No Fighting Allowed in the Inn

The night was dark and silent, the wilderness hushed.

A crisp, melodious bell sound pierced through the courtyard gate, echoing inside and outside the inn.

Rooms that had already extinguished their lamps all lit up again.

"Lan Ling of the Thousand Miles Tower pays her respects," a woman's voice, soft and sinuous as if boneless, rang out. "Surely Manager Lu won't shut me out? This humble one would be heartbroken."

Lu Jianwei: "…"

That was quite the accusation.

"Xiao Ke, open the gate."

Xiao Ke, ever dutiful, unlatched the courtyard gate.

In the stillness of the night, the gate swung open as if moved by unseen hands. The lantern beneath the eaves cast a faint glow, illuminating the face of the visitor.

Her beauty was enchanting—her eyes glimmered with allure, her lips as red as blooming crabapple blossoms, her skin fair as snow.

She wore a low-cut bodice, her voluptuous figure draped in sheer crimson gauze that revealed generous glimpses of her snowy skin. Bells adorned her wrists, tinkling with every swaying step. Her feet were clad in delicate woven sandals, their colorful vines intricately patterned, with more bells chiming at her ankles. Beneath the translucent skirt, her long, slender calves peeked through.

Lu Jianwei stood on the third floor, admiration flickering in her eyes.

Who wouldn’t appreciate a bold, fiery beauty?

"To think such an expert hides in such a remote inn," Lan Ling cooed, her delicate brows knitting together as she looked up at Lu Jianwei, her eyes brimming with pitiable grievance. "Manager Lu, you’ve deceived me so cruelly. Had I known, my Thousand Miles Tower would never have crossed you."

Lu Jianwei smiled faintly. "With sincerity, anything can be discussed."

With a light tap of her toes, a cascade of bell chimes followed.

Lan Ling fluttered gracefully up to the third floor, stopping just beyond the railing, her gaze locking with Lu Jianwei’s.

They stood unbearably close.

Lan Ling parted her red lips, a seductive gleam lingering at the corners of her eyes, and exhaled a breath of fragrant warmth.

"What kind of sincerity does Manager Lu desire?"

Lu Jianwei remained unmoved. "This is a business. All I ask is peace within my establishment. Your Thousand Miles Tower sent men to attack at night, violating my rules. Is it unreasonable to demand compensation?"

"Not unreasonable, but far too costly." Lan Ling pouted, shooting her a coquettish glare. "Manager Lu, with such refined elegance, how could you debase yourself with such vulgar matters?"

Lu Jianwei, ever unromantic, replied, "One must survive. Without money, how can one live? If Miss Lan disdains such things, why fuss over them?"

"Ah, I can’t win against you," Lan Ling huffed in mock frustration. "Then may I at least stay the night?"

Lu Jianwei: "Pay up."

"Fine, fine, I’ll pay!" Lan Ling vaulted over the railing and called down sulkily, "I’ll take the superior room next to Manager Lu’s. Five taels a night, correct?"

Only then did the others notice the figure standing in the courtyard.

A man clad in white, tall and slender, with delicate features, held a wooden case in his hands.

Likely Lan Ling’s attendant.

Lu Jianwei raised a brow. "Hold on."

Lan Ling brightened. "Has Manager Lu changed her mind?"

"The matter of Thousand Miles Tower’s nighttime assault remains unresolved. For now, this inn does not welcome guests from your faction. My apologies, Miss Lan."

In other words: until you make amends, you’re still blacklisted.

Lan Ling blinked her bewitching eyes, radiating sorrow.

"Manager Lu, you break my heart. Very well, it was indeed my Tower’s rudeness first. Ping Wu, present the eighty thousand taels—and beg Manager Lu to spare those poor souls."

The extra three thousand was an apology.

Ping Wu handed the case to Uncle Zhang.

After counting the banknotes, Uncle Zhang nodded to Lu Jianwei.

"Xue Guanhe, Yue Shu, fetch seventy antidotes from the warehouse," Lu Jianwei instructed before turning back to Lan Ling. "Satisfied?"

She promptly purchased seventy doses from the system, depositing them in the underground storeroom.

The two hurried off.

Lan Ling giggled. "I’d be even more satisfied if Manager Lu waived my lodging fee."

"That would break the rules," Lu Jianwei said. "The night is late. Rest well, Miss Lan."

She turned and retreated to her room.

The door shut firmly. Lan Ling stared at it for a long moment before stepping into the adjacent superior chamber.

Only a wall separated them.

Xue Guanhe and Yue Shu retrieved the antidotes and handed them to Ping Wu, who carried the bundle to the gate, where it was swiftly received.

