Chapter 85: This Venerable One Isn’t Someone You Can Simply Get Rid of with a Mere Fifteen Hundred Gold

The innkeeper's apologetic voice drifted over. "Goodness, my

lord is so generous. Five hundred, just like that—this humble one is flattered!

But we must be courteous to all our guests if we hope to keep doing business,

so we can't hustle them all out, you see. How about this: We have a spacious

private room within called the Returning Fog Pavilion. It's reserved for

honored guests of means like yourself. Let me show—"

She didn't get to finish before there was a loud clatter of tables and

chairs being overturned.

"What's there to see?! Who the hell cares about your Rutting Fog

Pavilion or Rutting Dog Pavilion? Goddamn, what kinda shitty name is that?

We don't want it! Get rid of them and we'll pay you a thousand!"

"Oh, but my lord looks like such a scholarly, reasonable person.

Surely he won't force such a difficult decision on this humble one, yes?" The

innkeep simpered coyly, lying through her teeth without so much as batting an

eye. "There are simply too many guests here already. However, if my lord

dislikes Returning Fog Pavilion, I can certainly offer another room. It's a

little smaller but just as elegant, and I'll throw in an entertainment package

with song and dance, free of charge. How's that?"

"No! Absolutely not! Fifteen hundred! Tell 'em all to get lost!" the

boorish voice bellowed. "Quit dragging your feet! Our young master will be

mad if this place isn't ready when he gets here!"

"Wow…" A thousand gold was a lot to the average person, but it was

a laughable amount to Mo Ran, the once-emperor of the mortal realm. Even

the trinkets he had casually thrown at Song Qiutong to humor her had been

priceless treasures. And so his eyes were round with amusement as he

chewed idly on his chopstick, laughing to Chu Wanning in a low voice.

"Shizun, Shizun, check it out. That guy thinks he can get rid of us with a mere

fifteen hundred."

Chu Wanning shot him a look, then lifted the bamboo curtain to look

downstairs.

There was a crowd in the main hall. They were dressed in plain

clothes that concealed their sect, but every one of them had a high-quality

blade glinting at their waist and a faewolf slobbering by their side. While the

value of the blades was indeterminate, faewolves had a market price but

were next to impossible to come by. Acquiring even one would be no small

feat for a minor sect. If each of these people had a faewolf, they were clearly

from a prestigious organization.

All the guests had stopped eating to stare apprehensively at the

newcomers. It was so quiet inside the hall that one could have heard a pin

drop.

Suddenly, a white blur flashed into the inn, bright as snow. There was

a beat of silence as everyone took in what it was, then a burst of frantic

clamoring as all of them scrambled away from it as the more easily spooked

shrieked, "M-monster!"

It was a snow-white faewolf, as tall as three men, if not more. Its eyes

were as crimson as blood, its coat as glossy as satin, and its fangs were the

length of a grown man's arm, glistening coldly.

Upon that massive, vicious beast sat a handsome young man with an

arrogant expression. He reclined casually, one leg over the other, and he was

dressed in a set of sleek hunting gear over scarlet raiment with goldembroidered sleeves. He also wore a silver helmet emblazoned with a lion

swallowing the sun, and a lock of red tassel that hung from its crown. His

weapon, a jasper bow, laid over his knees.

As soon as the showy cultivators saw him, they all dropped to one

knee with hands pressed to their chests, saying in unison, "Greetings to the

young master!"

"All right already." The young man waved his hand, looking irritated.

"You can't even take care of a little thing like this. Greetings, my ass!"

"Pfft." Mo Ran couldn't help laughing quietly to Chu Wanning. "If

they're greeting an ass, then doesn't that make him the ass?"

Chu Wanning didn't dignify that with a response.

The young man sitting stop the soft fur at the faewolf's nape looked

mad indeed. "Who's in charge of this dump?"

The innkeeper was frightened, but she stepped up with forced

calmness, smiling apologetically. "That would be this humble one, my lord."

