Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 65

Chapter 65:

The Jiang Clan:

Chen Henian Had to Play the Role of a Fragile Mute…

“But that’s not enough. I want to kill them all,” Jiang Wan said, her voice low and intense. “I want to carve out their hearts, stuff them in their mouths, crush their bones, tie their corpses to pillars and riddle them with arrows, for a hundred years, a thousand years, their remains exposed, their souls tormented.”

The thought made her smile, a chilling smile, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, like a child waiting for a gift.

But there was no innocence in her. “You’ll get what you want, and so will I. Chen Henian, I’ll drink to that.” She raised her bowl, her expression calm, and drained it in one gulp.

She didn’t say anything else that night, and two days later, Zhou Xianzhi, having received a message from the Southern sect, left. Two days after that, Jiang Wan gathered Chen Henian and Zuo He, explaining her plan.

The ghost control clan were descendants of King Ping of Jiang, Jiang Wuwen’s successor.

After Jiang Wuwen’s death, King Ping had ascended the throne, but he lacked his predecessor’s ruthlessness, unable to control the corrupt officials or fully trust the capable ones, his sons vying for power, dividing the court, his “benevolence” ultimately leading to the dynasty’s downfall.

After the Jiang Dynasty’s collapse, the surviving members of the royal family had disappeared, not fleeing north or south, but hiding in the heartland, waiting for an opportunity to reclaim their throne. But as dynasties changed and wars raged, their hopes dwindled.

Now, the descendants of the Jiang royal family lived in Wangcheng, a remote town in Huaiyang.

“The Jiang clan are obsessed with their bloodline, their royal status, looking down on everyone else as mere servants, clinging to their lost glory,” Jiang Wan explained. “But the ghost control technique requires sacrifices to the mountain god, a ritualistic exchange held every six months in their underground city. They’ll be appearing in town in November.”

“I know their customs well. To protect their territory, they have eighteen guardian ghosts stationed around it. We can’t sneak in. There’s only one way to enter their ancestral land.”

—”We have to be invited.”

“How?” Chen Henian asked.

Jiang Wan smiled, her eyes gleaming. “In two months, a trader will be selling his wares in the underground city.”

“But you’ll have to make a sacrifice, Chen Henian.”

“Why me?” As the plan unfolded, Chen Henian had second thoughts. Huaiyang was an unfamiliar place, and they had to maintain their disguises from the moment they arrived.

He had to play the role of a fragile mute, his head wrapped in cloth, only his eyes visible, his clothes thin and ragged, the November air biting at his skin, his pants and shoes caked in mud, his hair unwashed, his body unbathed.

Jiang Wan, his “sister,” was also a mute, and Zuo He their guardian.

Zuo He hailed a taxi at the train station, the driver immediately recognizing them as outsiders.

He spoke to the driver, and they got in, Jiang Wan having warned them that locals often scammed outsiders. The driver, true to form, overcharged them, a short ride costing almost two hundred yuan.

Zuo He reluctantly paid, feigning ignorance of the usual fares, only Chen Henian, his anger simmering, wanting to beat the driver senseless.

“Brother, I need to ask you something,” Zuo He said, his voice rough and gruff, his hand on the car door, his feet shuffling nervously, scratching his head. “I’m here on business, do you know any good places to sell my goods?”

He wore a fake mustache and a hat, his sword hidden, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder, his clothes ragged and dirty, the image of a down-on-his-luck thirty-year-old, two “children” trailing behind him.

“Business? There’s no business here, can’t you see? This place is deserted,” the driver replied.

“I paid you, you have to help me,” Zuo He said, his larger frame and intense gaze intimidating.

“You’ll have better luck at night,” the driver said, not wanting to argue. “Ask around, find a struggling shoe factory, they have space in the basement, no rent.”

“I don’t know you, you’re on your own,” the driver said, driving away.

Jiang Wan had wanted to confirm the location of the black market from a local. They rented a room at a rundown hotel, the only restaurant in town a dog meat eatery.

She seemed pleased with their surroundings, even asking Zuo He to buy two dog collars, one for herself, one for Chen Henian, telling him to practice being a mute.

The mute siblings were Zuo He’s merchandise. Before the collar was fastened around his neck, Chen Henian wanted to protest, but Jiang Wan stopped him, gesturing for him to use sign language.

He wrote on the ground, “He’s not a good talker, why are you making him do this? Are you crazy?”

“Your acting is terrible too, Chen Henian,” she wrote back.

He glared at her, his silence a response.

Undeterred, she continued, “It really is terrible, your anger won’t change that.”

