No Fighting Allowed in the Inn

◎Ransom, Grand Opening Promotions, New Year Celebrations◎

A'Nai sat by the stove, fanning himself with a hand-held fan, his cheek resting on his palm as he chuckled incessantly.

"What's ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍so funny?" Xue Guanhe clapped him on the shoulder. "Did you find money?"

"Finding money is nothing special."

"Then what's the good news? Share it so I can be happy too."

A'Nai shook his head. "Not telling you."

Just now, the young master had called Shopkeeper Lu by her nickname—such intimacy surely confirmed his earlier suspicions.

He was happy for his master.

But since the young master and Shopkeeper Lu hadn’t made things public yet, he couldn’t go around blabbing.

"Teasing people like this, you’re really something!"

"You’re the one who insisted on asking. How is it my fault now?"

"Aren’t we good friends? Shouldn’t good friends share their joys?"

"Do you have no secrets at all?"

Yue Shu walked in carrying a bundle of firewood, shaking his head with a sigh.

These two bickered every three days and had a full-blown argument every five. If they weren’t arguing, it meant something serious had happened.

He was used to it by now.

"Brother Xue, Brother A'Nai, have you heard? Miss He Lianxue was ambushed outside Yongzhou, severely injured, and then rescued by Bian Xingzhou of the Martial Alliance?"

"Where did you hear that?" A'Nai frowned.

Yue Shu replied, "I just went out to buy supplies and overheard some wandering martial artists talking about it in a teahouse."

"Wasn’t she in Cangzhou before? How did she suddenly end up in Yongzhou? Who sent the attackers?" Xue Guanhe asked.

Yue Shu shook his head. "I don’t know the details."

A'Nai stood up. "Fan the stove for me. I need to step out for a bit."

"Alright, sure."

Lu Jianwei was in her room feeding Little Wu.

After several days of "promotion battles," it had already broken through to the fifth rank. Its appetite grew by the day, yet its body became increasingly smaller.

Not only its size, but even the luster of its body had dimmed compared to before, its form growing more indistinct. If it flew into a corner, it would be hard to notice.

Soon, she would be able to establish a complete connection with Little Wu.

But a problem arose.

The final condition for Little Wu to become a Gu Emperor was to successfully hunt and kill a Martial King of the eighth rank or higher.

Where was she supposed to find a damned eighth-rank Martial King who deserved to die?

Suddenly, the courtyard gate was knocked.

She covered the clay pot, placed it back into the wooden chest, and went to open the door.

Wen Zhuzhi stood there wrapped in a crane-feather cloak, holding a hand warmer. His gentle features contrasted beautifully against the bleak winter scenery, like a painting.

"Shopkeeper Lu, I have other matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave." A'Nai released the wheelchair handles, grinned mischievously, then turned and dashed away in a flash.

Lu Jianwei couldn’t help but laugh. "Another piece of martial world gossip?"

"It concerns the daughter of the Carefree Sect’s leader."

"Come in and talk."

The room was sparsely furnished, with only daily necessities and no extra decorations—save for a single branch of red plum blossoms slanting from a vase, adding a touch of color.

Lu Jianwei reclined lazily on the low couch, exuding ease and leisure.

"What happened to He Lianxue?"

"She was ambushed outside Yongzhou," Wen Zhuzhi tested the teapot’s temperature with the back of his hand. "Bian Xingzhou rescued her and took her back to the Martial Alliance."

He lifted the teapot and poured a cup of warm tea, handing it to Lu Jianwei.

Only then did Lu Jianwei realize her lips were dry—she’d been so engrossed in raising Little Wu that she’d forgotten to drink water.

She moistened her throat with the tea and said, "From Cangzhou to Yongzhou… this direction… was she heading to Jiangzhou?"

"Most likely."

"Did she find a lead?" Lu Jianwei asked. "From Cangzhou to Yongzhou, the journey isn’t short. How did the Mystic Mirror Bureau only just receive this news?"

Wen Zhuzhi lowered his gaze. "The messenger before was unfortunately killed. The new one isn’t fully experienced yet."

"My condolences."

"Life and death are fated."

Lu Jianwei returned to the main topic. "Given He Lianxue’s status and constitution, the likelihood of her being ambushed is very low. So it’s highly possible she actually uncovered a lead and was targeted by the mastermind behind it."

"There’s another possibility."

"The lead she found was fake, and the ambush was staged." Lu Jianwei smiled. "The other side is just laying a false trail."

If He Lianxue found a clue in Cangzhou and was on her way to Jiangzhou to inform her, only to be ambushed midway, it would seem to lend more credibility to the lead’s authenticity.

