside their shovels.
They first scattered five-colored earth, then poured out a bottle of yellow wine, and finally lifted a nearby thin-skinned coffin, gently lowering it into the pit.
What is a thin-skinned coffin?
This coffin has its own particulars, typically measuring seven feet three inches, hence the saying, "The world's coffins are seven feet three, enough to bury all men under heaven."
But this is merely among common folk; the imperial nobles have their own distinctions.
Of course, there are differences even among the common people. Wealthy households use fine sandalwood or nanmu, materials that endure without decay.
The poor, however, cannot afford such quality. Their coffin planks, often less than three inches thick, are called thin-skinned coffins.
Because these coffins, once buried, are often dug up by wild dogs that smash the planks with their heads to feed on the dead, they're also called "dog-bumped coffins."
Wu Laosi was not being buried, so a dog-bumped coffin sufficed.
Once the coffin was placed, Wu Laosi took up handfuls of paper money, chanting scriptures—roughly to ward off restless spirits—while forming hand seals.
Li Yan could sense several streams of yin energy rising from the earth, summoned by Wu Laosi, swirling around the coffin in the pattern of the six stars of the Southern Dipper.
After this, Wu Laosi removed his shoes, placing one upright and one inverted inside the coffin, then slowly lay down within, clutching the "soul summons" in his hand.
"Remember!"
Wu Laosi's expression was grave as he said, "When the cock crows at dawn, if the bell rings, break the earth and open the coffin immediately. If the bell does not ring, burn the coffin directly—do not, under any circumstances, open it!"
"Burn it?!"
Sha Lifei was startled. "But, Senior, what about you…?"
Wu Laosi shook his head. "Don't worry about me. If you don't want to die, burn it. Because if the bell doesn't ring…"
"What comes out will not be me!"
With that, he slowly closed his eyes.
Li Yan and Sha Lifei exchanged a glance, both feeling somewhat helpless.
This was their first time witnessing the true art of passing through the nether, and knowing none of its intricacies, they could only follow orders.
The two gently closed the coffin lid, leaving it unnailed.
A small hole had been left in the coffin lid. Li Yan threaded a hemp rope tied with a bronze bell through the hole, watching as Wu Laosi inside tugged the rope taut. Only then did he and Sha Lifei begin shoveling earth to bury the coffin.
Following Wu Laosi's prior instructions, they lit six oil lamps in the pattern of the Southern Dipper's six stars, tied the bronze bell to a tree, and considered their task complete.
Cluck, cluck!
On a nearby tree, a large rooster was tethered, scratching the ground for insects.
Sha Lifei shook his head. "This method feels downright eerie. I wonder if it'll even work?"
"Just follow Senior's instructions," Li Yan said solemnly. "Uncle Sha, remember: if a yin wind rises later, scatter the paper money to prevent Senior's body from being coveted."
Sha Lifei swallowed hard. "And if those things don't show respect?"
Li Yan calmly tied the tassel of his Three Talents Demon-Suppressing Coin Sword. "If words fail, we'll use force."
…
Elsewhere, Xianyang City was far from peaceful.
"Clang—clang, clang!"
"The hour of zi has arrived. The weather is dry; beware of fire and candles!"
An old watchman passed slowly through the old street.
As he crossed a dark alley, he suddenly felt a chill, tightened his coat, and quickened his pace to leave.
Years of night patrols had honed his ears; in the quiet of midnight, he could hear the breathing of many people in the nearby alley.
Of course, the old man had no intention of meddling.
This area was close to the Changping Granary, guarded by government troops.
If anything happened, it wasn't his place to intervene.
Across from the alley stood a large blacksmith shop, the stronghold of the Iron Blade Gang, a group known for their bullying and tyranny. The old man had suffered their harassment more than once and had no desire to get involved.
Through decades of wind and rain, he had seen too much.
In his youth, the Wang family was a grand household, filled with skilled fighters and even distantly related to the palace, earning the title of Xianyang's kings.
But a single imperial edict brought their entire clan to ruin.
In his middle years, the Gao family produced several Dan-strength masters, renowned across the Guanzhong region, so respected that even out-of-province gangs had to pay homage.
Yet, for offending some mysterious force, they were wiped out in a single night.
Compared to these, the Iron Blade Gang was nothing.
In this martial world, there's always someone with a bigger fist…
…
No sooner had the old man left than two figures emerged slowly from the dark alley.
One wore a sheepskin coat—the same man who, one night, had guarded the alley outside the Inquiry Hall and dealt with the beggar sent to ambush.
The other was Luo Shihai.
The man in the sheepskin coat bowed respectfully. "Senior Luo, you could stay at home. This last tooth of the Zhou family—we can easily pull it out."
Luo Shihai snorted. "The Iron Blade Gang is hiding a Jiangzuo sorcerer plotting against my treasure. This man cannot be spared!"
"Rest assured, Senior," the sheepskin-coated man nodded, his face turning grim as he turned. "Move!"
