“You’ve worked hard. Everyone, you are dismissed. Go and rest. Shunxi, we’ll have to trouble you to personally make the trip for the upcoming grain transaction.”
With a flick of Qin Wumian’s finger, countless strands of fine, formless inner Qi surged forth, landing precisely on the right shoulders of Li Shunxi and the others. The Qi seeped into them like warm streams slipping beneath their robes, spreading through their bodies with steady, fluid ease.
Li Shunxi trembled as a wave of warmth washed over him. Comfort bloomed across his limbs, easing hidden aches as if invisible hands were mending him from within. He knew instantly—this was the League Master personally infusing his cultivation to temper their bodies and soothe their internal wounds. He hastily cupped his fists in gratitude, bowed deeply toward Qin Wumian, and followed the others out of the hall.
Such nourishment consumed an immense amount of effort. Even this brief infusion exhausted nearly half a day’s worth of Qin Wumian’s painstaking cultivation. Yet within the Martial League, this was nothing unusual. Many had benefitted from the same invisible kindness.
When the last of the men had departed, Qin Wumian lifted the bamboo cylinder and gently brushed a finger across the wax seal. The red seal dissolved soundlessly into fine powder, scattering over the floor like drifting sand.
He tilted the cylinder and withdrew a thick, pale-yellow sheet of paper. Slowly, he unfurled it.
His expression remained composed as his eyes traced the words. But as he read further, a faint gleam lit his gaze, and the hint of a smile touched his lips.
PA.
In a single motion, the paper scroll crumpled in his hand, crushed into a ball and reduced to yellow dust by his inner force. The powder slipped through his fingers, carried by a passing breeze over the balcony and scattering across the pale-green pool below.
“Men.” Qin Wumian’s voice rang out, clear and crisp.
“Greetings, League Master!” A green-clad figure appeared instantly in the courtyard beneath the balcony, his face hidden behind a matching mask. He knelt on one knee, head bowed.
“Invite Master Zhang Wuya here for a chat,” Qin Wumian said with a light smile.
“Yes, sir.”
The masked man rose, tapped the ground lightly with both feet, and shot into the air. His silhouette vanished in an instant, leaving only a ripple of displaced air where he had stood.
…………
Zhang Wuya sat motionless in Deer Hall, his expression carved from stone. Yet beneath his stillness, his thoughts surged wildly. The faint tremor of his pupils behind lowered lids and the whitened knuckles gripping his knees betrayed the excitement roiling within him.
The Martial League had been forged as a united front against the Noble Families and the demons and ghosts of the Blood bloc—an alliance born from Divine Prime experts weary of oppression, and Noblemen of the Leaf bloc who still harbored kindness toward mortals. In this structure, Divine Primes were considered equals to the benevolent Noblemen of the Leaf bloc, not subordinates.
But equality in name was not equality in reality. The vast gulf in strength between them made life within the League suffocating. Whether on missions or routine errands, Divine Primes like Zhang Wuya were forced to rely on Noblemen.
Even though they were all Divine Prime experts, they were martial practitioners who had not reached the Bind realm. To the League, they were no different from frail support staff. Over time, they were pushed into roles of logistics, minor errands, and auxiliary intelligence, until their identity became synonymous with the weak and the dispensable.
What was worse was how many—including fellow Divine Primes—had begun to accept this humiliating reality. The belief was slowly taking root: mortals existed only to support, to carry burdens, to gather intelligence. No matter how hard they trained, they would never rival the Noblemen.
Zhang Wuya’s fingers tightened around the handwritten edict as these thoughts roiled within him.
‘Had it not been for the League Master’s hopeful news… with time, our reputation in the League would only rot further. Eventually, even Divine Primes would see themselves as fit only for the work of the old, the weak, and the useless. And once all their hopes were pinned solely on seizing Divine Weapons and Devil Blades, how would they differ from the Noblemen of the Blood bloc?’
‘Martial arts must carve a path of hope for mortals… it must.’
He held the League Master's handwritten edict as though it were a priceless treasure, the weight of possibility resting in his trembling hands.
