Chapter 29: False Revival
Chapter 29: False Revival
Bandits raiding manors wasn’t unusual.
“Raiding manors” was Jianghu slang for attacking the estates of the wealthy.
The Great Xuan Dynasty had barely passed its centennial when land consolidation became rampant. Combined with the power of clans, wealthy gentry sprouted like weeds across the land.
They feared neither peasants nor imperial laws, for every newly appointed official’s first priority was to appease them.
Even Li Huairen of Li Village Fortress was relatively decent, at least adhering to some rules.
Li Yan had heard tales of other ruthless landlords who oppressed villagers mercilessly, treating lives as disposable. A mere accusation of violating clan rules could justify murder. Local officials dared not intervene.
These landlords only feared one thing—bandits.
Thus, they built high walls, hired guards, and donated to martial arts factions like the Divine Boxing Society to secure protection.
Yet bandits rarely annihilated entire villages. Not out of mercy, but because they didn’t want to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs.
Commoners were grass; the gentry were sheep. As long as grass grew, there would always be sheep.
A single raid sustained them for months. In some regions, bandits and landlords even colluded, extorting villagers under the guise of “bandit suppression.”
But this time was different.
Eunuchs from the capital, horse thieves from Qilu, and village massacres—this wasn’t just about gold.
Li Yan furrowed his brow. “If you encountered bandits, why not report them to the authorities in Xianyang City?”
“Don’t even ask…” Sha Lifei groaned, his face twisted in despair. “Master Dao and I returned to Xianyang at night to file a report, only to find someone had beaten us to it.”
“Who?”
“Lord Lu’s concubine in red robes, along with head guard Zhao Cheng, wailing and dressed in mourning. She claimed to be carrying Lord Lu’s child and begged the magistrate for justice.”
“Despicable! Clearly an inside job—collusion between traitors and bandits!”
“I tried to expose them, but Master Dao dragged me away.”
“We dared not take the main roads, fleeing over mountains to reach Li Village.”
Sha Lifei’s voice carried lingering resentment and confusion.
Li Yan scoffed. “Master Dao was right. If you’d shown your face, you’d never have left Xianyang alive.”
“Why?!”
Wang Daoxuan, now full from his meal, belched and sighed. “I couldn’t say earlier—Lord Lu is a eunuch!”
“A eunuch?!”
Sha Lifei recoiled, sweat beading on his forehead.
He was no fool—he recognized the implications. A massacre to silence witnesses? Bandits thrived on infamy, not secrecy. The only reason to suppress news was royal entanglement…
The “traitor” remained at large, meaning the danger hadn’t passed.
“This… what do we do?”
Li Yan shook his head. “This isn’t simple. Multiple bandit gangs acting together, even horse thieves from other provinces. Officials might be involved. Getting caught means death.”
“Lay low until the storm passes. The village is too crowded with prying eyes—hide in the mountains. I’ll bring supplies and investigate later.”
Sha Lifei and Wang Daoxuan exchanged helpless glances.
“Master Dao, one more favor…”
…
By dawn, Li Yan slipped back into his home, feigning awakening. He fed the chickens, drew water, lit the stove, and simmered a pot of corn porridge before practicing martial arts in the courtyard—first the Ten Stances, then sword forms.
As if last night’s events had never happened.
But everything had changed.
Spirit Preservation had succeeded, marking his entry into the Mystic Gate. Yet he still needed to uncover his father’s death and the forces that destroyed his family.
But he couldn’t leave yet. His grandfather’s condition worsened daily.
After removing the curse’s plague, the old man had briefly revived, but now slept excessively, listless and forgetful. He’d sit motionless for hours, even forgetting his own name.
Wang Daoxuan’s arrival was timely. Though a wandering priest, his medical skills surpassed village quacks. Li Yan had asked him to pose as a traveling physician.
“Herbs for sale! Remedies for all!”
At breakfast, a voice echoed from the village entrance—Wang Daoxuan, clad in tattered robes, carrying a cloth banner and shaking a brass bell. Children swarmed him, curious about the novelty.
In this isolated hamlet, strangers were rare events.