He then turned and strode toward the hall.

"Will the young master also be staying?" Xue Guanhe asked.

Ping Wu nodded, his voice clear and pleasant. "I’ll share with Lan’er. Here are five taels."

Xue Guanhe’s face lit up with scandalized delight—he nearly forgot the deposit.

Yue Shu reminded him, "Five taels deposit."

Ping Wu paused, then produced another five taels before ascending the stairs.

"Quite good-looking," Yue Shu muttered, jotting it down in the ledger.

Xue Guanhe: "Who?"

"Both of them."

Xue Guanhe pondered. "Still, Manager Lu is more striking. And Ping Wu can’t compare to Hero Yan or Young Master Jin in looks."

"About the same, no?" Yue Shu shook his head. "Hero Yan and Young Master Jin are tall and dashing, Ping Wu is refined and elegant—different styles."

Xue Guanhe: "For elegance, Young Master Wen still reigns supreme."

"True," Yue Shu agreed wholeheartedly. "When I first met Young Master Wen, I only thought him decent-looking, plus his carriage and wheelchair caught my eye. But the longer we interacted, the more handsome he seemed. Strange."

Xue Guanhe nodded. "That’s called ‘growing on you.’ Some people just become more appealing over time."

"Manager Lu is both stunning *and* grows on you!"

"Exactly!"

Lu Jianwei tuned out their flattery and began meditating.

Lan Ling’s arrival disrupted her plans but also served as a timely reminder.

The special ink should wait until tomorrow to give to Feng Yan. Barely an hour had passed since his request—handing it over now would make the inn seem too unnatural.

A night’s delay was perfect. Tomorrow, Feng Yan and his two companions could work all day, then scatter the five hundred sheets under cover of darkness.

She refused to believe the Mystic Mirror Bureau couldn’t seize a single one. If they failed, they were too incompetent to continue the investigation.

Her nameless cultivation method cycled faster, yet the progress bar inched forward at a snail’s pace.

Advancing from the third to the fourth level required a hundred thousand experience points—she’d only amassed three thousand so far. The road ahead was interminable.

Higher levels meant greater self-preservation, which meant more money to buy the dimensional-crossing artifact.

The string of zeros attached to that item depressed her every time she glimpsed it.

Who knew how many years it’d take to save up?

Becoming a peerless master might be easier than affording that thing.

Footsteps sounded outside her door. Ping Wu passed by, heading toward the eastern chamber.

Lu Jianwei could clearly hear the opening and closing of the neighboring room.

She’d priced the superior rooms too cheaply. Having grown accustomed to the third floor’s solitude, the intrusion of two others left her uneasy, as if her territory had been violated.

"I’m exhausted," Lan Ling’s languid voice carried through, dripping with seduction.

Ping Wu: "Let me massage your shoulders."

"Mmm."

The shoulder rub was silent, easing Lu Jianwei’s tension.

She could block the sounds, but Lan Ling represented the Thousand Miles Tower—she needed to stay alert, ready to counter any schemes.

"Ah~" A moan, velvet-soft and intoxicating, pierced the air. "Don’t misbehave. There are people in the inn."

Ping Wu chuckled. "What’s there to fear? Don’t you like it?"

"Hehe, I do."

Lu Jianwei’s skin crawled.

Who’d have guessed this clean-cut, mild-mannered youth was a closet flirt?

Appearances truly were deceiving.

Here is the English translation of the provided Chinese novel content, tailored for English-speaking readers while preserving the original style and meaning:

---

**Chapter Excerpt**

Next came some rather *indescribable* sounds, prompting Lu Jianwei to raise an eyebrow involuntarily.

*So impatient, are they?*

Even if they weren’t bound by conventional propriety, did they really have to be so… *unrestrained*?

She listened with amused interest, treating it like an R-rated audio drama—perhaps even a learning opportunity.

Back in the modern era, she’d had no shortage of suitors. Most appeared refined on the surface, but upon closer acquaintance, they either turned out to be unbearably pretentious or painfully dull, testing her patience to its limits.

As a result, she remained—

*A lifelong singleton.*

She’d seen plenty of *educational films*, but her practical experience was nonexistent. This impromptu *duet performance* from the Thousand Miles Pavilion was, unexpectedly, quite the bonus.

Late at night, one ought to enjoy something… *special*.

While she was thoroughly entertained, the rest of the inn’s occupants were suffering.

The Eight Directions Inn’s wooden structure offered little soundproofing, and Lan Ling and Ping Wu made no effort to muffle themselves, their voices carrying through the entire building.

Unlike Lu Jianwei, who could mentally block it out at will, the others had no choice but to cover their ears.

