31: Chapter 31 Marquis of Zhennan

Jiang Yan withdrew his hand and looked down at the desiccated corpse of Zhao Xuancheng.

He did not shatter it, but instead retrieved a small jade bottle from his Storage Pouch.

Although most of the essence blood in Zhao Xuancheng's body had been absorbed, he had intentionally left some behind.

He used his Qi to force the remaining essence blood out of the desiccated corpse—dark red droplets of blood seeped from the pores of the skin, coalescing drop by drop and trickling down the withered arm.

He caught them with the jade bottle, collecting a little less than half a bottle in total.

The essence blood glimmered slightly within the jade bottle. It was the unique spiritual light of a Cultivator's essence blood, dark red, moving slowly along the bottle wall like liquid fire.

Jiang Yan then retrieved a low-grade spiritual jade from his Storage Pouch and held it in his palm.

With a surge of spiritual power, the spiritual jade was pulverized into fine powder, which fell through his fingers and into the jade bottle, mixing with the essence blood.

As the jade powder sank into the blood, the dark red liquid began to change—the color gradually deepened from dark red to a profound ink-black, and fine bubbles appeared on the surface before slowly dissipating.

After being shaken well, the liquid in the jade bottle presented a deep, dark red color, its spiritual light restrained and no longer radiating outward.

It was as viscous as lacquer, clinging to the walls of the bottle when shaken and flowing down slowly.

The spiritual ink was complete. There was enough to draw thirty or forty Talismans.

Jiang Yan corked the jade bottle tightly and put it back into his Storage Pouch.

Then, with a vibration of his palm, Zhao Xuancheng's desiccated corpse shattered into powder, falling onto the blue brick floor and mixing with the weeds and soil of the ruined temple.

The night wind blew in through the dilapidated doorway, sweeping up the powder, swirling it in the moonlight, and scattering it completely.

Jiang Yan stood up and walked out of the ruined temple.

The horizon had begun to turn the color of a fish belly. The Luo River shimmered with a silvery-gray luster in the morning light, and a thin mist rose from the water, like a layer of light gauze spread over the river surface.

The mist flowed along the surface of the water, pushed by the morning breeze, drifting slowly downstream.

In the distance, a few water birds skimmed across the surface, their wingtips creating ripples as they let out crisp cries.

He stood at the entrance of the ruined temple, the morning breeze stirring his robes. The hem of his garment was lifted and then fell with the wind, making a faint rustling sound.

He organized the intelligence he had obtained from Zhao Xuancheng in his mind.

Jinyang Sect—a Golden Core Sect, with several Golden Core Immortal Masters presiding over it.

It governed the three kingdoms of Jin, Liang, and Chen.

The Jin Kingdom imperial palace was garrisoned by three Cultivators: one at the Late Stage of Qi Refining, and two at the Middle Stage of Qi Refining.

Late Stage of Qi Refining. At least Qi Refining Stage 7 or higher.

With his current strength, he had no chance of winning against someone at the Late Stage of Qi Refining.

However, the Jinyang Sect's management method for the Jin Kingdom was "periodic collection," occurring once every two years.

This meant that as long as he avoided the collection time points, he would have enough room to operate within the Jin Kingdom.

The most urgent matter at hand was to first digest the resources he had just harvested.

He could attempt to refine the extraterrestrial meteorite iron into a Magical Artifact, and the Three-Eyed Fire Wolf hide Talisman paper, combined with the newly made spiritual ink, could be used to draw the first batch of Talismans.

Seventeen pieces of spiritual jade plus the fire jade could be used to set up the Li Fire Killing Array. All of these required time.

The Jin Kingdom was so vast, and there were so many nobles and marquises.

The Marquis Zhennan estate was only the first, although it was likely the one with the most abundant resources.

Jiang Yan withdrew his gaze. He activated the Wind Control Technique, tapped his toes on the gravel of the riverbank, and his body drifted downstream along the Luo River.

The morning mist swallowed his figure.

...

In the main hall of the Marquis estate early in the morning, Marquis Zhennan, Zhao Chongyuan, sat on a grand armchair.

He was fifty-seven years old this year, and while he had added quite a few gray hairs at his temples over the last two years, his back remained straight.

Thirty years of court ups and downs had carved several deep wrinkles into his face, especially the one at the corner of his eye, which looked as if it had been carved by a knife.

The steward knelt on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold floor tiles, not daring to look up.

The chill of the floor tiles seeped through his skin and into his bones, yet cold sweat streamed down his temples, soaking a few dark spots onto the floor tiles.

"Speak." Zhao Chongyuan's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

The steward's body trembled, and his lips quivered for a long time before he squeezed out the words: "Reporting to the Marquis... this morning, the maid went to the Young Master's courtyard to deliver breakfast. The courtyard gate was ajar, and no one answered inside.

She pushed the door open and saw... saw several women lying on the ground, unable to be woken no matter how much she called. The Young Master... he is gone."