"Oh." He shot her a glance. "I'm going to stay here tonight, but I'm not

used to having so many people around. Have a talk with them. I'll make up

for your losses."

"But my lord…"

"I know that puts you in a tough spot. Here, take this and give each

table an apology on my behalf. If anyone really doesn't want to leave, let

them be." The young man tossed the innkeeper a pouch, which she opened to

find filled with Nine-Turn Returning Pills that glittered golden within. These

pills allowed the imbiber's cultivation to grow in leaps and bounds for ten

days, and a single pill cost more than two-thousand gold on the market. The

innkeeper was at first shocked by this extravagant display, then discreetly

breathed a sigh of relief. No cultivator would turn down something like

these. With these pills, it would be perfectly acceptable to ask everyone to

leave.

As the innkeeper went around the tables apologizing and offering

compensation, the young man yawned before glaring down at his attendants.

"All of you are so useless. Do I really have to do everything myself?"

The attendants looked at one another, after which there was a scattered

response of, "Gongzi is ever brilliant and indomitable."

The guests dispersed in short order. Other than Chu Wanning and Mo

Ran, who didn't care for money or cultivation pills, everyone accepted the

recompense and left with zero complaints to go stay elsewhere.

"Gongzi, everyone else left, but two guests declined," the innkeeper

reported. "They say that as it's already late and one of them is unwell, they

don't wish to go elsewhere…"

"Never mind them, no need to hassle an invalid." The young man

waved his hand, unconcerned. "As long as they don't bother me."

Chu Wanning, said invalid, listened to all this in silence.

The innkeeper beamed. "Gongzi is such a kind person," she said

warmly. "It's getting late. Would Gongzi like to rest or have something to eat

first?"

"I'm hungry," the young man replied. "No need for rest, just bring me a

meal."

"Of course, my humble store will certainly provide Gongzi only the

best. Our chef's signature dishes are crab meatballs, savory pork trotter jelly

—"

"Crabby meatballs?" The young man was obviously not from the south

and didn't much care for their cuisine. He blinked at the name of the dish,

then waved his hand with a frown. "Pass. I can't even begin to understand

these ridiculous names."

Maybe he was just some insanely rich merchant and not a cultured

young master after all.

The innkeep paused for a long moment. "Then what would Gongzi

like? We will do our utmost to serve."

"Easy." The young man gestured at his attendants. "Five catties of beef

for each of them, ten for me, and then a catty of soju and two legs of lamb.

That'll do to tide us over. One shouldn't eat too much late at night anyway."

"Wow…" Mo Ran turned to Chu Wanning, meaning to make fun of the

guy's bottomless appetite. However, he found Chu Wanning staring fixedly at

the young man with an indecipherable, hazy expression. "Shizun seems to

know him," Mo Ran said absently.

"Mn."

Mo Ran had said it offhandedly and hadn't expected Chu Wanning to

actually confirm. He tripped over his own words in surprise. "Huh? Th-then

who is he?"

"The only son of Rufeng Sect's leader," Chu Wanning said softly.

"Nangong Si."

Mo Ran fell silent. No wonder Chu Wanning knew him. He had once

been with Linyi Rufeng Sect, after all. Of course he knew what the sect

leader's son looked like. It was also no wonder that Mo Ran himself didn't

know the guy, as by the time he had gone around butchering Rufeng Sect in

his previous lifetime, this youth had already up and died from some illness.

At the time, he had assumed that this son of a sect leader must've been

a sickly cripple, but the fellow in front of them was healthy, lively, and had

ego to spare. How could a guy like this have died of illness? Some kind of

sudden plague, maybe?

Downstairs, Nangong Si was happily digging in. He inhaled all ten

catties of beef and both legs of lamb in no time at all and gulped down not a

few bowls of wine on top of that. Mo Ran watched speechlessly from

upstairs.

"Shizun, isn't Rufeng Sect all about refinement and stuff? What's up

with their young master? He's got even fewer manners than our Xue

Mengmeng."

Chu Wanning shoved Mo Ran's head away from where it had nosed

over, even though his own face was still turned to peer at the scene

downstairs. "Don't make up nicknames for your fellow disciples."

