A Long Grind to Daoist Monarch-Chapter 47: My Disciple, Lower Your Head

On the slopes of Duijin Street, south of the Outer City, there’s a large house with gray walls and black tiles, quite spacious.

That is where Master Meng lives.

Considering his wealth, he could have long moved into the Inner City, bought a courtyard with two entrances, and comfortably spent his later years.

It’s worth knowing that many laborers once dug sand on Duijin Street, leaving it pitted and uneven.

This created many dangerous shoals, eroded the riverbanks, and was very noisy.

Drunks often fell in and drowned, getting washed downstream.

Especially in the rainy season, when the air was thick with dampness and cold, it was hardly suitable for retirement.

Although his son Yangquan had persuaded him several times, for some reason, his father just liked to stay here.

In recent days, the street has been filled with funeral music.

Since the day the funeral procession entered the Yang Residence, the sound of drums and gongs has been incessant.

Given that there was food to be had, no one had any complaints or grievances.

At most, they used the topic of Old Yang losing a son in his old age, a white-haired person sending off a black-haired person, as a conversation topic over tea and meals.

After all, what Yangquan and his group of ruffians did in life, bullying and racketeering, could fill several baskets.

Many silently felt justice served and were deeply satisfied, lamenting ’Heaven has eyes’ and ’good riddance.’

"Brother Quan, you died so tragically!"

"Heaven envies the talented! Why choose you?"

"It pains me so much! I wish to go with you..."

A spirit tent built in the style of a grand mansion was set up early, with dozens of men and women wearing mourning clothes, kneeling inside, fake crying the funeral.

They were Tea Masters hired from Xinyi Street, specializing in arranging red and white ceremonies.

Once they received a family’s message, they would notify the casket houses, tent shops, and decoration craftsmen to prepare the necessary tools, then busy themselves running the whole event.

Inside the spirit tent, Master Meng sat stiffly on a low chair, tossing paper money into a copper basin, the flames licking up and leaving behind charred ashes.

The ’dutiful children and grandchildren,’ kneeling in two rows, cried vigorously for rewards.

They were crying so hard, as if their own parents had died.

The noisy, lively funeral took a break at 1:45 PM.

The wailing abruptly stopped, everyone stood up, stretched their legs, and grouped in threes and fives to the Tea Masters singing at the door, reaching out to collect their payment.

After a day’s work, covering two meals, they could clear eighty cents, a rare good job that’s hard to find even with a lantern.

As people dispersed, the spirit tent returned to solitude.

A burly man in rough clothes and lantern pants looked around, confirmed that no one was watching, then walked in:

"Master Meng, have some hot food. Brother Quan in heaven would not want to see you ruin your health like this."

Yang Meng’s withered facial skin slightly moved, as if a piece of deadwood had gained some vitality:

"Did you find out the truth?"

The burly man leaned over, lowered his voice, and said:

"We have almost figured it out. Brother Quan met the Young Master at the Scattered Garden in the Inner City and learned that breaking the First Training Major Barrier required Ghost Pattern Fish, so he guaranteed to get twenty quality ones to fill the vacancy left by Chen the Lame’s steward.

He turned to Wang Laizi, who seemed to have a secret bait formula, and they planned to make a deal together.

Brother Quan took this opportunity to lend money, forcing fishermen who couldn’t pay to sell their boats and themselves, while Wang Laizi made some quick money along the way... Originally, everything was going smoothly, but inexplicably, two ruffians died in between, allegedly having run into a Water Ghost.

Afterwards, at the end of the month when it was time to hand over the numbers, Liang Sanshui, through Wu Gui, was one step ahead of us and presented the Ghost Pattern Fish to the boss, cutting off Brother Quan’s chance.

Brother Quan wasn’t one to swallow anger; he rushed overnight from the dilapidated shack on Xinyi Street to Wang Laizi’s house.

His father disappeared, and his mother died in bed, her body already decomposing.

Then... nothing."

Yang Meng’s face showed no expression:

"Was it truly Demon Fish causing harm?"

The burly man, meeting those cold eyes, couldn’t help but shiver, swallowing his words back and saying:

"...Hard to say. But now Wang Laizi is dead with no body to be found, his parents are gone too, and all clues are broken."

Yang Meng seemed to have a blockage of thick phlegm he had to spit out:

"Liang Laoshu and I have a grudge. His son inexplicably got twenty Ghost Pattern Fish, very suspicious.

East Market Shop fishermen might not gather such a number in a month, but Liang Sanshui got them effortlessly.

Could it have been done by inviting a Water Ghost to dive in? The key should be on that infamous Bai Ahqi."

The burly man’s eyebrows raised, exuding a fierce aura:

"Master Meng, how about I find an opportunity, and we make our brothers finish him off, chop his head off, and place it on the altar of the spirit tent to memorialize Brother Quan."

Yang Meng showed helplessness, glaring back:

"What nonsense are you talking? Do you think it’s still the old days when we could kill and plunder on the Black Water River?

Anyone who stood in the way, we would bind their whole family overnight, drive them into the reed marsh, chop them into pieces, bag them, and feed them to the fish.

