The Fu Family’s main stronghold was located in the western part of the Yuanwu Kingdom, deep within a mountain range called Purple Path Mountain. The mountain was perpetually shrouded in a faint purple mist. Mortals who entered not only found it impossible to see, but after prolonged exposure, their eyes would tear up, their throats would swell painfully, and eventually, they would succumb to the poison and perish.
Though the locals were well aware of the dangers of the purple mist and avoided it like the plague, every year, some unsuspecting outsiders would wander in and meet their end. The Fu Family, who had long considered the mountain their territory, paid no heed to these mortal deaths.
Mortals died—what could be done? Besides, perishing under the “Purple Poison Mist Formation,” painstakingly arranged by several formation masters hired by the Fu Family, could be considered a stroke of fate for these commoners.
However, in recent days, though Purple Path Mountain remained veiled in mist, this usually desolate place had begun to grow lively. Cultivators frequently appeared outside the purple fog, shouting something before presenting a radiant red invitation, after which they would be escorted into the mist and vanish.
The nearest mortal town to Purple Path Mountain was a small city called “Taihe.” The town was modest, spanning only about ten *li*, with a population of just over a hundred thousand. Yet it had all the necessary facilities—taverns, inns, and more—lacking nothing.
“Ah Er” was a young attendant at one of Taihe City’s two inns, the Yongqu Inn. Though only eighteen or nineteen years old, he had already worked as an attendant for three or four years. Now, slightly thin and frail, he leaned lazily against the inn’s doorway, weakly calling out to passersby to stay at the inn.
This wasn’t due to laziness—it was midsummer, and after shouting under the scorching sun all morning, no one would have the energy to raise their voice. Even the notoriously stingy and difficult Manager Liu, though displeased by Ah Er’s lack of enthusiasm, merely muttered a few complaints under his breath before burying himself in calculations with an abacus, tallying the thick ledger on his desk.
Ah Er glanced up at the hazy white sky, silently cursing in his heart before lowering his head and mumbling another half-hearted invitation, his spirits sinking even lower.
He was just considering whether he could sneak back to the kitchen unnoticed by Manager Liu to gulp down a few cups of cold water to ease the stifling heat when suddenly, the sky darkened, and the surroundings instantly cooled. Startled, Ah Er looked up—and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Standing before him were three strange individuals.
One wore a tall hat and hemp robes, short and plump like a giant meatball. Another was bald and barefoot, with bulging eyes and a brutish face, towering over ten feet tall. The last had wild, tied-back hair, a face full of hostility, and icy, ruthless eyes.
“Honored guests, are you here to stay?” Ah Er, despite his shock, quickly put on a practiced smile. Years of experience told him that though these men looked fearsome, they were likely generous spenders.
“Foolish question. Why else would we be here? Get us three of your best rooms and prepare a table of fine wine and dishes to be sent to our quarters,” the meatball-like man snapped, tossing a large chunk of silver into Ah Er’s arms.
“Yes, yes! Right away, honored guests! Ah Er, quickly prepare the finest rooms for these gentlemen!” Before Ah Er could respond, Manager Liu, who had been watching from inside, darted to the entrance like a man half his age, snatched the silver from Ah Er’s hands, and fawned obsequiously.
“Yes, Manager,” Ah Er replied helplessly, inwardly sighing as his hard-earned tip was stolen yet again.
If it weren’t for the fact that he only knew how to work as an inn attendant and that the town had only two inns, he would never have continued working for this miser. After mentally cursing Manager Liu a dozen times, Ah Er forced a smile and led the three men to a room on the second floor before retreating.
“Huh?” The moment Ah Er stepped away from the trio, the oppressive heat returned. Puzzled, he scratched his head but could make no sense of it before descending the stairs, still confused.
A lavish spread of food and wine was soon prepared, and Ah Er helped the other attendants carry it to the room.
The three men sat silently at the table.
Ah Er glanced at them curiously, and the wild-haired cultivator seemed to sense it, suddenly fixing him with a cold stare.
That gaze sent a chill down Ah Er’s spine, as if he’d been plunged into an icy abyss. Terrified, he quickly lowered his head and hurried out of the room, his heart pounding uncontrollably even after he returned to the inn’s entrance.
Inside the room, the three men finally began to speak.
“Brother Han, why use a Soul-Startling Art on a mere mortal? Did that boy offend you?” the plump man chuckled, addressing the wild-haired man.
“It’s nothing. That attendant has a spiritual root—though not a particularly good one, he could still reach the third or fourth layer of Qi Refinement,” the wild-haired cultivator replied indifferently.
“A spiritual root? That is surprising. But if his aptitude is so poor, why bother? Though I must say, Brother Han, your ability to discern spiritual roots without even touching him is truly remarkable,” the plump cultivator remarked, visibly impressed.
“My cultivation is no higher than yours. I merely practice a specialized technique,” the wild-haired man said coolly, glancing at the plump cultivator.
“Brother Han is too modest. Still, someone like that attendant has no future in the cultivation world. Even if he somehow reached Foundation Establishment like us, without a sect’s backing, he’d be nothing but a wandering ghost, bullied by his peers. We’re only here at Purple Path Mountain because of the Fu Family Patriarch’s birthday celebration, hoping for a stroke of luck. If we can catch the eye of a major clan or a demonic sect, our fortunes might change. But as rogue cultivators, we can only enter Fu Manor on the day of the celebration—otherwise, why would we wait here for half a month?” The plump man sighed bitterly.
“Hmm.” The wild-haired cultivator nodded coldly, clearly unwilling to elaborate.
Exchanging a glance with the bald giant, the plump man prompted the latter to speak.
“Brother Han, we only joined you because we heard you were also heading to Fu Manor for the celebration. After traveling together for days, we know you’re a rogue cultivator with impressive skills, but we’ve never heard of you before. Where did you cultivate, and why is your name unknown to us?” the giant rumbled, his bull-like eyes fixed on the wild-haired man.
As the question hung in the air, the plump cultivator’s eyes gleamed sharply, watching the Han-named cultivator intently.
Unfazed, the wild-haired man replied calmly, “I was originally from the Yue Kingdom and only recently moved to Yuanwu. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of me.”
“The Yue Kingdom? That’s under the Ghost Spirit Sect’s control. Why didn’t Brother Han try his luck there instead of coming to Yuanwu?” the plump man asked, blinking his small eyes.
“Who says I didn’t? But I found no path to enter. Besides, in Yue, the Ghost Spirit Sect dominates completely, leaving no room for other sects. That’s why I came to Yuanwu to seek opportunities. Coincidentally, I arrived just in time for the Fu Family Patriarch’s birthday—a rare chance I couldn’t pass up,” the wild-haired man explained smoothly.
“I see. It seems Brother Han has had a hard time,” the plump man laughed, dropping the subject and steering the conversation toward cultivation world gossip.
Once the meal was finished, the wild-haired cultivator excused himself and retired to the adjacent room.
The moment the door closed, the plump man’s jovial expression twisted into something sinister. He pulled out a talisman, formed a hand seal, and activated it, enveloping the room in a barrier of white light—a Soundproofing Talisman.
“Brother Luo, do you think he’s telling the truth? Is he really a rogue cultivator?” the bald giant asked urgently.
“A rogue cultivator? Hardly. More likely a disciple from some minor sect,” the plump man sneered, stroking his fleshy chin with a dark expression.
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