By the lake, the old man leaned against the side of the boat, clutching the punting pole tightly. His toothless grin stretched wide as he watched the dismissed courtesans trudging away from the island with their bundles on their backs, giggling foolishly to himself.
In the distance, Nie Changqing was pushing a wheelchair-bound Lu Fan along the lakeside path. Lu Fan's eyes were gently closed, focusing on the pace at which the spiritual energy within him was regenerating. Beside him, Ni Yu, still shaken by the terrifying power of the Skyward Spirit Chrysanthemum, followed timidly in his footsteps.
Once aboard, the old man sprang into action with youthful vigor, maneuvering the boat away from the dock. The vessel glided across the water, leaving ripples in its wake. Ni Yu leaned once again over the side, bracing herself for another bout of seasickness.
Ning Zhao did not depart with Lu Fan. She remained on the island to assist with dismissing the rest of the personnel and cleansing the White Jade Capital building.
…
Upon reaching the shore, the old man rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Seated in the wheelchair, Lu Fan opened his eyes and cast a meaningful glance at him.
"A reward," Lu Fan said lightly.
Pale-faced, her legs still trembling, Ni Yu hurriedly pulled out a coin pouch and handed over a piece of broken silver. The old man beamed with delight.
Lu Fan's specially crafted carriage was still parked at the dock. Nie Changqing opened the side door and carefully lifted Lu Fan into the carriage before seating himself beside the driver's platform, whip in hand.
Ni Yu, too nauseated to endure the enclosed space, squatted on the edge of the carriage frame to catch her breath.
Crack!Nie Changqing raised the whip and snapped it down. The horse neighed and surged forward.
Inside the carriage, Lu Fan gently lifted the curtain and looked back through the window. The old man still held his silver and punting pole, grinning foolishly.
Their eyes met—Lu Fan watching the old man, the old man watching him.
As the carriage galloped away, their line of sight finally broke apart in the dust of the official road.
The old man smiled with wind-whistling teeth, hoisted the pole once more, and leapt onto the fishing boat with remarkable ease. The boat rocked gently as it drifted back onto the lake.
…
Inside the carriage, Lu Fan summoned the system panel:
Host: Lu FanTitle: Qi Cultivator (Permanent)Qi Refinement Level: 2 (Progress to 3: 100/1000 threads)Soul Strength: 13 (Available Exchange: 2)Physical Strength: 1 (Available Exchange: 1)Spiritual Energy: 72 threads (Self-regenerating)Transformation Rewards: Genesis Qi Refinement ScriptureWorld Rating: Five Phoenix Continent [Low Martial]Permissions: [Quests], [Preaching Platform], [Spiritual Energy Deployment]Branch Access: [Ten Thousand Laws Furnace (LV1)]
With spiritual energy having recovered to 72 threads, the rate was not bad—but far from fast. Lu Fan stared at the panel, lost in thought.
Now that his soul strength had exceeded 10, his perception had sharpened remarkably. He had even discovered a latent ability—telekinesis. He could now steer the wheelchair through willpower alone.
The stronger the soul, the more pronounced the effects.
As for physical strength, it evidently pertained to physique. Lu Fan desired to enhance it, but for now, soul strength and spiritual energy took precedence. Thus, physical enhancement would have to wait.
"I need to acquire attribute points quickly…" Lu Fan mused.
Through observation, he had deduced two primary methods of gaining attribute points—completing quests or earning transformation rewards, the latter tied to altering the world in some meaningful way.
For instance, when he infused spiritual energy into Ning Zhao, giving birth to the first cultivator, he was rewarded. Any act of world transformation, particularly firsts, seemed to bring rewards.
This possibility intrigued Lu Fan.
…
The carriage rumbled to a halt in front of the grand gates of the Lu Manor.
Nie Changqing helped Lu Fan down while Ni Yu, still carrying the chessboard, pushed the wheelchair.
At the entrance stood Yi Yue, patiently awaiting Lu Fan's arrival.