But given how deeply hidden the mastermind was, would the clue really be so easily uncovered?

She had reason to suspect that He Lianxue was merely a pawn—meant to mislead her or lure her into a trap.

Perhaps she was overthinking it, but overthinking was better than underthinking.

Lost in thought, she absentmindedly finished the entire cup of tea.

A slender hand reached over. Lu Jianwei instinctively placed the teacup into his palm, and by the time she realized it, the cup was already back on the table.

"The 'Polar Golden Silkworm,' the blacksmith’s clue—they’re all targeting me." Lu Jianwei looked at Wen Zhuzhi. "Should I thank him?"

"Thank?"

Lu Jianwei nodded. "Right now, news of the Polar Golden Silkworm has spread throughout the martial world. There will definitely be people willing to 'seek wealth in danger' and head to the main branch in Fengzhou in search of the spiritual treasure. Isn’t this the perfect promotional opportunity?"

"You mean the inn’s grand opening ceremony?"

"Exactly. I was originally worried that martial artists might hesitate due to the Martial Alliance’s influence and not give me face. But with the spiritual treasure rumor spreading, even the Martial Alliance won’t want to miss this chance."

Wen Zhuzhi said, "But the spiritual treasure doesn’t exist."

"Whether it exists or not no longer matters." Lu Jianwei chuckled lightly. "Trying to smear me, trying to force me out of the martial world—it won’t be that easy."

The woman leaned against the couch, brimming with confidence, her eyes alight with the certainty of victory. Her unrestrained aura struck straight to the heart.

"Jianwei," Wen Zhuzhi reached out and gripped the edge of the couch, his voice deep and pleasant, "your grand opening ceremony will undoubtedly be spectacular."

Lu Jianwei allowed him to lean closer without moving.

When their noses were barely an inch apart, she pressed a hand against his shoulder and said, "I still have some questions for you."

The fleeting disappointment in Wen Zhuzhi’s eyes vanished as he obediently straightened, his expression attentive, waiting for her to speak.

"Have you traced the source of the 'Polar Golden Silkworm' rumor?"

"Not yet, but there are signs pointing to the Thousand Miles Tower."

Lu Jianwei raised an eyebrow. "I thought as much. After all, they’ve smeared me once before—they’re familiar with the routine."

She changed the subject again. "Roughly how many eighth-rank Martial Kings are there in the martial world? Who are they?"

Wen Zhuzhi listed them off effortlessly.

"Of the sects you’ve had contact with: the Black Wind Fort has an elder at the mid-eighth rank; the Thousand Miles Tower’s leader is mid-eighth rank; the Martial Alliance’s leader is mid-eighth rank, with four elders at the early-eighth rank and three at the late-eighth rank; the Luzhou Academy’s headmaster is early-eighth rank, with three elders at mid-eighth rank and two at late-eighth rank."

"What about the Carefree Sect and the Heaven-Supporting Hall?"

"These two are semi-reclusive and rather mysterious. The former’s sect leader is peak-eighth rank, with no fewer than ten eighth-rank elders, plus a ninth-rank ancestor. The latter’s hall master is also peak-eighth rank, with overall strength on par with the Carefree Sect."

"Do they participate in the Martial Alliance’s grand competitions?"

"They do."

"What about the Mystic Mirror Bureau?"

"Previously, no." Wen Zhuzhi said. "Next year, we certainly won’t be absent."

Lu Jianwei said, "Entry requires tickets."

"Can we get a discount?"

"No."

"What about double the price?"

Lu Jianwei: "..."

The bargaining tactics of the richest man were truly extraordinary.

Time flew by, and leisurely days passed in the blink of an eye.

As the headmaster of the academy, Shangguan Huai couldn’t delay in Jiangzhou any longer. After discussing with Shangguan Yao, he left her at the Eight Directions Inn to recuperate.

Before departing, he made a special trip to White Crane Manor to bid farewell to Lu Jianwei.

"Manager Lu, I’ll trouble you to take good care of A'Yao."

Lu Jianwei nodded with a faint smile. "Of course."

"Manager Lu, I’ll definitely attend your grand opening ceremony on the fifteenth of April next year. I’ll be imposing on you then."

"No trouble at all." Lu Jianwei’s smile deepened slightly.

Shangguan Huai had made this decision alone, mustering every ounce of his courage.

Going against the Martial Alliance—even the entire martial world—was not something an ordinary person could do.

Even a mascot could possess extraordinary resolve.

Lu Jianwei regarded him with newfound respect.

