No Fighting Allowed in the Inn

Leisurely Cloud Manor and White Crane Manor had always maintained a close friendship. After the massacre of White Crane Manor, Song Xian was once overwhelmed with grief and devoted himself to arranging funeral affairs for his dear friend.

Such profound camaraderie quickly spread throughout the martial world, earning Leisurely Cloud Manor widespread praise and admiration.

If not for Eight Directions Inn, Leisurely Cloud Manor would have long located Yue Shu and secretly brought him back. The disastrous nighttime raid on the inn—where they were instead overpowered and exposed—would never have happened.

When it became known that Leisurely Cloud Manor had participated in the raid, their once-sterling reputation shattered overnight, provoking fierce backlash.

Thus, the infamous label of "hypocrite" was born for Song Xian.

He was undoubtedly anxious, but anxiety was futile. Many factions paid hefty ransoms to retrieve their men; those who couldn't afford it were left to toil in the fields. Only Black Wind Fort and Thousand Miles Tower remained silent.

The two major powers bided their time, waiting for an opportunity to reclaim their dignity. Song Xian hesitated because he knew that paying the ransom would forever cement his tarnished reputation.

He was waiting for Black Wind Fort and Thousand Miles Tower to make the first move.

Alas, what he waited for was Black Wind Fort’s crushing defeat and Thousand Miles Tower’s humiliating apology.

Left with no choice, he appeared at the inn.

Standing outside the courtyard gate, forced to utter the words "pay respects" to an unknown woman in front of everyone, Song Xian felt an unending surge of bitter resentment.

Yan Feicang had already gone into seclusion. No matter how formidable that woman surnamed Lu might be, she couldn’t withstand the combined assault of several masters.

Even if she could, what about Yue Shu?

The inn’s lodgers and staff waited in silence, while spies outside stirred restlessly, their green dots flickering across the map.

Lu Jianwei leaned against the railing, deliberately delaying her response to Song Xian.

She was busy tallying her account balance.

The wheelchair-bound magnate had contributed thirty thousand taels, and Thousand Miles Tower had brought eighty thousand the previous night—though seven thousand of that was for medicine, and the extra three thousand was an apology. Both sums went into Lu Jianwei’s private account, leaving seventy thousand.

Smaller incomes were temporarily negligible. The public account now totaled a hundred thousand taels.

A hundred thousand could upgrade the defensive mechanisms from level six to seven, but with little left afterward, it might not withstand frequent attacks from level-six experts.

Upgrading offensive mechanisms, however, was more than sufficient.

Her personal account, accumulated from selling medicine and receiving gifts, had also grown to over twenty thousand taels.

Though still far from affording a dimensional-crossing artifact, she was already quite satisfied.

Twenty thousand taels—if equated to one copper coin being worth one modern yuan—meant she had savings equivalent to twenty million. Moreover, the purchasing power of a single copper coin in the Qi Dynasty surpassed that of a modern yuan.

She had officially entered the ranks of the wealthy.

Lost in the joy of sudden riches, Lu Jianwei completely forgot about the visitor outside the gates.

Since she didn’t respond, no one else in the inn did either.

Song Xian waited outside for a long while, but the gates remained shut, and no reply came from within. His pride stung, yet he had no choice but to suppress his fury and speak again.

"Song Xian of Leisurely Cloud Manor, here to pay my respects."

Lu Jianwei’s euphoria was interrupted, souring her mood.

"Leisurely Cloud Manor took part in last night’s raid. This inn does not welcome you."

Song Xian: "..."

Last night, Lan Ling of Thousand Miles Tower had entered with her male companion and promptly procured seventy antidotes. How was it that now, he wasn’t even allowed inside?

"Manager Lu, you claim not to welcome guests, yet two disciples of Leisurely Cloud Manor are staying here. This humble one is quite puzzled," Lan Ling cooed, stepping out of her room and leaning against the railing, her gauzy sleeves fluttering in the breeze.

