“This kind of polluted spiritual root, and techniques too — remnant scrolls will do — or news about cave estates. Use your own judgment.”
Shen Yi voice-transmitted through the cobblestone, handing several storage pouches over to Aqing in the same motion.
“Alright.”
Aqing gripped the pouches in excitement. For some reason, the man’s baseless trust like this always left her feeling an inexplicable warmth and delight of heart.
The others had grown somewhat unable to restrain themselves and made to rise and come over. Just then, a row of attendants came down from upstairs, each bearing a jade platter. The rich fragrance instantly drew everyone’s attention. Even the business of exchanging treasures was cast to the back of their minds. Moving swiftly, they set fine dishes on each table according to the number of people, then brought over mellow, fragrant medicinal wine.
At the very rear of the attendants, Mei Xiyao came pacing gracefully over, walking to the corner. She came slowly to a stop, a measure of respect on her exquisite, pretty face, and said warmly, “Perfected Master Qingfeng invites the two of you upstairs for a talk.”
Aqing very consciously excluded herself. Pressing both hands to the tabletop, she watched the coming and going of the attendants and couldn’t help swallowing.
At the sight, Mei Xiyao gave a light laugh. “Rest assured — one will be prepared for you as well.”
“Thank you, big sister.”
Aqing withdrew her gaze happily.
Falling into others’ eyes, though, it made no small number of people shake their heads inwardly. This white-faced boy — did he imagine a sweet mouth could win Miss Mei’s favor? After all her years receiving and seeing off guests in this Eight-Direction Dining Hall, her eye had long grown higher than the heavens.
Still, even Perfected Master Qingfeng was inviting that Senior. His background truly ran deep after all.
“Fine.”
Shen Yi, though somewhat puzzled, didn’t refuse. After all, having only just left Great Qian, he really hadn’t met many powerhouses of any real standing.
Chen Zhong, for his part, didn’t much mind. He knew clearly he was only along for the ride — he was merely curious why Aqing alone had been left out.
The two rose. Shen Yi glanced at Aqing. “Get back to work once you’ve eaten. Don’t wander off.”
“Mm-hm!”
Aqing gripped her chopsticks. The Eight-Direction Dining Hall’s fine fare — she’d only ever heard of it from her elders’ mouths, and had never once truly tasted it.
Shen Yi withdrew his gaze and followed Mei Xiyao upstairs. They went straight up to the ninth floor.
Even at Chen Zhong’s age, he couldn’t help looking curiously all around. Mixed Origin Grandmasters got the lower five floors at most. Only the Spirit-Transformation realm had the right to go above the sixth, and any time the sixth floor was open, it was certain to be a day the Eight-Direction Dining Hall was throwing a banquet with a broad invitation to its guests. As for the ninth floor… this was Nie Jun’s exclusive privilege, and it was precisely because of that that the Dining Hall dared set its rules at all.
“You’ve come.”
Perfected Master Qingfeng sat behind a wooden table and lifted a hand toward the two of them. This place wasn’t as splendid as Chen Zhong had imagined — it was even simple enough to be little different from a street-side eatery. The youth didn’t look very used to it, but still smiled and nodded. “Sit.”
Shen Yi took his seat calmly. “May I ask what the Perfected Master wants with me?”
If he remembered right, up to now he’d had no dealings whatsoever with Wutong Mountain… except for that spirit-gathering furnace in his storage treasure.
“A young prodigy — a joy to behold.” Perfected Master Qingfeng’s lips curved up, not stingy with his praise. “No business talk. Eat first.”
Only, coming from his tender appearance, such words always left one wanting to laugh. As though seeing through Shen Yi’s discomfort, Perfected Master Qingfeng rolled his eyes. “I look young because I broke through Mixed Origin quickly — I’ve now idled away more than three thousand eight hundred years all the same… hurry up and eat.”
With that roll of the eyes, what little air of a lofty expert he’d had was swept clean away; he seemed nothing like a cultivator who’d lived close to four thousand years.
Chen Zhong, born of Great Qian and though he had some connection to Wutong Mountain, said not a word, and didn’t move to fawn and cling on account of this Perfected Master’s mild manner. He knew full well how proud Wutong Mountain’s disciples all were. This one had merely disguised it better.
