Qingzhou city. The Dashun Pavilion.

Late afternoon, crowds moving through streets bright with lantern light.

Tian Zhiwen stood at the entrance to the great restaurant, welcoming arriving guests with an easy smile. “Your humble host at your service — please, come in, no ceremony needed.”

The young heir of Tianhai Tower. The senior disciple of Baihe Hall. The Huang family’s young master—

None of them commanded much influence in Qingzhou at their age, but they all carried names worth knowing. The gathering itself, beyond courtesy to Tian Zhiwen, reflected something else — a shared unease, a reflex toward drawing closer after Qingfeng Mountain’s fall.

Chen Qiankun’s handling of the situation had been restrained by his own standards, and yet a sect as established as Qingfeng Mountain had simply ceased to exist. Something in all of them wanted company.

“Oh!”

Tian Zhiwen caught sight of a familiar figure and moved quickly through the crowd, smile broadening. “Young Master Zhao — welcome.”

He kept the nervous sweat off his face.

Tonight’s gathering was on Li Xinhan’s behalf, and the invitations had been small — second and third-tier names, specifically. How had this person ended up here?

“Out for a walk. Restless.” Zhao Kangyun waved his folded fan and stepped into the Dashun Pavilion.

The irritation in his bearing was visible enough. The others offered respectful greetings and hid the chill behind them.

Word had traveled that a young Zhao man had met a bad end at Qingfeng Mountain.

One of the four great families — and even they could do nothing but take an evening walk. The Division operated as it pleased with the court and the General behind them, growing bolder by the year. If the gathered families and sects didn’t start standing together, there would be nothing left to pick clean.

Fortunately, the General was out of Qingzhou, and without a Demon Suppression General in residence, the remaining Deputy Commanders and Commanders couldn’t cause that kind of disruption. There was no immediate danger of Qingfeng Mountain’s fate being repeated.

“Why is he here?”

In the second-floor private room, Li Xinhan had changed into blue, concealing his bandaging, though movement was still difficult. He reclined against the lacquered chair-back.

“Leave him.” Li Muqing stood quietly to one side.

With the Li siblings’ standing, hosting guests was simply eating and drinking — and getting the Jingang School people here without giving them reason for wariness. Everything else, whether it landed on the side of the great families or the Division, wasn’t a matter for two young people to resolve.

“All yours — I’ll go tell the kitchen to bring something lighter.”

Tian Zhiwen got Zhao Kangyun settled and slipped upstairs.

He came into the private room and looked at the Li siblings, then let his gaze settle on the young man in ink-dark scholarly robes in the host’s seat. The expression was unreadable. He was slowly scraping tea-leaf foam off the surface of his cup without bringing it to his lips.

Doesn’t approve of the tea?

Tian Zhiwen immediately understood the room’s order of importance.

Though the face was unfamiliar — he had no idea which force this person represented.

Was tonight’s gathering a response to the Division’s heavy-handed actions? Was someone trying to position themselves as a rallying point?

“Should I start serving, Li-brother?”

“Wait.”

Li Xinhan looked downstairs for a moment, then turned. “He’s here. Should we just call them up?”

Tian Zhiwen blinked and looked down as well.

What kind of figure was important enough for the ink-robed young man to come and wait specifically? Both Li and Zhao were in attendance — was this the Sun or Qian family? But no one had mentioned sending invitations their way.

When he saw who had just entered the Dashun Pavilion’s front door, his expression turned to confusion.

The main hall below—

A lean young man entered with an easy smile. Head shaved close to the skin. Body wrapped in loose white cloth that showed half a powerfully refined torso. One hand holding a bright iron staff across his back, the other gripping a heavy iron chain.

“Everyone’s here already — and Young Master Zhao too. This humble monk arrives late. My apologies.”

“You’re a practitioner playing at being a monk. Grow up.” Zhao Kangyun smiled with open contempt and folded his fan. “The Jingang School has had a Buddhist shrine for what, fifty or sixty years? You started building it conveniently just before that scripture-loving prefect took office. Before that, you probably couldn’t tell one end of a prayer bead from the other.”

“Young Master Zhao makes a fair point.” The round-headed young man showed no irritation, only a smile. “Diligence compensates for modest talent. Sutras and prayer beads — read enough of them, work them long enough, and eventually they come naturally.”

Laughter broke through the room.

It died down quickly when Yuangang’s gaze passed over the crowd.

The Jingang School had been showing faint signs of resurgence. Relying on that half-volume Condensate Realm body-refinement text, the abbot had made dramatic advances over decades — said to now have the capacity to exchange blows with Condensate Realm practitioners. And after the Bodhi tree’s death, the school had somehow developed signs of the old rapid-body-forging capability again. Even more fearsome than before.

