Chapter Thirty-Three: The Blood Ganoderma

The following day arrived.

The household stirred to life, preparing the ingredients for tomorrow’s wedding banquet. Though only two tables would be set, certain items needed to be procured without delay: red candles, festive couplets, celebratory wine—such things required a trip to the market, though it was uncertain whether such wares could be found at the Zhou Family’s marketplace.

If not, there was always the option of visiting the old wedding goods shop, specializing in nuptial supplies.

After breakfast, Su Yang did not rush out to purchase these wedding necessities. Instead, he returned to the courtyard and opened two porcelain jars.

Inside lay two tiny golden insects, even smaller than grains of golden rice, their bodies encased in shimmering shells and curled together like little beads. They had indeed been successfully cultivated.

According to the “Heart-Control Worm” manual, one could stir the qi and blood within to send out a signal; the two worms would awaken and crawl obediently onto his fingers. They were docile enough.

Though he had successfully raised these heart-control worms, their true efficacy remained unknown. He would need to test them when the opportunity arose.

He placed the two worms into a prepared small porcelain vial, adding two pills favored by the insects. This would keep them alive for three months, during which they would remain mostly dormant.

With two household servants in tow, Su Yang headed to the Zhou Family market. There he managed to buy some wine, but red candles and festive couplets were nowhere to be found—who would bring such items to this place? He sent the servants home with the wine, and went himself to the specialized wedding goods store.

The shop’s doors were firmly shut—who would dare marry in these troubled times? Merchants kept their doors closed, fearing patrols from the local gangs might smash their premises; all for the benefit of the Zhou Family’s marketplace.

The wedding supply shopkeeper, nervous and unwilling to open, finally found his door kicked in by Su Yang. Silver was left on the counter, and Su Yang purchased what was needed for the banquet, loading it all onto a small cart. He paid extra for the repairs to the door.

The shopkeeper’s face finally broke into a smile, but he urged Su Yang not to mention where he had bought the goods.

…

The streets were nearly deserted. Silence reigned, windows and doors tightly sealed. Those with grain to spare dared not venture out; only occasionally did one glimpse members of the gangs.

Official matters were handled by the authorities in daylight, but most affairs, especially those beneath the surface, were managed by the gangs. For example, no merchant was allowed to do business except at the Zhou Family market.

No matter what they sold, the Zhou, Feng, and Wei Families took a thirty percent cut.

On the steps of a closed pharmacy, a few stalks of straw and fallen leaves drifted on the wind, dust swirling, the atmosphere thick with desolation. An old man, hunched and dark-skinned, sat there, a wooden box before him atop a cloth. His clothes were greasy and his eyes dull.

“Old man, what are you selling?” Su Yang asked.

Hearing the voice, the elder slowly lifted his head and replied honestly, “My family cannot eat, so I have no choice but to sell this. If you know its value, name your price, young master.”

With those words, he opened the wooden box.

Inside lay a palm-sized blood-red lingzhi mushroom, its fragrance rich, a blood lingzhi—greatly beneficial for martial cultivation.

Su Yang’s brows arched, but he asked, “Old man, why sell the lingzhi here? Why not take it to the Zhou Family market? There are more people there.”

“Are you buying or not?” the old man replied.

“If not, then forget it…!”

Hearing mention of the Zhou Family market, the old man seemed as if his tail had been stepped on—he quickly closed the box, his face dark, preparing to leave.

“Stop right there,” Su Yang commanded, stepping forward and pressing a dagger to the old man’s back, his tone unfriendly. “Speak. Why are you so frightened at the mention of the Zhou Family market? Why not sell there?”

Sometimes, without a bit of ruthlessness, matters cannot be settled.

The old man glanced nervously at the dagger, sweat prickling his skin, fear evident in his trembling voice. “Sir… what do you want?”

“I only wish to know: why not sell at the Zhou Family market? Why are you so scared when you hear about it?”

“Speak.”

Su Yang pressed the dagger closer, making the old man shudder, an acrid scent rising—he had not experienced such a scene before.

Terrified, tears streaming, the elder confessed, “Sir, two days ago my son took another blood lingzhi to the Zhou Family market to sell.”