"Heh heh." Mo Ran laughed and was about to say something else when

he paused, suddenly realizing something. Chu Wanning's finger was pressed

against his forehead, pushing him away. In the process, his sleeve draped

softly over Mo Ran's face like a wisp of mist. The sleeve was made of

extremely light material, like silk or satin but not quite, and it felt both warm

and cool, almost like water.

Back in their room, when he had been reeling with desire and unable

to tug off Chu Wanning's robes, he'd thought the robes had just been too

tightly bound. When he examined them now, Mo Ran realized that they were

made of frozen mist silk from Kunlun Taxue Palace.

Kunlun Taxue Palace was the most aloof and detached sect in the

upper cultivation realm. Its disciples were inducted at age five, and one year

later, they were sent into secluded cultivation in the sacred land of Kunlun.

There they were compelled to stay until they managed to cultivate their

spiritual cores. Although spiritual cores were innate and cultivation merely

awakened them, it was still a long process that often took ten to fifteen years.

As others were barred from entering the sacred land during this time, the

disciples' needs were a basic problem. Food was one thing, as the sacred

land was adjacent to Wangmu Lake, so the Taxue Palace disciples

could always go fishing for sustenance. However, it wasn't like they could

weave their own clothes.

And so their sect had invented frozen mist silk. Clothes made from this

silk were not only light as mist, they were also enchanted to be naturally

impervious to common dust and grime. They thus didn't need washing unless

they were splashed by substances like blood.

The most amazing property of this silk was its ability to morph in

accordance with the wearer's body. This was absolutely necessary for the

disciples of Taxue Palace, who entered the sacred land as small children at

five years old, and who couldn't leave until they were young adults of fifteen

or twenty. Clothes made of frozen mist silk would grow with them, so during

those long years, they always had clothes that fit.

What was Chu Wanning doing, wearing robes made of this special

material?

Mo Ran squinted, a spark flashing through his mind. He suddenly felt

like something was off—like he had been mistaken about something from the

very start. What was it?

"Excuse me, may I ask where I might find the innkeeper?"

Mo Ran's thoughts were interrupted by a confident, yet friendly and

courteous voice. He looked down to see the group of Rufeng Sect disciples

who had been at Xuanyuan Pavilion earlier. The one at the lead was leaning

halfway inside, his crane-patterned mantle fluttering as he held the door

curtain open with his sword.

Mo Ran perked up. "Aren't those Ye Wangxi's people?"

Rufeng Sect had seventy-two cities, so its disciples often didn't know

one another, and Nangong Si was sitting by himself in a private booth with

his back to the door. Thus the group of newcomers glanced over their fellow

sect disciples inside the inn, who were dressed in plain clothes, and didn't

recognize any of them.

Ye Wangxi vs. Nangong Si. This was sure to be entertaining.

"My apologies, but we've already been reserved for tonight." The

innkeeper hurried over while silently cursing herself for forgetting to close

up shop. "Please turn your attentions elsewhere—we're truly so sorry."

The young man at the lead looked troubled as he sighed. "What to

do… We've already checked the other inns, and they're all full. There's a

frail young lady with us who's in dire need of rest, so we were hoping to find

somewhere for her to get a good night's sleep. Might I trouble you to ask if

the one who reserved this inn would consider letting us have a few rooms?"

"That… He probably won't be willing."

The young man bowed. "Please ask anyway," he implored politely.

"It's all right if he turns us down."

The innkeeper didn't get a chance to respond when one of Nangong

Si's attendants at a nearby table slapped the surface and stood, outraged.

"What's there to ask?! Get out—out! Don't disturb our young master while

he's eating!"

"That's right! Aren't you embarrassed, taking a woman to bed while

wearing Rufeng Sect's uniform, dragging your sect's name through the mud?!"

The young man hadn't expected such a misunderstanding. "Why do you

slander us so?" he asked indignantly as he turned bright red. "We of Rufeng

Sect have always been principled and virtuous.

