Chapter 91: Let the Fish Bite First

"This is the place."

Li Zhuiyuan pointed ahead.

It was a fenced-off construction site that looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time.

At the entrance stood a security booth. Outside, two elderly guards sat on stools, each fanning themselves with a palm-leaf fan, enjoying the evening breeze.

"Binbin."

Tan Wenbin stepped forward, hands clasped across his chest.

"Your humble servant awaits~"

Li Zhuiyuan pointed to the booth. "Go holler at them."

"Order received~"

Tan Wenbin dropped his gear-laden backpack, then raised one hand skyward and the other to the ground, marching off with an exaggerated clatter of steps.

The other three took seats by the roadside.

Yin Meng pulled out a bag of pumpkin cakes from her backpack and offered it to Li Zhuiyuan.

He hesitated. "You made these?"

Yin Meng shook her head. "The canteen's head chef did."

Li Zhuiyuan took one and bit into it. It was cold and a bit tough, but still delicious.

Yin Meng grabbed two for herself, then placed the rest of the bag in front of Runsheng.

Runsheng nodded and pulled out a metal case, from which he extracted a thick incense stick. He lit it and began to eat.

He wasn’t actually hungry—he’d just had dinner before heading out—but he understood: this was pre-battle prep.

From the northwest corner of the site came clanging sounds. Someone had snuck in and was tossing steel bars out. A tricycle sat nearby, ready for loading.

The racket was loud enough for them to hear from afar. The guards must've noticed, too.

But the two old men simply puffed on the cigarettes Tan Wenbin had given them and kept chatting, making no move to intervene.

No point risking their necks for a job that paid peanuts.

Just then, a minibus pulled up, slowing as it approached the site gate.

The guards immediately stood, tossed their cigarettes, exchanged a few words, and waved the vehicle in.

Tan Wenbin came jogging back after gathering intel. Runsheng shifted to make space, and Wenbin sat between him and Xiaoyuan.

Yin Meng handed him a bottle of water, uncapped.

Tan Wenbin took a sip, then grabbed a pumpkin cake from the bag in front of Runsheng and took a bite.

"Xiaoyuan, this is definitely the spot. The site’s been shut down for months. They say weird things kept happening during construction—accidents galore. Then one day, outta nowhere, a bunch of snakes poured in and bit the workers in their rest area. That was the final straw—they shut it down for good."

"That minibus that just went in? I saw through the window—it’s full of Daoists and monks. Probably hired by the developer to do an exorcism."

"Man, we should’ve contacted the boss earlier. With his project stalled, he’s losing a fortune. If we could fix the problem, he’d pay us big time."

"Too bad we got scooped by a bunch of charlatans."

Li Zhuiyuan stood. "Let’s go see how our dear colleagues perform."

They packed up. Since the thieves were still at it in the northwest corner and the front gate was too conspicuous, the group circled around and climbed over the south gate.

Inside, most of the site was pitch-dark. Only one central area was lit, with flickering candle flames visible in the distance.

The foundation pit had filled with water, forming a murky pond of unknown depth.

Two altars stood on either side. Though the monks and Daoists had arrived together, they kept strictly to their own sides—three monks to the left, three Daoists to the right.

The monks were chanting sutras with solemn faces. The Daoists twirled their swords in ethereal displays.

In the middle stood a man in a blue tank top with slicked-back hair—probably the guy who hired them.

He smoked nervously, the tip of his cigarette bobbing wildly.

The four hid nearby, beneath their Homecoming Nets, listening and watching. At some point, the sword-dancing Daoists switched to chanting, and the monks began banging gongs as they circled their tables.

Tan Wenbin chuckled. "These guys look like they just came from a funeral troupe."

Everyone understood now—these so-called masters were frauds.

The more elaborate the ritual, the more likely it was just for show.

Splash!

Suddenly, a sound came from the pond.

The masters froze mid-performance. The slicked-hair man dropped his cigarette.

Tan Wenbin gripped his Black Umbrella of Rebirth and moved protectively beside Li Zhuiyuan. "Did the Dead Sinker show up?"

Runsheng sniffed. "Why doesn’t it smell?"

Li Zhuiyuan said, "Someone on the far side of the pond tossed something in. Probably the thieves. They're messing with them."

The boy had sharp ears. He caught the sound of laughter from across the pond—three voices.

Not content with theft, the bastards had stayed to watch the show.

If this were any other place, fine. But this site had a real Dead Sinker—and one skilled at bewitching the mind. When it truly emerged, they might not even be able to tell which way was up.

The monks didn’t realize it was a prank. They thought the spirit had reacted.

They brought out bowls of black dog’s blood and hurled them into the pond one after another.

Runsheng sniffed again. "Pig’s blood."

Using pig’s blood in place of pure yang black dog’s blood—ridiculous. But they weren’t about to criticize too loudly.

After all, back in his hometown, what kind of blood got used in rituals depended on what was eaten two days prior.

The Daoists, not to be outdone, burned what looked like scraps of dark, hairy leather and tossed them in.

Runsheng: "Donkey hide."

Tan Wenbin: "So those were black donkey hooves?"

Then the monks and Daoists started throwing everything from their altars into the pond—ritual tools, talismans—shouting with each toss:

"Suppress it!"

"Dispel it!"

Even the offering plates were tossed in at the end.

Tan Wenbin: "Told you—the boss must’ve paid them fat stacks. They’re throwing in all their sacred tools."

