Chapter Seventeen: Evil Spirits—A Clumsy Attempt at Concealment

"Ahem, don’t mind the details. They say a scholar need not leave home to know the world. My family comes from a line of military households. During my time in service, I encountered plenty of those cooks selling noodles and wontons—it's only natural I'd have some knowledge of knockout drugs, wouldn’t you say? As I see it, the Chicken's Cry and Five Watches Soul-Returning Incense is only part of the story—the real issue lies with these domineering river thugs, who've grown so used to bullying others that they seize whatever they please."

Creak—!

Wang Cheng, a ring-hilted saber at his waist, entered as if it were his own home, chatting amiably with the Zhang brothers—Zhang Wu and Zhang Wen—who followed behind, each armed with a blade and a bow. He shut the door behind them, locking out the deepening night.

The three looked down at the unconscious tax collectors sprawled across the floor, then each took out a small porcelain vial, held it to their noses, and inhaled deeply to clear their minds and sharpen their focus.

The “Chicken’s Cry and Five Watches Soul-Returning Incense” was so named because after the victim was exposed to this soporific, they would not awaken until the hour of the rooster’s crow—if one wasn’t careful, falling prey to it was no laughing matter.

There were two main formulae: one for external use, one for ingestion. For the external variant, the antidote must be taken first, then the poison administered by patting, tossing, scattering, or blowing smoke, leaving the victim dazed and unconscious. The internal version was mixed into food or drink—though not tasteless, so best concealed in strong-flavored dishes or wine.

The recipe Wang Cheng used was not standard military fare but rather knowledge inherited from the Wang family, master navigators!

A hundred years ago, the Wang family ancestors had sailed with Grand Eunuch Sanbao on the search for immortal elixirs beyond the seas, serving as “shipmasters of fire,” a role akin to navigator on modern vessels. With golden compass and star chart in hand, they guided the treasure fleet across the oceans by the stars.

He had met countless skilled watermen, and from generations of accumulated wisdom—refined in cooperation with the imperial navy—came the Wang family’s secret manual, the “True Method for Propitious Winds and Safe Passage.”

Within its pages lay myriad arts, and the making of various incenses—white and black—was essential for every shipboard “incense artisan.”

When the others joked earlier about making a quick, risk-free profit, the Zhang brothers were merely boasting. But for the Wang family, with its complete lineage of navigator’s lore, using knockout drugs and serving “board-knife noodles” to unwitting guests was old hat—though they’d never turned it into a profession.

As the proverb goes: that’s not a shameful past—it’s the path the Wang family has always walked!

Wang Cheng was quite satisfied with his first field test. “Perhaps it truly is the favor of the ‘Prince’s’ lineage; I was born for this kind of work. Sadly, my father’s greatest warning remains: the greatest danger in the divine path lies in one’s own thoughts. All sentient beings are the breeding ground for evil spirits. Before one attains a certain official rank, knowing too much is never a good thing. Though the ‘True Method for Propitious Winds and Safe Passage’ is marvelous, there are many secret techniques I’m still uninitiated in—what a pity.”

He turned to the Zhang brothers. “None of these river thugs are decent folk. Since they’ve crossed us, leave none alive.”

“Sir Scholar, you rest—leave the dirty work to us. We’ve dreamt of this day for years,” the Zhang brothers replied, their hatred barely restrained. Xue Da was the chief culprit in their father’s murder, and the other river thugs were his accomplices.

Without hesitation, each brother seized a thug by the head, and with a sharp twist—crack—snapped their necks.

Killing was easy; disposing of the bodies was the challenge. Eliminating over twenty thugs was not the problem—leaving no trace was. This method left no blood, clean and efficient.

One by one, the brothers worked their way through the unconscious thugs, who offered no resistance. Zhang Wu, afflicted by the “Forgotten Life Curse,” wore a look of utter satisfaction as he worked—one could almost mistake him for a deranged killer.

In no time, all the lesser thugs were dead, leaving only Xue Da, sprawled at the center.

The brothers prepared to avenge their father together—one holding Xue Da’s body, the other ready to break his neck—so both could share in this act of filial piety.

But just as they bent down, Xue Da, who had seemed deeply unconscious, abruptly opened his eyes and snatched up a wooden staff left by a restaurant boy.

“Die!”

With a flick of his wrist, the staff seemed to come alive—a black dragon twisting through the air—striking straight at Zhang Wu’s forehead.