The cold of December grew even harsher, the wind howling like knives against cheeks and ears.

Yet the training grounds of the mountain villa never rested.

No matter the time, there were always people sparring on the platform.

Lu Jianwei felt a swell of pride—her staff were so diligent, and she couldn’t afford to fall behind.

After a month of feeding on blood, Little Wu had formed an unshakable bond with her, becoming incredibly close.

Having survived the brutal "promotion battles," it had now evolved into a Level Seven Gu King.

Though it had cost Lu Jianwei quite a bit in "tuition fees."

At Level Seven, Little Wu’s form had grown even more delicate, its body now adorned with faint golden patterns, a far cry from its previous murky, pitch-black appearance.

Lu Jianwei had once despised insects, but raising Little Wu had softened her aversion.

Though, admittedly, she still only tolerated Little Wu.

The Eight Directions Inn in Fengzhou stood transformed from its former desolate state, though the heavy winter snow obscured much of the view.

The main courtyard, nestled among trees, retained its original layout, with flowering shrubs encircling it for a full mile. Beyond that, fields and cottages were arranged in precise accordance with the Eight Trigrams formation.

Ever since news of the Polar Golden Silkworm spread, people had been sneaking into the inn—only to never leave.

On this day, two more martial artists braved the raging snowstorm, slipping silently into the inn under cover of night.

The snow reflected just enough light to illuminate the front courtyard.

One was a Level Six, the other a Level Seven. The moment they scaled the wall, an invisible force descended from above, slamming them down with a muffled thud that echoed through the empty inn.

—Except the inn wasn’t empty.

The Level Seven Martial King, struggling to steady his breath, reached beneath him—then froze, a cold sweat breaking out as his hair stood on end.

There was someone under him!

And they were alive!

"Which bastard’s groping me?!" A furious roar erupted from the snow, like an exploding barrel.

The Level Seven Martial King, pride stung, struck back with a sneer. "Your ancestor."

"My ancestors are all dead—did you crawl out of a grave?"

"Pfft." A snicker came from the corner.

"Who the hell’s laughing at me? Got a death wish?!" The burly man clawed his way out of the snow and punched the ground, sending slush flying.

Someone sighed. "In our current state, do we even have a chance to live?"

"Once you’re in, there’s no way out. No one’s coming to save us. We’re just waiting to die," another lamented. "They said the inn was empty—empty my ass! There’s clearly an expert guarding this place."

"Senior! Spare me!" another voice wailed. "I was just curious about the Polar Golden Silkworm! I didn’t mean to trespass! Let me go, and I swear I’ll bring all my wealth to you!"

His pleas echoed unanswered.

"Shut up," someone grumbled, rolling over in the snow. "The senior won’t respond. Give it up."

The Level Seven Martial King: "…"

So the inn wasn’t empty—it was just that all the trespassers were buried under the snow!

Seizing the moment, he quietly gathered his energy for a swift escape.

"Newcomer, I’d advise against—"

THUD.

The burly man crashed back into the snow with a groan.

"Tsk, I warned you not to run," someone said, almost gleeful. "Didn’t you hear? Once you’re in, you’re stuck."

"Like you believed it at first either," another scoffed.

Level Seven Martial King: ???

Had these people lost their minds from boredom?

"This can’t go on. We won’t die in ten or fifteen days, but a month? No chance," someone moaned. "Doesn’t anyone have a plan?"

"No one’s answering our cries. Even if rescuers came, they’d just end up trapped too."

The Level Seven Martial King spat blood, voice hoarse. "I heard the Eight Directions Inn loves money?"

"Naïve."

"Go ahead and ask. See if the senior responds."

"Just accept your fate. Stop wasting breath."

Level Seven Martial King: "…"

He pulled out a small crossbow, lit the tip of a short arrow, and fired. The flaming projectile streaked into the night with a sharp whizz.

A signal flare!

The others perked up, hope flickering.

"Not bad, brother! You came prepared!"

"You got people waiting outside? Can they get word out? Will someone save us?"

The Martial King coughed. "Didn’t you say no one leaves this inn? Even if help comes, won’t they just get trapped too?"

"That’s different! We sneaked in—no one knows we’re here. The martial world might not even know about this yet. Your flare could draw attention!"

"Right! Brother, if we’re saved, we owe you our lives!"

But the Martial King’s stomach churned with unease.

"The Polar Golden Silkworm may be a treasure, but orthodox sects despise it. Even if martial artists come, we’re not exactly in the right here."

