23: Chapter 23 Wild Geese Leave No Trace

The late autumn night breeze, wrapped in chill, swept over the blue-tiled rooftops of Yuzhou City.

Jiang Yan crouched on the wall of a three-courtyard residence, his cloak plastered against his body by the wind, revealing the pine wood sword sheath at his waist.

The moon was mostly obscured by clouds, and the stone-paved path in the courtyard was covered with a layer of fallen leaves, which were pushed by the wind, rustling as they shifted across the ground.

This was the fourth house.

He landed silently, his boot soles stepping onto two paulownia leaves.

The withered leaves did not break, and did not even make a sound—the Wind Control Technique supported his weight, making his step lighter than a cat's.

He spread out his Divine Sense. Within a radius of one and a half zhang, everything was crystal clear.

Two night-patrolling servants walked over from under the veranda, carrying a paper lantern.

The candlelight flickered inside the paper shade, casting the two men's shadows onto the wall, lengthening and shortening erratically.

Jiang Yan waited for them to turn the corner of the corridor, then hugged the wall as he headed toward the study.

The owner of this house was the Yuzhou Assistant Prefect, surnamed Sun. According to what he knew, the Sun Family had been officials in Yuzhou for over a decade, and their ancestors had been in the medicinal herb business for generations. It stood to reason that they should have some Family wealth.

The secret compartment in the study was behind the bookshelf.

He swept his Divine Sense across it and found a slight depression in the brickwork—the surface was plastered with mortar the same color as the wall, invisible to the naked eye, but under his Divine Sense, that depression stood out like an ink spot on white paper.

Prying open the blue brick took no effort at all. Behind it was a secret compartment two feet square, containing several letters, a stack of silver banknotes, and dozens of gold pieces.

Tucked deep inside was a sandalwood box, its lid carved with auspicious cloud patterns, the edges worn smooth and shiny.

Jiang Yan opened the box.

Lingzhi.

The cap was a circle larger than a palm, dark red, with edges slightly curled inward, like the curled fingers of an old man.

The surface had dense, concentric ring patterns spreading from the center to the edges.

He pinched the mushroom flesh with his fingernail—the texture was firm and elastic, and a bit of dark brown sap oozed from the break.

About a hundred years old. It was a step below that fleeceflower root from the Zhou Family, but it still counted as a Semi-Spirit Medicine.

He tucked the Lingzhi into his robes, pushed the secret compartment back into its original state, and smoothed over the mortar on the brick seam.

When he came out, that young servant with his neck hunched was squatting under the veranda, rubbing his hands.

Jiang Yan walked past three steps behind him, but the servant felt nothing, still complaining to his companion that the price of charcoal for this winter had gone up again.

The fifth house. The sixth house. The seventh house.

Jiang Yan, like a spider, crawled silently over the rooftops of one house after another in the night of Yuzhou City.

Most of the hauls were uninspiring.

In the secret room of a fourth-rank official's house, there were silver ingots piled half a person high, paintings hanging on the walls, and a coral tree displayed in the corner.

Red coral, half a person high, could be exchanged for a mansion in the Mortal world. Jiang Yan didn't even glance at it twice.

In another house's secret compartment, there was a hidden sword. The scabbard was inlaid with gems, and when drawn, it shone with a cold light—but it was just finely forged Mortal iron, containing not a trace of gold essence. He sheathed it and closed the compartment.

The only thing that could barely count as a harvest was a piece of black iron ore the size of a human head.

Raw ore. There were too many Impurities; refining it would probably yield about an ounce of black iron.

It was far inferior to gold essence. But it was better than coming back empty-handed.

Seven houses. One Semi-Spirit Medicine, one piece of black iron ore.

Jiang Yan sat on the roof of a three-story pavilion opposite the eighth residence, his fingers unconsciously stroking the animal skin wrapped around the sword sheath at his waist.

This little bit was not even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth. Let alone reaching Qi Refining Stage 2, it wasn't even enough to push him to the Late Stage of the first level.

Just as he was preparing to leave, a conversation he had heard at the restaurant during the day suddenly surfaced in his mind.

At noon, the Zuixian Restaurant was bustling with noise.

Jiang Yan sat by a window on the second floor, with a few dishes laid out in front of him.

Braised pork knuckle, scallion-fried lamb, steamed sea bass, a plate of seasonal stir-fried vegetables, and a pot of warmed yellow wine.