Whoosh!

The violent wind sent Zhang Wu’s hair flying, but his body was too slow to react. Xue Da, having secretly awakened his heart-lamp, was more resistant to the knockout drug than the others, feigning unconsciousness until the moment to strike.

Yet, however sudden his assault, there was one whose reflexes were faster. As Xue Da sprang up, Wang Cheng, already prepared, flicked the guard of his saber with his thumb—blade flashing from his waist.

Advance, parry, and break the staff with a single stroke!

Clang—!

The staff’s tip grazed Zhang Wu’s forehead, the force scattering his hair. The drug’s effects, however, still weighed heavily on Xue Da—his next swing was wild and unsteady.

Before the staff could fall, another flash of steel glinted in his eyes.

Now recognizing his foes, terror seized Xue Da, and he gasped, “Wait, don’t kill—” But the keen blade had already swept across his neck without pause.

On the other side, Zhang Wen finally reacted, throwing himself onto Xue Da and holding him down. Even with his formidable strength, Xue Da went rigid after only a brief struggle—his bloodshot ox-eyes wide with disbelief, as if he could not accept that after two decades of ruthless deeds, everything had been lost over a routine “extortion.” All his grand ambitions, a moment ago so certain, now turned to dust.

The faint official aura above his head tried to stir, but tainted by the people’s resentment, it flickered uselessly, leaving Wang Cheng unmarked.

“The first rule of murder and plunder: villains die for talking too much. Now, there shouldn’t be any more surprises.”

Wang Cheng wiped the blood from his blade with a cloth and sheathed it, lest it stick next time.

Turning around, he saw the Zhang brothers, their eyes red, kneeling at his feet—regretful at not avenging their father with their own hands, yet relieved at last.

Regardless of spiritual customs, they knocked their heads thrice on the floor. “Great Shipmaster, we never dared dream we’d live to see our father’s vengeance repaid.”

“The debt we owe you cannot be repaid in a lifetime! From this day forth, our lives are yours.”

Their address for Wang Cheng had subtly changed—from the once-equal “Sir Scholar” to “Great Shipmaster,” the highest rank in the maritime battle order.

Whether pirate or armed merchant, the leader at sea was called “Shipmaster”—for a ship, a “Shipmaster”; for a fleet, a “Great Shipmaster.”

From his calm command during the encounter with the Sea Islet Ghosts, to unearthing treasures and secrets, and now tracking down their enemy and slaying him with cunning and skill—the brothers, moved by gratitude, could no longer doubt that this “scholar” was destined for greatness. If not a dragon among men, then a hero fit to rule the waves.

With the survival instincts of the underclass, they did not hesitate to offer the only asset their Blueclad Fisherman’s Guild possessed: the sea vessel Zhang Fu Shun.

Wang Cheng, his expression serene, helped the brothers to their feet and reassured them, “You are my right and left arms—your affairs are mine. There’s no need for such formality. For now, let’s look for the treasure Xue Da stole from your uncle all those years ago. Who knows if he’s sold it off by now?”

He turned and, peering through the “universal coin’s” hole, surveyed the courtyard for signs of precious items.

“Hmm? What’s this?”

Wang Cheng had thought the “Rare Treasure” ability would make valuables easy to spot, but saw no unusual glow at all. Immediately, he suspected that these cunning river thugs had taken pains to hide their wealth from the likes of “Treasure Suppressors,” “Mountain Guardians,” or “Pearl Divers.”

Remembering that the closer and more connected one was, the stronger the “Rare Treasure” sense, he headed to the north-facing main bedroom.

Room by room, he searched, until finally, close enough, he saw a faintly glowing mass of red-tinged-with-blue light beneath the bed.

“County, prefecture, province, kingdom—red stands for a prefectural treasure, white with red for a county treasure, but this red with blue is no ordinary thing. Here—dig!”

The Zhang brothers immediately dragged the bed aside, fetched a spade from the yard, and began to dig.

As they dug, a pungent stench of copper filled the air.

Then, strangely, the three of them “heard” a muttering through their very noses amid the stench:

“There is no silver buried here! There is no silver buried here!...”

Zhang Wu and Zhang Wen grew dizzy, nearly toppling into the pit, but Wang Cheng caught them by the collar and hauled them out.

After three repetitions, the phrase swelled into a deafening roar.

A foul, translucent shadow burst from the ground.

“It’s a malignant spirit—out of the way!”