Chapter Thirty-Three: Siege

“You’re so concerned about Lu Chenyuan—are you planning to trade him for some treasure of your foul cult?”

The moment Shangguan Chuci spoke, the atmosphere in the private chamber tightened, the air thick with tension.

The merchant, Qian Dahai, had worn the smiling mask of a businessman; now it froze, his small eyes—once narrowed to slits—suddenly snapped open, revealing a murderous, chilling gleam.

He stared fiercely at Shangguan Chuci. In that instant, he realized the trap had been carefully set, and he was now the prey caught in the jar.

Qian Dahai, angered almost to laughter, said, “Master Chu’s invitation was a flawless trap. So the lavish purchase of incense was just a pretext, and sending people upstairs was all to let me witness a performance rehearsed in advance!”

Though he hadn’t admitted it outright, his reaction made it clear he’d been outmaneuvered and that this was no simple misunderstanding.

Shangguan Chuci’s last doubts vanished. He thought, “So it really is as I suspected. My preparations were not in vain.”

His wariness transformed into deadly intent. He snapped his white jade folding fan closed and said coldly, “Seize him!”

No sooner had the words left his lips than Qian Dahai’s neck gave a sickening crack, his head twisting at an impossible angle, ears raised as if straining to hear some seductive melody from the void.

Han Lin, a veteran of the battlefield who’d fought with all sorts—orthodox and unorthodox alike—instantly sensed the danger.

His tiger eyes widened, and he shouted, “Careful! This man is a Lamp Bearer!”

His shout, infused with all his inner strength, sent the cups and dishes in the room humming.

Without further words, Han Lin sprang forward, placing himself between Shangguan Chuci and Qian Dahai, a black-sheathed long blade in hand, its aura fierce and menacing.

The four guards at Shangguan Chuci’s side drew their swords in unison, forming a protective stance.

At that very moment, the lamps in the room flickered and dimmed, the warm yellow flames turning a ghostly green.

A heavy, chilling aura erupted from Qian Dahai.

He issued a strange, guttural laugh, then hissed three words: “First Gate.”

Even as he spoke, his already corpulent body swelled further, joints crackling, his clothes stretched taut to the point of tearing.

His skin bulged with veins like writhing serpents, and beneath the flesh, the outlines of ancient coins appeared—not embedded, but grown from his very blood and tissue, mottled with rust and exuding a foul, bloody stench.

Qian Dahai straightened, becoming a monstrous hybrid of money and flesh, half man, half ghost—grotesque and brimming with menace.

Han Lin shouted, “Qian Dahai is at the Bright God Realm! Form the Demon Suppression Array!”

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The Bright God Realm is the fourth heaven, equal to Han Lin’s own cultivation. Yet Han Lin dared not underestimate him—the Lamp Bearer at the Bright God Realm, if he listened to the Foul Flow up to the Second Gate, could rival those at the fifth heaven, the Watching Wave Realm.

Shangguan Chuci’s mission to Zhenhai River was to confront this cult; all the people dispatched from the Prince of Lanling’s residence were chosen for their courage and insight. The four guards and the three disguised as wandering cultivators swiftly moved into position without hesitation.

Eight figures interlaced, claiming the four corners of the room. Their swords pointed diagonally downward, channeling energy to form a small Demon Suppression Array that locked the chamber’s aura tight.

If Lu Chenyuan were present, he would recognize the array—it was the very formation used by the Demon Suppression Bureau to subdue the monster that day, though missing the Bureau’s signature compass and black-iron chains.

This was the Bureau’s standard array against evil—meant not to kill, but to cut off escape, leaving the enemy nowhere to run.

Yet, at the center, Qian Dahai acted as if nothing was amiss.

His swollen, twisted face split into a terrifying grin.

The coins, grown from his flesh, seemed to come alive, scuttling beneath his skin and making a bizarre rattling sound, like countless coins colliding underwater.

“You think you can take me with this?”

Before he finished, he shook his bloated body.

At once, dozens of blood-stained, pus-smeared coins shot from his skin like a rain of petals, arcing through the air with a shrill whistling, targeting Han Lin and the eight guards.

“These coins carry the Foul Flow’s copper taint, corrupting the mind—don’t take them head-on! Use spirit force to sweep them away!”

Han Lin, a former elite of the Demon Suppression Bureau, saw through the evil technique at a glance.

He swept his blade sideways, the edge blazing like a miniature sun, sending a crescent-shaped wave of golden energy to meet the rain of coins aimed at himself and Shangguan Chuci.

The clanging of metal rang out as the strange coins, struck by the blade’s energy, dropped to the floor.

Yet the blade’s yang energy was quickly eroded by the coins’ sinister aura, its radiance dimming by a third.

Han Lin felt a cold, sticky sensation creeping up his arm, numbing it slightly. His heart sank.

“What a heavy Foul Flow!”

On the other side, the guards led by Xiahou Pan reacted half a beat slower, even with Han Lin’s warning.

Though they used sword energy as a shield, several coins broke through, grazing them.

Where they were struck, a surge of greed, sloth, and resentment bloomed, shaking their resolve and destabilizing the array.

“Steady your minds! Recite the Purifying Heart Formula!”

Han Lin’s booming voice jolted them from their daze.

...

Lu Chenyuan hid in the alleyways, his back against a cold wall, still feeling the lingering terror of the recent bloodshed.

As he calmed his breath, he sorted through the intelligence he’d gathered.

There was no doubt now—evil men were stirring trouble in the inn.

The silk merchant, Zhang, ever amiable, was merely a pawn, compelled by forces beyond his control—pitiful as much as he was despicable.

But who was the true mastermind?

All clues pointed to one person: the innkeeper of Tidal View Inn, Qian Dahai.

As the host, he knew every guest and could easily aid evil-doers in finding targets—his involvement was almost certain.

He couldn’t see through Shangguan Chuci, finding her shrewd and inscrutable, but her eyes were keen.

Her “butcher and fat sheep” argument still echoed in his mind, matching Qian Dahai’s supposed concern—concern that was really soft confinement.

Thinking of this, Lu Chenyuan felt a chill rise within.

Yet when he imagined Qian Dahai as a villain hiding a knife behind a smile, another thought surfaced—

If not for his hint, would Lu Chenyuan have escaped the clutches of those evil cultivators?

He couldn’t help but recall the bowl of hot tea, the steamed buns, and the genuine affection he showed his granddaughter.

Feelings and reason, gratitude and suspicion, tangled his heart into chaos.

What sort of heart was hidden beneath that ever-smiling, round face?

Lu Chenyuan sighed at the inscrutable nature of people in the jianghu.

At the end of the alley, a stone trough held rainwater, its surface scattered with dead leaves.

He strode over, plunged his bloodied hands into the icy water, washing them briskly.

He scooped up a handful and slapped it onto his face, scrubbing away the filth that sickened him.

Tearing off a filthy piece of his clothing, he dried his hands and face, then stowed the still-warm boning knife back into his robe.

Finished, Lu Chenyuan, burdened with worry, headed toward Tidal View Inn.