Of course we wouldn't conduct ourselves with such impropriety. This young

lady was kindly saved by our young master—how dare you speak such

nonsense!"

"Your young master?" Nangong Si's attendant glanced toward the

private booth. His own young master was still drinking wine, taking no

notice of them, which he took as silent permission to chase out the

interlopers. He relaxed and snickered loudly. "Everyone knows there's only

one young master of Rufeng Sect. I wonder who this young master of yours

is?"

A gentle, graceful voice came from outside the door. "That would be

me, Ye Wangxi of Rufeng Sect."

Every head in the room turned toward the door. "Ye-gongzi—"

Ye Wangxi was dressed all in black, his handsome face taking on a

delicate cast in the candlelight. He stepped inside, followed by a veiled

woman with nervous eyes—Song Qiutong.

Mo Ran eyed the girl, the vein at his temple throbbing viciously at the

mere sight of her. Her again. Just his luck…

Nangong Si's attendants were momentarily taken aback by

Ye Wangxi's appearance. Then contempt surfaced on the faces of some of the

less-composed members of their group.

Ye Wangxi was the adopted son of Rufeng Sect's chief elder, and he

had once been attached to the sect's "shadow city." As implied by the name,

the shadow city specialized in training the shadow guard.

24

 The leader of

Rufeng Sect had originally wanted Ye Wangxi to be trained as the next leader

of the shadow guard. However, the nature of Ye Wangxi's cultivation had

turned out to be unsuitable for the cultivation method of the shadow guard, so

he had been reassigned to the main city and now acted as the sect leader's

right-hand man.

Due to his upbringing as a shadow guard, Ye Wangxi habitually kept a

low profile, and very few people knew of him. However, the sect leader held

him in extremely high esteem—so much so that, in recent years, there had

been rumors within the sect that Ye Wangxi was actually the sect leader's

bastard. Perhaps because of this, Nangong Si, the legitimate heir, was on bad

terms with the other young man.

Since their young master disliked Ye Wangxi, it was only natural that

his attendants shared his low opinions of him. While they were obligated to

avoid offending Ye-gongzi as his juniors, they were also Nangong Si's

personal attendants who directly reported to him.

So, after a long moment of awkward, frozen silence, one of the lessreserved attendants laughed coldly. "Well, Ye-gongzi, please take your leave.

I'm afraid there's no place for you here."

"Gongzi, they say there's no room, so l-let's go look elsewhere." Song

Qiutong tugged the hem of Ye Wangxi's clothes with slender fingers, a note of

fear in her voice. "Besides, this place is so expensive. I dare not waste any

more of Gongzi's money…"

Upstairs, Mo Ran rolled his eyes. It was always that weak, pitiful tone

with her. She had tricked him with it in the past, and now she was

manipulating Ye Wangxi the same way.

Ye Wangxi was about to speak when an enormous white shadow

darted out from the inner room, headed straight for his back.

"Gongzi, watch out!" Song Qiutong cried out in alarm.

"Awoooooh! Woooooh!" Howling loudly, a snow-white faewolf

lunged toward Ye Wangxi—and started excitedly running in circles around

him.

No one said a word.

Ye Wangxi looked down in shock at the three-man-tall faewolf that

was rolling adorably around on the floor. "Naobaijin?"

It was Nangong Si's faewolf mount, named "nao" for its eyes, the

scarlet hue of carnelians; "bai" for its coat white as snow; and "jin" for the

gold of its claws.

If Naobaijin was here, then so was Nangong Si. Ye Wangxi obliged the

big furry head that was nudging toward him for pets while looking around.

Shff. The bamboo curtain was lifted by a hand that extended from a

scarlet, gold-embroidered sleeve.

Leaning idly against the wall of the private room with his arms

crossed, irritated expression half-covered by the curtain and holding a bottle

of wine in hand, Nangong Si shot Ye Wangxi a glance and sneered.

"Interesting. Why do you always show up wherever I go? With the way

you're always trailing after me, where am I to put my face if people start

gossiping about us?"