The banner was hastily made from Sha Lifei’s old clothes. The bell, called a “tiger support,” referenced a legend: a medicine master once treated a tiger with a bone splinter in its throat. To prevent attacks, he placed the device in the beast’s mouth, later becoming his steed.
In the underworld, itinerant healers were known as “pack peddlers,” and the tiger support was their symbol.
“Gold to leather, in a morning’s dealings.”
Wang Daoxuan, once a Jianghu wanderer, had often disguised himself as a traveling doctor. He was well-prepared.
Li Yan greeted him warmly, ushering him home.
“I’m fine! Eat and drink well—why see a doctor?” The old man grumbled, resisting.
Li Yan coaxed him with flattery while Wang Daoxuan’s calm demeanor eased his suspicion. Eventually, the old man relented, muttering.
After examining him, Wang Daoxuan smiled. “He’s healthy for his age. Just tired. Brew some sour jujube seeds, poria, and licorice daily.”
“I told you I’m fine! Wasting money…”
Li Gui complained but visibly relaxed, soon dozing off.
Outside, Li Yan pulled Wang Daoxuan aside. “What’s really wrong?”
The priest’s face darkened. “His body’s fine, but his vitality fades with age. Yet when I used divine techniques, I found his soul weakened—likely the true cause.”
“The curse?”
Li Yan hesitated, then recounted the spell. “If the curse is broken, why this decline?”
Wang Daoxuan sighed. “Some curses kill swiftly; others fester, destroying families subtly. The perpetrator wanted no attention.”
“It drains celestial fortune, weakens male heirs, and invites calamities. Though unaware, your grandfather fought it subconsciously—like a drawn bow, exhausting his spirit. Breaking the curse brought temporary relief, but his soul is too depleted. His time is short.”
Li Yan’s heart clenched. “No cure?”
“None. This isn’t illness—it’s fate. Cherish these final days.”
“Remember—if he craves cold food, prepare for the end.”
“Why?”
“A false revival. A fleeting flicker before death.”
…
After sending Wang Daoxuan off, villagers swarmed Li Yan.
Medical care was scarce here. Most relied on folk remedies until collapse forced a trip to the city. A wandering physician was a rare blessing.
Li Yan, burdened by grief, ignored them.
Back home, his grandfather slept. Li Yan lingered, then went to the stable, leading the horse Lord Lu gifted him to Du Daya, the cart driver.
“Uncle Du, sell this horse. Do me a favor—hire a theater troupe. Announce it as a celebration for another reason.”
…
Two days later, a troupe arrived.
Their leader claimed he’d once starved in Jianghu until Li Village’s kindness saved him. Now, he’d repay the debt with five days of performances.
The villagers cared little for the reason—they’d watch any show, even trekking miles from neighboring hamlets.
Li Village lit torches nightly, buzzing with crowds.
Grandfather Li Gui was delighted.
His only passion was opera. In his youth, he’d rush to performances, taking Li Yan on donkey carts. Now frail, he’d only reminisce.
Li Yan couldn’t afford Chang’an’s renowned troupes, but a local Qinqiang Opera troupe sufficed.
Fengshen Bang, Shooting the Nine Suns, The Tale of Loyalty…
For days, the bold strains of Qinqiang Opera echoed through the village.
The old man reveled, humming loudly even after the troupe left:
“A war cry shakes the mountains,
Men don armor, mount steeds,
Soldiers roar in unison,
Charging to the battlefield…”
His voice wavered, yet carried a haunting grandeur, as if recalling youthful glories. Each song ended with him staring into the distance.
“Yanwa, I’m so hot… I want something cold.”
Li Yan’s tears fell. Forcing a smile, he said, “Cold? Easy! Let me get it for you.”
Ice-making with saltpeter was no secret in Jianghu. He prepared some, mixing in maltose.
The old man devoured it, then gazed lovingly at Li Yan.
“Yanwa, after I’m gone, you’ll follow your father’s path. It’s fate—I can’t stop it. But heed these words.”
Li Yan knelt, sobbing.
The old man looked afar, his voice trembling:
“Remember, boy…
Better to be hated than pitied!
Better to be feared than bullied!”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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