Zhao Chongyuan set down his teacup. The teacup clattered against the rosewood tabletop, making a soft sound. The steward's shoulders shrank in fear at the noise.

"What do you mean he is gone?"

"It means... it means he is not in the room. The courtyard has been searched, and he is not there. We have asked everywhere in the estate, and everyone said they did not see the Young Master go out during their night patrols."

Zhao Chongyuan stood up. He did not ask a second time and walked directly toward the independent courtyard.

The steward scrambled up and followed behind, his footsteps stumbling.

The main room of the independent courtyard still retained the scent of last night's wine and cosmetic powder.

The women had already been carried to the side room by the matrons. Silver chains and leather collars were scattered messily on the soft couch, and a puddle of wine had seeped out from a pot overturned by the side of the couch, already half-dried.

Zhao Chongyuan's gaze swept over these miscellaneous items one by one, finally landing on the Restriction on the courtyard wall.

Although he was not a Cultivator, over the years he had gained a general understanding of the Cultivation world from his son and the Cultivators in the imperial palace.

The Restriction on the independent courtyard had been set up by Zhao Xuancheng himself; although crude, it was absolutely impossible for a Mortal to pass through it without making a sound.

To be able to make his son disappear without any power to resist, it could only have been done by a Cultivator.

He stood at the entrance of the courtyard, silent for a long time.

His fingers clenched inside his sleeves, his knuckles making a faint clicking sound.

He remembered that no one in the estate had heard any sounds of fighting last night, and the patrolling guards had not discovered anything unusual.

A Cultivator—a Cultivator who could come and go freely in his Marquis estate—had taken his son away.

A feeling of powerlessness, like never before, welled up from his chest, immediately followed by an even stronger surge of anger that suppressed it.

"Prepare paper and brush." He said.

In the afternoon, Zhao Chongyuan's personal letter was delivered to the government office.

The wording in the letter was stern but measured—it only stated that the Marquis estate's heir had gone missing and was suspected to have been harmed by evildoers.

He did not mention the matter of the Cultivator; telling the Mortal government about such things would be useless.

He only requested the county magistrate to mobilize all manpower to seal off the surrounding main roads and interrogate all suspicious persons.

At the same time, the guards of the Marquis estate were also fully mobilized.

The guard captain, Yang Tai, stood under the stone steps of the front courtyard, with dozens of men in sturdy attire behind him.

Yang Tai was in his early forties, a first-class Martial Artist who practiced external hard qigong.

He stood there like an iron tower, his two forearms thicker than the thighs of an ordinary person.

"Search along both banks of the Luo River." Zhao Chongyuan stood on the stone steps, his voice not loud, "Do not miss a single abandoned house, ruined temple, or mountain cave."

Yang Tai cupped his fists in acknowledgment, turned, and led the men out of the estate gate.

Dozens of guards filed out, the sound of their footsteps echoing across the stone floor.

After doing all this, Zhao Chongyuan returned to the study and sat down at the desk. He spread out a new sheet of paper and picked up his brush.

This letter was written to the imperial palace in the capital.

In the letter, he stated that Zhao Xuancheng had gone missing several days ago, suspected to be the act of a Cultivator, and requested that the garrisoned Cultivators extend a helping hand out of camaraderie.

When writing the last few lines, his brush paused, the ink gathered at the tip and dripped onto the paper, creating a blot of ink.

He remembered that morning fifteen years ago when he sent Zhao Xuancheng to the Jinyang Sect.

That day was also late autumn, and the old plum tree in the courtyard had not yet lost its leaves.

He crouched down and straightened the collar of his teenage son.

Zhao Xuancheng stood timidly in front of the carriage, his eyes red, but he did not cry.

He patted his son on the shoulder and said, "Cheng'er, you are the only one in our Zhao family with a Spiritual Root. Once you go to the Immortal Sect, you must Cultivate diligently and bring glory to the family in the future."

The carriage left. He stood at the estate gate for a long time, until the shadow of the carriage disappeared around the corner of the street.

Later, his son returned. Not returning home with honors, but running back.

He said that Cultivation was too bitter, that the Sect was too desolate, and that eating Bigu pills every day left a bitter taste in his mouth.

At first, he tried to persuade him otherwise, but later he let him be.

Zhao Chongyuan set down the brush, folded the letter, and tucked it into an envelope.

When he pressed the sealing wax onto the envelope, his hand was very steady.

The messenger rode out of the main gate of the Marquis estate at full speed, the sound of hoofbeats gradually fading away on the bluestone road.

When night fell, Zhao Chongyuan stood alone in front of the study window.

Outside the window, the branches of the old plum tree were dropping their last few leaves, which were swept up by the night wind, swirling and landing on the stone slabs of the courtyard.

He thought of many things, yet it seemed as if he thought of nothing at all. He just stood there, until the wind outside the window blew out the candle.