Chapter Seven: Like-minded Mei Daoqing

“Everyone, please rise. There’s another matter: I need more people now. If you have family—brothers, sisters, or children—recommend them to me. The monthly wage will certainly be higher than anywhere else. If they perform well, their pay will only increase. If anyone has a particular skill or talent, let me know. Of course, don’t recommend anyone lazy. The monthly salary of a spirit coin I’m offering isn’t just for diligent work; I also expect you to help me manage the newcomers.”

In recent days, Yang Cheng had been considering this issue. First, he was currently short-handed, and it was better to use people he was familiar with, or who came recommended. Second, there was still much work ahead; once these people’s families were settled, they would be more devoted. Especially if there were matters of secrecy in the future, it was best to have trustworthy people by his side.

“Young master, I have a nephew, about fifteen or sixteen, clever and quick on his feet. He’s even learned some arithmetic with his friends. Our family was just planning to send him out to make a living. What do you think?” Aunt Wang asked cautiously.

“Certainly. If he has some special skills, bring him for me to see, and I’ll find him suitable work.”

“Young master, I also have two younger sisters—quick-witted and skillful. I’m sure they could learn this food business in no time,” Aunt Zhu offered.

“Good, bring them all. Tonight, I’ll give everyone a holiday. Go home and prepare. Have them come help tomorrow morning; in the afternoon, register them with Chief Steward Yang. Go home early tonight and come back early tomorrow. People from the Eastern City District will also be coming in the morning.”

Everyone went home rejoicing. Those with many siblings were relieved—finally, there was hope, and they wouldn’t have to sell themselves into hardship in other households. Still, they knew to be cautious; anyone lazy or gluttonous would not do. To ruin the young master’s affairs would only spoil their own standing with him.

After the others left, Yang Cheng called Old Yang to stay, and together they brought some food to the secret chamber to check on the injured man. The man still hadn’t woken, so they changed his dressings and prepared to leave.

Just as they were about to go, a heavy exhalation sounded, followed by a faint voice: “Where am I?”

Both men felt a chill but cautiously approached, seeing the man had awakened. His injuries were severe, and he could not move, so they both breathed a sigh of relief.

After Old Yang cleaned the man’s face, the scars from several knife wounds appeared, hideous and frightening, such that his features were unrecognizable—particularly terrifying in the darkness.

Old Yang stepped forward and explained the situation, then introduced Yang Cheng: “This is our young master. He’s the one who saved you and hid you here from your pursuers.”

The man struggled to lift his head, looked at Yang Cheng, and slowly spoke: “Thank you both for saving me. I thought I would die for sure, but against all odds, I survived. Young master, I have no way to repay your kindness.”

“It was nothing, think nothing of it,” Yang Cheng replied politely, though in his heart he thought, ‘I still don’t know if saving you is a blessing or a curse. The sooner you’re well enough to leave, the better.’

“Where are your companions? How can I contact them to come fetch you?” Yang Cheng asked.

“Companions?” the man said, puzzled. “There is only me, Lu Baichuan.”

“Alone?” Yang Cheng was astonished. One man wiped out a hundred people and escaped pursuit? He dared not say more; this was clearly a man for whom killing came as easily as breathing.

Noticing Yang Cheng’s skeptical look, the man added, “Truly, I am alone. In the face of my benefactor, I dare not lie.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Yang Cheng asked, seeing the man did not seem to be lying. He wanted to understand the situation fully before deciding how to proceed. After all, a stranger who was a ruthless killer might pose no threat now, but once healed, he could become a ticking time bomb. Best to be prepared.

The man’s name was Lu Baichuan, from the remote borderlands of the northwest, a native of the city of Luogu.

There is a saying: “The northwest breeds heroes, and Luogu produces youthful prodigies.” In that war-torn region, cultivators valued chivalry and righteousness. Lu Baichuan’s parents perished in the chaos, and he had wandered the world from a young age. With natural talent and a string of fortuitous encounters, he had reached the Golden Core stage by the age of forty. He was known for championing the weak and upholding justice, earning a reputation for heroism among the northwest’s itinerant cultivators.

Why, then, had he journeyed so far to Wuzhou City to kill? The story began two years prior.

Near the capital in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, a strange phenomenon occurred, witnessed by the traveling Lu Baichuan. He set out alone to investigate and discovered a secret realm about to open. But he was not the only one; elders and disciples from several local sects had also arrived, numbering in the hundreds. Lu Baichuan, disliking sect disciples, paid them little heed—everyone would rely on their own abilities once the realm opened.

When it did, the crowd entered in single file to seek their fortunes. The interior was resplendent with radiant light, appearing auspicious, but peril lay beneath the surface, with strange and powerful beasts lurking within.

Lu Baichuan did not dare to be careless and advanced with utmost caution. Along the way, he encountered several groups of sect disciples meeting their demise and even witnessed two sects fighting over a spirit herb, both sides suffering casualties.