Lu Jianwei replied, "They checked in before the raid. As long as they’ve paid, there’s no reason for the inn to expel them."

"What if they collude with that old man Song to steal the treasure map?" Lan Ling twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her voice sweet yet sly. "This humble one also desires the treasure map, you know."

Everyone knew the truth—after the raid, every newcomer to the inn was there for the treasure map.

Most, however, maintained decorum and didn’t voice it outright. None were as brazen as Lan Ling, declaring it to the world.

Song Xian: ???

Old man?! Who was she calling old?!

Lu Jianwei chuckled lightly. "I’ve said it before—those who want the treasure map must rely on their own skills, but they must abide by the inn’s rules. Those who break them will be evicted."

"What rules might those be?" Lan Ling feigned ignorance.

Lu Jianwei: "The notice outside the hall makes it clear—no fighting within the inn."

"Fighting means…?"

"Any form of hostile action, including sparring."

Lan Ling’s eyes sparkled mischievously. "And the standard for 'hostile action'? Must physical harm be inflicted?"

Lu Jianwei met her gaze. "Both physical and psychological harm fall under the definition."

No word games would work on her.

Lan Ling covered her mouth with a tinkling laugh, her bracelets chiming melodically.

"This humble one will behave and not disrupt the inn’s rules. Manager Lu, don’t be so stern."

Their back-and-forth completely ignored the guest outside.

Song Xian took a deep breath, his chest burning with suppressed rage, his voice hoarse from fury.

"Manager Lu, why won’t you open the gate?"

Lu Jianwei arched an elegant brow. "Do you not understand human speech?"

"Exactly!" Lan Ling chimed in. "Coming to pay respects without even showing sincerity—why should Manager Lu open the gate? When this humble one arrived last night, I brought a lavish gift as apology."

Song Xian: "..."

He had brought money—but how could he hand it over if they wouldn’t let him in?

"Manager Lu, a few ignorant disciples offended you. I’ve already punished them. Won’t you show magnanimity and allow them to return to the righteous path?"

Lu Jianwei’s expression turned frosty. "Righteous path? The path they took was crooked from the start. What righteousness is there?"

"Manager Lu—"

"Let me ask you one question," Lu Jianwei cut him off. "Are you here to ransom your men or to seek the treasure map?"

Silence fell over the inn.

Everyone waited eagerly for Song Xian’s answer.

If he chose the former, he might leave his money and still be barred from entering. If he chose the latter, Leisurely Cloud Manor’s reputation would be ruined beyond repair.

Any faction could openly seek the treasure map—except Leisurely Cloud Manor.

What would Song Xian choose?

Upstairs in a guest room, Tao Yang clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on the courtyard gate. He already suspected the truth but clung to one last shred of hope.

Wei Liu’s eyes were cold, long having abandoned any faith in Song Xian’s integrity.

In the main hall, Yue Shu looked at Uncle Zhang, his eyes filled with disappointment.

His father had only ever had this one friend—yet the man was a complete hypocrite!

Both were relieved they hadn’t sought help from Leisurely Cloud Manor after their tragedy, sparing themselves further betrayal.

After a long pause, Song Xian’s voice came, low and measured.

"Nephew Yue Shu, Uncle Zhang, after Brother Yue’s passing, I searched tirelessly for you, hoping to offer shelter and avenge his death. The two disciples who arrived early at the inn are proof of my efforts."

The crowd thought: *Here comes the emotional manipulation.*

Yue Shu opened his mouth to speak, but Uncle Zhang stopped him.

Song Xian continued, "Brother Yue died unjustly. I share your grief and anger. I came here to bring you back to the manor. Once vengeance is served, Nephew Yue, you will be the new master of White Crane Manor. Nephew, will you stand by and watch your family’s legacy fade into oblivion?"