"It’s the Eight Directions Inn that’s in the wrong," a voice drawled from the corner. "A mere inn with an Eighth-Level manager and a Ninth-Level Martial King backing it? What sect in the martial world can claim that? I just thought there had to be something fishy going on, so I came to investigate."

"You’re saying…"

"Shh! Aren’t you afraid of angering the senior?"

The corner speaker scoffed. "After all these days, has the senior killed anyone? We trespassed and weren’t executed—why would a few words matter?"

The others: "…"

Damn, this guy’s bold.

Little Ke’s live updates on the inn’s situation left Lu Jianwei speechless.

Were these martial artists betting that the Eight Directions Inn wouldn’t kill indiscriminately?

"What level is the one spreading rumors about the inn?"

"Fifth."

Lu Jianwei arched a brow. "A Fifth-Level dares to come for the Polar Golden Silkworm?"

More likely, he was here to stir trouble.

His words served two purposes: first, giving the others a pretext to slander the inn; second, provoking the "senior" into killing someone.

All to incite conflict.

If the inn didn’t kill, it lost its deterrent. If it did, it would be criticized regardless of justification.

This wasn’t like Jiangzhou, where Ninth-Level Martial Kings had attacked with lethal intent. These people in Fengzhou had merely trespassed out of curiosity—hardly a capital offense.

Lu Jianwei ordered Little Ke: "Strip them of all weapons."

Little Ke vibrated with excitement. "So the plan finally begins?"

"Alright, issue each of them a Repentance Contract." Lu Jianwei idly stirred the small mist in the jar. "They're free labor—why would I waste them by killing them?"

She had Xiao Ke print a stack of contracts. Since the Fengzhou inn was bound to the artifact, Xiao Ke could deliver them directly.

Xiao Ke: "No problem!"

"Keep the troublemaker."

"Understood."

Fengzhou Inn.

After the signal flare was launched, the group lay in the snow, waiting.

Suddenly, the third-floor window of the inn swung open, and sheets of paper fluttered down like snowflakes, landing precisely in each person's hands before touching the ground.

The newly arrived Level 7 Martial King, still nimble from not yet freezing in the cold, flipped open the paper and read the words under the pale glow of the snow.

Repentance Contract:

Those who trespass into the inn shall be fined 500,000 taels of silver. Your weapons will serve as collateral. Once the fine is paid, your weapons will be returned. If personal funds are insufficient to cover 500,000 taels, the fine is reduced to 300,000 taels, with weapons still held as collateral. Additionally, you must perform a task for the inn. Upon completion, your weapons will be returned.

Before anyone could react, an invisible force descended, forcibly seizing all weapons—swords, sabers, axes, and halberds—lifting them into the air in a spectacular display.

"My sword!"

"My treasure!"

"My newly forged hammer!"

One man leaped up to snatch his weapon back, only to be slammed back into the snow by an unseen "master," face-first into the slush.

The weapons floated through the window, vanishing into the third-floor room.

To martial artists, their weapons were their second lives.

They were frantic, steam practically rising from their heads.

"Esteemed Senior, what task do you require?" someone choked out between sobs.

Another flurry of papers drifted down.

The bold characters "Grand Opening Celebration" glared up at them.

The crowd: What is this?

Someone read aloud: "This establishment will reopen on the fifteenth day of the fourth month in the Guimao Year. All martial heroes are cordially invited to attend the grand opening ceremony. However, Fengzhou is remote, and news travels slowly. Since you have nothing better to do, why not spread the word for us? Once the task is complete, your weapons will be returned."

The man in the corner crumpled the paper in his hand and let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Clever move."

"What does this mean? They want us to advertise their opening?"

"It’s not that simple," a knowledgeable person lamented, nearly in tears. "The Guimao Year is next year! The fifteenth of the fourth month is the day of the Martial Alliance’s grand tournament. How can we spread this without consequences?"

"If I go around shouting about this, won’t the Martial Alliance come after me?"

"The Martial Alliance isn’t to be trifled with. I don’t want a brick to the back of my head."

But they had no choice.

Either pay 500,000 taels to reclaim their weapons, or pay 300,000 taels, spread the news, and then get them back.

The 200,000-tael difference was too much for most of them to stomach.

"Esteemed Senior, how do we know when the task is complete?" someone asked. "How can we be sure the news has spread far enough? And how will we know when to retrieve our weapons?"

No response came from the third floor.

The group exchanged helpless glances, shaking their heads with wry smiles.

What else could they do?

Follow the Senior’s orders, of course!

Such supernatural methods could only belong to a Level 9 Martial King.

They couldn’t possibly fight barehanded against a Level 9 Martial King.

