Chapter 23: The Black Sea Dragon King

The mountain bandit who had been seized by Liaochen and was about to be thrown into the Yangtze was utterly terrified. At first, he remained motionless, wiping his nose and tears, wailing desperately. Only when Liaochen had taken a few steps did the water bandit begin to struggle frantically, crying out for his parents and grandparents, begging Liaochen for mercy, pleading with his leader to save him. His trousers were soon soiled with both urine and feces. As his pleas grew more pitiful, the other water bandits could no longer contain themselves and began crawling toward their chief, sobbing, “Grandfather, please, just tell them! What could be worse than meeting the King of Hell in the underworld? You may not fear death, but think of your brothers!” One after another, they begged their bearded leader for help.

The bearded man’s face shifted between rage and resignation. Gritting his teeth, he shouted toward the place where Liaochen had disappeared, “I’ll talk! Isn’t that enough?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Liaochen suddenly appeared before him, startling all the water bandits. Liaochen tossed the filthy, trembling bandit aside and smiled, “That’s more like it. Speak.”

“The one who ordered me was the leader of the Eighteen Water Routes of Dongting Lake, Mo Hailong, the Dragon King. He’s not only the head of the water bandits but also a Protector of the White Lotus Sect. I don’t know why he suddenly ordered me to deal with the Zhang family, but he even sent people to assist me. First, we set up a trap so the eldest Zhang sister’s husband would fall deep into gambling debt. Then we threatened her: unless she did as we said and married her second sister into the Mo family, we’d cut off her husband’s hands and feet. To save her husband, the eldest Zhang sister ignored her parents and siblings and coerced her second sister into the Mo family. When we tried to ensnare the third Zhang sister, we didn’t expect the little lady to be so fierce—she stormed into the Mo household with a knife. Luckily, the Mos caught her and handed her over to the authorities, bribing the magistrate to exile her three thousand miles away. But fearing she might escape and return, the Mo family decided with us to sell her to a brothel a thousand miles distant.”

Hearing all this, Liaochen clenched his teeth and thought grimly, “So, it truly is connected to me after all!” His gaze sharpened. “I keep my word. I can let the rest of you go. So long as you turn over a new leaf and atone for your crimes, I won’t trouble you further. But if you persist in evil, even if I don’t come for you, the underworld surely will. Take care of yourselves from now on.” He paused, then fixed his eyes on the bearded leader. “What’s the relationship between the Mo family and Mo Hailong?”

“They’re distant relatives. Otherwise, why would Mo Hailong claim the surname Zhang in public? I only found out by accident,” the bearded man replied hastily.

“Whose idea was all this?” Liaochen suddenly inquired.

“It was Master Dou, the strategist beside Mo Hailong,” the bearded man confessed without reservation.

“Very well. I spare you this once. I hope you’ll accumulate virtue from now on—if you fall into eternal damnation, there will be no next life.” With these words, Liaochen ignored the group of water bandits, walked over to the underworld messengers, and after a moment’s thought, took out a stack of yellow paper. With a casual wave, it transformed into a pile of spirit money, upon which he stamped his own seal and handed it to the lead messenger. “Gentlemen, please accept this small token of appreciation. I hope you won’t find it inadequate.”

The underworld messengers were instantly ecstatic. Ordinary spirit money was one thing, but this—personally stamped by a living immortal—was another matter entirely. They had thought the summons would be a fruitless errand, but now it turned into unexpected fortune. They bowed deeply, exclaiming, “Thank you, Master! Thank you!”

Liaochen waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I couldn’t let you toil for nothing, could I?” Then he added, “I have other matters to attend to. I won’t see you out.”

The messengers nodded and, after another round of thanks, vanished from sight. Liaochen looked once more at the prostrate water bandits, thinking that after this ordeal, they would no longer dare to commit evil. As for retribution, that was not his responsibility. With a leap, he soared into the air and disappeared in an instant.

The water bandits finally relaxed, then began to bow and kowtow repeatedly. Had they truly been enlightened by an immortal?

Eight hundred miles of Dongting Lake stretched out in a misty expanse. The night was still young, and silver light shimmered on the water’s surface. Liaochen now stood upon the lake, confirmed his direction, and in a flash became a shadow, vanishing like the night breeze.

Mo Wuhen, the Dragon King of Dongting, was in rare good spirits tonight. He toyed with the golden seal bestowed by Prince Ning, lost in a pleasant reverie. What did it mean to be a true hero of the greenwood? Was it not to kill and plunder, then be pardoned? Now that he possessed this golden seal, who would dare call him a mere water bandit?

“Killing and burning earns a golden belt, while building bridges wins no bones in return. La-la-la, la-la-la…” Mo Hailong stepped out of his study, humming a tune as he walked down the path in his courtyard, intending to spend some time with his newest concubine.

But suddenly, a dark figure appeared before him, startling him out of his wits. Years of banditry had taught him to be wary—without vigilance, his grave would have sprouted grass many times over. Mo Wuhen owed his dominance on the lake to two things: ruthlessness and caution.

“Who’s there?” Mo Wuhen drew the short sword at his waist, his most cherished weapon—so sharp it could slice through iron as if it were mud.

“So, you are the Dragon King of Dongting,” Liaochen revealed himself, his eyes fixed on the short sword.

“That’s right. Who are you, Daoist, to break in at night? What business have you?” Mo Wuhen glanced at the Daoist across from him, an inexplicable dread rising in his heart, though he forced himself to appear calm.

“I have come to avenge the Zhang family,” Liaochen replied, his spiritual sense sweeping through the residence. This house, not only grand but also situated in the heart of the city, could only exist under the protection of corrupt officials.

“I don’t know any Zhang family, Daoist. You must be mistaken. If you’re short of travel funds, I’m willing to offer a thousand taels of gold as a gift. What do you say?” Mo Wuhen’s hands were slick with sweat, and he opened his mouth to call for his guards—only to find, after several shouts, that no one responded. His mind was thrown into chaos.

“You cannot escape, nor can you call for help. If I dare show myself, I naturally have a way to prevent you from seeking rescue,” Liaochen said coldly.

“Who…who are you?” Seeing his calls unanswered and with no way out, Mo Wuhen forced himself to remain composed, gritting his teeth as he asked. In truth, from the moment Liaochen mentioned the Zhang family, Mo Wuhen already knew who had come. Even more terrifying, though the man stood right before his eyes, it felt as if he were a thousand miles away—a strange, ominous sensation.

“Heh. As the chief of Dongting Lake’s eight hundred miles of water routes, and the Right Protector of the White Lotus Sect’s Dark Hall, you must be well informed. Tell me—who ordered you to harm the Zhang family? And how did you learn of my connection to them?” Liaochen pressed on, his face expressionless.

“I said, I don’t know any Zhang family, nor any White Lotus Sect Dark Hall. You must be mistaken, Daoist. We have no past grievances, nor recent enmity. I am willing to offer a thousand taels of gold to fund your travels. Let’s end this matter here, shall we?” Sweat trickled down Mo Wuhen’s back. Others might not know who this Daoist truly was, but he could not afford ignorance. He knew well that tonight would not end peacefully. Clutching his short sword, he steeled himself, desperately seeking a sliver of hope for survival.