Chapter 145: The Silver Jar

The silver-armored corpse heard the sound of speech, its bones creaking loudly throughout its body. With its hands pressing against the ground, it suddenly sprang up.

Xie Xiaoyu, caught off guard by the counterattack of the silver-armored corpse, staggered back several steps.

Freed from Xie Xiaoyu’s torment, the silver-armored corpse turned to flee.

What could possibly terrify the silver-armored corpse so much that it would turn and run?

It didn’t make sense. Could it be that the voice was even more formidable than the silver-armored corpse? Was it the legendary silver jiangshi?

There was no time to think. Xie Xiaoyu had already chased after it. Worried she might be at a disadvantage, I sprinted after her: “Xie Xiaoyu, don’t chase! Be careful of an ambush!” But the jade corpse Xie Xiaoyu couldn’t understand me. The moonlight was bright, and the timing was perfect—she didn’t want to let the silver-armored corpse escape.

Boom! Crash! It sounded like something had collapsed.

By the time I caught up, I saw the wall had been smashed open, the exposed wires sparking and crackling.

Xie Xiaoyu stood at the breach, no longer pursuing. She waited for me, then grabbed my arm and pointed outside, muttering something unintelligible.

Beyond the wall, an old man was hiding. His hair was unkempt and crawling with lice, the largest of which was nearly as big as a cockroach. His eyes, eerie and mismatched, stared into the villa.

The silver-armored corpse crouched before the old man, who then climbed onto its shoulders.

“Who are you? Why are you using the silver-armored corpse to harm people? Aren’t you afraid of the police? What’s your connection to the Guo family?” I shouted as I ran after them.

The old man’s face was smeared with mud, obscuring his features. Perched on the silver-armored corpse’s shoulders, he seemed completely at ease, as if the creature were his obedient mount.

With another eerie laugh, the old man said, “I never told the silver-armored corpse to hurt anyone—just to kill a couple of dogs. The police aren’t bored enough to put out a global warrant for me. Kid, you’re no ordinary person either, taming a jade corpse. We might be cut from the same cloth. I just came to see if the old monster of the Hua family is still around. If he is, I’d advise you not to make any reckless moves.”

Then, his tone softened with unexpected warmth: “Sanjin, let’s go. Your pants are falling—don’t catch a cold. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a pair of AdiWang underwear later. That’ll keep you warm.”

So, the silver-armored corpse was named Sanjin—a surprisingly plain name for such a creature. The old man’s affectionate tone suggested he genuinely cared for it.

Why warn me not to act? Did he think I shared his goals?

After speaking, the old man patted the silver-armored corpse’s shoulders twice. The creature dashed forward with incredible speed, vanishing into the night in moments. Anyone who could control a silver-armored corpse was undoubtedly formidable.

Fearing Xie Xiaoyu might be outmatched, I called her back: “Don’t chase. Let’s go see what this ‘old monster’ is all about! And don’t be afraid.”

As we returned, I saw Huo Mancheng and Jiese standing in a row. A figure sat on the leather sofa in front of Huo Mancheng.

The other security personnel had returned to their posts, while Hammer stood further away, waiting for orders.

Uncle Jianguo cradled Xiao Jian, who was still weak from the corpse’s miasma, smoking leisurely as he waited for me. Occasionally, he blew smoke rings—dozens in a row—before stuffing the remaining half of the cigarette into Xiao Jian’s mouth. The little dog seemed to take a drag.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen a dog smoke. Waking up today was fortuitous—I got to see a silver-armored corpse, a rare jade corpse, and now a smoking dog. Marvelous, simply marvelous. Grandson, buy that dog and make a hotpot. It’s been ages since I’ve had dog meat.”

The speaker was the “old monster,” seated on the largest sofa.

Huo Mancheng, not daring to disobey, hurried over to ask me how much I wanted for the dog, so he could prepare a hotpot for his grandfather.

I studied the old monster—was this Jiese’s great-grandfather, Huo Mancheng’s grandfather? Huo Mancheng looked to be in his fifties. If each generation was about twenty years apart, this great-grandfather had to be close to ninety, if not a hundred.

“Did the silver-armored corpse escape?” Uncle Jianguo called out.

“Yeah. A disheveled old man was waiting for it. He rode off on it,” I replied.

Xie Xiaoyu clung to my hand, trembling as she glanced at the old monster before lowering her head, too afraid to look again.

