Rise of the Wang Clan: Starting with a Portable Farm

Chapter 187: Grave Soil

“Stay sharp. Do not separate,” Wang Hao warned, his voice low. “It would be a tragedy to survive the enemy only to be cut down by a blood-crazed Qingyuan disciple.”

Wang Hao couldn’t help but speculate on the Qingyuan Sect with the darkest of intentions. Given their history, they were entirely capable of ‘accidental’ friendly fire to vent their rage.

“Agreed,” Qian Jiatao nodded vigorously. Having witnessed Wang Hao’s god-of-war-like prowess firsthand, he felt a supreme sense of security sticking close to him.

They operated with surgical precision, targeting isolated enemy stragglers—one or two Foundation Establishment cultivators at a time—while avoiding larger groups. This strategy maximized profit while minimizing risk.

With four Foundation Establishment experts acting in concert, and Wang Hao no longer suppressing his true strength, their opponents rarely lasted three rounds. Once cornered, there was no escape.

Often, it was a slaughter. The fleeing cultivators were already panicked and devoid of fighting spirit; they crumbled at the first strike.

The loot was bountiful. These Foundation Establishment cultivators were fleeing with their life savings, and many carried 10,000 to 20,000 Spirit Stones worth of assets.

Of course, there were duds.

“Pah! Bad luck!” Qian Jiatao kicked a corpse in frustration.

The dead man, a slightly portly cultivator, had been carrying five Storage Bags. They had excitedly cracked them open, only to find a few low-grade Magical Artifacts and some cheap healing pills.

“This fat bastard carried so many empty bags hoping to loot the Qingyuan Sect dry,” Qian Jiatao spat on the body. “Greedy ghost. Died before he could steal a single stone.”

“Let it go, Fellow Daoist Qian. The man is dead,” Wang Longyou advised gently. “We killed him, that is enough. We hold no deep grudge, and we aren’t Demonic Cultivators. There is no need to disturb his rest.”

“You call this disturbing his rest?” Qian Jiatao scoffed. He gave the corpse one final kick before leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I just ran into a squad of Qingyuan disciples. We exchanged a few words. Can you guess how they plan to dispose of these Blazing Heaven Sect corpses?”

Wang Hao shook his head. “Just tell us. I can’t imagine.”

Qian Jiatao raised an eyebrow, a grimace twisting his face. “They said they’re going to flay the skin to make white mourning banners for the memorial service. Then, they’ll burn the flesh and bones to ash and mix it into the earth… to serve as ‘grave soil’ for their two fallen Golden Core ancestors.”

“What?”

Wang Hao felt his scalp tingle, a wave of goosebumps rising on his arms.

“You don’t believe me? Heh, I didn’t believe it either at first.” Qian Jiatao tilted his chin toward a distant group of Qingyuan disciples. “But look at them. Look at the hate in their eyes. With their brutal methods, is it really so surprising?”

Logically, Wang Hao knew the Qingyuan Sect had no bottom line. Desecrating enemy corpses was well within their playbook. But who came up with this ghostly idea of ‘grave soil’?

Was this meant to torture the enemy, or insult their own ancestors?

When future generations came to pay respects, wouldn’t standing on the ashes of their enemies feel… haunted?

“Forget it. If you don’t believe it, pretend I never said anything,” Qian Jiatao shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good if the Sect heard me gossiping.”

“Rest assured, Fellow Daoist,” Wang Longyou promised solemnly. “We know how to keep our mouths shut.”

The four continued their sweep, though they now instinctively kept a wider berth from the roaming Qingyuan disciples. Qian Jiatao’s words had cast a chilling pall over the victory.

Half an hour later, the screams of battle faded. A heavy silence settled over the mountain.

It was evening. The blood-red light of the setting sun bathed Qingyuan Mountain, harmonizing with the gore on the ground.

Shattered trees, craters from technique detonations, and mutilated corpses painted a brutal tableau of the war’s aftermath.

Walking along the blood-soaked path, Wang Hao let out a silent sigh. Many of the dead were young. He saw female cultivators with faces as beautiful as idols from his past life, now lying cold and broken in the mud.

They had pursued the Great Dao, only to become fertilizer for the mountain.

“There are still some stragglers in the woods. Should we hunt them down?” Qian Jiatao licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Wang Hao was tired, and the meager Spirit Stones on the stragglers no longer tempted him. “Those who managed to escape the encirclement are slippery. Let them go. Our harvest is already substantial.”