“Enough nonsense—ransom or treasure map?” Lu Jianwei had no patience for his disgusting remarks.

Song Xian hesitated. “…Manager Lu, you can’t keep Young Master Yue as an inn servant forever, can you? He is the heir of White Crane Manor.”

“I *want* to stay at the inn as a servant!” Yue Shu couldn’t help but shout. “The manager took in me and Uncle Zhang and saved my life. I’ll stay here for the rest of my days!”

He wouldn’t let these villains slander his manager!

The corner of Lu Jianwei’s lips lifted slightly. At least she hadn’t raised him for nothing.

She drawled lazily, “Old Man Song, if you didn’t want to pay the ransom, you should’ve said so earlier. Dragging it out like this just shows how stingy you are. The Thousand Miles Tower, on the other hand, didn’t even blink at eighty thousand taels.”

“Oh, Manager Lu, you’re making me blush with such praise,” Lan Ling giggled sweetly. “Old Man Song, is it so hard to admit you don’t care about your own disciples?”

Song Xian: He was only fifty!

For a sixth-rank martial artist, fifty was still in his prime—far from being called an "old man."

“Are you paying or not? All this dawdling is irritating,” Jin Poxiao mocked. “I wonder how you ever earned that reputation of virtue. The disciples of Leisurely Cloud Manor truly suffer.”

The crowd: “…”

Tao Yang dug his nails into his palms.

Back at the manor, the master was like the heavens to them all—someone they revered, respected, even looked up to as a father.

But today, in front of so many people, his mentor had been reduced to a pitiful joke, shattering the grand image he once held.

It was as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes, revealing the truth in an instant.

“I, Song—”

“Chai Kun of Black Wind Fort, here to pay respects to Manager Lu!” A rider arrived swiftly outside the courtyard, interrupting Song Xian. “Our disciples have offended you. The fort master sent me with generous gifts—first, to ransom our men, and second, to offer our sincerest apologies. We beg Manager Lu’s magnanimous forgiveness.”

The contrast was brutal.

Even after the two young masters of Black Wind Fort had been humiliated by the inn, the fort master had swallowed his pride and come with full sincerity.

And Song Xian?

Hesitant, evasive—utterly lacking the dignity of a martial hero.

Inside the hall, Uncle Zhang explained to Yue Shu and Xue Guanhe: “Chai Kun is the third elder of Black Wind Fort, the mildest-tempered among them. That’s why he’s often sent to handle external affairs.”

Lu Jianwei understood immediately. “Elder Chai, you’re too kind. Guanhe, go tally the ransom.”

Black Wind Fort had sent sixty disciples for the night raid—one thousand taels per person, plus one hundred taels per antidote, totaling sixty-six thousand taels. Hei Hou weighed two hundred and ten catties at one hundred taels per catty, totaling twenty-one thousand taels, and Hei Zhong’s ransom was twenty thousand taels—forty-one thousand taels in all.

Xue Guanhe opened the gate and accepted the wooden case from Chai Kun.

Inside were stacks of silver notes—one hundred and ten thousand taels in total, with an extra four thousand as compensation.

“Manager, one hundred and ten thousand,” Xue Guanhe announced.

The crowd gasped. Black Wind Fort truly had deep pockets, throwing out one hundred and ten thousand taels without hesitation.

Chai Kun’s heart bled. If not for the reckless actions of the two young masters, they wouldn’t have had to spend an extra forty thousand taels.

Lu Jianwei nodded in satisfaction. “Uncle Zhang, release the two Hei brothers.”

Uncle Zhang leaped up, untying Hei Hou and Hei Zhong before callously tossing them over the courtyard wall, where they landed with dull thuds.

The sound made everyone’s scalp tingle. Lu Jianwei kindly reminded, “The two young masters have taken a special muscle-softening powder from our inn. Would you like the antidote? One hundred taels per pill.”

