Chapter 100: The World’s Lack of Reverence for Cultivators

Upon Beiluo Lake, a gentle breeze whispered through the willows, caressing the cheeks like a maiden's silken ribbon, imbued with a distinct freshness and subtle fragrance. The leisurely boat drifted, stirring ripples of jade-green waves. Sunlight, like scattered fragments of molten gold, danced upon the lake's surface, casting a shimmering interplay of light and shadow. Inside the wooden vessel, Lü Mu sat upright, clutching a well-worn tortoise shell polished to a gleam, his heart inexplicably tense. Beside him stood a young girl bearing a pipa on her back, her youthful face tinged with slight unease. Ni Yu cradled a cloth pouch, observing the girl with curiosity before plucking a Qi-concentrating pill from within and popping it into her mouth.

Lü Mu glanced out anxiously, only to see Lü Dongxuan standing behind Lu Fan, adorned with a heavy golden chain around his neck and wearing a broad, smiling expression.

"Little one, have a sugar pill to calm your nerves."

Watching Ni Yu savor the pill, Lü Mu's mouth watered slightly, and he could not help but ask. Ni Yu's chewing halted abruptly as she cast him a sidelong glance. "Old man, where's your face? How is this any different from snatching candy from a toddler?"

Lü Mu was momentarily speechless.

"Besides, open your eyes wide and see if this is really a sugar pill." Ni Yu held up another Qi-concentrating pill coated with a sugary glaze that shimmered like a delicate bubble in the sunlight. Before Lü Mu could react, she popped it into his mouth.

He was utterly dumbfounded… wasn't this literally a sugar pill?

Lu Fan sat serenely in his wheelchair, the lake breeze ruffling his sideburns. He scattered fragments of rice into the lake, provoking a scramble among the fish beneath.

"The Tianji Sect among the myriad schools... quite astute," Lu Fan remarked calmly.

Behind Lu Fan, Lü Dongxuan's weathered face creased further, wrinkles trembling. "When Young Master Lu speaks, this old man dares not disobey. The Tianji Sect's inclusion in Baiyu Jing is our honor!" Lü Dongxuan tugged at his golden chain nervously.

Though this was Lü Dongxuan's first meeting with Lu Fan, he had already foreseen him countless times. The Tianji Sect's inherited art of "Tianji Divination" could unravel the secrets of the world, yet every time Lü Dongxuan divined about Lu Fan, an indescribable dread gripped him, as if some unfathomable terror gazed down from the heavens. The deeper the divination, the more suffocating the fear became—until finally, it felt as if a pair of eyes bore into his very soul.

This profound terror was Lü Dongxuan's clearest understanding of Lu Fan's power. It was why, upon hearing that Lu Fan sought to incorporate the Tianji Sect, he had hurriedly brought his family here without hesitation. He neither resisted nor balked, for he had divined that joining Baiyu Jing would bring nothing but benefit.

In truth, the Tianji Sect's legacy had reached a bottleneck. Lü Dongxuan longed to break through but found it nearly impossible. The advent of Baiyu Jing offered a glimmer of hope.

"You see through matters quite clearly." Lu Fan scattered the last grains of rice.

Lü Dongxuan's smile deepened. "What I value most is your Tianji Dove. Because of the dove, I bring you into the fold, hoping you will serve as Baiyu Jing's messengers to the world."

Leaning back in his wheelchair, Lu Fan glanced sideways at Lü Dongxuan, whose expression faltered.

The Tianji Sect valued merely for a dove?

Yet Lü Dongxuan quickly resumed his hearty laughter; as long as there was value, joining Baiyu Jing would not be a loss.

"To be favored by the Young Master is truly an honor," Lü Dongxuan declared.

The boat sliced through thick fog, revealing the lake's central isle, shrouded in spiritual aura, ethereal as a fairyland, striking awe into the beholder. Lü Dongxuan's pupils suddenly constricted.

The party disembarked. Ni Yu, still burdened by accusations, sneaked another sugar-coated Qi pill into her mouth while pushing the wheelchair toward the Baiyu Jing pavilions. Jing Yue, bored out of his mind, busied himself with the Chaotian Chrysanthemum.

Lu Fan's return astonished him, prompting him to straighten quickly.

"The Tianji Sect shall henceforth be renamed Tianji Pavilion upon joining Baiyu Jing," Lu Fan announced calmly.

Lü Dongxuan hesitated briefly before nodding. "All shall follow the Young Master's decree."

At that moment, Lü Dongxuan was overwhelmed; everything on the island felt astonishingly novel—the pure, invigorating air seemed alive with invisible serpentine energy. The ten chrysanthemums swayed with an uncanny intelligence.

