The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 156 Nine Dragons Transform into Bones: A Water-Based Dharma Collaboration

Zhang Chang'an quickly obtained what he needed, took the paper and pen, and began to draw talismans.

This is quite absurd, since this is the West and there is no way there could be a writing brush here. So what he used was actually a fountain pen, and the paper he drew on was a blank sheet of paper.

Both the technology he's using now and the current situation, he has to thank Ancestor Zhang Lan.

After recovering the fragments in the previous instance, he could see some memory fragments with each skill he obtained, and Lan Gong's two skills were no exception.

These two abilities brought him the experience of traveling around practicing medicine.

Having traveled extensively throughout China and even the West, Master Lan has encountered all sorts of difficult and complicated illnesses and treated all kinds of strange injuries.

He had seen cases like this, where alchemical artifacts or other foreign objects were embedded in the body, more than once in those fragmented memories. So he knew how to handle it. "If only they had this method back in Kyoto, we wouldn't have had to go through so much trouble—"

Zhang Chang'an pondered for a moment, then picked up the white talisman he had drawn with a pen, put the pen down, and turned to Julian: "Light it and throw it into the basin of water."

Julian took the paper, his expression strange and puzzled, his hand trembling slightly. But he quickly used the oil lamp beside him to light the talisman, watched it burn, and threw it into the basin.

The talisman floated on the water, burned for a while, and then went out. The ashes sank to the bottom, and the clear water within naturally began to slowly turn black.

Zhang Chang'an picked up the basin of water and began to chant: "Swallowing Bone Mountain, Bone-Melting Pill, Nine Yellow Dragons descend into the deep pool, I beseech the Old Lord Li of Maoshan to strike down heavenly thunder to turn bones to ashes, by the order of the Supreme Lord Laozi and the Three Mao True Lords, may this be done swiftly as the law commands."

This technique, called Nine Dragons Bone-Dissolving Water, is essentially a folk remedy originally used to dissolve fish bones. However, Master Lan modified it, adding a talisman-drawing step, and the effect changed, now targeting any foreign object embedded in the body.

Moreover, it's not picky about materials; it doesn't necessarily have to be vermilion yellow paper. Ordinary paper and pens will do.

So if he had had this trick back in Kyoto, he wouldn't have needed to go through all that trouble. He could have just poured a bucket of black water down his throat, and the grease all over his body would probably have been washed away on its own.

Therefore, he couldn't help but sigh that Lan Gong was restless in his youth. He came from the Quanzhen School and learned the folk techniques of Maoshan after traveling around. But no matter how many schools he had visited or how little he had learned, this ancestor was definitely a genius.

The incantation was finished. The water in the basin had turned as black as ink.

Zhang Chang'an immediately pried open Pierre's mouth with one hand and poured most of the water in with the other. When only a little bit was left, Zhang Chang'an flicked his hand and splashed it directly onto the wound on Pierre's chest and side abdomen.

The black water, taken both internally and externally, entered Pierre's body and immediately seeped into his numerous wounds.

Zhang Chang'an stood up, took a step back, and sighed softly, "Master Lan, you had the worst start, yet you turned out to be the kindest."

The guards surrounded him, wanting to say something but not daring to, only staring at Pierre's chest.

A few seconds later, Pierre's body moved.

It wasn't moving on its own; something was moving beneath the skin.

Then you see those dark red fragments starting to bulge outwards, as if something is pushing them out from the depths.

One, two, three—more and more fragments emerged from the wound, falling onto the stretcher and onto the ground with a soft, tinkling sound.

It's like sifting sand and then revealing the gold inside.

Antoine was in a particularly bad mood.

As the captain of the guards, he was known to have a bad temper, a fact many prisoners were aware of. Today, his annoyance was written all over his face.

The Bastille was a special case; the prisoners were never required to do forced labor and were quite free every day. But today, however—

Some prisoners who were usually under lenient management were now directly restricted from leaving their homes.

To be honest, it wasn't exactly solitary confinement, but the time for outdoor exercise was indeed reduced by more than half.

Fortunately, they were still relatively free back in their cells. Zhang Chang'an leaned against the corner of the wall, chewing on dried meat while mentally moving chess pieces.

In the next cell, there was an old prisoner named Morel, who had been a fallen nobleman before he came in. The two were playing chess across the wall, and the pebbles on the ground were the chess pieces.

He took one step, and Zhang Chang'an took one step; it all depended on talk.

"Where has your horse gone?" Morel's voice came from next door.

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"Then I'll move the car over here—to—wait, wasn't your horse just here?"

"You've got it wrong."

"I remembered it wrong? I've never remembered a chess score wrong in my entire life."

Of course, this is Western, so they are playing chess.

Zhang Chang'an didn't know how to play this game before. When he was a kid, he only played Minesweeper and Spider Solitaire on the computer.

However, Zhang Lan's skill in Eastern philosophical reasoning wasn't limited to his thoughts and eloquence; he also possessed some artistic talents, including chess and music, with a smattering of both Eastern and Western abilities. While he wasn't an expert, it was enough to play a few games with an amateur like Morel.

The two men talked back and forth, while some prisoners in the nearby cells listened, some dozed off, and some drew circles on the ground out of boredom.

The corridor was very quiet, with only the occasional sound of guards' footsteps.

"It's so quiet, it reminds me of what happened last night—" Morel suddenly lowered his voice, "Tell me what happened?"

Zhang Chang'an did not respond.

"I didn't dare look, but any guard screaming like that couldn't be anything good," Morel continued. "The captain's face was so dark today, someone must have died. And to take it out on us after someone dies, that's really—"

"He wasn't usually that bad," someone in another cell chimed in.

"Not too bad? Who was it that locked up old Guillaume for two days last month?"

"That's because old Guillaume stole meat from the kitchen. And it also depends on when. These guards usually don't care about us, but they clearly have other work to do and are exhausted, so it's no wonder they're in a bad mood."

Zhang Chang'an chewed on some dried meat, listening to their casual conversation. Morel's cell was on the outside, offering the best view, and he was usually the most well-informed.

Right now, he was talking about how he couldn't get back the good chessboard from the library, and his tone was full of regret.

"My ivory chess set, which I brought from home, I never get a chance to play with normally, but today we're not allowed to go out. What kind of game is this, playing chess with pebbles?!"

However, his voice suddenly stopped halfway through his sentence. Zhang Chang'an keenly sensed the change in the atmosphere around him. It wasn't just the cell behind him; several surrounding cells seemed to be affected at the same time, and everyone fell silent.

The quiet atmosphere made the sounds in the corridor all the more noticeable; there were clearly footsteps coming from there, heavy and neither fast nor slow.

Zhang Chang'an turned to look outside the iron bars and saw Antoine walking up to his cell.

He had a long sword hanging at his waist, his hand resting on the hilt, his face expressionless.

As soon as Zhang Chang'an saw him, he understood. No wonder Morrel's half of the cell was so quiet as if no one lived there when the footsteps passed by the next cell.

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