Chai Kun had initially planned to refuse—muscle relaxants were nothing, the fort surely had antidotes—but recalling the other drug that suppressed internal energy, he cautiously said, “We’ll trouble Manager Lu for them.”

And handed over another two hundred taels.

“Guanhe, A’Yue, fetch the medicine from the storehouse.”

She purchased sixty antidotes and two muscle-relaxant antidotes from the system shop, depositing them in the underground storeroom.

The money from Black Wind Fort was divided—the ransom of one hundred and one thousand taels went into the public account, while the antidote costs (six thousand two hundred taels) and the compensation (four thousand taels) totaled ten thousand two hundred taels, all deposited into her private account.

As of now, the public account held two hundred and one thousand taels, her private account had over thirty thousand, and the rest were negligible sums.

Without hesitation, she spent ten thousand to upgrade her offensive tools to the sixth rank and another hundred thousand to raise her defensive tools to the seventh rank.

Nine thousand taels remained—not enough for another upgrade, but more than enough to sustain their use.

The feeling of sudden wealth was intoxicating.

Lu Jianwei turned her gaze to Song Xian, wondering how much she could squeeze out of him.

Compared to Black Wind Fort’s extravagance, Song Xian looked ashen. If he didn’t act now, he’d lose all face.

“Upon hearing that Young Master Yue was at the inn, I came in such haste that my words were discourteous. I beg Manager Lu’s forgiveness.”

He pulled a money pouch from his sleeve.

“Ten thousand taels in silver notes—please release my disciples.”

Leisurely Cloud Manor had sent eight people—eight thousand eight hundred taels in ransom, with an extra twelve hundred as compensation.

Compared to the Thousand Miles Tower and Black Wind Fort, it was embarrassingly frugal.

Lu Jianwei wasn’t picky. She accepted with a smile.

The public account now had over ninety thousand taels, plus the eight thousand from the ransom, bringing it to one hundred thousand—though still not enough for another upgrade.

Her private account grew by another two thousand taels. Delightful.

Once the ransoms were paid and the antidotes administered, Chai Kun and Song Xian returned, requesting rooms at the inn.

Lu Jianwei welcomed them warmly.

More guests meant more profit.

Each took a mid-tier room—Song Xian chose one next to Wei Liu, clearly to stay close to his disciples.

Chai Kun took the sixth room, leaving empty space between himself and the Leisurely Cloud Manor and Mystic Mirror Bureau delegations—a clear statement that he wanted nothing to do with them.

Though a top-tier room on the third floor was available, since both Lu Jianwei and Lan Ling resided there, he found it too awkward and declined.

Thus, Eight Directions Inn now housed twelve guests, four servants, and one manager.

Among the twelve were representatives from five major factions—Mystic Mirror Bureau, Golden Blade Trading Company, Leisurely Cloud Manor, Black Wind Fort, and the Thousand Miles Tower. The wheelchair-bound magnate Wen Zhuzhi barely counted as a minor player, lacking the strength to compete.

At least, in others’ eyes, he was just here to throw money around—whoever obtained the treasure map and found the spoils, he’d simply buy the rare medicines at a high price.

Mystic Mirror Bureau was only here to investigate a case and seemed uninterested in the treasure map—but one could never be too careful.

Eight Directions Inn remained neutral, concerned only with profit.

Everyone returned to their rooms without incident.

Exploiting his authority as a mentor, Song Xian summoned Tao Yang and Wei Liu, stroking his beard as he admonished them: “Why didn’t you send word back when you found Young Master Yue?”

“This disciple sent a letter from Moonview City, but there was no reply,” Tao Yang answered carefully, head bowed. “Did Master truly not receive it?”

Song Xian sighed. “Had I received it, I would have brought Yue Shu back to the manor long ago. Why would I let him labor here as a servant?”

“At the time, Elders Lü and Cao were with us. Perhaps they intercepted the letter.”

Song Xian nodded. “Let it be. Tell me about the inn.”

