No Fighting Allowed in the Inn

◎Fair Trade, the Incomplete Prescription, and the So-Called Ambush◎

The notebook’s cover was utterly unremarkable—just a commonplace memo pad, nothing special.

Lu Jianwei opened it, took a single glance, then snapped it shut, blocking Lan Ling’s curious gaze.

"Gentleman Chen, my apologies, but this seat belongs to Gentleman Wen."

Chen Hui was incredulous. "It’s just a notebook. How could it possibly be worth more than a hundred taels? If that’s not enough, I’ll add another hundred!"

"Some things cannot be bought with money," Lu Jianwei replied, her smile unwavering but her tone firm. "Gentleman Chen, please take your seat and enjoy the meal."

She sat at the head of the table, casually holding the notebook in her hand. Though the scene was perfectly ordinary, it sent a chill down Chen Hui’s spine.

"Fine," he muttered, not daring to argue further, and obediently found an empty seat.

Lan Ling sidled up to her with a coquettish smile.

"What treasure is this? Let me have a look too."

"Really want to see?"

"Of course! You’re being so mysterious, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Just one glance, alright?"

Lu Jianwei grinned. "One hundred taels per word. Deal?"

"You’re utterly obsessed with money," Lan Ling huffed, retreating to her seat. Then, with a suggestive glance between the two, she added, "Could it be love poetry from Gentleman Wen? Manager Lu, there’s no need to be shy about such things. Why not read it aloud for everyone to appreciate? What do you all think?"

The others: We’d rather not hear it, please leave us out of this, thank you.

"What a bunch of dullards."

Lu Jianwei teased, "You’re so fixated on what Gentleman Wen gave me. Aren’t you worried Gentleman Pingwu might take offense?"

"Who cares if he takes offense!" Lan Ling snapped, then caught herself, her eyes widening. "What are you implying? How could I possibly fancy a cripple?!"

"I’ve noticed you’ve been steering every conversation toward Gentleman Wen lately. I thought perhaps—"

"Nonsense! I’m just worried you’ll be deceived by him!" Lan Ling fumed. "Manager Lu, I know you love money, but no matter how wealthy he is, you shouldn’t fall for sweet talk. Men are for amusement—don’t give them your heart."

The men present: "…"

Feeling a sudden pain in our knees.

Lu Jianwei: Quick reflexes, redirecting a scheme into a debate on romance.

She arched a brow and said, "Thank you for the advice, Miss Lan. I’ll keep it in mind. Shall we eat now?"

"Clearly, you’re not listening," Lan Ling grumbled. "What’s so great about a cripple anyway?"

A'Nai shot her a furious glare but bit back his words.

After the meal, once they’d returned to their room, he finally burst out, "Young Master, that was too much! Plenty of women admire you—back in Nan Zhou, matchmakers were knocking on our door daily!"

"Everyone has their preferences," Wen Zhuzhi replied, entirely unbothered.

A'Nai suddenly leaned in, waggling his eyebrows.

"So, Young Master, what do you think Manager Lu likes? She’s so fond of money—surely she’d favor the wealthy? In that regard, we still have some advantage."

Wen Zhuzhi tapped his head with a book.

"Go practice your martial arts."

"Fine." A'Nai took a few steps, then peeked back. "Young Master… was it really love poetry?"

"Talk too much, and I’ll assign you a hundred copies of The Serenity Sutra."

"No, no! I won’t ask again! Have mercy, Young Master!"

"Two hundred copies."

"I’m leaving!"

Upstairs, Lu Jianwei unfolded the notebook.

The ink was fresh, not yet fully dried, emitting a faint, pleasant scent.

The characters were bold and forceful, with no trace of frailty—hardly what one would expect from an invalid’s hand.

The contents detailed the circumstances of Lin Congyue’s death.

According to rumors, Lin Congyue had taken her own life under siege by martial artists, though no one mentioned what became of her remains.