The old monster sat on the sofa, smiling at me. His forehead bore strange markings, and his attire was bizarre—a dazzling yellow robe resembling a mandarin jacket, paired with old-fashioned official boots.

It looked familiar. Where had I seen something like this before? Then it hit me—wasn’t this the “yellow mandarin jacket” often seen in historical dramas? Emperors would bestow them as honors, granting the wearer prestige akin to driving a government-plated car today. Had Jiese’s grandfather time-traveled from the Qing dynasty? My mind raced with wild theories.

His face was dark, his eyes unsettling.

And he still wore a braid.

When our eyes met, a chill ran down my spine. Noticing my shock, Huo Mancheng tentatively asked, “Nephew, my ancestor has but one indulgence—dog meat hotpot. Seeing your smoking dog has whetted his appetite. Name your price, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Irritated, I replied, “No. This dog has traveled with me across the country. I won’t sell him for money—that’d make me a greedy, heartless wretch.”

Huo Mancheng pressed on, “How about this? Five bucks?”

My jaw nearly dropped. Five bucks for my dog? That was insulting. If not for Jiese’s sake, I’d have walked out then and there.

I chuckled dryly.

Huo Mancheng seemed puzzled, perhaps thinking I found the offer too low. Hammer, however, understood and clarified with a laugh, “Brother Xiao, you might’ve misheard. When our master says ‘one piece,’ he means ten thousand. Five pieces is fifty thousand. Care to reconsider?”

Uncle Jianguo’s hand trembled, ash falling from his cigarette. So, their family was absurdly wealthy—referring to ten thousand as a single “piece.”

After a long pause, I said, “No amount of money can buy a loyal companion. This dog has saved my life multiple times. He’s like a sworn brother. Would I sell him for five bucks? Do I look like I need money?”

Huo Mancheng looked troubled, and Hammer’s expression darkened—clearly annoyed at my stubbornness.

The old monster from the Qing dynasty scoffed, “Tch. Treating a mutt like a treasure.”

Now I was livid. “Seems we’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s go.”

Uncle Jianguo shot me a look—fifty thousand was nothing to scoff at. You could buy hundreds of dogs with that.

Jiese stammered, “Great-grandfather, some things can’t be measured in money. We’ve had a few dogs die recently—perfect for hotpot.”

The old monster stood, his movements stiff. Something clattered as it swung into view from behind him: “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Xie Xiaoyu bristled as he took two steps forward.

“Why should I be?” I shot back, though my eyes were fixed on the object at his waist—a gleaming silver vessel sloshing with liquid. Truthfully, I was terrified, but curiosity held me in place.

The old monster roared with laughter. “Fine. As long as I get my hotpot, I don’t care. Grandson, load it with cilantro and chili. If you can find an old hotpot base—the kind reused for years, steeped in everyone’s saliva—that’d be perfect.”

Relieved, Huo Mancheng nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course.” He sent Hammer to fetch a base, though most hotpot shops were closed at this hour.

Hammer eventually found a dingy alleyway joint. The owner, trembling as a group of suited men barged in, thought they were there to demolish the place. Spotting a pot in the darkest corner, Hammer confirmed its pungent aroma, tossed five hundred yuan on the counter, snatched a few poppy pods, and bolted with the pot. The owner stood frozen for half an hour—had the underworld just held a midnight hotpot base heist?

Noticing my prolonged stare, the old monster sneered, “Kid, what’re you gawking at? Even if you stare all day, I won’t lend you my yellow jacket.”

I shook my head. “That jar you’re carrying—I have one too. Just a different color.”

I pointed to the silver vessel at his waist. The patterns matched those on my copper jar—likely crafted by the same artisan.

No wonder Huo Mancheng wasn’t worried about thieves. The treasure was hanging right off the old monster.

“I am Hua Chongyang, third-rank baron of the Qing dynasty, bestowed the yellow mandarin jacket,” the old monster declared, now taking me seriously.

Chinese nobility traditionally ranked as duke, marquis, earl, viscount, and baron. Baron was the lowest, but still a title.

Hua Chongyang must have been a Qing noble—a living relic.

A noble with a craving for dog meat hotpot was even rarer.

“What does your jar look like? What’s it called?” Hua Chongyang asked.

I shrugged. “What’s yours called? Mine’s the copper jar. A powerful spirit medium once told me it holds tears.”

“Copper jar? Interesting. Mine’s different—it’s silver. The silver jar.”

The old man’s bony fingers lifted the silver jar, turning it over in his hands.