Just how many Level 9 Martial Kings did the Eight Directions Inn have?

The martial artists left one by one, clutching their Repentance Contracts and promotional flyers—all except one man, pinned motionless in the corner.

"Esteemed Senior, what do you require of me?" he rasped.

The snow burned bright, the inn silent as a tomb.

His face remained buried in the snow, crushed by an overwhelming force that refused to let him lift his head. Slowly, his breath grew ragged.

The man thrashed violently, but only at the brink of suffocation did the pressure suddenly vanish.

He gasped for air, gulping it down like a drowning man, taking long moments to convince himself he was still alive.

The agony of near-death shattered his pride. He knelt in the snow, kowtowing over and over.

"Esteemed Senior, spare this lowly one! Have mercy!"

Lu Jianwei knew he was just a pawn. A harsh lesson was enough.

Besides, even pawns could spread her message.

A day later, a wealthy martial artist quietly delivered 500,000 taels to reclaim his weapon.

Of the forty-six who had come seeking the Polar Golden Silkworm, most were Level 6 or 7 warriors—accustomed to being fawned over in the martial world, brimming with arrogance and recklessness. They held little reverence for the Eight Directions Inn, a place they’d only heard of in stories.

Though many had substantial savings, parting with 500,000 taels in one go was painful.

Of the forty-six, only ten coughed up the full sum to retrieve their weapons immediately. The rest chose to spread word of the inn’s reopening.

Those bold enough to "seek fortune in danger" under the threat of a "Level 9 Martial King" weren’t about to cower before the Martial Alliance.

After all, spreading news wasn’t the same as murder or arson. The Martial Alliance had no grounds to punish them.

And if they disguised themselves while spreading the word, even better.

Five million taels flowed into Xiao Ke’s ledger.

Xiao Ke was overjoyed: "Jianwei, you’re amazing!"

Lu Jianwei smirked. "Told you my plan would work."

"It did!"

"But you doubted me earlier."

"I’m a little fool, and you’re the brilliant one. Can’t the brilliant one forgive the little fool? Please?"

Lu Jianwei: "...Stop acting cute. It’s unsettling."

"But in the novels you listen to, when the male lead acts cute, the female lead gives him hugs and kisses!"

Lu Jianwei rubbed her temples. "Fiction is fiction. Reality is reality."

"Oh." Xiao Ke set off fireworks on the display screen. "Well, you’re smarter than me, so I’ll follow your lead from now on."

"There’ll be plenty more chances for you to earn money," Lu Jianwei said with a laugh. "Aside from the Level 5 spy, there are thirty-five martial artists who still owe 300,000 taels each. Do the math."

Xiao Ke: "One million and fifty thousand! I already calculated it!"

"Don’t worry. There’ll be even more where that came from."

"I’ll listen to you from now on."

Lu Jianwei smiled. "You said it yourself."

As the end of the month approached, the festive New Year atmosphere grew thicker.

Last year in Fengzhou, Lu Jianwei and Yan Feicang had shared a quiet, chilly New Year’s Eve dinner in the inn, as cold as the howling wind outside.

This year in Jiangzhou, the entire household gathered together.

Besides the staff, there were Shangguan Yao, Little Tao, Yuan Qiong, and Bai Guo—not to mention Wen Zhuzhi and his attendant.

The long table was laden with dishes, and the room buzzed with laughter and clinking cups.

After the feast, everyone gathered around the hearth to stay up late into the night.

Lu Jianwei brought out a small box, smiling. "For New Year’s Eve, as your employer, I’ve prepared lucky money for everyone. It’s not much—just a small token."

Inside the box were thirteen red envelopes, one for each person present.

Each contained ten copper coins—truly a modest sum, but everyone treasured theirs.

Liang Shangjun opened his envelope. "Huh? There’s a piece of paper too?"

"Tonight, when you return to your rooms, write your New Year’s wishes and goals on a blank sheet. Bring them to me tomorrow, and I’ll keep them safe. Next New Year’s Eve, we’ll see if they’ve come true."

A’Nai’s eyes lit up. "Manager Lu, I get one too?"

"Of course."

The next morning, after breakfast, everyone handed in their New Year’s resolutions.

The one on top happened to be Yan Feicang's.

He had written: A well-balanced treasured blade, seventh rank. May all of you find peace and prosperity.

Lu Jianwei glanced at it, then gathered all the New Year's wishes into the box to read through later at her leisure. Just as Yan Feicang turned to leave for the training grounds, she called out to him.

"Yan, a well-balanced treasured blade—care to give it a try?"