“But I can’t act either,” Zuo He said, his voice filled with doubt. “What if I mess up, what if they suspect me?”

“Remember your character?” Jiang Wan wrote.

Of course he remembered.

A novice human trafficker, betrayed by his associates, fleeing to this remote town, the authorities cracking down, unable to transport his “goods” by train, desperate to sell them, their lives irrelevant, his need for money urgent, a small fry in the black market, his temper short, his skills lacking.

“Don’t worry, they like easy targets, not experienced traders,” she wrote.

Zuo He’s confidence returned slightly. He took the two bracelets, one pink, one blue, and went to the black market alone, remembering Jiang Wan’s instructions.

“That’s their code,” she had explained. “Blue for boys, pink for girls. The buyers will understand. If they ask about the bracelets, tell them they’re old and damaged.”

“They’ll ask where the damage is.”

“Tell them they’re both mute.”

“If they ask for the price, tell them 500,000 each, they have to buy both, not a penny less. No one will accept that price, but if someone does, take them to see the ‘goods’. I’ll know if they’re from the Jiang clan.”

Zuo He entered the black market, his unfamiliarity with the place evident. He found the entrance using dowsing techniques, but he was stopped by a guard. He feigned ignorance, claiming he had goods to sell, recommended by an acquaintance.

The guard let him in.

It was like an underground market, nothing unusual at first glance, but the goods sold here were illegal, the true treasures hidden. He saw snake charmers with empty cages, antique dealers with ordinary stones, his presence attracting curious glances.

His appearance, shifty and suspicious, didn’t inspire trust. He fidgeted nervously, waiting for someone to approach. He followed Jiang Wan’s instructions, quoting the exorbitant price, earning him the label of “madman,” two useless mutes for a million yuan.

He argued back, Jiang Wan having taught him a single insult, but, outmatched by the other traders’ colorful language, he could only sputter and spit, his vocabulary limited.

Jiang Wan had wanted him to cause a scene, his antics making him a laughingstock, the story of a dreamer, two mute slaves for a million yuan.

“Kind souls” advised him to lower his price, but he refused. Two days passed, no buyers.

On the third day, two men with flat noses and yellow scarves approached him, picking up the bracelets. “We’ll take these,” they said.

Zuo He recognized most of the regulars, but these two were new.

“One million yuan,” he said.

“Money is not a problem,” one of the men replied. “But we want to see the goods first.”

“Only one of you can come,” Zuo He said. “The room is small.”

The man agreed. “If they’re good, I’ll give you a 100,000 yuan deposit. The rest after delivery.”

“Deal.” Zuo He, after three days of frustration, had finally found his mark.

He didn’t need Jiang Wan’s confirmation. He recognized the men, their auras different, ordinary people having yang energy on the outside, yin energy within, but these men were double yin, their yin energy a part of them, a sign of the ghost control technique.

“You won’t regret this,” Zuo He said, leading one of the men back to the hotel. “They’re both in good condition, perfect for breeding.”

The hotel was rundown, the lock clicking loudly as he opened the door, hoping the others were ready.

“Take a look, but no touching until the deal is done,” he said, opening the door, pausing. “Especially their faces.”

“I understand the rules,” the man replied.

Zuo He let him in.

The man entered the room. “Can they hear?” he asked.

“Their ears are useless,” Zuo He replied. “But they respond to the whip. I’ve trained them well. They’re worth more than this, but…” he sighed dramatically. “The authorities are cracking down, I can’t transport them by train, I just want to get rid of them.”

He cracked the whip on the floor, and Chen Henian and Jiang Wan obediently raised their heads.

For the Hegemon Sword, Chen Henian endured the throbbing vein in his forehead, forcing himself to appear afraid, his hands trembling slightly.

“Well-trained,” the man smiled, noticing his trembling hands.

Chen Henian saw a shadow on the man’s shoulder, an evil spirit, a chain around its neck, its head lunging towards him, its tongue almost reaching his face, restrained by the chain.

He ignored it, his eyes fixed on the man’s face.

The man examined Chen Henian and Jiang Wan, then nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take them.”

He took out a pouch, tossing it on the floor. “Here’s the deposit.”

He raised an eyebrow at Zuo He, who understood, bending down to pick up the pouch, its weight surprising him. He opened it, revealing a bag of gold beads, the kind Chen Henian would appreciate. He smiled, then looked up to see the man looking down at him, a smug look on his face.

“Tomorrow, I’ll send someone to pick them up. I’ll give you a bank account number. But you have to come with us, deliver them personally,” the man said.

“Deal,” Zuo He replied.