Foreword: The Gengwu Upheaval (Part One)

Boundless grey, torrential rain!

Crack!

A startling bolt of lightning tore through the silent, rainy night, illuminating the wilderness as bright as day.

The mountain path was exceptionally slippery and difficult to traverse in the deep mountains. Yet, under the torrential downpour, nine mysterious figures cloaked in palm-leaf rain capes and conical bamboo hats pressed forward.

The tracks of these nine men, along with the scent of the surrounding flora, had long since been washed clean by the relentless deluge.

Catching glimpses in the fleeting flashes of lightning, one could see the nine were dressed with striking uniformity, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. The first eight men gripped various weapons in their right hands, while their left hands each clutched a black bundle; what lay within remained a mystery.

The man at the rear of the procession carried a bizarre, desiccated corpse strapped to his back with hemp rope. He cast his gaze left and right with an air of indifference, as if he were merely out for a stroll to admire the rain.

Drip. Drip.

From the man’s back, fresh, scarlet blood dripped down from time to time. It was impossible to tell whether it belonged to the man or the corpse.

As the crimson blood fell, it was instantly swept away and churned into the torrential rain, leaving not even a trace of its metallic scent behind.

The man carrying the corpse hummed a folk tune, watching the beautiful, swaying landscape of the rain-drenched mountains.

"Hehehe~ The spring rain is as precious as oil, flowing across the earth; trip in the middle of the road, laughing a herd of cattle to death..."

The melodious singing was no sooner hummed than it was swallowed whole by the thunder and the sound of the rain.

Suddenly, a cold, eerie chill swept over the group.

The Daoist priest walking ahead of the corpse-bearer furrowed his brow, shivered, and sensed something amiss. He immediately began counting on his fingers, then secretly shook the three copper coins hidden in his sleeve.

Upon opening his palm to inspect the hexagram, the Daoist’s expression tightened beneath his hat.

"An omen of great misfortune—a calamity of bloodshed!"

Having reached this startling conclusion, the Daoist cast a solemn look at the seven men in front of him.

They walked for a long time.

The leader of the group pulled a pipe from his waist, packed it with dry tobacco, and struck his flint.

Click. Click.

Sparks flew, and a wisp of blue smoke curled upward. As he inhaled and exhaled, the man let the smoke churn within his lungs.

He furrowed his brows, gazing into the distance with a face full of sorrow.

Before them, dark clouds hung low, and jagged peaks loomed high. The thick, swirling fog draped over the peaks like a veil of gauze. A pitch-black cave was suspended halfway up the mountainside.

The road ahead was long—where would they go?

How long would these days of flight continue?

At that moment, a bold, hearty voice came from behind the leader.

"Yanzhi... we've been on the run for days. It’s time to rest for a while."

Hearing this, the leader, Gu Yanzhi, raised his pipe, pointed toward the dark cave entrance on the mountainside, and said in a deep voice.

"Brothers, let’s take shelter in that cave first."

The others breathed a sigh of relief.

Time passed in a blink, like a white horse galloping past a crevice, leaving no room for reaction. The nine men walked for a short while and stood before the dark entrance.

As a cold breeze blew, they examined the dark opening.

The man carrying the corpse looked at the Daoist beside him and said with a mischievous grin, "Eighth Brother... light it up!"

No sooner had he spoken than the Daoist in the palm-leaf cape shook his sleeve, formed a Daoist seal, and roared, "Fire of the Sanqing Zhurong!"

With a boom, a fireball the size of a watermelon appeared above the Daoist’s palm.

The group looked on by the light of the fire. The cave was neither large nor small. Scattered inside were rocks of various sizes, and in the center lay a stone-built fire pit, holding some dry wood and ashes, as if time had stood still there.

Nine stones of different shapes were arranged around the fire pit, as if someone had prepared them in advance.

Seeing this, a robust man touched the bindings on his wrists and walked straight toward the fire pit. He bent down, felt the temperature of the stones, and rubbed the ashes.

Cold.

It seemed the previous occupants had long since departed. Looking up, the nine stones around them were also covered in thick dust.

Pat. Pat.

Rainwater dripped from their capes, creating circular rings in the mud.

The robust man looked at the leader and smiled slightly. "Yanzhi, no one has visited this place for a long time."

The others looked on with grim expressions, vigilantly watching the path they had come from at the cave entrance. Only the man carrying the corpse chuckled, stepped forward, and unloaded the body at the base of the wall.

"Eighth Brother..."

At these words, the ethereal Daoist flicked his hand, and the large fireball flew straight to the fire pit, reigniting it perfectly. A joke of rebuke followed.

"Tail-Yaojiu... you’re the one with all the trouble!"

So, the nickname of the corpse-bearer was "Tail-Yaojiu."

At the scolding, the man nicknamed Tail-Yaojiu sat on a stone, took off his cape and hat, and without any sense of modesty, stripped off his clothes to dry them over a long sword.

Upon closer inspection, Tail-Yaojiu was handsome and fair-skinned, his brow revealing a sense of unbridled defiance, much like a cynical young nobleman.

Crack.

The stone Tail-Yaojiu was sitting on suddenly split in two.

Facing such an ominous sign, Tail-Yaojiu merely smiled, dismissing it lightly.

The others stepped into the cave, sat around the fire, and wiped the dust off the stones. In the orange glow of the fire, the eight men who had shed their bundles were of varying builds and appearances, their haggard, weathered faces filled with exhaustion.