“We’ve been fighting for too long, and our spiritual power is drained,” Li Derong added. “Fellow Daoist Qian, let us rest.”

Qian Jiatao grinned sheepishly. “I was just asking. Since neither of you wants to go, let’s head to the main gate. The Qingyuan Sect managers should be interested in these corpses. Maybe we can sell them for a good price.”

So that was his plan…

Thinking of the ‘grave soil,’ Wang Hao felt a wave of nausea.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. They had already killed these people; feigning moral outrage now would be hypocrisy.

As they walked toward the mountain gate, they passed more bodies. These corpses had already been stripped of their Storage Bags and artifacts. Judging by their attire, they weren’t from the invading sects. They were ‘worthless’ casualties—allies or bystanders whom no one bothered to collect. They would rot here until their relatives came to claim them days later.

Occasionally, Wang Hao’s group found an unlooted body and casually swept up the valuables. Perhaps the Qingyuan Sect would eventually collect these items and return them to the families, but in this chaotic world, possession was nine-tenths of the law. Better to take it now and return it later if the opportunity arose.

“Isn’t that… Zhao Gaofang?” Li Derong stopped, his face pale with shock.

Wang Hao looked over, his expression complicating.

It was indeed Zhao Gaofang. Dead.

They had fought side by side during the Beast Tide. Zhao Gaofang had been a capable cultivator then. But on a battlefield of this magnitude, ‘capable’ was not enough. He had died silently, a ripple in a vast ocean of blood.

“Gather his remains,” Wang Longyou said softly. “We will return him to the Zhao family in a few days.”

He glanced apologetically at Qian Jiatao. “Fellow Daoist Qian, this man is the Patriarch of the Zhao family from our Green Cattle Market. His artifacts and bag…”

“I understand,” Qian Jiatao interrupted, quickly handing over the Storage Bag he had just snatched. “I am not a greedy man. Since he is a Fellow Daoist from the same market, it is only right to help.”

As they continued, they found more familiar faces among the dead. The mood grew heavier. The laughter and banter died out, replaced by a suffocating silence.

These were the lucky ones—the bodies left on the periphery. Those caught in the center of the Golden Core clash had been vaporized, leaving nothing to bury.

They arrived at the foot of Qingyuan Mountain.

A crowd had gathered, mostly Rogue Cultivators and vassal family members. A few Qingyuan Sect disciples were managing the intake.

“Identify yourselves!”

A female cultivator in white robes stepped forward to intercept them. Her face was stained with soot and tears.

“We are reinforcements brought by Elder He,” Qian Jiatao stepped forward, bowing slightly. “These three Fellow Daoists are from Green Cattle Market. I am Qian Jiatao, Patriarch of the Qian family from Half-Moon Market.”

“Senior Brother He?” The woman’s eyes widened urgently. “Where is he?”

Qian Jiatao hesitated, lowering his head. “Our flying boat was struck by a Blazing Heaven Sect Golden Core… Elder He and the others… they didn’t make it.”

“Senior Brother He!”

The woman let out a wail of grief. Moments later, she snapped her head up, glaring at Wang Hao and the others with venomous hatred.

“Then why are you alive?”

Wang Hao’s heart sank. Damn it.

He didn’t fear a strong opponent; he feared a crazy one. This woman was clearly unhinged by grief.

“We… we were at the stern!” Qian Jiatao stammered, panicked by her accusation. “When the boat exploded, we fell into the forest. There were over a dozen survivors initially, but the Blazing Heaven Sect hunted us down. Only the four of us remain! Fellow Daoist, Elder He’s death has nothing to do with us!”

“Only four of you escaped?” The woman’s eyes narrowed, irrational suspicion burning in her gaze. “How do you prove your innocence? Who knows if you colluded with the enemy to save your own skins?”

“No, no! Elder, you cannot slander us like this!” Qian Jiatao frantically dumped seven or eight corpses from his Storage Bag. They were dressed in Blazing Heaven Sect robes.

“Look! We killed these men on our way here! Several of your own disciples met us on the road; they can vouch for us!”

“Hmph.” The woman sneered. “Who knows if you killed them just to silence them? Perhaps you saw the Blazing Heaven Sect retreating and needed to cover your tracks!”

Wang Hao stared at her, speechless.

This woman has an imagination wild enough to write novels.