He ate at a steady pace, his chopsticks picking up a piece of pork knuckle skin; the fat melted in his mouth, the aroma of the grease surging up through his nasal cavity.

At the next table were four or five youths in brocade clothes; one could tell from their attire that they were sons of officials in Yuzhou City.

After three rounds of drinks, the group began to boast about their Family backgrounds.

A fair-skinned youth with a light beard slapped the table, claiming his ancestors had served as a first-rank Minister, with students and former subordinates filling half the imperial court.

When he said this, he lifted his chin slightly, his eyes sweeping over the others at the table, waiting to see their reactions.

Another shorter youth immediately chimed in, saying that was nothing; his great-grandfather had followed the founding emperor to conquer the world and had been enfeoffed as a Marquis, and their Family still kept a golden scroll of merit.

The group went back and forth, their voices growing louder and louder, their wine cups clinking together.

Only one slightly chubby youth remained silent the whole time.

He sat at the edge of the table, holding his wine cup with both hands, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along the rim.

Only after those few had finished speaking did he set down his cup.

"What's so great about being a first-rank official?"

The voice wasn't loud, but everyone at the table heard it.

The fair-skinned youth with a light beard turned his head to look at him, a smile still hanging on the corners of his mouth. "Fatty Zhao, what do you mean by that?"

The slightly chubby youth slammed his wine cup onto the table, splashing a few drops of wine that soaked into the tablecloth. "My ancestors,"

he said, his voice a little louder than before, "were once Immortal Masters. Real Immortal Masters. The kind that could summon wind and rain and fly on swords."

The table went silent for a moment.

Then, the few of them laughed all at once.

The fair-skinned youth with a light beard laughed so hard he slapped the table, knocking his chopsticks off.

The short youth laughed until tears came out, wiping the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.

The other two also laughed until they were rocking back and forth, and one even reached out to pat the chubby youth on the shoulder, saying, "Fatty Zhao, you've had too much to drink today, haven't you?"

"If you're a descendant of an Immortal Master, why are you still holed up in this crappy place like Yuzhou?"

The fair-skinned youth with a light beard wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. "I've been to your house; it's not even as big as my Family's stable."

The chubby youth's face flushed red all at once. From his neck all the way to his forehead, his earlobes were so red they looked like they were dripping blood.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times.

His hands were clenched into fists under the table, his knuckles turning white.

In the end, he just sullenly downed a cup of wine and lowered his head, speaking no more.

The laughter continued.

Jiang Yan's action of picking up food did not stop. His gaze swept over the faces of those youths one by one, finally resting on the profile of the slightly chubby youth.

That face was flushed purple, the roots of his ears were burning, his lips were pressed into a thin line, and his Adam's apple kept rolling up and down.

Immortal Master.

Mortals called Cultivators "Immortal Masters".

If this kid was telling the truth, and his ancestors really had produced a Cultivator, then there might be some things tainted with Spiritual Qi passed down in his Family.

Jiang Yan remembered that face.

That night. North of the city.

The residence that had produced a first-rank Minister was indeed imposing.

A five-courtyard residence, with blue brick walls one and a half zhang high, embedded with broken porcelain shards on top, reflecting a cold light under the moonlight.

Watchtowers were built at the four corners of the courtyard wall, and one could see figures moving inside.

When Jiang Yan vaulted inside, a squad of guards happened to be walking through the alleyway.

Seven or eight men, led by a Third-rate Martial Artist, with a sword tucked at his waist; as he walked, the scabbard slapped against his thigh, making a slapping sound.

The others were just ordinary strong men, holding wooden staffs in their hands.

He waited for this group to pass, then hugged the wall and crept toward the inner courtyard.

He found two secret rooms.

The first was in the old master's study. The mechanism was quite clever—there was a "Diamond Sutra" on the third shelf of the bookcase; pulling it out halfway caused the wall to slide open silently.

The secret room was piled with several chests of gold and silver, and paintings hung on the walls, signed by famous masters of the previous dynasty.

All were Mortal items. There was not a trace of Spiritual Qi fluctuation.

The second was in the ancestral hall.

A hole had been hollowed out behind the spirit tablets, blocked by a wooden board, with a layer of yellow paper pasted over the outside, inscribed with a Talismanic Incantation—but it wasn't a real talisman, just the kind begged from a temple, drawn in cinnabar, crooked and twisted.