But Lan Ling was a sixth-level martial artist, her voice infused with internal energy, making it piercingly penetrating. Mere ear-covering was useless.

In the servants’ quarters, Uncle Zhang clamped his hands tightly over Yue Shu’s ears, even channeling his own internal energy to help.

But his cultivation was only at the fourth level—Lan Ling was a sixth-level master.

Xue Guanhe, youthful and full of vigor, nearly had a nosebleed before forcing it back with a hasty circulation of the *Floating Return Heart Sutra*.

Up on the second floor, the five guests closest to the source had it even worse.

Tao Yang’s face burned scarlet, his focus shattered, his cultivation nearly spiraling into deviation. Wei Liu, an unmarried maiden, had already buried herself under her quilt in mortification. Feng Yan and his companions, though more worldly from their investigative work, were still too distracted to meditate.

In the shared dormitory, Jin Poxiao opened his mouth to curse under his breath—only for a sudden, soothing silence to envelop him, as if he’d been spiritually cleansed.

Realizing what had happened, he laughed heartily. “Many thanks, Brother Wen, for the barrier array.”

“No need for thanks.”

A'Nai grumbled, “Young Master already struggles to rest well. That *witch* with her bells and moans is downright intolerable.”

Jin Poxiao teased, “Careful—she’s the third-ranked expert under the Thousand Miles Pavilion’s master. Wouldn’t want her to hear you.”

Wen Zhuzhi added quietly, “Brother Yan is in secluded training. I wonder if he’s affected.”

Typically, martial artists chose quiet places for meditation to avoid disruptions that could lead to qi deviation.

After defeating the Black Brothers, Yan Feicang had nowhere else to go and opted to cultivate inside the inn, trusting it to safeguard him.

Who could’ve predicted Lan Ling’s… *performances*, leaving no polite way to intervene?

“Right!” Jin Poxiao exclaimed. “I’ll go check on him!”

He rushed out, one foot on the stairs—

When Lu Jianwei’s voice drifted from her room, serene and ethereal, washing away all earthly desires.

*“When the mind is ever tranquil, heaven and earth return to their roots… Purify the heart, and the spirit clears naturally; thus, the six desires fade, the three poisons vanish… Observe emptiness as emptiness, until emptiness itself is void…”*

Everyone: *“…*”

Lan Ling and Ping Wu: *“…*”

Lu Jianwei had initially been engrossed in her eavesdropping until Wen Zhuzhi mentioned Yan Feicang. Remembering her strongest guard, she abandoned her *adult entertainment* and recited a Daoist mantra for mental clarity.

Truthfully, she’d quickly noticed something *off* about the couple’s sounds—half-genuine, half-performative.

No matter how uninhibited Lan Ling and Ping Wu were, they wouldn’t *actually* put on a show for the entire inn.

They were *acting*.

Once she confirmed it was an act, Lu Jianwei had no qualms about chanting the mantra, unconcerned about ruining their *moment*.

Sure enough, the noise ceased.

Lan Ling sighed dramatically. “Manager Lu, you’re such a killjoy.”

Lu Jianwei smiled. “The inn has young staff. Do exercise some restraint.”

“This place has too many rules,” Lan Ling pouted, her voice a sultry whine. “Hardly seems like a proper business.”

“It’s late. Rest well.”

Ignoring the jab, Lu Jianwei resumed her meditation.

In the dormitory, Jin Poxiao roared with laughter. “Manager Lu is truly one of a kind!”

A'Nai giggled. “She’s brilliant. Who *wouldn’t* lose steam after a serenity chant?”

“None of that vulgar talk from a youngster.”

“I’m not *that* young—I’m seventeen!”

Jin Poxiao teased, “Oh? Got your eye on some maiden, then?”

“N-No!” A'Nai spluttered, face reddening. “*You’re* the older one—why aren’t *you* married yet?”

Jin Poxiao: *“…*”

The conversation died there.

The inn settled into silence, lanterns extinguishing one by one—everyone having forgotten the Black Brothers still dangling from the eaves.

Dosed with muscle-relaxant powder, the duo hung limp and powerless. If not for their robust physiques and inner strength, they’d have passed out long ago.

Frankly, they *wished* they could.

Humiliated beyond measure, they had no desire to face their miserable reality.

---

**The Next Morning**

At breakfast, Lan Ling sashayed downstairs, her slender waist swaying, a coy smile on her lips.

“Manager Lu, why wasn’t I invited to dine?”

Her makeup was flawless, her brows delicately arched—every inch the seductress from folktales.

Ping Wu followed silently, his demeanor calm and detached, as if last night’s *enthusiasms* hadn’t come from him.

