Chapter 293
Chapter 293
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 293
>Chapter Title: Death
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“Aaaahhh!!”
The Sit-Forget Daoist knelt on the ground, trembling as he covered his skinless face with his hands, emitting an excruciating scream.
This scream wasn’t just from the pain—it was also because he had been screwed over by the other guy.
Accompanied by the slick sound of mucus gliding over skin, the Black Tai Sui’s wriggling tentacles wrapped around that face skin with its eyeballs and slowly retracted back into Li Huowang’s mouth.
“Gulp.” Li Huowang struggled to swallow the foul, sticky mass in his mouth.
He eyed the Sit-Forget Daoist who was struggling to stand, staggered as he reached back, and the copper coin sword instantly materialized in his grasp.
“Shua!” As Li Huowang’s body lost balance from the sword swing and toppled to the ground, the Sit-Forget Daoist—with over a dozen copper coins buried in his body—likewise collapsed.
A bizarre smile twisted the dying Sit-Forget Daoist’s face.
“As expected, you’re the superior one. Red Middle Old Great Triple Yuan lives up to being Great Triple Yuan.”
The prone Li Huowang stared wordlessly at the sky, silently enduring the agony racking his body.
“I never imagined... I’d fall here. So unwilling.”
He glanced at Gao Zhijian in the distance, his body crawling with those mud sculptures, and at the Great God attempting to draw near.
Li Huowang arduously rolled over.
“Isn’t it too much of a waste not to make use of all this pain?”
He strained several times but failed. On the final try, he finally plunged his hand into his own abdomen.
“Tear flesh and draw bones!”
The surrounding crashes and clashes of battle vanished, supplanted by ceaseless screams and wails.
Everything in Ganyuan Village—be it the things hiding within the mud sculptures, or the village’s people and dogs—all shared Li Huowang’s torment in that instant.
The mud sculptures buckled first, trembling violently as they burrowed frantically into the ground. The dire crisis was instantly dispelled by Li Huowang.
Sensing their departure, Li Huowang’s hand went slack, his consciousness gradually blurring.
“Li Huowang!”
In his hazy stupor, Li Huowang instinctively lifted his head and croaked a response.
“Who? Here.”
The last sight he caught was Bai Lingmiao racing toward him.
“I can’t die, I can’t die.”
Li Huowang’s head lolled to the side, and his consciousness sank into darkness.
At the fifth watch, roused by the rooster’s crow outside, the stubble-faced Gouwa emerged from his room carrying a chamber pot. His face held no color, and the white cloth at his collar marked his own injuries.
The reason he ventured out to empty the pot despite his wounds was that Gao Zhijian’s injuries were far graver—those mud people had nearly wrenched his arm clean off.
He emptied the pot at the outhouse, then hunched his neck, yawned, and scurried back.
Passing Room Tian Zi No. 2, Gouwa cracked the window and cautiously peered inside.
Seeing Li Huowang lying on the bed with a deathly pallor and no sign of stirring, Gouwa shook his head in helpless dismay.
Back in his own room, he had just shoved the chamber pot under the bed when Gao Zhijian’s thunderous snores cut off.
“Wha-wha-wha...”
“Nothing doing, same as before. Scoot over—I’m catching some more shut-eye.”
Gouwa clambered onto the bed and huddled his rack-thin frame under the covers.
“Sigh, this time Brother Li’s done for, I reckon. Time to split the pot. Hey, Fool, how much of that golden box you figure I’ll snag?”
Hearing the disgruntled rustle beside him, Gouwa pressed on.
“I ain’t cursing Brother Li—you saw it yourself. This round, even his guts got yanked out. Sure, that spirit-jumping’s impressive, but he ain’t no real immortal, right? Think he can grow back flesh and bone?”
“Bang!”
Gouwa was hurled off the bed.
“Hey, you!”
Gouwa grumbled to his feet. The shove had chased off any drowsiness, so he snatched the copper basin from the wooden rack and headed to the backyard well for water.
After washing up, he stepped out onto the street and plunked down at a roadside shed.
“Boss, bowl of sweet tofu pudding, and two fried dough sticks.”
“Right away! Just a moment, sir.”
The steaming tofu pudding, dotted with stray sesame seeds and red cane sugar, had hunger gnawing at Gouwa’s belly, making him swallow hard.
He speared a dough stick with his chopsticks, soaked it soft in the pudding, crammed it into his mouth—and suddenly it was all oily sweetness. Pure comfort.
“This Great Liang sure is something—breakfast even without rice harvest, and so many kinds too.”
By the time Gouwa polished off his hearty meal, the adjacent street was bustling with folk.
He gave the bowl a thorough tongue-lick till it gleamed, stood, and flung a dozen copper cash from his belt.
“Whoa, that much? Thanks for the tip, milord!”
“Who’s tipping you? Three helpings like this to the second floor of the inn next door. I’ll be watching—no skimping.”
Gouwa turned and melted into the nearby throng. By now, he knew this town inside out.
After looping about, he halted before a remote coffin shop.
He spat into his palm, slicked back his sideburns, and strode inside.
The man inside, clicking away at his abacus, spotted Gouwa’s sharp, simian features and mustered a helpless, bitter grin.
“Lord Cao, back again? Step right in.”
“Well? Slept on it? That price I quoted—can you shave it down a bit more?”
Gouwa patted a hefty coffin beside him with practiced ease.
“Lord Cao, prime red pine wood this is. Oi, easy on the patting—you’ve flaked the varnish clean off with your daily visits.”
“You gonna sell or not? Haggling every damn day—don’t say you’re eyeing the trade yourself?”
“Hmph.”
Gouwa scoffed in disdain.
“Of course I’m buying the real deal. Knock off half a tael more, and I’ll lay down the deposit today.”
The coffin maker’s heart lurched at that. He softened his tone and probed gingerly.
“Our Brother Li... on his last?”
Seeing Gouwa nod with eyes shut and lips pursed, the man steeled himself.
“Done! Half a tael off! Rock bottom—no more bargaining.”
“No hurry.”
Gouwa circled the coffin meticulously before piping up again.
“Shopkeep, since it’s half a tael off, toss in a shroud too?”
An hour flew by. Parched and worn from the banter, the coffin maker finally caved to Gouwa’s terms.
He couldn’t drag it out any longer—Brother Li or no, this Lord Cao was grinding him to dust.
Deposit paid, Gouwa queried once more.
“Shopkeep, you’re tight with the funeral crew, yeah?”
The coffin maker bobbed his head furiously.
“Count on it—banquet cooks, opera troupes, the eight pallbearers—I know ’em all.”
“Top-shelf only! Make it a grand send-off! That’s my brother through thick and thin!”
“You got it! I’ll hook you up—guaranteed splendor. Rest easy.”
“Oh, and put in for extra paper servant girls from the paperman. Brother Li heading down solo—I don’t want him bored stiff.”
“Lord Cao, you’re a stand-up guy!”
“Sigh, what can ya do? Soon as Brother Li kicks it, they’ll wail like banshees and shirk everything. Gotta be someone to handle it—and last time, it was me too.”
“The time before?”
(End of chapter)