Her eyes lit up as she saw him disembark. She bowed slightly and said, "Young Master, as per your instructions, all involved parties have been detained in the dungeon awaiting your judgment."
Lu Fan nodded faintly. "Well done. Take me to them."
Yi Yue stepped behind the wheelchair and began pushing him toward the manor's prison.
As the City Lord's estate, the Lu Manor naturally had its own dungeon for imprisoning criminals.
Wherever people existed, so did evil. No city was free of it—no matter how civil its people might claim to be. Thus, dungeons served a vital purpose.
The sound of wooden wheels grinding against stone echoed as the prison drew near.
A young military officer in dark-glimmering armor stood guard at the entrance, awaiting Lu Fan's arrival.
Lu Fan did not recognize him, but the officer knew him well.
He stepped forward, saluted with a cupped fist, and announced, "Subordinate Luo Cheng greets the Young Master."
His tone was respectful yet firm, embodying righteous strength.
Lu Fan rested one elbow on the armrest and tapped the blanket on his lap with his fingers.
"You're Uncle Luo's eldest son?" he asked after a moment.
Luo Cheng paused before nodding.
"Very good." A faint smile tugged at Lu Fan's lips.
"What I'm about to do may be brutal. Can you bear it?"
Wearing his helmet, Luo Cheng stared solemnly at the Young Master who defied rumors.
"Subordinate has followed the City Lord through seas of corpses and rivers of blood—there is nothing I cannot bear. Before his departure, the City Lord instructed me to obey your commands and ensure your safety. Whatever you need, speak it."
Lu Fan nodded slightly.
"Good. Take me to see Chen and the others."
Luo Cheng stepped aside and led Lu Fan into the prison.
The dungeon was damp and fetid, filled with the stench of mold and blood.
The dim lighting revealed torture devices stained with crimson, their malevolent presence chilling the air.
Prisoners in each cell glared silently at Lu Fan—not howling or begging like actors in a cheap drama, but sitting upright, eyes void of hope or warmth.
As they ventured deeper, the atmosphere grew noisier.
"Lu Ping'an! How dare you do this?!"
"We are scholars of noble rank! Jailing us is an affront to the Zhou Emperor and the Imperial Confucian Court!"
"Release us! Scholars abide by rules—we hold titles! What right do you have to detain us?"
The caged Confucians erupted into furious protests upon seeing Lu Fan.
They clutched the bars, shouting without dignity.
Lu Fan frowned in his wheelchair.
Nie Changqing tightened his grip on the butcher's blade, eyes cold.
Yi Yue's face darkened, her hand resting on her whip.
Lu Fan raised a hand, signaling her to halt.
Glancing around with a faint smirk, he looked at the imprisoned scholars and chuckled softly.
"On what grounds?"
"I suspect you of colluding with the Three Great Clans, conspiring with traitors, and plotting to destabilize the Zhou Dynasty."
"You all know what the clans have done. My father has gone to the capital. For now, Beiluo is mine to govern... What he dared not do, I shall."
He spoke softly, eyes lowered, gently rubbing his slender fingers.
Luo Cheng stepped forward, hand on his blade, eyes fierce.
Lu Fan's words struck a chord, stirring the warrior's blood. He looked at the young master with newfound admiration.
Yet Lu Fan's words did little to silence the mob. Only a few among the scholars sensed the danger and shrank back in horror. The rest howled with even greater rage, hurling insults with abandon.
They prided themselves on their intellect and titles—who dared silence them? Not even the emperor escaped their scorn.
Lu Fan curled his lips. His temper was mild, but he could not endure humiliation.
"Luo Cheng."
"Present!" Luo Cheng saluted.
"Kill them all."
Lu Fan's voice was calm and unshaken.
Luo Cheng's heart quivered. A gleam of steel lit his eyes.
"Yes, sir."
At his command, blood-tempered soldiers stormed the cells.
The Confucians were struck dumb.
They could not even scream, for the soldiers carried out their orders with silent resolve. The cold blades…