Yue Shu, who’d once praised Ping Wu’s refinement, flushed scarlet and nearly hid his face in his bowl.

*Never judge by appearances!*

The jingling of bells approached, accompanied by a cloying floral perfume—the last decadent breath of wilting blossoms.

Lu Jianwei replied, “Inn rules: shared meals require prior notice. Otherwise, guests must wait until we finish before ordering.”

“Shouldn’t an inn cater to its guests’ every whim?” Lan Ling twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her tone petulant. “First, you interrupted us last night. Now, you deny me a meal. Manager Lu, you *wound* me.”

Everyone: *“…*”

*You’re seriously bringing that up?!*

Lu Jianwei blinked, then said earnestly, “Thank you for last night’s *performance*, Miss Lan and Mr. Ping. Truly… *impressive* work.”

Lan Ling: *“…*”

After a long stare, she burst into laughter, eyes glinting like a fox’s. “Manager Lu, you’re the most fascinating person I’ve met. I think I’m starting to like you.”

“You flatter me,” Lu Jianwei demurred. “I’m just an ordinary innkeeper—hardly worthy of your affection.”

“Hmph.” Unfazed, Lan Ling fluttered closer, her shoulder brushing Lu Jianwei’s. “I *insist* on joining you.”

Lu Jianwei: *“…*”

Lan Ling wasn’t attacking, so the inn’s defensive artifacts didn’t activate. Its offensive tools, capped at fifth-level, couldn’t touch her anyway.

*Fine. Whatever her game is, she’ll slip up eventually.*

Setting aside motives, being close to a beauty wasn’t unpleasant.

Lan Ling was stunning—her skin smooth as jade, her voice honeyed and teasing. It was impossible to shoo her away without seeming rude.

Lu Jianwei relented. “Fine. But you’ll pay.”

“You agree?” Lan Ling beamed. “Ping Wu, the money.”

Ping Wu paid at the counter, then stood aside like a shadow.

A fourth-level martial artist, young and poised—he had the makings of a rising star. Yet here he was, trailing after Lan Ling like a servant. Or perhaps, a *bedwarmer*.

---

**End of Excerpt**

A fourth-rank martial artist could be considered a mid-tier expert in the jianghu—why would they willingly lower themselves to serve under someone else?

The question flashed through Lu Jianwei’s mind, prompting her to pay closer attention to Ping Wu. Sometimes, those who seemed unremarkable turned out to be hidden key players. A fourth rank might not qualify as a major figure, but caution never hurt.

The meal passed awkwardly.

As usual, Xue Guanhe and Yue Shu cleared the table and headed to the kitchen, where they happened to find A'Nai preparing breakfast.

"A'Nai-ge, you put so much care into making meals for Young Master Wen every day. What would happen if, one day, you couldn’t cook for him?" Yue Shu asked curiously.

A'Nai replied firmly, "I’ll always be by the young master’s side!"

"I mean hypothetically."

"Well, as long as I’m here, I’ll take good care of him. If I’m not, someone else will."

Yue Shu blinked. "Right… Young Master Wen is rich, after all." What kind of chef couldn’t he hire?

"Being rich doesn’t change anything," A'Nai muttered, his voice tinged with dejection. "The young master has spent so much money searching for an antidote, yet he hasn’t found even a single useful medicine."

Yue Shu thought of Wen Zhuzhi’s legs and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, his resolve growing stronger.

"Where did you hear about the treasure containing miraculous medicine?" he asked.

"Just rumors in the jianghu."

Yue Shu was surprised. "And you believed them? No one’s actually seen the treasure, and the map hasn’t been found either."

"We had to believe," A'Nai sighed. "Even if there’s just a sliver of hope, we had to come. To be honest, the young master and I have been tricked before—scammers claimed to have antidotes for rare poisons just to swindle us out of money."

"And then?"

"What do you mean ‘and then’? We couldn’t fight back, so we just had to let it go."

Yue Shu took a deep breath. "A'Nai-ge, could you ask Young Master Wen for me later? I’d like to learn esoteric arts from him."

A'Nai’s eyes flickered with surprise.

"You really want to learn?"

Yue Shu nodded firmly. "Yes! And I want to study mechanical traps too!"

"The young master isn’t in good health. Teaching these things would take a lot of energy. I can’t let him exhaust himself for nothing," A'Nai said seriously.

"I understand."

A'Nai studied his earnest expression. "Fine. After the young master finishes breakfast, I’ll call you over."

"Thank you, A'Nai-ge!"

---

Upstairs on the second floor, Feng Yan was growing restless.