“Old Zhang, have you arranged your men? And the route? The manuals must be original copies—that’s the League Master’s instruction.” A lanky middle-aged man strode into Deer Hall, his steps confident and unhurried. Several young men followed behind him, each dressed in pale-green half-body leather armor. White bands wrapped around their foreheads, and a fingernail-sized piece of green jade was fixed between their brows, gleaming faintly under the hall’s light.
They were the elite escorts personally appointed by League Master Qin Wumian for the upcoming transaction. The man leading them was Guan Nian, commander of the Green Squad.
“It’s done! Long been done! This trip involves the valley’s grain supply—I wouldn’t dare be careless!” Zhang Wuya rose to his feet, his voice booming through the hall.
At eighty-nine, he had spent the past decade in the League after ascending to Divine Prime. He led the other Divine Prime experts and managed nearly all logistical operations. Despite his advanced age, he remained one of the League’s strongest Divine Prime experts.
Guan Nian waved a hand lightly. “Alright, alright. Why don’t you stay home this time, Old Sir? With me on this trip, nothing will go wrong.” He patted his chest in reassurance.
‘It makes no difference even if you don’t go,’ he muttered inwardly.
Though he respected these elderly Divine Prime practitioners for their steadfast dedication to logistics, he had little patience for their stubborn insistence on proving themselves the equals of Noblemen through martial arts.
‘Why refuse to accept reality? If you’re weaker, then focus on support roles. Isn’t that how teamwork works? Let us fight—we’re trained for it. You transport the rations. What’s so wrong about that?’ Those had once been his very words at a public assembly.
But these old warriors never took it well. Their strength had clearly fallen behind, yet they refused to acknowledge it. Day after day, they boasted about promising disciples and paraded names they claimed were the true champions of the martial world.
The men listed as “top candidates” were supposedly the finest martial experts among mortals. Yet Guan Nian knew the truth. He had sent someone to test them—quietly, discreetly. None of them could last even a few exchanges against his weakest subordinate, who had fought them with one hand.
That subordinate was only a Single-Vein Bind realm cultivator relying on secret arts, but the outcome had never been in doubt.
Every time Guan Nian saw Zhang Wuya’s hopeful expression as he followed the progress of these so-called rising stars, he simply couldn’t bring himself to shatter the old man’s illusions. Humans, after all, needed dreams—some glitter of hope to keep them moving forward.
“Old Sir… don’t tell me you’ve found another star of hope this time? You had the exact same look when you discovered Zhang Songyu.” Guan Nian sighed.
“Cut the crap. Zhang Songyu has gone into solitary training. He must’ve gained some inspiration. Once he emerges, there’s a high chance he’ll make great progress—he might even break through the mortal limits!” Zhang Wuya huffed, blowing at his beard as he glared.
Guan Nian merely shrugged. He didn’t have the heart to mention that Zhang Songyu was in solitary not for enlightenment, but to recover from the injuries he sustained losing to Guan Nian’s subordinate. If the old man learned that, he would probably faint—or worse, drag Guan Nian straight to the League Master to lodge a complaint.
And Guan Nian had no intention of enduring a long, stubborn debate with him.
“Fine, fine, fine. Whatever you say. Now, who’s handling the transaction with us this time? Where’s the League Master’s handwritten edict? It’s rare for both Zhong Yunxiu and me to be assigned to the same mission.”
“This time… this time…” Zhang Wuya’s eyes brightened at the mere mention of it. “The one trading with us is the Number One Expert of all Northern Lands—the true star of hope among martial practitioners! Crimson Whale Sect Master—Lu Sheng!”
“Lu Sheng? Crimson Whale Sect Master? Isn’t the Crimson Whale Sect Master that old guy surnamed Hong? The one from Crimson Sun Sect? I remember borrowing a map from him once,” Guan Nian asked, puzzled.
