[POV: Yao Yazhu]

  A junior disciple leaned closer to me, his voice lowered as though afraid the wind itself might overhear.

  “Senior Yao,” he asked, doubt barely concealed, “is there truly any value in searching for disciples in a backwater like this?”

  I did not look at him immediately. My gaze remained fixed on the distant rooftops of Xincheng, tiled in orderly rows beneath a pale sky.

  “Be patient,” I said at last. “Just follow my lead. If we cannot recruit even a single disciple here, then Yao Yazhu would not be my name.”

  The words left my mouth smoothly, confident and unshaken.

  Of course, they were little more than empty bravado.

  Even if we returned to the Sect empty-handed, the elders would not find fault with me. We were not truly here to recruit disciples. At least, not in earnest. We were here to investigate something far more significant: the mysterious meteor child revealed by celestial phenomena, divined to have descended somewhere within this very land.

  Recruitment was merely a convenient excuse.

  Lord Meng of Xincheng had spared no expense in welcoming us. The banquet was held within an open-sided garden pavilion, surrounded by carefully trimmed greenery and flowing water that reflected lantern light like scattered stars. The air carried the fragrance of cooked meats, fresh herbs, and warm wine.

  Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed it.

  Unfortunately, the presence of the other sects dampened my mood considerably.

  Three major sects had gathered here, each from a different domain. My own Phantasm Star Sect hailed from the vast Milky Way Domain. Across the pavilion sat representatives of the Boulder Path Sect from the mysterious Peach Monkey Domain. And, of course, there were the cultivators of the Dragon Heart Sect from the Crimson Fire Domain.

  Dong Li, a cultivator at the Qi Refinement realm and representative of the Boulder Path Sect, wandered over to our table with an easy grin.

  “This food isn’t bad at all,” he remarked cheerfully. “For a place like this, anyway.”

  I inclined my head politely. “You seem to be lost,” I said coolly. “Your fellow disciples are seated over there.”

  Dong Li laughed, wholly unbothered. “Must you be so stiff? I was only trying to be friendly.”

  The Boulder Path Sect had always been like this, straightforward to a fault. Honest, blunt, and often lacking the social awareness expected of cultivators from more refined traditions. Many mistook them for thugs at first glance.

  They were good people, though.

  Our sects shared a distant origin, their philosophies branching from the same ancient roots. That familiarity was the only reason I tolerated his casual approach.

  It was no coincidence that the other major sects were present. News of the meteor child had not remained confined to my sect alone. The celestial anomaly from ten years ago had been unprecedented. Even within the Phantasm Star Sect, scholars debated its implications for decades to come, arguing over how such an existence might alter the flow of fate for ten thousand years.

  The fact that sects from other domains had converged on a place as insignificant as this spoke volumes.

  If the elders had been able to act freely, they would have dispatched a Foundation Establishment cultivator without hesitation. Unfortunately, this land rejected such beings. Those of higher realms grew ill upon arrival, their cultivation forcibly suppressed.

  That was why they sent me.

  And why the others had done the same.

  A sudden commotion drew my attention. Voices rose from the direction of the Dragon Heart Sect’s table, sharp and irritated.

  They were complaining loudly about how long Lord Meng was taking to formally greet them.

  I suppressed a sigh.

  Those fellows had always been arrogant, their tempers as volatile as the domain they hailed from. I had even heard a rumor that one of their disciples had once demanded that a disciple of the Dream King of Glory craft talismans for them, as though such a thing were owed by default.

  Utterly shameless.

  I turned back to Dong Li and regarded him with mild curiosity.

  “Tell me,” I said, my voice calm but probing, “what do you know of the Dragon Heart Sect?”

  Dong Li lifted his chin subtly and gestured with his wine cup toward a corner of the pavilion.

  “See that old man sitting there,” he said. “The one who looks like he’s meditating through the banquet?”

  My gaze followed his gesture.