The notebook provided clarity.

After her death, the crowd saw no reason to spare her body further desecration—it was abandoned in the wilderness, left for beasts to devour.

At the time, the Mystic Mirror Bureau was still in its infancy, unable to confront the martial artists directly. They could only observe covertly and later retrieved the corpse in secret.

Her so-called suicide was by poison—a lethal dose that killed her instantly, leaving no chance for intervention.

A scrap of paper was found on her person, seemingly a prescription, but bloodstains had obscured parts of it, rendering it illegible. Physicians had studied the remnants for years without deciphering its secrets.

Wen Zhuzhi’s account gave Lu Jianwei a clear picture.

Before her death, Lin Congyue had likely been researching an antidote, but the martial artists arrived too soon, forcing her to consume the poison.

She had built her reputation on medical prowess, only to be vilified for her knowledge of toxins—and in the end, poison claimed her life. A cruel irony.

The incomplete prescription was now stored in the Mystic Mirror Bureau’s archives. If Lu Jianwei could obtain it, along with the other half of Lin Congyue’s medical notes, she might unravel its meaning.

For a physician like Lin Congyue, settling for a mere "monthly antidote" would never suffice.

Lu Jianwei had reason to suspect this prescription was tied to Tiao’s condition—and Wen Zhuzhi likely shared that suspicion.

She trusted he wouldn’t deceive her with false information. But what did he want in return?

This was business, after all. Fair trade was essential.

Surely it wasn’t just for a reserved seat.

Rather than speculate, she headed downstairs to the common room.

Wen Zhuzhi sat by the window, reading. The sunlight fell just so—illuminating his lap but sparing the pages, casting a gentle glow that was bright but not harsh.

"Manager Lu." He looked up, set the book aside, and wheeled himself to the table, pouring tea. "Please, sit."

A chair waited, slightly pulled out, as if anticipating her arrival.

The tea’s fragrance was delicate, steam curling lazily.

At a glance, no one would guess this man was the enigmatic head of the Mystic Mirror Bureau.

Lu Jianwei took the offered seat.

"Here about Lin Congyue?" Wen Zhuzhi slid a cup toward her. "The prescription is yours."

"Why?" Lu Jianwei didn’t believe in free favors.

Wen Zhuzhi smiled. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill."

"Nothing comes without a price."

"Fair trade, then. The prescription for a seat."

Lu Jianwei: "…You’re serious?"

"Absolutely."

"Deal." She wasn’t losing out.

Wen Zhuzhi turned his wheelchair toward a chest of books, retrieving writing materials before returning to the table to lay out paper.

"My apologies for the delay. It’ll just be a moment."

Lu Jianwei raised a brow. "You remember an old prescription like this?"

"I reviewed it during my recent trip to Nan Zhou," he said, grinding ink with deliberate care. "If there are errors, I trust your medical expertise will catch them."

She guessed he’d revisited the records during the Hu Jiuniang case.

"If it’s incomplete, how would I know?"

Wen Zhuzhi’s eyes crinkled. "My fear was misremembering the herb names. Forgive any mistakes."

"Since it was given freely, no matter how poorly written, I have no right to criticize." Lu Jianwei noticed the table was slightly high for someone in a wheelchair, making it somewhat inconvenient, so she added, "Tomorrow, I'll have Yue make a proper desk for you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The tea grew cold, and ink pooled in the inkstone.

Gentleman Wen dipped his brush into the ink and carefully transcribed the incomplete prescription.

He didn’t write haphazardly but followed the original order of the ingredients, noting down each medicinal herb one by one. Where bloodstains had obscured the text, he filled in with ink, meticulously preserving the arrangement of the ingredients.

Lu Jianwei silently admired his attention to detail.

"Xiao Ke, how long do you think he has left to live?"

