Chapter Thirty: Master Li

The sun had just dipped behind the western mountains, leaving only a trace of crimson on the horizon. In the bustling market streets of Zhenhai River, lanterns were beginning to bloom with light. The evening breeze, wafting in from the sea, carried a moist, salty tang, causing the lanterns to flicker uncertainly.

Inside the Watching Tide Inn, Qian Dahai sat alone behind the counter. His small eyes were half-closed, and his fat hands worked an ebony abacus, its beads clicking rapidly. Yet, the calculations within his mind spun faster than the wooden beads beneath his fingers.

His thoughts were not on the day’s takings, but rather on the startling words he had overheard moments ago upstairs.

“…His master just left; now’s the perfect time to strike! I bet he’s carrying something of unimaginable value…”

He recognized the voices—those very four seemingly honest yet actually treacherous itinerant cultivators from overseas who were staying at his inn.

He had taken them for ordinary adventurers, never suspecting they had come for that boy, Lu Chenyuan.

Qian Dahai’s pudgy hands paused over the abacus, and a flash of cold impatience, utterly at odds with his genial face, glimmered in his small eyes.

“These fools have no idea who they’re dealing with. They dare to target someone under my protection, in my territory?”

Suddenly, a thought struck him, and his expression changed again. He glanced around the main hall but did not spot the boy, Lu Chenyuan.

“Could he have wandered off to the woodshed in the back courtyard to brood again?” Qian Dahai wondered. He glanced out at the deepening dusk; ever since the boy’s master left, Lu Chenyuan had seemed hollowed out, listless behind his forced composure. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, the old innkeeper could easily see the sorrow in his eyes.

Worried, Qian Dahai shoved aside the abacus and left the counter, making his way toward the rear courtyard.

At the woodshed door, he saw a candle flame, casting a dim glow against the corner of the paper window.

He was about to enter and caution the boy to stay put these next few days. But as his hand rose, it froze midair.

He remembered what he’d told the boy a few nights ago—about his own granddaughter, a secret he’d never shared with anyone. And yet, for some reason, in front of this boy, the words had spilled out unbidden.

“Oh, forget it,” he sighed, his heart softening, “This lad may look stubborn, but he’s honest to the core. He must have gone to bed already—no point disturbing him now.”

“What matters most is dealing with those fools,” he thought. “My inn is no place for their mischief.”

With that, he turned back toward the main hall and headed straight into the kitchen.

Inside, the kitchen was thick with the scent of oil and smoke; the staff bustled about, barely able to keep up.

Qian Dahai beckoned one over. “Have those overseas guests in Heaven Room Number Two ordered any food yet?”

“They have, sir!” the worker replied quickly. “A jug of our finest burning knife liquor and four catties of braised beef—they’ll be ready soon.”

A broad smile spread across Qian Dahai’s face. “Excellent. Once it’s ready, don’t deliver it—just set it aside. I’ll take it up myself.”

The staff member blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Boss, what’s got you in such a hospitable mood tonight?”

Qian Dahai only chuckled, hands clasped behind his back. “Honored guests mustn’t be neglected, that’s all.”

He found a quiet corner, folded his arms, and waited, his small eyes flickering in the glow of the stove’s fire.

…

Meanwhile, Lu Chenyuan was trailing the group of sinister cultivators at a distance, neither hurried nor slow.

Ten years wandering the martial world with his master had taught him no magical arts of flight or escape, but he had perfected the arts of climbing walls, sneaking about, and masking his presence—invaluable skills honed during countless escapes from bullies and local tyrants.

Otherwise, he and his master—one a peerless beauty, the other a rootless youth—would have suffered far more at the hands of fate.

Thanks to this, he was able to tail these far more powerful strangers without being noticed.

The group moved with great caution, stopping and starting along deserted, shadowy streets, circling around until they finally halted before an abandoned dock.

The place had been desolate for years. The wooden planks of the pier were rotten and creaked with a sound like ghostly weeping when the sea wind blew. The air was thick with the stench of saltwater and decaying wood.

The cultivators stood before the dock for just a moment before a figure emerged from the shadows—a man with a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder, moving furtively. It was none other than Boss Zhang, the silk merchant!

Hidden behind a half-collapsed low wall, Lu Chenyuan’s heart plummeted.

He heard Boss Zhang draw near and speak in a low, obsequious, and fearful tone:

“Gentlemen, it’s all arranged. Did those bloodhounds from the Demon Suppression Bureau get wind of anything along the way?”

One of the sinister cultivators snorted, “Of course not! If we weren’t worried about being noticed, why would we need you, a mortal, to handle things? Our presence is too conspicuous; best we keep out of sight for now.”

Boss Zhang wrung his hands, pleading, “Yes, yes. I only ask that, when this is over, you… let me go…”

“Hmph. Do as you’re told, and you’ll get your reward. But if you try any tricks…” The man gave a chilling laugh. “Your wife and children, waiting for you in the countryside, won’t live to see another sunrise.”

Boss Zhang shuddered and dared not utter another word.

Watching this exchange, Lu Chenyuan’s eyes widened in shock.

So that gambling game, the losses—everything had been staged! Boss Zhang was in league with them all along!

He thought of the recent disappearances at the inn—Merchant Wang, Porter Li, even that poor little beggar caught stealing buns…

Faces flashed through his mind, but finally, all settled on the ambiguous, ever-smiling face of Qian Dahai.

Did the old innkeeper know, or didn’t he?

Lu Chenyuan eyed the outline of the burlap sack—it looked about the size of an adult. It must be the missing scholar who never returned.

A sinister cultivator snapped impatiently, “Quit dawdling. Bring the man inside—don’t keep Master Li waiting!”

With that, they hoisted the sack and disappeared into the depths of the abandoned dock.

Lu Chenyuan’s eyes glinted. After a moment’s hesitation, he gritted his teeth, held his breath, and followed.

At the far end of the dock, inside a dilapidated warehouse, a figure sat cross-legged, clad in a dark Daoist robe.

The man faced away from the door, his face unseen, but his very posture radiated an unnatural aura.

His hair was sparse and greasy, plastered to his scalp. On the right side of his neck bulged a fist-sized tumor, pulsing grotesquely in the dim moonlight.

Lu Chenyuan was highly sensitive to the taint of corrupted spiritual energy. He sensed at once that this so-called “Master Li” emanated a miasma a hundred times more poisonous than all the other sinister cultivators combined.

To the untrained eye, his robe might have appeared clean, but to Lu Chenyuan, it seemed to writhe with countless barely perceptible worms, crawling beneath the fabric—enough to make one’s skin crawl.

But the most horrifying was the tumor itself.

Staring at it, Lu Chenyuan saw, just beneath the skin, countless twisted, tormented human faces, surfacing and sinking as if something alive were struggling to burst forth.

“Master Li, we’ve brought the man,” announced the cultivators, setting the burlap sack on the ground with the utmost respect.

Boss Zhang remained at a distance, hardly daring to breathe.

Lu Chenyuan found a corner piled with broken fishing nets and crouched low, leaving only his eyes exposed, fixed intently on the scene within the warehouse.

He did not dare move, holding his breath and waiting for whatever might come next.