“But before selling, he had to pay for a stall and register the goods. After he left, he never returned. I searched the entire market and couldn’t find him.”

“That night, he still hadn’t come home. I realized the Zhou Family market had harmed him. Fearing they would extract our address from him, I fled with my wife and grandson.”

“There are many vacant houses in the city now; we simply found one to shelter in. But we have no grain left; otherwise my son would never have tried to sell the blood lingzhi.”

“If I go to the Zhou Family market again, I will surely die. Seeing you, young master, buying wedding supplies in this chaos, I guessed your family must be wealthy—otherwise, who would marry now?”

“So I set up my stall in your path, hoping to attract you… Who could have thought…!”

The old man was honest, and under Su Yang’s pressure, he told the whole story. It sounded genuine.

A man without guilt suffers for his treasures.

An ordinary person selling such a coveted tonic would inevitably be robbed, especially in these troubled times, where death was routine.

Even outside of chaos, what would change?

Kill by night, don the constable’s uniform by day to investigate the crime—such things happened often.

Massacred households, ruined families!

That might be overstated; a minor constable could easily wipe out a small family, arresting all known thugs in the area the next day.

A few days later, someone would be tortured into confessing.

The constable was praised for swift justice.

The magistrate earned merit, appearing as a loving father to the people.

The common folk benefited—a troublemaker gone.

As for the slaughtered family, lying in their coffins, their mouths forever sealed. Their cause of death was dictated, the coroner glancing at the corpse and signing off with a fabricated reason.

Who would want to do autopsies—how filthy!

If no one claimed the ruined household, the bodies were burned and the matter closed.

There were no impartial officials to investigate for you; countless bones lay in dried wells.

…

“How much do you want for this lingzhi?”

“This lingzhi is valuable. According to market price, I estimate at least one hundred taels of silver,” the old man said, holding up a finger, naming what he thought was a large sum.

One hundred taels—a fortune for an ordinary family, enough to buy property and take two wives.

“What worthless lingzhi fetches such a price? Will you sell it for five taels?”

“No, no, only five taels?”

As soon as Su Yang finished speaking, the old man shook his head vigorously. “If the lingzhi were worth only five taels, why would my son have been harmed?”

Unexpectedly, the old man was clever. At that moment, a group approached, led by Scar Wolf, a ninth-rank martial artist, a minor leader of the Black Wolf Gang.

“See there, the Black Wolf Gang’s little boss. If he learns you’re selling outside the Zhou Family market, will your lingzhi survive?”

“Furthermore, you don’t even know what kind of lingzhi it is, nor its value. It must have an illicit origin, right?”

“Don’t be greedy. Take these ten taels, hand over the goods. If you wish, good; if not, prepare to die.”

Su Yang took out a ten-tael silver ingot, offering it to the old man. Seeing the Black Wolf Gang draw near, the elder’s face paled. He quickly took the silver, handed the wooden box to Su Yang, and the deal was done.

Indeed, the lingzhi in the box was not originally his.

It was stolen from a wealthy household—all members dead, the women violated, even the mistress had been “enjoyed.” His son’s death was genuine.

“Scholar Su, what have you bought? Let me see,” Scar Wolf stepped forward, grabbing at the box lid.

Su Yang frowned, taking two steps back, but the lid was opened by Scar Wolf, who now eyed the blood lingzhi.

“Oh, didn’t expect such a treasure. Would you sell it to me? I’ll pay fifty taels.”

Scar Wolf stared greedily at the lingzhi, murderous intent emanating from him, hoping Su Yang would know his place.

To a martial artist, this was a precious tonic, nourishing blood and essence. With the blood lingzhi, Scar Wolf believed he could break through from ninth rank, where he had stagnated for years, to eighth.

Though only a rank apart, the difference between ninth and eighth was vast—like ordinary folk compared to ninth-rank warriors.

Ordinary men would always be mere gang enforcers; only ranked martial artists could become minor leaders, escaping the drudgery.

“A family heirloom—not for sale.”

Su Yang’s lips curled in a faint smile. Both were ninth-rank martial artists; it would hardly be appropriate to use force here. Was he to be intimidated?

As for using the gang’s power, the blood lingzhi would never end up in Scar Wolf’s hands—those big bosses would covet it.