Xiao Ke replied, "The system can't determine that, but toxins accumulate in the body over time. Once they reach a critical point, his condition could collapse suddenly. Right now, he seems fine—talking, smiling—but it’s all thanks to his inner strength. If incidents like last time happen again, even his profound cultivation won’t be enough to suppress the toxins."

"What a shame."

"Life and death are fated; wealth and honor lie with heaven."

"He possesses immeasurable riches but lacks the years to enjoy them. Just thinking about it breaks my heart."

So much money, wasted.

Xiao Ke: "..."

"This is the incomplete prescription." Gentleman Wen set down his brush and slid the paper toward Lu Jianwei. "Please take a look."

She accepted it.

The ink was still fresh, its scent mingling with the paper’s fragrance—a clean, refined aroma.

There were twenty-four medicinal herbs listed, along with six smudged sections. Judging by the length of the stains, they likely represented six more herb names, though some could be single or double-character names aligned with the three or four-character ones above.

Her current knowledge of medicine and poisons, as rated by the system, was still at a beginner’s level. She recognized all twenty-four listed herbs but couldn’t decipher how they worked together.

What were the missing ingredients?

Lin Congyue’s methods were profound. It seemed they’d need to find the other half of her medical notes and journals to truly understand her prescribing habits and uncover even a hint of the solution.

Lu Jianwei tucked away the prescription and asked, "Gentleman Wen, have you consulted any physicians about your condition?"

A kindness for a kindness—it was only right to show concern.

She hadn’t asked before, thinking their relationship was purely transactional and that prying would be intrusive.

But now that Gentleman Wen had been so sincere, her curiosity about his ailment got the better of her.

"I have. There’s no cure." Gentleman Wen smiled. "Is the innkeeper interested?"

Lu Jianwei: "..."

Did this man have no fear of death at all?

"I am, a little," she admitted frankly. "If I could cure you, wouldn’t that bring me fame and fortune?"

"You’re absolutely right." Gentleman Wen’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "I look forward to the day you succeed."

Lu Jianwei sighed. "Right now, my skills aren’t up to the task. You’ll have to stay alive a while longer."

"As the physician commands."

"I’ll take my leave now." Lu Jianwei waved. "Thanks for the tea."

She stood and opened the door. Sunlight poured in, framing her figure. The jade hairpin in her bun gleamed translucent, and the hem of her robe swept over the threshold like rippling waves.

"Yue," her voice carried from the front courtyard. "Make a desk for Gentleman Wen—one that suits him."

"No problem, I’ll start right away!"

Gentleman Wen chuckled softly to himself.

"Innkeeper Lu, what were you doing in Gentleman Wen’s room for so long? I’m dying of curiosity." Lan Ling leaned over the third-floor railing, peering down. "And now you’re having a custom desk made for him? How thoughtful."

Lu Jianwei replied, "Do you want one too?"

"I don’t read or write—what would I do with a desk? But if you’re offering, how about a chaise lounge instead? I’d love to recline by the window and admire the river view."

"Sure. A hundred taels deposit."

"Did Gentleman Wen pay too?"

"Twenty thousand for a monthly package."

Lan Ling: "..."

"Miss Lan, if you’d like a chaise lounge, I can buy one for you," Chen Hui chimed in.

Ping Wu added, "Lan’er, I’ve already given all my money to Innkeeper Lu for our deal. I can’t afford to buy you a lounge, but I can learn carpentry and make one for you myself."

"I never should’ve pleaded for your release!" Chen Hui fumed. "Just wait—I’ll go buy one right now. Do you really think you can finish faster than me?"

His attendant sighed. "Young Master, the alliance conference is over. We should return to Nanzhou."

"What’s the rush? Jiangzhou’s scenery is lovely. A few more days won’t hurt."

"But the master said—"

Chen Hui waved him off impatiently. "Enough nagging. If you’ve got nothing better to do, come with me to buy that lounge."

The attendant: "..."

Lu Jianwei thought to herself: What a battlefield.

She ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‍had no interest in the guests’ romantic entanglements and instead sought out Tiao, who was immersed in studying medicine and poisons. She handed her the prescription.

"A formula Lin Congyue wrote before her death. Take a look."

No one in the world understood Lin Congyue’s methods better than Tiao.

Tiao accepted it eagerly but frowned after a quick scan.

"What’s wrong?"

"It doesn’t seem like her usual style. I can’t make sense of it."

Lu Jianwei speculated, "You probably learned her early techniques. Later, when she turned to poisons, her habits might have changed with her mindset."

"That’s true."

"This prescription might hold the key to curing your own poison," Lu Jianwei said. "We need to decode it."

Tiao clutched the thin sheet of paper, her large almond eyes wide.

After months of recovery, her once gaunt and rough face had filled out, her skin now smooth and radiant—a far cry from her earlier lifeless appearance.

"Thank you," she said solemnly.

Lu Jianwei patted her hair bun affectionately. "No need for formalities."

"It’s not just manners."

(It’s genuine gratitude.)

Tiao added the last part silently.

"Memorized it?" Lu Jianwei asked.

"Yes."

Lu Jianwei took back the paper and returned to the third floor.

Though she’d committed the formula to memory, it was a gift from someone else—discarding it carelessly wouldn’t be proper.

She stored it in the system’s inventory.

This poison was far more complex than "Beauty’s Envy" or "Heartless Lover." At her current level, obsessing over it would be a waste of time.

Resigned, she pulled out a thick medical tome and began studying.

Meanwhile, Yue Shu measured the dimensions and set to work in the backyard, crafting the desk with meticulous care. Since Gentleman Wen had taught him formations, he regarded him as half a mentor and poured his heart into the task.

"Young Brother Yue, your craftsmanship is impressive," Ping Wu remarked, watching Yue Shu’s skilled hands at work.

Yue Shu: "..."

It’s just planing wood—was flattery necessary?

Ping Wu continued, "I promised Lan’er I’d make her a chaise lounge myself, but I’ve never done carpentry. Could you teach me?"

"Gentleman Ping Wu, I don’t take apprentices," Yue Shu replied. "Besides, I haven’t even finished my own work yet. No time to teach."

"Then may I watch you?"

Yue Shu glanced up at him.

"By the time you learn, Young Master Chen will have already bought one."

"No matter. There’ll be other chances."

"Suit yourself."

Yue Shu ignored him and resumed planing, wood shavings flying. The mess didn’t bother him—the scent of fresh timber was soothing.

"Our situations are similar—both lost our families, both met kind benefactors who helped us escape danger. Who’s to say if it’s fortune or misfortune?"

Yue Shu kept working, his rhythmic scraping filling the air.

"From what I know, it wasn’t just Song Xian who killed your family. There are hidden forces behind him. Don’t you want to uncover the truth and seek revenge?"

Yue Shu didn’t even look up. "Didn’t you also take years before going after Chai Kun and Wang Chijie?"

Ping Wu: "..."

"Ugh, if you’re not here to learn, then stop getting in my way." Yue Shu waved him off impatiently.

Ping Wu fell silent for a moment before murmuring, "My apologies," and said nothing more, simply watching Yue Shu’s hands as he worked.

Yue Shu continued sawing with the adze, his eyes flickering with suspicion as he lowered his head.

Unwarranted kindness always has ulterior motives.

Even if this man wasn’t being overtly kind, trying to bond over shared suffering was clearly deliberate. Who would believe it wasn’t intentional?

He worked for hours, and Ping Wu watched him the entire time, not even bothering to glance at the chaise lounge Chen Hui had bought earlier.

After dinner, Yue Shu slipped away unnoticed to find Lu Jianwei and brought up the matter.

"Boss, I think he’s suspicious."

"Mhm, good observation." Lu Jianwei smiled approvingly. "Keep being this sharp in the future."