Hold off for now, as Liang Laoshu is watching closely, it’s not easy to act.

Moreover, that kid has changed his household registration, and any reckless move might leave traces, and the Fishery will certainly enforce family law.

Humph, Liang Laoshu thinks that by becoming a disciple at the Martial Arts Hall, he can protect him?

Even if he becomes a disciple of a grandmaster, debt that leads to death can’t be escaped!

By the way, how’s the other matter I asked you to investigate?"

The burly man looked peculiar:

"Master Meng, we’ve asked around, Brother Quan usually has three or four women he’s close with, all brought to the residence by the brothers.

Additionally, the women he’s been involved with in the past six months include the wife of Fisherman in the East Market Shop, the wife of Lin the Sixth at Chai Market, the wife of Hunter Wang Er..."

What?

All married women?

Yang Meng squinted his eyes, making the excited burly man stop quickly:

"We’ve had the physician check them one by one; none seems to be pregnant for now."

Yang Meng clenched his fingers and sighed softly:

"Alright, keep an eye on it. Maybe one of them will leave a seed for the Yang Family.

Remember, burn down Wang Laizi’s house and crush the old hag’s bones! She had a damned son, causing Quan’er to lose his life in the Yellow Springs!"

After the burly man finished reporting, he reverently approached to offer incense, bowing before the coffin placed in the mourning tent.

"Master Meng, Brother Quan shouldn’t die in vain, many brothers are waiting for your orders!"

He didn’t get up but turned towards Yang Meng:

"Just one word from you, and we can stir up the whole 800 miles of Black Water River..."

Yang Meng’s eyelids drooped, tossing the last bundle of paper money in his hand:

"No rush, though Quan’er was a bit reckless and might have done some excessive small things.

Yet, he was flesh of my flesh; someone cuts my flesh, spills my blood, meaning they want my life — I won’t let that rest!

Dealing with Bai Ahqi is easy, a Fisherman who luckily clung to the Liang Family, won’t achieve more than a First Training Major Barrier in this life.

When Quan’er has passed seven days, we’ll act, be patient, every major ransom deal over the years has waited it out, I have a plan."

The burly man became invigorated, his face beaming with joy; he and his brothers had been waiting in the reed marsh for a long time without doing big business.

"These days, old acquaintances keep visiting to offer condolences.

They don’t know that I, Yang Meng, forged my path over 800 miles of Black Water River, relying on ruthlessness! It’s always me comforting others in loss!"

Yang Meng’s face was frighteningly somber, as if soaked in the Black Water River, emitting a piercing coldness.

"Such big words? An old dog struggling to survive in the outer city, trying to show off; it’s laughable."

The unabashed mocking voice suddenly rang out, echoing into the mourning tent where the coffin lay.

Yang Meng’s eyes flickered, he turned his gaze towards the door, seeing a tall man with a slanting brow and blade-like eyes.

This newcomer stopped before the table where Tea Master registered condolences, tapping his finger twice:

"Write down my name, Tongwen Hall, Ninghai Zen.

With disciple Bai Qi, here to pay respects to Yang Quan."

"Ning what? Who’s the blind dog barking madly here? Daring to come provoke Master Meng!"

The burly man stood up, shouting gruffly.

He had never heard of Ninghai Zen; he was just worried about having no place to show loyalty to Master Meng.

He immediately swung his fist, stepping out of the mourning tent.

"His palms are thick, the calluses on his tiger’s mouth nearly worn off, Qi Blood almost spilling out — a practitioner!"

Bai Qi quickly took a glance, observing many details.

Of course, he wasn’t worried about Ninghai Zen at all.

Such a guy would be like a child in front of the number one Instructor in Black River County.

"Don’t even know who I am, ignorant and fearless, not qualified to die at my hands."

Ninghai Zen raised his eyelids gently, giving a casual glance.

Buzz!

The robe billowed, outside his body, as if a stone fell into a flat lake, ripples of airflow emerging in layers.

The burly man striding over suddenly seemed to be struck by Immobilization Skill, his eyes wide open, limbs stiffened abruptly.

He appeared as if a tiger clamp pinched his throat, mouth wide but unable to make any sound.

Struggling resiliently for two or three breaths, he fell to the ground like a mud statue.

His face was filled with fear and panic, seemingly drowning alive, breath cut off in mouth and nose.

"In...structor."

Yang Meng was thunderstruck, sitting on a low chair, not daring to move.

Tongwen Hall, Ninghai Zen!

The weight of these six words, he knew well, it was enough to crush all the martial arts halls in Black River County.

"Bai Qi, my new disciple. Today we’re here to pay respect with incense for your son, and settle any grudges from the past."

Ninghai Zen walked into the mourning tent, glancing down:

"Considering your pain of losing a son, that earlier arrogant talk of others mourning, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.

However, don’t do it again, as you grow old, learn to yield and survive, only then can you enjoy your twilight years."

Understand?"

Yang Meng’s face resembled trembling tree bark, finally squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth:

"Un...der..stood."