Chapter Twenty-Six: Who Would Refuse to Meet Again?

Hou Baiyu was a shrewd man. For instance, when he realized that mere verbal persuasion was no longer enough to get Monkey to willingly open his wallet, he resorted to force. Years ago, Monkey believed that eating enough was the most important thing; everything else could be set aside. The punishment of hunger was no lighter than taking a beating. But now, Monkey glanced at that fist, full of power, and saw his own men nearby. He yielded—now, face mattered more, even if his funds were running low.

“Brother Monkey, are we staying here today?” someone asked timidly.

“Staying here? Not a chance. Tonight, our leader Monkey is treating! Brothers, let’s all head to the Splendid Pavilion for drinks! No leaving until we’re drunk!” Hou Baiyu interrupted without hesitation, overshadowing the conversation. Amid cheers, he paid no mind to Monkey’s darkening face. Clasping Monkey’s shoulder with a smug grin, he said, “A good meal and a few drinks settle everything. No need for any ghost-catching or demon-seizing. Don’t you think this method of mine is clever?”

Monkey struggled hard to free himself, ignoring the bystander, every word spat through clenched teeth: “If you want to treat, you treat — I can’t afford it.” His eyes glinted fiercely. Since he had lost face today, he might as well preserve some dignity by refusing to pay.

Monkey wasn’t speaking out of anger. Indeed, he simply couldn’t afford the Splendid Pavilion. Two people spending there would cost at least dozens of taels, let alone a crowd of dozens. The very thought was terrifying. At one point, Monkey even thought Hou Baiyu must be an idiot. He wanted to treat, but Monkey was sure that if he told the Pavilion, “Oh, I didn’t bring enough money, can you give me a discount?” the best outcome would be him leaving with broken bones.

Hou Baiyu’s eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening. “When Hou Baiyu speaks, his words carry weight.” He stared intently at Monkey, who immediately broke out in a cold sweat. He suddenly recalled they were no friends, and he could never overpower Hou Baiyu—because Hou Baiyu was a true cultivator.

“Anyone who disobeys my words must pay the price,” Hou Baiyu said coldly. At that moment, Monkey felt trapped, as if death itself hovered over him. He was certain that if Hou Baiyu wanted to kill him, escape was impossible.

“I quite like that statement myself,” a lazy voice interrupted, dissipating the tense atmosphere.

A carriage unmistakably belonging to the Eight Directions Pavilion came into view. However, the emblem of the Hai clan, a wave motif, had been ruthlessly smashed, exposing the vehicle’s inner mechanics. Three people sat at the front: an adult, a youth, and a young girl. The youth and girl were unremarkable, their eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. The most striking was the young man sitting cross-legged in the middle.

He wore a sky-blue brocade robe, his hair simply tied with an ebony hairpin. At his waist hung a white jade piece obviously of great value—a clear sign of noble birth and wealth. He was a prime target on the road, a big fat sheep. Yet now, this prosperous sheep had quietly arrived in Black Curtain City, wearing a faint smile that was both unsettling and inscrutable.

Beyond the Chu River lay the territory of the great Qin Kingdom. Despite the change in geography, Qin remained Qin: resolutely eradicating bandits and outlaws with relentless sweeps. As a result, the road ahead was much easier.

Still, there were exceptions. About two thousand miles from Black Curtain City, they encountered a group of bandits who had just completed a robbery. Originally, this had nothing to do with Wu Yue, who had no intention of interfering. But the bandits insisted on extending their feast—eating for half a year if possible, every extra day a bonus.

One of them punched the carriage, leaving a large hole in the supposedly ironwood, ten-year-guaranteed vehicle. Wu Yue thought about it and, not wanting to waste the opportunity, punched back. The man known as Iron Fist immediately turned and fled, abandoning even the captured fat sheep. In truth, the hole was nothing major: three to four meters deep, five to six meters wide.

Incidentally, they saved a traveler claiming to be on a scholarly journey. Wu Yue was deeply skeptical, feeling this man resembled everything but a scholar—more like a spoiled scion, a noble youth, or a rogue. Wu Yue said nothing, having no intention to get involved further. Once past this stretch, he planned to let the man go, partly out of sympathy for two children nearby.

This man, named Li Wenzhang, immediately began pulling things from a simple-looking cloth pouch—a dimensional bag, no less. He openly displayed the treasure bag, first producing various snacks, then clothing and accessories, followed by a silk quilt and warm jade pillow. Not just the children Zhao Qingzhi and Yu Fu, even Wu Yue was stunned. This was what it truly meant to be a scion of a noble family, a true aristocrat, a man honed by experience.

Wu Yue had wanted to act but hesitated. After all, kindness deserved kindness; he couldn’t just steal the man’s peach tree after receiving peaches. Over time, the four grew familiar. It became awkward to ask Li Wenzhang to leave. Yet they benefited from the detour—two thousand miles through a barren borderland that felt like a spring picnic.

Li Wenzhang naturally traveled with the three others. As he put it, “I have no grand goals, just hoping to make a name for myself so the old man can take notice.” And so, they journeyed together. Wu Yue was no idler; aided by his cultivation pearl and a blue pill, he soon reached the third stage of Qi condensation.

Reflecting on this, Wu Yue thought his exchange of nine drops of blood had been worthwhile. At Chu River, Ren Ruyi had implanted a world seed at his brow, weaving streams of azure light to form a pea-sized blue pill inside him. Calmly, she said, “Better than nothing; it will help protect you.” Then she drained his nine drops of fresh blood without hesitation. Wu Yue didn’t resist—resistance was futile.

Don’t underestimate this blue pill. Though consumable and only exerting power equivalent to the lowest level of the Nascent Soul stage, Wu Yue truly felt its strength. He was no longer helpless, no longer a lamb to the slaughter. Moreover, it offered a useful function when condensing Qi, though its efficacy would wane with use.

After a month of leisurely travel, Wu Yue and the others finally arrived at Black Curtain City. Only three knew—they left Li Wenzhang asleep in the carriage, plagued by his inability to sleep in unfamiliar beds, forcing him to nap during the day. The cheerful Zhao Qingzhi remarked, “That man’s head is so shiny!”

Wu Yue looked closely. “Indeed.” A complex, inexplicable smile tugged at his lips.