At a glance, the weapons of the nine were all different: a pipe, boxing gloves, bare hands, a curved blade, a long sword, a gourd-shaped crutch; there was even a sledgehammer and a brass bell!

The nine men were a motley crew. The leader, Gu Yanzhi, had thick brows and large eyes, a decent enough appearance. His face was filled with sorrow, and he never let go of his long pipe. Even after exhaling clouds of smoke, the wisps could not wash away the profound melancholy in his heart.

Suddenly, a dull thud echoed.

A burly monk with a leopard-like head and round eyes placed the massive bell he was carrying heavily by his feet. The brass bell was the size of a watermelon and exceptionally heavy, carving a small crater into the ground as it touched the floor.

The group looked over. The burly monk wiped the rain from his face, looked at the smoking Gu Yanzhi, and spoke loudly.

"Ghost Brother, this can't go on! Why not just destroy these eight Yin-Division artifacts?"

At this, several others chimed in.

"Seventh Brother is right. Once these artifacts are destroyed, those rats coveting eternal life won't bother us anymore."

"Besides, the bounty has already been issued in the Jianghu, and even our own fellow disciples have remained silent and refused to help. If we keep running like rats, how long can we last?"

For a moment, the cave became lively.

Hearing his brothers' words, Gu Yanzhi stared silently at the eight black bundles.

Suddenly, the man beside Gu Yanzhi clenched his fists, knuckles popping. His glaring eyes made everyone gasp and fall silent.

"Do you think we haven't tried? These eight 'Yin-Division Artifacts' are unnaturally cold; they are not objects of the living world. How could we destroy them?"

Indeed.

The country was broken, but the mountains and rivers remained; the city was in spring, yet the grass grew deep. If not for the Japanese stealing the treasure and accidentally digging up the ancient tomb of the Corpse Ghost Immortal, these nine would never have banded together to become enemies of the entire Jianghu, living like ghosts, hiding in the shadows.

Furthermore, they had tried every method. Destroying these eight cursed things was easier said than done.

Yet, they couldn't let these things fall into the hands of those rats, or the Jianghu would surely be plunged into a bloodbath.

The man who had been glaring finished his sentence, leaving everyone speechless.

Looking closely, the speaker was in his thirties, his long hair tied high with a band. His face, as smooth as white jade, held features of great uprightness. His breathing was as smooth as a fish at the bottom of a pond; he was clearly a skilled practitioner.

Though his physique could not compare to the burly monk, his decisive and ruthless nature meant he held high standing among them, and his words carried weight.

The atmosphere in the cave turned heavy; one could have heard a pin drop.

Then, the only woman among the nine smiled, took dry rations and water skins from her bundle, and distributed them to the others, smoothing things over.

"Second Brother, calm your anger. Let’s eat first."

She paused, looked around at her brothers, and added, "Seventh Brother isn't wrong. It’s just that you haven't realized the mystery of these artifacts. If we could hide them deep away, that would be a good choice."

Hearing this, Tail-Yaojiu, who was tearing into his rations, snorted coldly.

"Hide them? Easier said than done! Those rats have noses sharper than dogs!"

As he finished, the woman who had spoken earlier curled her lips in a bewitching smile.

"If the world of the living won't do, perhaps we can try the underworld!"

The woman was naturally proud and remarkably beautiful. Her hair was like a waterfall, her brows like fine leaves, her eyes like apricot blossoms in spring, her nose high, and her lips naturally red. Anyone who looked at her would be spellbound. It was hard to imagine why such an elegant and well-spoken woman would be mixed up with this group of men.

*Hoo.*

Gu Yanzhi, holding his pipe, took a deep breath and looked at the group. "Wait."

Tail-Yaojiu, who was gulping down water, nearly choked. "Cough, cough... wait... wait for what?"

Gu Yanzhi looked coldly at the eight 'Yin-Division Artifacts' before him.

"Wait for the winds to calm, wait for the seas to dry and the rocks to crumble!"

The atmosphere, already cold, exploded.

A mayfly lives but a day, the grass but a season; a person lives but a lifetime. Such a way of waiting was pure nonsense!

"Ghost Brother, the fact that our sect brothers have sat by and done nothing is already a great blessing. How could the rest of the Jianghu remain calm? We snatched these cursed things from the foreigners! Trapped on all sides, how can we ever find peace?"

At these words, everyone recalled the blades, shadows, blood, and rain of the 'Gengwu Incident'!

The burly monk with the bald head, the Seventh Brother, spoke up again.

"In this monk's view, we might as well take the axe to those who covet eternal life and send them all to the afterlife!"

Gu Yanzhi sighed deeply, looking at the group coldly.

"Since you are all tired of these days of hiding, perhaps we should sneak into the Imperial City, steal the 'Three-Gold Locomotive,' and send these cursed things back to the underworld!"

The group gasped in shock.

The Imperial City was guarded every three steps, with a sentry every five. To sneak in and steal treasure, then return unscathed—how could that be easy?

Yet, even if it were a desperate measure, without such a plan, how could they ever escape this life of hiding?

Suddenly, the unbridled Yaojiu smiled and waved his hand.

"You are all dreaming. Yaojiu is going to sleep. Call me when it's time to eat in the morning!"

With that, he curled his knees, rested his head on his arms, and drifted into a deep sleep.

And from the desiccated corpse at the base of the wall, a stream of scarlet blood seeped out, slowly winding its way toward the snoring Tail-Yaojiu...