“Scholar Su, don’t be ignorant. You were just trading with this old fellow. If the three families learn of it, they’ll be furious.”

“Trade? What trade? We had no transaction. I merely pitied him and gave ten taels.”

Su Yang looked at the old man.

“Yes, yes,” the old man chimed in, backing Su Yang’s lie. If it were proven they traded outside the Zhou Family market, the authorities might not care, but the Black Wolf Gang certainly would.

“Fine.”

“Scholar Su, you really won’t sell?”

Scar Wolf’s eyes narrowed, a hint of killing intent flashing, though he refrained from acting—after all, Su Yang was also ninth rank.

“Fifty taels? Why not just rob me?”

With those words, Su Yang ignored Scar Wolf, tucked the blood lingzhi into his coat, and wheeled his cart away. The old man likewise seized the chance to slip off.

“Boss, should we cut him down…?” a subordinate gestured, drawing a finger across his throat.

“Scholar Su is ninth rank—too risky. Forget it,” Scar Wolf waved him off, continuing the patrol, though inwardly he mused:

If he acted, with his own strength and his brothers’ help, it would be easy enough—a sure thing.

But word of the blood lingzhi would inevitably spread among his men, unless he killed them all, which would be hard to explain to his superiors; if seen, there’d be trouble. He couldn’t silence every witness.

If he didn’t, the secret would leak.

Blood lingzhi was coveted even by eighth-rank martial artists; Scar Wolf doubted he’d survive to enjoy it. Best to leave it be, return to the gang, find a trusted ninth rank, and together raid the Wang household by night, splitting the gain.

But it must be done quickly.

On one hand, he feared Su Yang might use the lingzhi; on the other, someone else might act first.

Still, such treasures were only used at bottlenecks. Forcing a breakthrough—one must use it wisely. Rumor had it Su Yang had broken through to ninth rank just days ago; likely, he wouldn’t need it yet.

“Boss, what did Scholar Su have in that box?”

A lackey asked, others full of curiosity; only Scar Wolf had glimpsed the lingzhi when he opened the box.

“Just an aged lingzhi,” Scar Wolf replied carelessly.

“Boss, just an old lingzhi—is it worth fifty taels?”

“You know nothing. With rebels at the city gate, silver is worthless. Only strength matters. I am just shy of eighth rank; with that lingzhi, I have a good chance to break through!”

“Eighth rank is what you need to survive when the rebels storm the city—fifty taels is nothing!”

“Nowadays, such old medicine can’t even be bought. Everyone’s trading silver for power—that’s demand outstripping supply.”

Eighth rank—barely enough to keep your life.

A shadow hung over the group.

…

Su Yang, pushing his cart, had a cold gleam in his eyes. Scar Wolf had let him go too easily; things would not end here.

If the chance arose, he’d eradicate him—best to do so in secret.

After all, Scar Wolf was a minor leader in the Black Wolf Gang; if word got out that Su Yang killed him, the gang’s forces would not rest until they destroyed him, for the sake of their prestige.

…

“They’re all monsters… all monsters… kill them… kill them all…!”

In a narrow alley,

The old man who sold the lingzhi gripped a long stick, his body trembling, forcing himself to breathe deeply, muttering under his breath, steeling himself.

“Fifty taels, and you don’t rob!”

At those words, his heart sank—the lingzhi was surely worth at least two hundred taels, yet he had been forced to sell for ten. Such greed among the wealthy!

That young man was strong, but a surprise attack would surely work—one blow, and even Scar Wolf would be helpless.

The old man did not realize that, had it not been for Su Yang, selling to anyone else would have been fatal.

The sound of wheels grew nearer.

The creaking echoed, and the old man’s excitement mounted. He resolved to kill Su Yang, reclaim the blood lingzhi, and hide again with his wife and grandson.

Closer, closer…

“Ah—!”

With a shout, the old man burst from the alley, swinging his stick at Su Yang’s head.

Thud.

A dull sound; the stick was blocked and snapped by an arm, and a large hand clamped his neck. With a crack, his life ended instantly.

“Ah, never satisfied,” Su Yang sighed, looking at the corpse, shaking his head. He retrieved the ten taels of silver from the body, and pushed his cart home.