At his command, a large group of black-clad men swarmed out.
Their heads were wrapped in black scarves, and they wielded short wooden sticks.
These sticks, about the length of an arm and elbow combined, were slightly thicker at one end and thinner at the other.
Called "whip rods" or "mule whips," they were common in Shaanxi, Gansu, Ningxia, and Jinzhou, ancient in origin, practiced by many martial artists, most famously in the Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Whip Rod.
But their uniform use marked these men as part of the Taixing Carriage Gang.
No sooner had they left the alley than they quickened their pace, rushing toward the walls surrounding the blacksmith shop.
As the Iron Blade Gang's stronghold, this blacksmith shop was no ordinary place. It had merged adjacent shops, its surrounding walls built over two men high, resembling a small fortress.
Yet, these walls could not stop the Carriage Gang's fighters.
In groups of three, two would interlock hands, allowing the third to leap into the air. With a pull, the remaining two would follow, scaling the wall.
Their movements were swift, crossing the high walls in a breath.
Crash!
The sound of breaking pottery rang out.
The Iron Blade Gang's thugs had placed numerous clay pots beneath the walls as a nighttime alarm.
"Who's there?!"
Gang members, startled awake, grabbed their short blades and rushed out.
Normally, these ruffians wouldn't be so concentrated, especially at night, when they'd be off visiting brothels, gambling, or drinking.
But recent unrest—the White Ape Gang had been crushed by the authorities—prompted their leader to order everyone to stay at the stronghold and avoid trouble.
Seeing a group of black-clad men leap down, the Iron Blade Gang members were initially startled, but noticing their numbers didn't exceed thirty, they grew bold.
"Where'd these bastards come from?!"
"Brothers, let's spill their blood!"
The Iron Blade Gang shouted and clashed with the intruders.
But the moment they engaged, they realized something was wrong.
These black-clad men were silent, their whip rods striking with uncanny force—poking, slashing, lifting, locking—with clean, decisive movements, easily fracturing the wrists of the gang members, causing their blades to fall.
Such was the whip rod: though not made of iron, it was short, sturdy, fierce, and versatile.
As the rods danced, accompanied by the thudding of strikes, screams filled the air.
This was a true martial gang!
The Iron Blade Gang members were shocked.
They were just street thugs, dabbling in some martial arts but long hollowed out by debauchery, fit only to bully common folk.
In the past, they could rely on official regulations to act tough, extorting weaker martial wanderers.
Against these true hardened fighters, they could only take a beating.
In no time, the ground was littered with their bodies.
The Taixing Carriage Gang was ruthless. Though they avoided lethal points like the Baihui or temples, they broke the hands and feet of every thug.
Even if they recovered, they'd likely be crippled.
Worse, the medical costs for so many, plus the need for caretakers, could bankrupt the Iron Blade Gang.
If they ignored their men, the gang would simply dissolve.
After crippling the remaining gang members, the Carriage Gang's black-clad men didn't stop, scouring the entire blacksmith shop.
"Find Zheng Blackback!"
"And that sorcerer!"
"Check everywhere for hidden passages!"
The black-clad men searched room by room, but when passing one side chamber, they seemed to deliberately ignore it, not even glancing as they hurried past.
Inside the chamber, two yellow talismans were pasted on the wooden window. On a small altar, a black wandering-soul jar had been opened, and a yin wind swirled with incense ash inside the room.
Behind the altar stood a man with disheveled hair, a taiji symbol drawn in cinnabar on his forehead—none other than You Laosi, the Jiangzuo sorcerer harbored by Zheng Blackback.
His hands formed seals, his mouth muttered incantations, and his forehead dripped with cold sweat.
Outside, shouts rang out.
"Report to the boss, no one found!"
"Senior Luo, what now…?"
"Forget it, they're probably hiding with the old monkey. Let's go."
"Withdraw!"
At the command, the Carriage Gang dispersed, leaving behind the Iron Blade Gang's thugs writhing in pain.
Sorcerer You Laosi finally exhaled, dismantling the altar, his body trembling.
He only knew curse magic, not martial arts.
If caught, he'd surely take a beating.
How did Luo Shihai know of his plot?
With the Zhou family fallen, the Iron Blade Gang was no longer safe!
You Laosi's eyes flickered with uncertainty. A cold smirk curled his lips as he slipped toward gang leader Zheng Blackback's room, taking advantage of the injured gang members…
…
At the same time the Iron Blade Gang was being raided, movement stirred in the woods by the river outside the city.
Whoosh!
As the hour of zi arrived, a yin wind rose, startling birds into flight.
Li Yan formed a yang seal, immediately sensing a cold, rotten smell, sticky and cloying, rising from the ground.
"Uncle Sha, quick!"
At his shout, Sha Lifei grabbed a handful of paper money and tossed it into the air.
"Passing friends, the mountains and rivers have their ways, let's not cross paths…"
*(Chapter End)*