“Immortal Li…”
Hearing that Li Jian refused to go, Song Zhiyuan hurriedly stepped forward.
In the past, it wasn’t as though cultivators had never visited Zunyang City, and plenty of them maintained ties with the Song estate. Given Song Zhiyuan’s natural aptitude and talent, there were countless individuals eager to take him under their wing as a disciple.
He had declined not because he looked down on their insufficient cultivation or humble backgrounds, but simply because he felt the fateful affinity had not yet arrived.
Yet the person before him—from the very first moment they met—had given Song Zhiyuan a sense of familiarity that made him naturally inclined to draw closer, as if they had already known each other for decades.
“Please stay, Immortal Elder.”
Stepping directly forward, Song Zhiyuan blocked Li Jian’s path, his gaze falling calmly onto Xuan Lang standing behind him.
The purple-robed nobleman glanced at Song Zhiyuan, tapped his fan open with a sharp clack, and smilingly struck Qi Jingyao’s shoulder. “Young Master Qi, it’s rare for us to come out and enjoy a lake cruise; let’s not ruin everyone’s mood.”
Their gathering today wasn’t entirely to accept the invitation of the Changle House courtesan. Given their status as distinguished young gentlemen, a mere courtesan from a local establishment could never command enough sway to summon so many young masters out in force.
The primary reason they had all assembled here today concerned the upcoming descent of the Mount Donglu immortal lord next month.
As is well known, the Immortal Lord of Mount Donglu descends once every decade. Aside from performing blessing rituals for the city’s populace, he also brings along disciples from the mortal realm’s premier sect, the Chengchi Sect, to attend upon him as attendants. Based on the aptitude of eligible youths, they select one individual to enter the Chengchi Sect for cultivation a truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Countless sects populate the mortal realm, yet only the Chengchi Sect connects directly to Mount Donglu, serving as a swift shortcut leading straight to ascension.
Years ago, the former head preceptor of Mount Donglu was also selected from the mortal realm, entering the Chengchi Sect to cultivate before ultimately ascending to Mount Donglu and attaining the position of head preceptor. This precedent extended to the current Twin Immortals of Mount Donglu Immortal Lord Shiyuan and Immortal Lord Dongli—illustrating just how extraordinary the Daoist teachings of the Chengchi Sect truly were.
Securing selection by the immortal lord, however, was a near-impossibility. At present, the only person with a genuine chance was Song Zhiyuan, whose natural talent for swordsmanship was exceptionally peerless.
Consequently, each family began plotting ways to win Song Zhiyuan over, hoping that once he entered the Chengchi Sect, he would not forget past affections and might extend a helping hand when needed.
The Chengchi Sect held an unwritten rule: members holding the rank of discipline-head disciple or higher possessed the authority to bring one person from the mortal realm into the sect for cultivation. They simply needed to notify the managing elder, and that person could directly enter the inner sect without undergoing the preliminary examinations required of outer sect disciples.
Yet the number of discipline-head disciples possessing this special privilege within the current Chengchi Sect totaled merely three. Elders and those of higher rank rarely descended the mountain, and their criteria were far more stringent, practically never leading disciples from the mortal realm into the sect. Thus, those three discipline-head disciples represented an exceedingly rare opportunity.
Becoming a discipline-head disciple was no simple task. Naturally, the families didn’t expect Song Zhiyuan to attain that rank and return to seek them out that would take goodness knows how long to wait.
They merely required Song Zhiyuan to put in a favorable word before a discipline-head disciple on their behalf, securing a chance to simply show their faces.
Since Song Zhiyuan was determined to have Li Jian join the lake cruise, no one dared utter a single dissenting word. Moreover, Li Jian was himself a cultivator, which offered nothing but benefits and no drawbacks regarding their prospects of entering an immortal sect.
Doing this favor required nothing more than a wave of the hand.
In the end, Qi Jingyao was suppressed by several distinguished young gentlemen, who forcibly curbed his about-to-erupt spoiled temper before respectfully welcoming Li Jian and Xuan Lang aboard.
On the luxurious pleasure boat, melodious zither music drifted through the air, accompanied by a faint, delicate scent of powder. At the bow, the courtesan danced gracefully, her long sleeves swaying with ethereal, celestial poise.
Seated at his designated place, Li Jian accepted a cup of wine poured by an attendant maid, took a gentle sip, and set it down.