Soon Mei Xiyao lifted the cloth curtain, but hadn’t the standing to serve the dishes — the one responsible for bearing the platter was that thick-necked old man, the Eight-Direction Dining Hall’s proprietor.
The dish was simple in the extreme. Each person had only one plate, holding several cut pieces of tendon-meat in thick, dark sauce.
Perfected Master Qingfeng didn’t even use chopsticks, tossing them into his mouth by hand without the least reserve.
Chen Zhong carefully picked up a chopstick-full, and after tasting it a little, his whole old face fell into a daze.
“…”
Shen Yi had only just chewed once when a chill welled in his eyes. Between his teeth, that trifling piece of meat had, of all things, turned into demon blood and been swallowed into his belly.
One piece of meat, one drop of blood.
If this wasn’t a demon emperor’s flesh, Shen Yi would crush the plate and eat it. He didn’t think that his present status was worth another treating him with a treasure like this.
Chen Zhong might lack the blood-transmuting divine ability, but the moment that beef entered his stomach, he too sensed something was off. He blankly stopped his chopsticks.
“The Perfected Master had best speak of his business first.”
Shen Yi set down his chopsticks and looked across.
“No, no — you really must eat. If you don’t, I’ll be too embarrassed to speak.”
Perfected Master Qingfeng waved a hand, swallowing the tendon-meat down in big mouthfuls. Only once the plate was empty did he look up at the two silent figures across from him and say helplessly, “Actually it really has nothing to do with you — today I mainly came for him.”
He pointed a finger at Chen Zhong.
“Ah?” Chen Zhong looked up in surprise.
The next moment, the old man’s whole face fell ghostly pale.
“Once you’ve eaten, hurry back to Great Qian. There’s no need to come out again for the next few hundred years.”
Perfected Master Qingfeng wiped his hands on his sleeve. “That senior brother of mine slew the Blood-Transmuting Demon Emperor outright — there, the very thing you just ate — and I couldn’t talk him out of it. He’s got that cur temper; whoever provokes him has to die.”
“The Thousand Demon Den likely won’t dare run wild at my Wutong Mountain.”
“You saw Xuanguang Cave’s end for yourselves — a Spirit-Transformation Perfected Master, dead the moment they say dead.”
“But the one I worry about most is still your Great Qian. Those few golden bodies in the War Temple can’t leave the imperial capital, can they? Your Ancestor’s still sleeping too, and your territory’s so vast… tch.”
Watching Chen Zhong on the verge of fainting away, Perfected Master Qingfeng advised awkwardly, “Actually it’s not certain — they might go after my senior brother next instead.”
Really not certain?
Chen Zhong struggled to keep his wits. Between Nie Jun and Great Qian, which was the soft persimmon — did that even need much thought? The Blood-Transmuting Demon Emperor of the Nineteenth Den, dead just like that… and before it a White-Feather Demon Emperor had died too. Wouldn’t the Thousand Demon Den go mad? The Nine Provinces, flaws everywhere, no way to guard it even if one wished to.
“My Wutong Mountain isn’t the sort of rat-coward that does a thing and dares not answer for it — several of my senior brothers and sisters have broken from seclusion, to draw off the Thousand Demon Den’s fury as best they can.”
“In any case… look to your own fortunes, all of you.” Perfected Master Qingfeng shook his head.
When immortals fight, mortals suffer. This had never been an empty phrase. Senior Brother Nie was only killing demons — he bore no ill intent, his eyes were simply lifted too high to see the common folk beneath his feet.
“Senior, this Chen takes his leave.”
Chen Zhong rose trembling, and cupped his hands toward Shen Yi with an uneasy heart, then walked slowly downstairs.
“How is it your face doesn’t look too good either?”
Perfected Master Qingfeng sighed, then looked curiously at the young man across from him.
“Does it?” Shen Yi picked up the beef again and sent it toward his mouth, no ripple in his eyes.
“Then I must have seen wrong.”
Perfected Master Qingfeng gave a bland smile, and on that tender face there was at last a measure of Wutong Mountain’s flavor.
(End of Chapter 276)