Chapter 491 — Which of You Is the Local Sect?

CHAPTER 491

Which of You Is the Local Sect?

Three flying carriages descended into the Pavilion's yard without slowing.

Shi Feng stood at the back of the greeting line on the Pavilion's flagstone yard, north of Qingyun City, with Lin Langtian on his left and the entire regional leadership in front of him. Mu Shuyun stood at the centre in her best green sash. Elder Qu Jiang stood on her right and Elder Tian Luo on her left. Elder Qian Mo stood slightly behind everyone, holding a receipt book. Nobody had asked him to bring it.

Three carriages came down through the cloud. Their dark lacquer gleamed, and each had a crest in gold leaf on the door. A sun with nine rays. A fork of white lightning on violet. The wheels did not touch the stones. They hung a hand-width above them, and the wind they pushed ahead of them made every banner on the yard snap flat.

“Is that the Legendary Empire?” a spectator whispered at the edge of the yard.

“Three flying carriages at once! Beyond the sky there is another sky; beyond people there are other people!”

“I heard a single one costs more than the Duanyang tower.”

“Stop talking. Stop talking. They can hear you.”

“…”

The doors opened. Disciples stepped down in two columns, one in white robes trimmed in yellow, with a gold sun over the heart, one in dark violet with a lightning bolt at the collar. There were twelve of them in each column. Shi Feng had no Spirit Sense. Their openly released qi was enough to tell him their strength, even without that sense.

Wei Chengyuan's late Golden Core strength had forced him into a hard fight. Every one of these twenty-four juniors was at peak Golden Core. They didn't bother hiding it. Shi Feng understood why even the proud regional elders had fallen silent.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian murmured, chewing. “Don't look at the wrists. Look at the boots. Boots tell you who pays for the wrists.”

“Their boots are clean,” Shi Feng said.

“So are their purses,” Lin Langtian said. “That's the lesson.”

An old man stepped down last. He wore plain azure, and his white hair was tied in a gold ring. He did not look at the line. He looked past it, at the city wall, plainly displeased by the surroundings.

Shi Feng grew tense when the old man stepped forward. The Palace Master deliberately pressed his qi down on the Hall. This man released no such pressure, yet his presence still made the regional elders stand straighter.

Mu Shuyun stepped forward and bowed exactly as deep as courtesy required.

“Hundred Flower Valley welcomes the honoured guests of the Legendary Empire to the frontier,” Mu Shuyun said. “I am Mu Shuyun. With me stand—”

The old man interrupted to ask for tea. His servant immediately demanded the city's best rooms for two hundred people.

“The Pavilion guest tower holds ninety,” Clerk Du said, from the second row, in a very small voice.

The servant ordered him to clear the guest tower anyway.

“Who pays?” Qian Mo asked, before anyone could stop him.

The servant stared at Qian Mo in disbelief. Clearly, nobody in this party expected the frontier sects to ask them for payment.

A young man stepped out of the azure column and strolled to the front, his sleeves trailing. He had a jade crown, eight gold rays embroidered at the cuffs and the arrogant expression of someone accustomed to immediate obedience. He looked at the regional elders one by one, and each time his eyebrows rose a little higher.

“Which of you is the local Great Sect?” Qu Ming asked casually, looking over the regional elders.

Nobody answered at first.

“There are three of us,” Mu Shuyun said calmly. “Martial Palace, Artificer Hall and the Valley. We are the three Great Sects of this region.”

“Three,” Qu Ming repeated with a laugh. A few of the azure juniors laughed with him. “Young Lord Qu Ming asks for one and the frontier sends three. Is that the custom? You cut a pond into three pieces and each of you calls it a sea? A frog at the bottom of a well sees only a circle of sky.”

“Young Lord,” Qu Jiang began stiffly, “the Palace has a thousand years of—”

“Does it?” Qu Ming said, and walked past him mid-sentence.

Qu Jiang's beard shook. He didn't finish the line. Tian Luo looked at the flagstones, and Shi Feng noted it.

Qu Ming stopped in front of the Artificer Hall row. His gaze moved over Qian Mo's receipt book, Tian Luo's folded hands and finally Lin Langtian's sweet potato.

“What is that?” Qu Ming asked.

“A sweet potato,” Lin Langtian said warmly. “Would you like half? It's a good one.”

“Is he your chief disciple?” Qu Ming asked Tian Luo.

“Yes, Young Lord,” Tian Luo said. His ears were red.

“Early Nascent Soul,” Qu Ming said, with a sniff, “holding a root vegetable. I see. The sea is very shallow here.”

His eyes slid across Shi Feng without stopping. He dismissed the late Golden Core cultivator in plain robes with an ordinary-looking grey sword. Shi Feng wasn't worth a greeting.

Shi Feng let him look. Deep in his sleeve, his thumb moved once against the violet purse string. He remembered the name for later, the way he remembered every debt.

The old man in plain azure spoke again, without turning his head.

The old man told Qu Ming that was enough. Then he ordered Mu Shuyun to bring the frontier sects' new pact to the tower tomorrow. He wanted to read what they thought they owned.

Mu Shuyun's hand had already gone still on her sleeve, where three sealed copies lay folded.