Xuan Lang had evidently never witnessed such a spectacle. From the moment he sat down, his expression remained exceptionally guarded; he refused even when the attendant maid offered to pour him wine, keeping his outer eye corners lowered and his lips pressed tightly together in a forbidding, keep-out-of-my-way demeanor.
Over a dozen prominent young gentlemen populated the pleasure boat, all clad in lavish attire, laughing and conversing freely. Even if they weren’t intimately acquainted with one another, they could still strike up a smooth conversation.
Everyone seemed to tacitly ignore Xuan Lang, leaving the youth sitting in isolated silence, thoroughly detached and disinclined to entertain anyone.
“I hear that a few days ago, the manager of the Qi family general store offended Immortal Li, causing quite a commotion. Several wealthy patrons raised heavy objections, and the rumors even reached our Zhao household.”
Amidst the exchange of toasts among the young masters, a voice suddenly rang out. Turning toward the source, Li Jian recognized the speaker as the affable purple-robed nobleman from earlier.
When they first took their seats, Song Zhiyuan had introduced him: this mild-featured purple-robed gentleman was Zhao Chengyu, the eldest young master of the Zhao family in Zunyang City.
Unlike the merchant-background Qi family, the Zhao family boasted three successive generations of officials wearing tassels and caps, holding an extraordinary status. By the time of Zhao Chengyu’s father, although no official titles were held, the prestige left behind by his grandfather still granted the Zhao family considerable standing in Zunyang City, ensuring their words carried weight wherever they went.
That standing was precisely why Zhao Chengyu could speak just now without allowing Qi Jingyao the leeway to reject or counter his words.
Zhao Chengyu’s genial nature was universally acknowledged. Hearing him speak, the various young masters lowered their cups and turned their heads to listen.
Upon hearing those words, Qi Jingyao’s expression turned even more unsightly. The embarrassment Xuan Lang had previously brought him was now compounded, turning his complexion a mottled shade of blue and red.
If things had ended there, it might have been fine, but mentioning the incident only inflamed Qi Jingyao’s anger further. Had it not been for Xuan Lang, he never would have offended Li Jian, which in turn led to the manager returning to complain and bringing down a reprimand from his own father.
His father was entirely correct: Xuan Lang was nothing short of a menace, and keeping him around would inevitably spell disaster sooner or later!
At that moment, a troublemaker chimed in cheerfully, “I heard about it too! I remember our estate steward happened to be right there and witnessed the whole thing firsthand. Young Master Qi, this incident took place right at your family’s establishment; surely you weren’t unaware of it?”
At those words, the crowd broke into murmurs of assent, their expressions unanimously primed to watch the unfolding drama.
“I don’t manage those matters, how would I know?” Qi Jingyao cast a sideways glance at Xuan Lang and rolled his eyes. “Someone must have provoked the staff and brought poor treatment upon themselves, only to shift the blame onto others.”
Catching the direction of his gaze, everyone present immediately pieced the situation together. They had all grown up alongside Qi Jingyao; though they frequently disliked his impulsive, hair-trigger temper as a pampered young master, they were roughly aware of this “relative” who had come to depend upon the Qi family.
The boy likely hailed from some remote, backwoods village, possessing the demeanor of someone who had never seen the world, constantly keeping his head down and refusing to speak.
Yet he had evidently suffered such severe bullying under Qi Jingyao that he grew overwhelmingly insecure; on the rare occasions he crossed paths with others, he didn’t even dare raise his head wasting such a stunning visage entirely.
Setting down his wine cup, Li Jian lightly pinched a delicate plum blossom pastry between his fingertips. The pastries here were exceptionally refined, emitting a faint, delicate fragrance of plum blossoms that left one wondering how they were crafted.
Taking a light bite, the refreshing aroma of plum blossom instantly permeated his palate. The texture was smooth without being overly heavy, the sweetness hit the exact right note, and it melted instantly upon entering the mouth.
Finding it delicious, Li Jian handed a piece to Xuan Lang as well. The youth beside him blinked in surprise, accepted it cautiously, and murmured a quiet word of thanks.
Observing how both of them entirely disregarded his presence, Qi Jingyao sneered mockingly, “Some people are simply born to be menaces cursed with bringing misfortune to others. I advise everyone to keep their distance, lest you suffer a sudden calamity without ever knowing how it happened.”
“Young Master Qi,” Song Zhiyuan warned with a knit of his brow, uttering the name in a low tone.
Qi Jingyao glanced at him, let out a cold huff, rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, and sullenly grabbed his cup to drink in silence.