A hall of practitioners refined to Jade Liquid Perfection equivalency, and a hall of practitioners approaching Condensate Realm equivalency — those were two entirely different concepts. If the general speculation was right, Qingfeng Mountain’s empty spot among the four great families and five sects would eventually be filled by the Jingang School.

“Hmph.”

The thought seemed to occur to Zhao Kangyun simultaneously. The cold smile came and went, and he let the subject drop.

“This humble monk wasn’t deliberately late — I’ve been traveling through counties transmitting teaching, building connections. Seven or eight counties in recent days before finally making it back to Qingzhou.”

Yuangang looked carefully around the room as if searching for something. Not finding it, he smiled again and gave the chain in his hand a small tug. “Once everyone’s well fed, this humble monk will put on a little show — the Buddhist Ape Subdues the Demon — to add to the evening’s entertainment.”

The chain rattled.

A large, heavyset figure was pulled into the Dashun Pavilion.

Massive as a small hill. Blue short jacket. A great stomach prominently on display.

The face above it was buried in a full beard, the skin painted with ink in demon patterns, pig ears with hair attached hung on each side of the head, a raw pig snout mask fitted over the nose and mouth.

Deeply ridiculous.

The eyes were unfocused, dim — as if the soul had been taken elsewhere. Even as laughter broke out again around him, the big man only stared blankly at the floor.

This time even Zhao Kangyun was amused. “Where did you find such perfect material — the resemblance to an actual pig demon is genuinely impressive.”

“He’s an old acquaintance. He loves playing the pig.”

Yuangang grinned. “Isn’t that right?”

The big man seemed not to hear. Only when the cropped-hair young man gave a sharp jerk on the chain did he raise his head, voice rough and dry: “Yes—”

“Idiot.” Tian Zhiwen muttered under his breath, frowning.

If they were acquaintances and there was bad blood, a fight to a clean end was cleaner. Dragging someone out to be publicly humiliated like this—

He felt cold air at his back before finishing the thought.

The room’s atmosphere had shifted.

Li Xinhan had gone stiff. Li Muqing was biting her lip.

The ink-robed young man quietly set down his teacup, rose, and walked out of the private room toward the stairs.

In the noise and laughter below, a figure that didn’t fit drew attention quickly.

Zhao Kangyun looked up. His expression cooled. He’d chosen to sit downstairs with everyone else, giving ground, and there was still someone above him? What exactly was Tian Zhiwen’s arrangement here?

He looked more carefully at the young man in dark scholarly robes.

Something briefly uncertain crossed his face. A thin thread of something almost familiar.

Shen Yi stopped in front of the cropped-hair young man.

He looked at the big man behind him in silence — but his eyes carried a question for everyone in the room.

His voice was flat. “Is it funny?”

At the familiar sound, the big man raised his head instinctively. When his eyes found the face in front of him, his whole body shook. He took two involuntary steps back and threw one broad arm up to cover his own face.

He’d once talked up Qingzhou to this person. Talked up his own accomplishments. His life held few things worth telling — a handful of righteous deeds was the whole of it.

He was a butcher who didn’t back down from anything, not a pig demon on a chain.

And Shen Yi had just arrived in Qingzhou. He shouldn’t be making enemies over a fool dressed as a pig.

“…”

Yuangang blinked. The person had come down from the second floor, and Tian Zhiwen wasn’t stupid, which meant — at minimum, he was at Zhao Kangyun’s level. Or higher.

He smiled easily. “If it displeases you, we skip the performance. A pity for everyone’s entertainment, though.”

Several expressions in the room shifted at that. Zhao Kangyun slowly reopened his fan. He could read what Yuangang was doing — positioning himself between two sides, stirring.

The problem was that he’d been laughing too, and he had a reasonable guess now about who this was.

He began to stand. Started to say something.

Then an unhurried voice cut across him.

“Did I ask you that?”

The words came with Shen Yi’s hand rising, almost idly.

In nearly the same instant, Yuangang had dropped the chain, taken the bright iron staff in both hands, skin flooding with light as he channeled everything he had — bringing the staff horizontal in a block.

Beneath the youthful face was someone older than almost anyone in the room, older even than Zhang Tuhu by some years.

Early Jade Liquid Realm cultivation. A physical body equivalent to late Jade Liquid.

“You brought this on yourself, benefactor. This humble monk apologizes in advance!”

He gripped the staff with savage force, face twisted — and in the next moment, a clean-knuckled palm came down on his two-handed grip.

The hundred-tempered iron staff snapped.

The same hand continued, landing flat against Yuangang’s chest.

Years of body-refinement had built a physique that should have been impenetrable.

It caved inward in the space of a breath.

Boom.

(End of Chapter)