Chapter Twenty-Three: Suffering a Loss

Smash!
Priceless porcelain filled the room, now shattered to dust.
Like a beast gone mad, eyes bloodshot, Qian Yuze rampaged, destroying everything within sight.
Beside him, Qian Yuhai watched in silence, occasionally breaking into a fitful cough.
“Why! Why!
If only Daoist Wu’s elixir to restore the living had been completed, Father would have recovered!
Why did it come to this!
Heavens! Are you blind?”
Unable to accept the news of their father’s death, Qian Yuze was hysterical, bursting out of the room to hurl curses at the sky.
“Yuze, calm yourself.”
“And you!”
Like a rabid dog, Qian Yuze lunged at Qian Yuhai, seizing his collar and demanding through gritted teeth,
“How did you care for Father, that he should suddenly die?
The Jade Bodhisattva was a sacred gift from Daoist Wu—how could it fail for no reason?
Speak! Was it your doing?
Now that Father is dead, you’re the head of the family—isn’t that what you wanted?”
Brow furrowed at the sight of his brother’s twisted face, Qian Yuhai suddenly raised his hand and struck him.
A sharp slap resounded, leaving Qian Yuze stunned.
“You—you dare strike me! I…” Bewildered, Qian Yuze tried to lunge again, but was met with another ringing slap.
“Qian Yuze! When will you finally wake up?
Do you really believe that charlatan’s so-called elixir could have saved Father?
Do you really think Father’s sudden illness was a matter of chance?
Cough, cough…”
After his outburst, Qian Yuhai doubled over, coughing violently, dark red blood spurting from his mouth.
“Brother!”
Seeing the blood, Qian Yuze snapped out of his rage, rushing over to support him.
“What’s happening? What is this?”
As he steadied Qian Yuhai, panic filled Qian Yuze’s eyes; he nervously pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood away.
Weak and slumped to the floor, Qian Yuhai grasped his brother’s hand tightly:
“Yuze! Listen to me—stay away from that sorcerer. He is no good man… cough, cough…”
He could barely finish before another fit of black and clotted blood choked his words.
The blood was already turning foul—he was clearly on death’s door.
“How could this be, brother? Daoist Wu kept Father alive for so long.”
Unable to fathom his brother’s hostility towards Daoist Wu, Qian Yuze murmured his defense.
“Fool! Father’s illness was his doing all along.
That Jade Bodhisattva is no sacred relic for prolonging Father’s life.
It is a demonic artifact.
He used our family to refine it for his own ends!”
Qian Yuhai’s words struck like thunder from a clear sky, leaving Qian Yuze rooted to the spot.
“Brother, what… what proof do you have of this?”
“Do you remember that wandering diviner who pointed us to Rainflower Monastery?
Not long after we returned, I saw him in town—frequenting lavish inns, spending freely.
He boasted over drinks that he’d earned a hundred taels of silver in just a few words.
I had him seized and brought to our estate—he confessed that the sorcerer paid him a hundred taels to lure us to Rainflower Monastery!”
Still reluctant to accept the truth, Qian Yuze shook his head in confusion, his gaze vacant.
“But—but why would Daoist Wu do all this?”
“Why? Tell me, what does our family possess?”
“You mean… for money?”
“Exactly. He orchestrated Father’s death, used the Jade Bodhisattva as a ruse to give us false hope.
He only sought to string us along.
And that Corpse Bell—he claimed it controlled corpse-servants to feed the Jade Bodhisattva with blood and restore its power.
He never told us that each use would drain the user’s life, leading to early death.
Once Father was at death’s door and I too perished from using the Corpse Bell, he’d have you in his grasp and could devour the family estate piece by piece!”
Having poured out the entire truth, Qian Yuhai felt a burden lift from his heart.
“Is all this true?”
Standing there in a daze, Qian Yuze spoke as if to himself.
Though he didn’t want to believe his brother, every detail—the sudden illness, the diviner’s deliberate guidance, his brother’s abrupt decline—all bore out the truth of his words.
Clap, clap, clap.
“Well done, Qian Yuhai, true scion of the Qian family. I truly underestimated you,”
A round of applause sounded from outside.
Daoist Wu, holding his horsetail whisk and clad in Daoist robes, strode confidently into the courtyard.
“You fiend! With your scheming and greed, how dare you call yourself a cultivator?”
Seeing the murderer of their father, Qian Yuhai tried to rise in rage, but his frail body would not let him stand.
“Merely a matter of means,”
Daoist Wu replied indifferently, not sparing the brothers a glance, as if they were ants, and walked straight into the inner chamber.
There, the Jade Bodhisattva still rested, sealed by the character for “Suppress.”
Gazing at the figure, now petrified and dull as an ordinary stone statue, Daoist Wu’s eyes grew grave.
He stared at it in silence for a moment.
Then, slowly, he extended his hand toward the Jade Bodhisattva.
Zheng—
The instant his fingertip touched the surface, golden chains formed from cloud-shaped runes sprang forth across the stone.
Sensing the aura within Daoist Wu, the chains reacted.
With a snap, one chain broke free, transformed into a long whip, and lashed down!
In that moment, Daoist Wu’s pupils became vertical like a beast’s as he dodged with preternatural speed.
But the golden whip was too swift, adjusting its angle mid-strike.
It whirled back and struck him hard across the shoulder.
With a tearing sound, flesh burst open, revealing twisted, squirming black-red sinews beneath.
Daoist Wu grunted, not daring to linger—he leapt away from the room at once.
Sensing no further threat, the golden chains fused again, then faded away.
Standing at the doorway, clutching his wounded shoulder, Daoist Wu glared at the Jade Bodhisattva.
What a formidable spell!
Which master had the Grand Protector’s house hired, to craft such sorcery?
Seeing Daoist Wu flee in disgrace, Qian Yuhai, guessing the truth, burst out laughing:
“Ha! Serves you right, you fiend. Looks like you won’t be taking that artifact after all.”
Face darkening, Daoist Wu seized Qian Yuhai and lifted him from the floor, voice cold as ice:
“Tell me! Who cast this spell?”
“You want to know? Call me ‘father’ and I’ll tell you,” Qian Yuhai replied, unfazed by the terror in Daoist Wu’s eyes.
“Courting death!”
With a furious snarl, Daoist Wu flung Qian Yuhai across the room.
There was a heavy thud as he struck the wall; his ravaged body could take no more. Forcing his head up to cast Daoist Wu a mocking smile, he then bowed it for the last time.
“Brother!”
With a wail, Qian Yuze scrambled toward his brother’s corpse.
With both father and elder brother lost in quick succession, the grief was so overwhelming that his vision darkened, breath caught—and he fainted dead away.
Daoist Wu glanced at the two brothers, his thick black brows furrowing like a centipede as he muttered under his breath:
“Who could it be?”
…
A hundred miles away, by the riverbank, Qi Xiu was skipping stones as he waited for the ghost market treasure ship, when he suddenly sneezed for no reason.
“Who’s cursing me now?”
…