“Lu Sheng is the new Crimson Sun Sect Master. A prodigy—he pushed the Ultimate Crimson Mantra to its limits. I’ve heard he’s trained in hard-body skills, saber techniques…”
“Fine, fine, fine. Don’t talk to me about martial arts—I’m not interested. Back to business,” Guan Nian cut in abruptly, waving a hand. Secret arts fueled by bloodline power were the only things that mattered to him. As for martial arts—if they couldn’t even withstand the lightest strike from a secret art, what was the point?
Zhang Wuya’s face flushed a deep red at the interruption, but he swallowed the irritation.
“I just want to remind Captain Guan… Sect Master Lu is truly extraordinary. Perhaps he can be persuaded to join—”
“Old Zhang, why don’t you just call yourself ‘this old man’ like all the others? You’re already up there in years. And anyway, that Sect Master Lu is at most a Divine Prime. What difference does it make if he joins us or not?”
Guan Nian knew these Divine Prime elders still clung stubbornly to the belief that martial arts might one day stand equal to Anomalies and Noblemen. But the truth had been proven over and over. Their dream was nothing more than a comforting illusion.
“Alright, enough wasting time. Pack up—we should get moving.” Guan Nian gestured impatiently. “Show me the handwritten edict. We need to confirm the time and place.”
With a huff, Zhang Wuya tossed the scroll toward him.
Guan Nian caught it easily. As one of the league’s top experts—and a renowned assassin among Double-Veined Noblemen—he and Zhang Wuya shared an old friendship that allowed for blunt words. But like the rest of the league’s elite, he held no real expectations for the future of mortal martial artists.
It was simply the way of things. Time after time, whenever a so-called “martial prodigy” appeared, investigations always revealed the same truth: the individual possessed Nobleman lineage. After enough of these disappointments, the world stopped expecting anything from martial arts at all.
Qin Wumian had chosen Guan Nian and Zhong Yunxiu for this mission precisely because the two of them were the most tolerant toward mortals. With Zhang Wuya accompanying them, it would be far easier to build rapport with Lu Sheng—a pure mortal cultivator with no Nobleman bloodline to speak of.
Guan Nian unrolled the edict and skimmed the contents. He paid no attention to the line describing how Lu Sheng had defeated the Scarlet District’s Deputy District Mistress in a direct clash. He had seen such claims before—countless times. Reports painting some mortal as a rising star, only for investigations to later reveal exaggerated tales, misunderstandings, or outright fabrications.
And to make matters worse, the Scarlet District’s umbrella girl had only just crossed blades with the Zhen Family. That alone made the account even less reliable.
These cases were far too common.
…………
Night descended, and a full moon hung bright and round above the harbor. Along the quiet docks where the Crimson Whale rested, more than a dozen ox carriages stood lined in neat rows. Beneath heaps of worn clothing, large sacks of grain lay concealed—fifty catties per sack, one hundred sacks in total. Five thousand catties of grain, disguised and ready for transport.
Mounted on a black horse, Lu Sheng surveyed the scene. “Are we ready?” he asked without raising his voice.
Ning San jogged up beside him, lowering his tone. “We’re ready. Sect Master Chen Ying and Elder Duan are asking when we’ll set out. The ox carriages move slowly—if we delay any longer, we may only arrive after dawn.”
“Let’s go, then,” Lu Sheng replied, his expression calm.
If this journey allowed him to connect with the faction behind Li Shunxi, he might obtain greater quantities of powerful martial arts. He lacked advanced hard-body skills; everything in the sect had long ceased to benefit him. Only higher-tier techniques could continue to push the limits of his Yang Extreme Mode.
His gaze lingered on the long line of carriages. A faint glint passed through his eyes as his thoughts turned inward.
‘Hard-body skills are the vessel. Inner force is the water. Once inner Qi liquefies, only by strengthening and widening the vessel can one hold more, stronger Qi. I must prepare now—gather every high-grade hard-body skill I can. Otherwise, when the day comes that my body can no longer contain all the liquefied Qi, my cultivation will stall.’
“Preparations are complete!”
“Preparations are complete!”
“Preparations are complete!”
One voice after another echoed from beside the carriages. Lu Sheng raised his hand slowly, his movements measured.
“Move out!”
----
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