Hidden behind the wooden board were the land deeds and house deeds of this Family for several generations, wrapped in oil paper and neatly stacked in three piles.

Jiang Yan put the items back as they were, and when he backed out, he straightened the crooked incense in the incense burner.

East of the city. Willow Leaf Lane.

The Zhao residence was on a completely different level from the previous one.

A two-courtyard residence, blue bricks and grey tiles, with courtyard walls only one zhang high; the wall plaster was mottled, revealing the yellow rammed earth inside.

In the courtyard grew an old locust tree; the trunk was too thick for one person to embrace, its bark cracked into pieces like an old man's hand.

Under the tree were a stone table and stone stools; the stone surface was covered with locust tree leaves, a thick layer that had been soaked by rain and then dried, turning dark brown.

There was only one servant on night patrol. An old man of about fifty, slightly hunched, dozing off against a pillar in the veranda.

A wooden staff lay across his knees, half of it already slipping off, about to fall to the ground. His chin bobbed up and down, and a soft snoring sound came from his mouth.

Jiang Yan walked past him. The old man's snoring stopped for a moment, he smacked his lips, and then continued to snore.

He stood in the courtyard, spreading out his Divine Sense, scanning the entire residence inch by inch.

Ancestral hall. Altar table. Underground.

The entrance to the secret room was under the altar table. On the table were the spirit tablets of the Zhao ancestors, over a dozen of them; the oldest one's wood had turned black, and the characters on it were almost worn smooth.

The incense ash in the incense burner had accumulated into a thick layer, and on top were three sticks of incense that had burned halfway before going out.

He moved the altar table and pried up the floor tiles.

A flight of stone steps extended downward, narrow enough for only one person to pass.

The walls on both sides were built of blue bricks, with water stains seeping from the brick seams, and the air was mixed with a damp, earthy smell and the scent of old wood.

The secret room was not large, one zhang square.

An oil lamp was embedded in the wall, but the oil in the lamp had long since dried up, leaving only a small charred mark on the wick.

There were only three things in the secret room, placed side by side on a stone table in the very center.

The first was a piece of fur folded neatly.

Jiang Yan picked it up; it was warm to the touch.

It wasn't the kind of warmth that comes from being held, but the fur itself was emitting heat.

The fire-red fur, each hair three inches long, gave off a very faint, dark red halo in the darkness.

He unfolded the fur—it was an entire wolf skin, from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail, preserved very well.

On the wolf's forehead were three slightly sunken marks arranged in a triangular pattern, as if it had once grown a third eye.

A Grade 1 Intermediate Yao Beast. Three-Eyed Fire Wolf.

Most of the strength of this kind of Yao Beast lay in the fire eye on its forehead.

After death, the fire eye dissipated, and the Spiritual Qi remaining in the fur was only enough to be rated as Grade 1 Low-Level.

But the fur of a Yao Beast itself was a good thing—keeping warm in winter and cool in summer was secondary; the main thing was its natural affinity for fire-attribute Spiritual Qi.

Used as an inner lining for armor or spread on a meditation cushion, it could improve the absorption efficiency of fire-attribute Spiritual Qi.

Jiang Yan folded up the fur and put it into his bundle.

The second item was a piece of jade the size of a fist.

Pale red, translucent, like frozen sugar water.

In the heart of the stone was a mass of flowing crimson; staring at it for a long time, that red mass seemed to be slowly rotating, like magma churning deep underground.

Held in his palm, a warmth seeped out from the jade, drilling into the skin of his palm, spreading all the way up along his wrist, forearm, and elbow.

It wasn't hot, but warm, like soaking his arm in warm water.

Grade 1 Medium Grade Fire Jade.

It was more than a grade better than those unrated jade pieces he had obtained from the Zhou Family's secret room.

Those jades could only be used to refine one-time Magical Artifacts, which would shatter after use.

Fire Jade was a primary material that could truly be used to set up fire-attribute Formations, and it was also a main ingredient for refining fire-attribute Magical Artifacts—if other Materials could be found to combine with it, one could even refine a Grade 1 High Grade Magical Artifact.

Jiang Yan held the Fire Jade up to the oil lamp to look at it. The lamp had no oil, but the Fire Jade's own halo circulated in the heart of the stone, making that crimson mass look even more vibrant.

He tucked the Fire Jade into his robes as well.