Praise made Yue Shu beam with pride, and he nodded eagerly. "It’s too dark to work on the wood now. I’ll continue tomorrow."

"Alright, do as you see fit."

"Then I’ll go back to my room to train."

The young man dashed off, leaving Lu Jianwei alone behind the counter, resting her chin on her hand with half-lidded eyes.

She had never underestimated Ping Wu from the moment he appeared.

His relationship with Lan Ling was equally perplexing—sometimes it seemed like an act, other times genuine.

Back in Fengzhou, the two had conspired to use hypnosis to infiltrate the inn and steal a treasure map. Then Song Xian exposed himself, Lan Ling abandoned Ping Wu to escape alone, and later, Ping Wu killed Chai Kun and framed Lan Ling before vanishing.

Now he had reappeared in this manner, reuniting with Lan Ling at the inn as if they were reconciling.

Lu Jianwei didn’t buy it.

Neither of them was a fool. After betraying and backstabbing each other, there was no way they could still be in love.

Unless, of course, their idea of romance was… unconventional.

When one line of reasoning hits a dead end, it’s time to try another.

What if their entire relationship had been an act from the start?

Every betrayal, every stab in the back—all staged for an audience. The purpose, however, remained unclear.

But one thing didn’t add up.

Lan Ling and Ping Wu were far from stupid. Ping Wu had to know that deliberately getting close to Yue Shu would raise her suspicions. So why do it?

Unless provoking her suspicion was the goal.

The more they did, the higher the chance of slipping up—leaving traces for her to follow.

If her curiosity led her to investigate the truth for her employees, she would inevitably rely on her "hidden connections."

The Thousand Miles Pavilion was renowned for its intelligence network. Any movement on her part would leave traces they could exploit.

That had to be their plan!

Everything suddenly made sense.

If covert schemes failed, they’d resort to overt ones—anything to expose a weakness.

Lan Ling staying here was just another way to keep an eye on her every move.

It seemed the Thousand Miles Pavilion was deeply interested in her so-called "master sect."

Lu Jianwei smirked.

What master sect? They could search all they wanted—they’d find nothing.

Night deepened, and all the inn’s lights went out.

In the stables, Du Hanqiu endured the stench as he spat out a wax-coated pill from his mouth.

It hit the ground, and he carefully crushed it underfoot.

The "Ordinary Guest" poison was indeed formidable. Even the antidote his physician had prepared beforehand couldn’t neutralize it completely.

Fortunately, he’d come prepared.

The wax casing contained a special lure, designed to attract a particular venomous insect. The creature slipped silently into the inn, guided by its master’s will, crawling toward the well in the backyard.

Du Hanqiu wasn’t the reckless fool he’d pretended to be earlier. His true purpose here was far more calculated—Wang Chijie’s death had merely provided a convenient excuse to enter the inn.

During the day, he hadn’t brought the insect with him, wary of the inn’s mysterious experts detecting it.

But darkness cloaked the creature, rendering it nearly invisible.

Jiangzhou was already teeming with insects—no one would pay attention to one more under the cover of night. His plan was foolproof.

This insect had been meticulously bred by his physician, steeped in countless poisons and fed on other venomous creatures. Its toxins were unlike any ordinary poison—colorless, odorless, and nearly undetectable.

Confident, he waited.

The insect had been trained to obey simple commands, and the well was its destination.

In her third-floor room, Lu Jianwei sat meditating on her bed when her eyes suddenly snapped open, baffled.

"Xiao Ke, did no one spread the word about why Lv Hudie and the others left the inn? Why is someone still trying to poison us with bugs?"

Xiao Ke: "Martial artists care about their pride."

"Just the thought of bugs makes me sick." Lu Jianwei frowned. "Xiao Ke, eliminate it."

The attack mechanism activated, and the hidden insect turned to dust in an instant—costing just one copper coin.

Du Hanqiu, unaware of the insect’s demise, kept waiting.