Intelligent chrysanthemums? Ridiculous!

The pipa-bearing girl admired the island from an ordinary perspective—it was breathtaking.

Ni Yu pushed Lu Fan into the Baiyu Jing pavilion, Lü Dongxuan following close behind. Lü Mu hesitated, then cautioned, "Be careful."

Upon ascending the pavilion's stone steps, Lü Dongxuan's gaze fixed upon the vertical plaques flanking the entrance. A boundless aura surged forth, freezing his frame.

—

Ten miles outside Beiluo City, a black steed galloped across the plains, mane billowing, hooves pounding fiercely. The reins were taut. The horse reared high, shattering clods of earth beneath.

Atop the steed, a burly figure squinted, eyes fixed upon the majestic Beiluo City, a gleam of anticipation lighting his lips.

—

Outside the imperial capital, ten steeds thundered through the dust, their hooves like a storm of raindrops pounding the earth.

Jiang Li was escorted by nine envoys toward the capital. The towering city gates loomed soon ahead.

"Why is the gate closed?" Jiang Li frowned.

The nine envoys exchanged uneasy glances. They called out repeatedly, yet no one opened the gates.

Inside the city, a deadly aura thickened.

The moment Luo Cheng sensed the rain of arrows descending, his pupils constricted, his mount whinnied sharply, and he let out a fierce roar, drawing his long blade in defense.

In the carriage, Nie Changqing narrowed his eyes.

"We did not initiate hostilities; these men struck first…"

"Interesting. More audacious than those noble families in Beiluo City," Nie Changqing remarked calmly.

Five hundred Beiluo cavalry were enveloped by a deadly arrowstorm so dense it aimed to annihilate them instantly.

The malice chilled Luo Cheng to his core.

This was the imperial capital—under the Son of Heaven's very feet!

Yet someone dared deploy overwhelming force to ambush them? Such insolence!

No wonder the city lord said the capital was in chaos, the national teacher fallen, and these treacherous ministers running amok.

The arrowstorm roared like a dark cloud.

Each steed stamped nervously.

Unfazed, Nie Changqing grasped a butcher's cleaver resting on the carriage, drawing a white cloth to gently wipe its blade.

He faced the relentless arrows with calmness, almost serenely, as though confronting a southern spring drizzle.

Suddenly, an invisible surge of spiritual energy radiated within the carriage. The curtains billowed.

The rain of arrows abruptly seemed to halt, as if an unseen barrier blocked them all.

"Hmph."

A soft voice sounded.

Inside, an overwhelming pressure forced every arrow to fall uselessly to the ground, their metal tips clanging against stone like a haunting melody.

The archers atop the walls were stunned.

Even masters of seven or eight realms would be overwhelmed by such a storm; yet this utterly defied their understanding.

"The world lacks even the most basic reverence for cultivators."

"Your words hold true, young master."

Delicate hands drew back the curtain. A gentle voice echoed down the empty street.

Ning Zhao, clad in white, her three thousand strands of hair flowing in the wind, stood beside Yiyue—her foxlike face stern, wielding a long whip, radiating cold killing intent.

Nie Changqing rose as well, his white robe fluttering in the breeze.

The butcher's cleaver trembled slightly as he wiped it.

Ning Zhao lifted her stunning face and surveyed the imperial capital, sighing softly.

"You should be grateful the young master did not come in person…"

"No need for idle talk. As the young master commands, carry on as before—slaughter them as we did the Beiluo nobility."

Yiyue's brows knit sharply, and she dashed from the carriage, whip swirling, whipping arrows into a scattering tempest aimed at the city's defenders.

Soldiers were struck and fell from the battlements.

Nie Changqing moved, too.

Though only a coachman wielding a butcher's cleaver, when he stood and raised the blade, a suffocating murderous aura radiated out.

The cleaver hovered, hair bristling on his head, eyes cold.

"I concur with the young master's words: reason only with equals; those beneath should simply be slain."

Phantom blade outlines shimmered around the cleaver.

With a swift slash, the airborne cleaver became a streak of black light.

Blood splattered three feet like freshly cut chives.

On the battlements, soldiers were severed in half before a cry escaped.

Nie Changqing stood by the carriage, his palm commanding the cleaver at a distance.

The "Blade Control Technique"—one breath controlling the blade, slaying enemies from afar.

Three strokes, three dead soldiers.

The remaining troops fled in terror, discarding helmets and armor.

Blood trickled down the wall, heavy with the stench of death.

Nie Changqing sheathed the cleaver, motionless like a statue.

Only the whispering breeze remained, carrying with it the smell of blood and death.

Ning Zhao smiled faintly.

"This city's reign of chaos is just beginning…"