There wasn’t much to say. Tao Yang gave a dry recitation of their daily routines until Song Xian grew impatient and cut in: “Have you seen the hidden expert guarding this place?”

Eight Directions Inn was shrouded in mystery, its true depths unknown.

Some speculated that the expert *was* Manager Lu, while others believed she merely served a mastermind behind the scenes.

Song Xian firmly believed the latter.

Lu Jianwei was just a woman, and so young at that—there was no way she could be a peerless martial artist.

Tao Yang and Wei Liu both shook their heads.

“What about Yue Shu and Uncle Zhang?” Song Xian pressed. “Are they truly willing to work as mere inn hands?”

“Master, with Innkeeper Lu around and the Mystic Mirror Bureau watching closely, neither my junior sister nor I dared get too close.”

Tao Yang wasn’t lying—he had barely exchanged more than a few words with Yue Shu.

Song Xian narrowed his eyes. “The Mystic Mirror Bureau… Have they uncovered anything? Who is the real culprit?”

Tao Yang again claimed ignorance.

Wei Liu lowered her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Earlier, Sister Lu had asked her about someone with a mole in the whites of their eyes—had she already discovered something?

Though she had her suspicions, she too feigned ignorance.

Song Xian wanted to ask about the treasure map, but seeing how little the two knew, he doubted they had any information on it. With a dismissive wave, he sent them away.

With Song Xian and Chai Kun arriving one after another, Wen Zhuzhi’s meal had been interrupted, and A'Nai had to rush back to the kitchen to reheat it.

“You’re seriously useless at cooking,” Xue Guanhe muttered under his breath. “And with Great Master Yan still in seclusion, who’s going to chop the firewood?”

A'Nai, with his sharp hearing, gasped. “Chopping firewood? Great Master Yan?”

“What about him?”

“He’s working as a woodcutter at the inn?”

Xue Guanhe nodded. “Yeah, Great Master Yan’s firewood is chopped so neatly. The ones you’re burning now were all split by him.”

A'Nai burst into laughter. “Hahahaha! The greatest blade master in the martial world, reduced to chopping firewood at an inn—this is too hilarious!”

“Stop laughing,” Xue Guanhe said, not understanding the amusement. “With Great Master Yan in seclusion, what do we do about the firewood?”

Now that the inn had more guests, the daily demand for firewood had increased, along with a mountain of other chores piling up.

Between managing the inn and their martial training, he, Yue Shu, and Uncle Zhang barely had time to spare for chopping wood.

A'Nai grinned. “What’s the big deal? Aren’t there still a bunch of martial artists left to farm the land? Just make them chop the wood. One log each, and it’ll last ages.”

“Oh right, I almost forgot about them!” Thanking A'Nai, Xue Guanhe hurried off to find Uncle Zhang and propose the idea.

If these people were indentured to the inn, they might as well be put to full use.

Uncle Zhang had no reason to object.

Five miles from the inn, a group of disheveled figures mechanically turned the soil. Without hoes, they had to make do with their weapons.

Those without weapons had to improvise.

Every moment, they regretted their impulsive decision to provoke the Eight Directions Inn.

If they hadn’t, they could still be lounging around, watching others suffer instead.

But alas—they had no money, their internal energy was suppressed by drugs, and they were forced to sell themselves to the inn.

And as if that weren’t bad enough, the inn didn’t even provide food, forcing them to buy dry rations from Moonview City.

At night, they either slept under the open sky or trudged into town for lodging.

Utterly miserable.

Just as they were sighing in despair, another order arrived from the inn—chop firewood.

The martial artists: ??? Enough is enough! We’re not doing this anymore!

Xue Guanhe was the messenger.

Uncle Zhang, with his high cultivation, would have been the better choice, but as a member of White Crane Manor, leaving the inn posed risks. So the task fell to Xue Guanhe.