  Among the Dragon Heart Sect disciples sat an elderly cultivator with a narrow face and half-lidded eyes, his posture composed, almost meek. He neither joined the complaints nor the laughter of his juniors. The man appeared withdrawn, but there was a coiled stillness about him that reminded me of a snake basking in the sun.

  “That’s Huang Yong,” Dong Li continued. “An old snake, if there ever was one. Always eager to make achievements he can parade before his sect. You should be careful around him.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I studied the faint aura around the man. Peak Qi Refinement.

  That could mean many things. A lack of talent that capped him here for life, or a cultivator lingering deliberately at the threshold, waiting for the right moment or the right fortune to break through.

  “I can’t tell which,” I murmured. “Well, the Foundation Establishment can’t be easy…”

  Dong Li snorted. “That’s not the real problem.”

  I turned back to him. “There’s more?”

  He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “He has a nephew. Far more troublesome than he is.”

  That earned my full attention.

  “Which one?” I asked calmly. “Point him out. I prefer knowing exactly who to keep my distance from.”

  In the world of cultivation, unrestrained people were the most dangerous kind, regardless of their realm. They were loud, offensive, and fond of mistaking avoidance for reverence. Such fools often believed others kept their distance out of awe, rather than disgust.

  When they climbed too high on that delusion, someone inevitably smashed them back down.

  I had no desire to be that someone.

  Caution was common sense. One never knew which ancient ancestor might crawl out of the dirt if you offended the wrong person.

  Dong Li frowned and scanned the Dragon Heart Sect’s table again. “Now that I think about it… I don’t see him.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly did this nephew do to earn such a reputation?”

  Dong Li grimaced. “He’s the same fellow from the rumors. The one who demanded that a disciple of the Dream King of Glory make talismans for him.”

  I paused. “Rumors have a way of growing legs,” I said. “It’s possible he was simply buying talismans, and the story got twisted.”

  Dong Li shook his head. “If exaggeration like that sticks so easily and spreads this far, then Huang Long must be a genuine pain in the ass.”

  I filed the name away.

  Huang Long.

  Before I could say more, a subtle shift rippled through the pavilion. Conversations faltered. Even the Dragon Heart Sect disciples quieted.

  A new presence had entered.

  She walked with measured steps, dark hair gathered neatly into a bun, her dark blue robes unadorned yet impossible to overlook. Her aura was restrained, refined, and unmistakably that of a Qi Refinement cultivator.

  Meng Rong.

  Kin to Lord Meng of Xincheng. Disciple of the Dream King of Glory.

  Unlike Xincheng or its lord, her status stood on an entirely different plane.

  My sect dealt in illusions and dreams. To us, the Dream King was not merely a powerful cultivator, but an idol. His disciple naturally commanded the same reverence.

  Around me, my fellow disciples stirred, their attention drawn as surely as moths to flame.

  I straightened slightly, my expression composed.

  Meng Rong inclined her head slightly, her expression composed as she addressed the pavilion. “My apologies for my younger brother’s tardiness,” she said evenly. “I hope the seniors and fellow Daoists have found the refreshments and feast to their liking.”

  Her tone was courteous and flawless. It was precisely what one would expect from the Dream King’s disciple.

  Before the atmosphere could fully settle, a dry voice cut through the air. “Enough pleasantries,” Huang Yong said bluntly from his seat. “Where is the meteor child?”

  The pavilion fell silent.

  Even the music lingering at the edges of the garden seemed to falter. I narrowed my eyes slightly, keeping my expression neutral.

  So direct and crude.

  Did this old man truly lack even a shred of subtlety, or did he simply believe his cultivation gave him the right to tear veils apart with bare hands?

  Before Meng Rong could respond, Dong Li slammed his cup down lightly, his movements broad but deliberate.

  “Since we’re speaking frankly,” he said with a wide grin, “this Dong Li has long admired Xincheng. A well-governed city, prosperous people, and such refined hospitality. Naturally, I’ve grown quite curious about the lord behind it all. Might we trouble Lord Meng to grace us with his presence?”