Yin Meng: "When the Dead Sinker really comes out, this is like handing over your weapons before a battle."

Runsheng: "Wouldn’t help them anyway. Better to drop everything now so they can run faster."

Li Zhuiyuan glanced upward. A dark cloud had blotted out the moon. In his vision, a faint gray aura began to seep into view—one the ordinary eye could not see.

Runsheng wrinkled his nose. "Too much random junk burning. The smell’s a mess."

Li Zhuiyuan: "Get ready. It’s coming."

The trio instantly focused.

Even though they had scouted the creature’s strength in advance, no one dared relax. A lion uses full strength even to catch a rabbit.

Li Zhuiyuan: "Take the pills."

Yin Meng produced three red pills from her pack and handed them out. Everyone but Li Zhuiyuan tucked one into their mouths.

They weren’t miracle pills. They tasted like a mix of bile and mustard.

Their purpose? When your mind began to fog, biting down would trigger such a strong physical reaction that you’d jolt back to clarity.

The Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts mentioned this, but never specified the ingredients—Wei Zhengdao probably figured local folks knew their own tastes.

Li Zhuiyuan had wanted to include fish mint, but decided against it. Yin Meng could eat raw Houttuynia like snacks.

"Ready the powder."

Tan Wenbin pulled out three pouches and distributed them. These were for crushing in the hand—used to break illusions or snap a teammate back to their senses.

Li Zhuiyuan used to carry a fan with hidden compartments for all sorts of powders, but now his cultivation had advanced enough to make most tools redundant.

With him present, Runsheng and the others could carry fewer supplies and focus solely on bringing the Dead Sinker down.

Li Zhuiyuan eyed the three thieves across the pond and then the six bumbling masters still under the lights.

"Wait for the fish to bite."

The others nodded.

Let the Dead Sinker go for the others first. Then they’d move in for the catch.

Cruel, perhaps. But safest.

If you couldn’t handle the job, you shouldn’t have taken the contract. If you stole and stuck around for fun, you deserved what was coming.

Only the guy with slicked-back hair was remotely innocent. But they hadn’t taken his money, so it didn’t matter.

That was why Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t answered when Tan Wenbin brought up payment earlier.

Once you took the money, you were bound to protect.

Now? Everyone else was bait.

"Ah! Fire! Fire! Fire!"

One of the monks suddenly tore off his robes and bolted straight into the pond, screaming.

The rest of the masters froze.

The Daoists glanced sharply at the other monks, as if to ask: "Is this some improv you guys snuck in to get a bigger bonus?"

But the monks just stared back, equally confused.

"Snakes! Snakes! Snakes!"

A Daoist clawed at his own throat, thrashing on the ground.

Two monks rushed to pull their fellow out of the water. Two Daoists tried to pry open their teammate’s hands.

The slicked-hair man trembled, inching backward, ready to bolt.

The masters were panicking, but their instinct to save their comrades outweighed their fear—for now.

At last, the monk was dragged out before he drowned. The Daoist was saved before he choked himself.

All six looked battered. And they all knew—this wasn’t part of the act.

But fleeing now meant forfeiting the rest of their payment.

Suddenly, the slick-haired man let out a wild yell, grabbed a steel pipe, and began swinging at everyone—monks and Daoists alike.

Chaos erupted.

But still, the Dead Sinker had not emerged.

Splash!

Someone fell into the pond—one of the thieves.

To their credit, or perhaps out of ignorance, the other two jumped in to save him.

Then, Li Zhuiyuan saw the gray mist before his eyes turn black.

Runsheng smelled the distinct, fetid stench of a water corpse.

And as a head surfaced in the water, everything sped up like a video on fast-forward.

The pot had come to a boil.

The monks and Daoists all descended into violent brawling with the slick-haired man. Even those collapsed on the ground latched onto others’ legs and bit down hard.

Li Zhuiyuan: "Hook it."

The four pulled off their Homecoming Nets. Tan Wenbin began re-coating his net with fresh red paste from a stamp box while murmuring a mnemonic.

Runsheng raised his Seven-Star Hook and cast it. All seven segments unfurled, and the hook latched onto the head in the pond.

Once secured, he twisted his grip to lock the segments, then hauled with all his might.

The pond erupted in froth and blood.

The first thief who’d fallen in had already been gutted.

"Aaaah!!!"

A shriek pierced the air—sharp and laced with psychic venom.

The Dead Sinker had screamed.

Runsheng bit down on his pill, eyes snapping into sharp focus. The wave of nausea supercharged his strength.

The hook reeled in the creature, inch by inch.

Yin Meng, wincing from the mental assault, raised her Demon-Suppressing Whip and lashed out.

Each strike drew another piercing cry—and deeper agony for the team.

But this was eagle-taming. Whoever endured, would win.

Tan Wenbin jolted upright, his toes almost on tiptoe, lips curling into a twisted grin.

He smashed the powder pouch into his own face and bit down on his pill.

Then he vomited.

A second later, he grinned again. And when the pill’s taste hit his gut, he vomited again.

Infected—cleared—infected again. A brutal cycle.

And still, his hands never stopped moving.

Even though his mouth was too busy vomiting and grinning to recite incantations, muscle memory guided his hands.

He re-coated the Homecoming Net with precision.

Then, still laughing and retching like a man possessed, he staggered to the edge of the pond.

With his last burst of will and clarity—

He flung the net.

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