He kept to himself, passing through many dangerous places, until he noticed something odd on a small side path and hurried over to investigate. There, he discovered a vast chamber with a stone platform at its center, atop which was embedded a sword. With his discerning eye, he could tell at once this was no ordinary weapon—it was far superior even to the finest spiritual treasures he possessed.

Secretly delighted at his good fortune, he was about to leap onto the platform to claim the sword when something suddenly leapt out and blocked his path.

Lu Baichuan looked closely, and even with his courage and skill, he was shocked. The creature was twice his height, covered in fur, though draped with animal hides. Its eyes and face displayed unmistakably human emotion, yet it bore no trace of demonic energy.

This was no time to hesitate. As the beast charged, Lu Baichuan had no choice but to fight. He chanted a sword incantation and attacked, his swordplay grand and forceful, driving the creature back repeatedly. This only enraged the beast, which howled, its aura surging. The walls trembled as stones fell, not from spiritual power—an anomaly, since in the Cloud Drift Nation, both humans and beasts cultivated by absorbing spiritual energy.

The beast’s physical strength was tremendous. The two fought with all their might, locked in a life-and-death struggle that lasted hundreds of exchanges, both left battered and breathless.

As they paused to catch their breath, Lu Baichuan glanced at the chamber entrance—and saw, to his dismay, a group of sect disciples had blocked the exit, coldly watching the battle.

Lu Baichuan realized these people were after the treasure as well, waiting to reap the spoils. Whether he lost or won, he would likely die here—if the beast killed him, he was finished; if he slew the beast, he would be left exhausted and at the mercy of the sect disciples.

There was no escaping this crisis without resorting to cunning. Making up his mind, he resumed his battle with the beast. After several moves, he feigned an opening and stabbed—not to a vital point, so as not to cripple it. Enraged, the beast charged furiously.

Lu Baichuan quietly edged closer to the sect disciples. As the beast barreled toward him, he dodged at the last second, taking only a minor wound, and let the beast crash into the front rank of disciples. The startled sect members reflexively drew their weapons to defend themselves. The beast, seeing so many similar faces, assumed they were all enemies, and in its rage attacked indiscriminately.

Lu Baichuan took the opportunity to catch his breath, not intending to help—the sects had long bullied the weak. He slipped into a corner, took a pill, and began to recover his strength.

The entrance was narrow, and the sect disciples could not bring their numbers to bear. Several fell in the struggle, and the survivors retreated, fighting, out onto the open ground outside the chamber, surrounding the beast at last.

With the beast blocked from returning, the sect disciples had no time to mind the chamber. Seeing this heaven-sent chance, Lu Baichuan abandoned his meditation, leapt onto the platform, and, summoning all his strength, finally drew the sword. The blade gleamed, carved with cloud and bird motifs, radiating spiritual light—surely a celestial treasure. But the crisis was not yet over; there was no time to bind it as his own.

Lu Baichuan was about to slip away when he saw most of the sect disciples had been slain. Still, three elders remained, all Golden Core experts. With their combined assault, the beast could not withstand them and finally collapsed, dead.

One of the elders spotted Lu Baichuan’s attempted escape. With a whistle, the remaining dozen or so surrounded him.

An elder said, “You may leave, friend—but the sword stays.”

Lu Baichuan laughed bitterly. “Isn’t it customary to respect whoever arrives first? Not only did you refuse to help, now you mean to rob me?”

“Our sect lost more than ten men to that beast. This sword cannot simply fall into your hands,” the elder replied.

“If not for you, I could have slain it alone. You were simply too close,” Lu Baichuan retorted.

“If we cannot agree, don’t blame us for taking it by force,” another elder sneered.

Lu Baichuan snorted. “Bullying the weak and robbing the strong—such is the sects’ way. If you want the sword from me, let’s see if you have the skill!”

With nothing more to say, the two sides fought fiercely. Though both had suffered losses fighting the beast, Lu Baichuan, for all his valor, was still outnumbered. He wounded four or five disciples but suffered grave injuries himself, and was soon barely standing.

The leading elder, seeing only five or six left on his feet—when they had started with over twenty, counting three elders and the sect’s elite disciples—was beside himself with rage. “You wretch, you dare wound men of the Yellow Crane Sect? Today you will beg for life and be denied death!”

Lu Baichuan was at his limit. Against any one of the elders alone, he’d have prevailed easily, but together, using their formation’s shifting offense and defense, he was helpless. Many lone cultivators had died for lack of allies—and now, it seemed, his turn had come.

At that critical moment, a cold laugh sounded: “So this is the Yellow Crane Sect—bullying the few with the many, and now you’d slaughter them all.”

Everyone turned to see a slim figure approaching, sword on his back, robes fluttering lightly in the breeze.