  His words were smooth, even flattering, yet the intent beneath them was unmistakable.

  The Boulder Path Sect was never as foolish as people liked to think.

  I exhaled slowly through my nose.

  So all three sects were done pretending.

  I had come prepared. Through careful inquiries and the exchange of no small amount of precious information, I had narrowed the possible whereabouts of the meteor child to two parties: Meng Wu of Xincheng, or Zhu Shufen of the Tuyin Monarchy.

  If it was not with Meng Wu, then the child would be in the capital itself.

  And if that were the case… I would have to pay a visit to the Tuyin King and see how firmly his spine held when shaken.

  Given the circumstances, however, the answer was obvious.

  The child was here.

  A calm voice carried across the pavilion.

  “I am here.”

  Meng Wu stepped forward, emerging from the side passage. He wore the robes of a scholar-official, his posture dignified, though I could sense the strain beneath his composure.

  Beside him walked a familiar woman.

  Zhu Shufen.

  Ah.

  So he chose openness, or at least the illusion of it.

  Bold, I thought. Dangerously so.

  My lips curved faintly as understanding settled in.

  They would deny the meteor child’s existence outright, cloak themselves in ignorance, and rely on Meng Rong’s reputation and cultivation to temper the interrogation. While the sects remained bound by decorum, they would quietly move the child elsewhere, burying the trail beneath layers of misdirection.

  And while we played at recruitment and courtesy, the real hunt would begin through alleys, households, and shadows of the city.

  Competing against three sects.

  Maintaining smiles.

  Keeping blades sheathed.

  I lifted my cup and took a measured sip.

  Well played, indeed.

  It seemed my stay in Xincheng would be far more hectic than anticipated.

  Dong Li tilted his head, openly studying the woman beside Meng Wu.

  “And who might this be?” he asked, his tone casual, as though he were genuinely unaware of her identity. Whether that ignorance was real or feigned was difficult to tell. After all, the Tuyin Nation barely registered as more than a footnote to the great civilizations that dominated our domains.

  Meng Wu did not hesitate.

  “This is Zhu Shufen,” he said, his voice steady. “The woman I cherish. The one I wish to share my life with.”

  Zhu Shufen lowered her gaze demurely and followed with a gentle bow.

  “I am merely a fortunate woman of fallen nobility,” she said softly. “To have received the lord’s favor is a blessing I dare not take lightly.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  A fallen noble woman. If the Tuyin King had disowned her, she was technically not lying…

  Still, that explanation slid too easily off the tongue.

  Why conceal her true identity as a princess of the Tuyin Nation? The only reasonable explanation was that the Tuyin King did not approve of this union. Perhaps he had even explicitly forbidden it. If so, this secret alone could become a lever, one that, if applied correctly, could tilt the balance of this delicate situation.

  I filed the thought away, keeping my expression serene.

  Before the conversation could continue, an oppressive pressure suddenly washed over the pavilion.

  It was crude, violent, and unrestrained.

  Several disciples around me stiffened, their breathing turning shallow as if an invisible hand had seized their chests. Even I felt a faint prickle along my skin.

  Footsteps echoed.

  A man in strange attire strode into the banquet hall, carrying another man slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The bloodied figure wore the unmistakable colors of the Dragon Heart Sect.

  The newcomer’s white garments were splattered red, the contrast stark and unsettling. He moved with the casual confidence of someone entirely unconcerned with the identities present or the consequences of his actions.

  He stopped at the center of the pavilion and unceremoniously dropped the bloodied man onto the ground.

  The impact drew a sharp intake of breath from several onlookers.

  I focused my senses.

  Peak Body Tempering.

  And yet…

  The pressure he exuded was anything but ordinary.

  It was not refined qi, nor was it the spiritual coercion of a higher realm. It was something raw, oppressive, and instinctively alarming, like standing before a beast that had learned to smile.

  Meng Rong stiffened.

  Her eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned.

  “Yakuza Man,” she called out, her voice sharp with disbelief. “What is the meaning of this?”