He’d wanted to ask during breakfast, but with so many outsiders at the table, he couldn’t speak openly. Manager Lu hadn’t given him any signals either, leaving him unsure whether the special ink would work.

Fortunately, Lu Jianwei didn’t keep him waiting long.

"The special ink, brushes, paper, and inkstones are all in the west guest room on the third floor. The three of you can go write the coded messages there and release them after dark."

Feng Yan’s face lit up. "Thank you, Manager Lu!"

Yet his wariness deepened. No strangers had entered the Eight Directions Inn last night—so where had this ink come from? It was a proprietary formula of the Mystic Mirror Bureau. How had the inn obtained it?

Suppressing his doubts, he focused on the task at hand. With all three of them working together, writing five hundred identical coded messages in a day was manageable.

---

After concluding the deal, Lu Jianwei strolled toward the stairs. As she passed Wei Liu’s room, the door suddenly opened, revealing a delicate face.

"Lu-jie, I messed up my eyebrows again. Could you help me fix them?"

Lu Jianwei chuckled and stepped inside.

Compared to the sweaty, stuffy rooms of Feng Yan and the others, Wei Liu’s quarters were tidy and carried a faint floral fragrance.

Lu Jianwei lifted her chin and leaned in slightly.

"I didn’t mention it last time, but your natural brow shape is lovely. You don’t need to redraw them."

"Really?" Wei Liu’s lips curved. "No one’s ever told me that before."

"Don’t you have martial sisters?"

"They’re all different. Some are busy training, others are out on assignments. We don’t really chat much."

Lu Jianwei merely dusted the tail of her brow before letting go, her voice warm. "Is this trip an assignment for you?"

"Mm. Shifu sent me and Tao-shixiong to find someone."

"You found them—why haven’t you gone back?"

Wei Liu suddenly fell silent, her fingers tightening around Lu Jianwei’s sleeve.

Outside, footsteps sounded as Feng Yan and the others returned to their rooms after retrieving their supplies.

Downstairs, an argument broke out—Xue Guanhe and A'Nai were fiercely debating whether savory or sweet soups were better.

Up on the third floor, Lan Ling and Ping Wu’s flirtatious banter never ceased, as though they had nothing better to do.

Lu Jianwei didn’t press her, her gaze steady and patient.

She was like a kind elder, exuding both gentle warmth and unshakable strength—someone who could offer solace and security in equal measure.

Wei Liu finally looked up, mustering her courage.

"Lu-jie… do you trust me?"

Lu Jianwei replied, "Why wouldn’t I?"

"What if I told you…" Her voice caught, throat dry. "What if I told you Leisurely Cloud Manor is a den of thieves? Would you believe me?"

Her almond-shaped eyes shimmered with hope and vulnerability.

Lu Jianwei repeated, "Why wouldn’t I?"

"You really believe me?" A tear slipped down Wei Liu’s cheek. "You really do?"

Her grip on Lu Jianwei’s sleeve trembled.

Lu Jianwei’s tone remained calm. "I’ve never met anyone from Leisurely Cloud Manor, nor have I seen its master. But I’ve spent time with you—so I choose to trust you."

No flowery words, just simple logic.

Yet it was enough to ease Wei Liu’s heart.

"It’s not just thieves…" Another tear fell, her eyes brimming with anguish. "It’s filthy. That place is so filthy."

"What kind of filth?"

Wei Liu clung to her sleeve like a drowning woman clutching driftwood, her gaze burning with hatred.

"He raised me and my martial sisters just to… to satisfy his beastly desires! And it wasn’t just him—there were others. But they altered their appearances, so I couldn’t recognize them."

Lu Jianwei’s chest tightened, fury roaring through her veins.

If Wei Liu was telling the truth, then Leisurely Cloud Manor deserved nothing less than annihilation!

Suppressing her rage, she asked evenly, "Xiao Liu, while you were there, did you ever see someone with a mole on the white of their right eye?"

Such a distinctive feature would be hard to miss.

Wei Liu frowned in confusion but answered, "Yes. Why?"

Lu Jianwei’s heart turned to ice.

Of course. Leisurely Cloud Manor was rotten to the core—massacring entire families, exploiting innocent girls—they belonged in the deepest pits of hell!

Her expression softened further. "Who was he?"

"The old servant who cleaned the manor master’s study. He rarely showed himself. How do you know him, Lu-jie?"

Before she could respond, a voice rang out from the courtyard—deep, righteous, and unmistakably heroic.

"Song Xian of Leisurely Cloud Manor requests an audience with Manager Lu."

Lu Jianwei’s eyes turned glacial.

Perfect timing.