From night until dawn, he listened for any sign of movement.

Finally, the inn stirred to life.

Uncle Zhang, the eldest, rose first, quietly fetching water from the well.

The sound of splashing water sent a thrill through Du Hanqiu.

It was happening!

Once the water vat was filled, the rest of the staff began their day.

Yan Feicang chopped firewood, Xue Guanhe cooked, Yue Shu tended the stove, while Tiao and Yun Hui swept inside and out.

The inn brimmed with the warmth of daily life.

Lu Jianwei stepped onto the balcony at dawn, greeted by a breathtaking sky painted in hues of sunrise. A gentle breeze carried birdsong, and fishermen’s soft hums drifted from the river.

"Boss Lu, are we interrogating someone today?" Lan Ling emerged from her room, the chime of her anklets ringing sweetly.

Lu Jianwei smiled. "Do you have any advice, Miss Lan?"

"Advice? Hardly. I’m just curious about that truth-serum pill of yours. Would love to see it in action."

"Of course. Admission fee—"

"Boss Lu, after all this time, must we talk about money?"

Lu Jianwei: "Money is the foundation of our relationship. Problem?"

"Fine, fine. How much?"

"One thousand taels."

"..."

From downstairs, Xue Guanhe called out, "Boss, breakfast is ready!"

"Coming."

Lu Jianwei headed down, ignoring Lan Ling’s crestfallen expression.

"Miss Lan, if you’re short on funds, I could lend you some," Chen Hui offered, poking his head out from his room.

Lan Ling’s eyes glinted. "Lend?"

"A hundred taels, I’d give freely. But after impulsively spending two hundred thousand earlier, another thousand would be hard to explain to my father."

"Pass." Lan Ling rolled her eyes internally and sashayed downstairs.

Chen Hui hurried after her. "Miss Lan, how did you like the chaise I gifted you yesterday?"

"Not bad."

"Glad to hear it." Chen Hui stuck close. "Miss Lan, how long do you plan to stay here?"

"How long I stay is none of your business." Lan Ling had had enough of him—too stingy to spare a thousand taels, he wasn’t worth her time.

She quickened her pace, leaving him behind.

Chen Hui tried to follow, but A'Nai blocked his path.

"Move aside!"

A'Nai was tall and slender, standing a head above him. Crossing his arms, he looked down with a cold snort. "You really have your eyes on her?"

"What's it to you?" Chen Hui glared, then suddenly blurted, "You’re not trying to steal her from me, are you?"

A'Nai froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Don’t be ridiculous. I stopped you just to tell you—your 'Miss Lan' is nearly forty. If you still like her, I won’t stand in your way."

"You’re lying!" Chen Hui refused to believe it.

A'Nai shrugged. "Suit yourself. Think of it as nonsense if you want."

With that, he turned and walked away without another word, leaving Chen Hui rooted in shock.

He couldn’t accept that such a beautiful woman could be old enough to be his mother.

"Young Master, I’ve heard martial artists have ways to preserve their youth. She doesn’t look like an ordinary woman—I think A'Nai might be telling the truth," his servant whispered cautiously.

Chen Hui shook his head. "No. I need to ask her myself."

After all the effort he’d put in—treating her to meals, tea, even gifting her a chaise lounge—was this really the answer he’d get?

Unacceptable!

"Miss Lan, may I ask how old you are?"

Lan Ling, a sixth-rank martial artist, had overheard every word of their earlier exchange—A'Nai hadn’t bothered to lower his voice.

"Asking a lady her age is quite rude," she said, her red lips curling. "But since you gave me that lovely chaise, I’ll tell you."

Chen Hui waited eagerly.

Lan Ling smiled. "I looked exactly like this when you were still in swaddling clothes."

"…"

With a strangled cry, Chen Hui spun around and fled.

"Tsk, tsk," A'Nai remarked, shaking his head. "So easily shaken."