The laughter within the pleasure boat subsided briefly. Out of deference to Song Zhiyuan, everyone hid their amusement behind cupped hands, though the mockery gleaming within their eyes remained entirely unchecked.
Xuan Lang kept his gaze lowered. His sensitive perception informed him that every single gaze in the room was fixed upon him countless overlapping lines of sight pressing down with an oppressive weight that made breathing difficult.
He harbored a deep, recurring hatred for his own hyper-sensitive awareness; if only he could be an ordinary person entirely oblivious to such things, how wonderful that would life be.
The dark-robed youth sat with his head bowed, holding the plum blossom pastry given by Li Jian in one palm, while his other hand curled tightly into a fist inside his sleeve, his gaze gradually turning dark.
He didn’t even dare to raise his eyes to meet Li Jian’s gaze, gripped by an anxious dread that once Li Jian learned of his past and his true identity, the man would look down upon him with contempt.
Sweeping his gaze across the room, Li Jian ultimately let his eyes rest upon Xuan Lang.
He knew nothing of the hardships the young immortal lord had endured whether it was the early loss of his parents or the shabby treatment within the Qi family estate, or perhaps a combination of both—that had molded him into such an insecure, hyper-sensitive soul. Yet judging by the present situation, the ridicule and contempt he had suffered were likely extensive.
His slender fingers still resting around his wine cup shifted slightly. With a sudden flick of his wrist, the cup flew forward, silently spinning through the air before spilling a thin sheet of tea directly onto Qi Jingyao’s brazenly smirking face, extinguishing his arrogant expression instantly.
Qi Jingyao received a faceful of lukewarm tea, stray tea leaves clinging stubbornly to his hair strands. His complexion flushed crimson in an instant, and slamming his palms against the table, he sprang to his feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
Every single person on the pleasure boat stared wide-eyed at Li Jian, even Xuan Lang tightening his brow in profound bewilderment, evidently failing to anticipate that Li Jian would openly humiliate Qi Jingyao like this.
Reaching out, Li Jian pressed a comforting hand down onto Xuan Lang’s shoulder while his other hand retrieved the cup with nonchalant ease, toying with it casually in his palm.
“Just now, this humble person performed a brief divination: Young Master Qi’s brow is tinged with reddish crimson and shrouded in dark shadows, indicating an impending brush with fire. If left unchecked, a disaster involving bloodshed and severe domestic chaos will likely befall you very soon.”
“I recall Patriarch Qi’s hospitality in providing me shelter, so I decided to offer Young Master Qi a free disaster-dispelling reading no charge whatsoever,” Li Jian stated, slowly setting the cup down.
As everyone knew, encountering a genuine wandering Daoist in the mortal realm was no easy feat setting aside the countless half-baked charlatans who roamed about.
Securing a disaster-dispelling reading personally performed by an authentic cultivator from an immortal sect required an immense expenditure of effort and formal invitations. Since Li Jian was willing to extend a helping hand, Qi Jingyao ought to have felt profoundly grateful.
Clearly, however, Qi Jingyao felt nothing of the sort. Having wiped the tea drippings from his face, he pointed a trembling finger at Li Jian in utter humiliation.
“You’re talking nonsense, you did that on purpose! Do you think I don’t know you’re just trying to get back at me for him? Let me tell you, if you knew what kind of monster this fellow really is—”
“Qi Jingyao.”
Within the hushed interior of the pleasure boat, a low, suppressed voice cut straight through Qi Jingyao’s tirade. Stunned, the crowd turned their heads in astonishment to discover that the speaker was none other than Xuan Lang.
This marked the very first time anyone had ever witnessed Xuan Lang openly refuting Qi Jingyao, rendering the event quite a novelty.
The dark-robed youth rose slowly to his feet. His tall, imposing figure blocked the sunlight streaming through the window frame, casting an invisible wave of oppressive spiritual pressure across the entire cabin that left everyone momentarily reluctant to breathe.
Li Jian pressed his lips together as he watched the boy stand up, gently patting those rigid shoulders as if coaxing an unruly child.
Unsurprisingly, the next sentence out of his mouth carried a soothing cadence: “Be good, listen to me, sit down.”
Even so, he merely slid his hand down to grasp the boy’s wrist, pulling him gently behind his own frame before lowering his gaze to look down at Qi Jingyao’s frozen expression.
“Is Young Master Qi questioning my abilities?”
“If Young Master Qi refuses to believe me, I am willing to wager with you: if you do not suffer a disaster involving bloodshed within three days, I shall take the Qi family surname!”