A moonless, windy night cloaked the wilderness. Thick gray fog clung to the wilds, refusing to dissipate, while the air carried an ominous chill. Linghu Xiao directed a group of timid players to imitate the howls of wild dogs.
They had only howled twice when they swiftly drew the attention of those inside the compound. A booming voice shattered the night: “Who goes there?”
The reaction was far too quick. The players jumped in fright.
Seeing the men inside already gripping their swords, the players remembered their plan to lure the guards away with a diversion. They hurriedly activated their lightness skills and bolted into the distance.
As a night watchman at the Mortuary, Zhan Jueming had guarded Jiangnan City’s facility for over a decade. In those years, he had witnessed all manner of human malice—from the petty crooks of the Demonic Sects to outright fiends.
Having seen it all with his own eyes, he harbored an even deeper impression of the audacity of those demonic outsiders.
Disciples of the Demonic Cult often banded together to steal corpses. Some took skulls to cultivate demonic arts, others harvested rotting organs from the dead to brew yin gu poisons, a few used bodies for nefarious puppets, and when theft failed, they forged official documents to claim them. Some came simply to provoke him. Zhan Jueming dared not let his guard down against any of them.
Worse still, in recent years, attacks by Demonic Cult members on the Mortuary had grown more frequent and brazenly unconventional. From his unique instincts honed in the Rivers and Lakes, Zhan Jueming sensed a storm brewing beneath the surface—a tide of change surging toward catastrophe.
“This Jianghu is on the verge of upheaval,” he often murmured to himself.
He had long resolved to retire and leave the Rivers and Lakes to the rising young generation. Yet every time the thought surfaced, unease gnawed at him. Night and day, he meticulously polished his sword with a clean cloth, hoping the old blade would stand by him until his final breath.
On the twentieth of the second month, his eyelids had twitched wildly all day, a sure omen that trouble would strike that night.
He kept his sword within arm’s reach, ready for action at the slightest sound.
Sure enough, when the Demonic Sect lackeys came howling as a group this time, Zhan Jueming drew his blade and gave chase.
Meanwhile, with a creak, a band of players holding kerosene lamps pushed open the Mortuary’s wooden gate. Confirming the place was empty, one beckoned to the others outside. “Come on in. It’s safe inside. Watch your step, everyone—don’t trip.”
The group filed in, eyes wide.
White banners draped from the rafters, and black coffins lined the hall. A chill wind slithered down their necks, prompting them to clasp their hands and bow repeatedly. “We mean no disrespect. Forgive our intrusion.”
Coffins filled the space, arranged by date. Ruan Xuezong quickly located the dozen or so bodies in question.
The Jiangnan City coroner’s report had ruled them drowned in an accident, closing the case. Ruan Xuezong accepted that verdict, but he knew drowning came in two flavors.
With that in mind, he said softly, “Open the coffins.”
At the critical moment, one’s popularity made all the difference. The players stepped back in unison, their expectant gazes fixed on Five-Colored Mottled Black.
“Me?” Five-Colored Mottled Black blinked in disbelief.
“It’s up to you, Young Hero Five-Colored Mottled Black.” Behind his mask, Ruan Xuezong’s face curved in a slight smile, his eyes sparkling like stars. How could Five-Colored Mottled Black refuse such a hopeful title as “Young Hero”? He steeled himself and stepped forward.
Five-Colored Mottled Black approached a black coffin, palms sweating. With a final burst of resolve, he lifted the lid, revealing the bloated corpse of an escort, face swollen from the water.
The sight hit like a gut punch. His body shuddered, nearly toppling him to the floor.
He figured the others would sympathize with his ordeal—clap him on the back and say, “Way to go, Five-Colored Mottled Black—you’re the bravest here!” or “Great job, Five-Colored Mottled Black!”
Instead, they rushed past him to crowd around the body, offering not a word of comfort.
Players claiming medical knowledge pushed to the front, lanterns raised. They observed closely, donned white gloves from who-knew-where, and gently probed, tossing out observations.
“The body is smooth all over—no obvious cuts, bruises, or ligature marks. He wasn’t badly injured before death…”
“Face swollen, lips blue-purple. Pupils dilated under the lids, fine river sand in the nostrils. Looks just like drowning…”
The rest stood back, deciding late-night snacks were off the menu.
A player from the recording crew muttered to himself, “After fisherman, hunter, chef, and apothecary apprentice, is Jianghu dropping a new class: coroner? So, supreme food god or God of Case-Solving coroner—which should I main?”
“Better if you shut up. We’re recording—less chatter.”
The players bantered and joked.
As the impromptu coroners examined the body, someone suddenly let out an “Eh?”—excited and rapid-fire. “Found something off! This NPC—er, this victim—has sand and water in his mouth, but not much. Nails are spotless, no scratch marks from struggling. In normal drowning, victims fight it, get sand under their nails. This looks like he was unconscious when he drowned… Hiss.”
The players gasped, sensing they had uncovered something huge. The drowned bodies case had just shifted—from divine wrath of the river god to man-made disaster!
“Let me see.” Ruan Xuezong stepped forward. Nearby players thrust their lanterns closer to illuminate the details.
The rest buzzed with heated discussion: “As expected, The Plot of the First Chapter Is Indeed Extraordinary”