Now that the inn had earned its fearsome reputation, no one dared provoke it lightly. Xue Guanhe, as a nameless servant, drew no attention.

Uncle Zhang, however, was directly tied to the treasure map—someone might take the risk to target him.

“You made your bed, now lie in it. What right do you have to complain?” Xue Guanhe declared righteously. “If not for the innkeeper’s supreme martial prowess, you’d have stormed the inn that night, looting and burning without a thought for innocent lives!”

The martial artists fell silent.

They couldn’t deny it—during the night raid, they hadn’t cared about collateral damage.

“Hmph! The innkeeper showed mercy by sparing your lives and only making you do menial tasks. Yet you show no remorse—how can you call yourselves martial heroes?!”

One of them argued, “In the martial world, treasures belong to those who take them first. The strong rule, and the weak are worthless. That’s the way of the jianghu. Using the government’s rules to chain us—are you taking orders from the authorities?”

“The authorities?” another gasped. “Is the inn run by the Mystic Mirror Bureau?!”

“Does the Bureau even have someone that powerful?”

“Probably not, though I’ve heard Pei Zhi’s cultivation is extremely high. Maybe he’s pulling the strings from the shadows.”

“Hasn’t he stayed out of action for years? Just to run an inn—and in this backwater?”

“True. That man is unpredictable—when he strikes, it’s always lethal. He wouldn’t be this roundabout.”

Xue Guanhe listened in, finished delivering the tasks, and returned to the inn, curiosity piqued.

As noon approached, he went to Uncle Zhang and asked, “How many are dining together today?”

Uncle Zhang replied, “Young Master Tao and Miss Wei said they’ll take their meals in their rooms with Manor Lord Song from now on. Whatever the inn serves, they’ll have the same—just prepare three extra portions.”

“Got it. Anyone else?”

“Aside from Young Master Wen’s group, everyone else is the same.”

Xue Guanhe grinned. “That’s great! At noon, it’ll just be the three of us and the innkeeper.”

“Mm. Niu Qiang managed to grow some seedlings in the fields. The innkeeper was pleased and said those martial artists should work harder. You go supervise them more.”

Xue Guanhe: “Will do!”

Uncle Zhang, seeing he hadn’t caught on, added, “Each of them has unique skills, and their cultivation isn’t too high. Spend more time with them—you’ll learn something.”

Xue Guanhe flushed with shame. “I was too dense to realize the innkeeper’s kindness. Thank you for the reminder, Uncle Zhang. I’ll train seriously from now on.”

Remembering the earlier conversation, he couldn’t resist asking, “I grew up in Moonview City and don’t know much about the outside world. I’ve only heard the Mystic Mirror Bureau handles major jianghu cases, but not who its commander is. Do you know?”

Uncle Zhang was surprised—this place really was isolated if even the Bureau’s commander was unknown.

“The commander’s name is Pei Zhi.”

“Oh? How old is he? What does he look like?”

“About a decade older than you,” Uncle Zhang mused, then shook his head. “No one knows what he looks like.”

“No one?”

“He wears a mask and never shows his face.” Uncle Zhang patted his shoulder. “Why ask? You’ll never cross paths with him. Focus on making lunch.”

With that, Xue Guanhe set aside his curiosity and went to cook.

The day passed peacefully, with none of the guests daring to approach Yue Shu.

Yue Shu, however, spent the entire day visiting the dormitory rooms, emerging with eyes bright with excitement.

Seeing this, Lu Jianwei knew what he had decided.

As the last glow of twilight faded, night fell, stars and moon meeting in the vast sky.

Lanterns lit up the inn, standing like a towering beacon in the darkness.

Feng Yan leaped onto the courtyard wall, hurling a bundle into the air with a surge of inner force.

Papers scattered like snowflakes outside the inn.

The strange commotion alerted nearby spies, who swiftly snatched up all five hundred coded messages.

One of them, after examining his prize, concealed it in his robes and slipped away into the night.