Chapter 313: The Grand Stage of Port City: If You

Although cars in this era were still primitive and had not replaced horses and mules in transportation, Feng Xue rode a magnificent white steed, clad in seamless celestial attire, his skin smooth and flawless, free of calluses or impurities—anyone with a modicum of experience could tell he was no ordinary man.

Fortunately, Feng Xue truly was no ordinary man, so he naturally endured these curious glances without concern.

“Sir, no riding horses within the city without official military rank.” As he reached the gate, a soldier—clearly chosen by his comrades as the unlucky one—stammered nervously. Feng Xue paid it no mind, dismounting casually, yet he did not shrink Li Yunxi into a ring or other portable form—not out of any desire to conceal his xuan cultivation identity, but simply because the Yin Bag, weighing a full ton, needed someone to carry it.

Li Yunxi, whose body had been specially strengthened, naturally paid no heed to such weight; yet to onlookers, using such a noble steed as a pack animal seemed a gross waste.

Leading Li Yunxi into the city, Feng Xue felt a momentary disorientation—Port City was vastly larger than Lu City, and for a moment he had no idea where to settle.

Fortunately, the more bustling a place, the more merchants it attracted; perhaps sensing newcomers might be lost, several inns and restaurants of varying tiers had opened near the city gate.

Some were so plain their signs plainly advertised budget lodging; others were gaudy with gold and silver trim, as if daring the poor to leave; still others used foreign languages on their signs, clearly not bothering to court local customers.

Feng Xue considered a moment, then avoided the upscale establishments, choosing instead a modest yet refined inn.

“Sir, dining or lodging? We have a dedicated stable with premium forage and feed—your steed won’t be slighted…”

Seeing Feng Xue approach with his horse, the waiter hurried forward, opening with the animal.

Feng Xue merely waved him off, lifting with one hand the massive sack on the horse’s back—nearly four meters in diameter—and suddenly said:

“You look like a ring!”

As he uttered this English no Briton could understand, Li Yunxi instantly transformed into a ring, which he slipped onto his finger.

The waiter startled, then quickly recovered, stepping aside to clear the path into the inn while bowing slightly:

“What would you like, sir? Any dietary restrictions?”

“None. Just bring four dishes and a soup. Also, I’m new to Port City and have some questions—give me a quiet spot, a private room if possible.” Feng Xue reached into his purse, pulled out two strings of banknotes, and handed them over.

The waiter’s eyes lit up at the sight of the money; as he took it, he replied at once:

“Of course, sir—but your package…”

He glanced at the nearly four-meter-wide bundle, then at the inn’s entrance, barely two meters high, his face twisting in hesitation.

Feng Xue, unfazed, set the Yin Bag down on the ground:

“Get someone to move it.”

“Right away!” The waiter nodded eagerly, leading Feng Xue to a private room. Before the food arrived, he asked:

“What would you like to know, sir? I’ll answer anything.”

“List the major moneylenders, rice shops, brokers, and banks in the city.” Feng Xue spoke casually; the waiter’s eyes flickered with understanding and began speaking with practiced ease:

“In Port City, we worship three Wealth Gods: the Proper Wealth God has weak incense, the Foreign Wealth God has strong fists, and the Illicit Wealth God has too many dealings. Rice shops come in all kinds, each with its own reputation…”

The waiter recited local conditions like a menu; Feng Xue nodded silently until the man finished, then added:

“How many Illicit Wealth Gods are there?”

“Plenty,” the waiter lowered his voice. “The harbor is controlled by the Port Gang—the strongest faction. The street selling foreign goods is owned by the foreigners, their names written in strange scripts even locals can’t read. But it’s not one group—it’s several mixed together, very dangerous. Then there’s the area around the City God Temple, where the Merit Pool handles shadow contracts…”

“If I want to settle here long-term, where should I register?” Feng Xue noted everything, asking casually.

The waiter frowned slightly, thinking, then shook his head:

“Sir, you don’t know—every inch of land here is gold. Even the poorest tenement buildings are sold out. Without connections, you can’t register. But if you’re renting, I recommend Qingshan Brokerage—just two turns from here. They have ties to the xuan sects and deal fairly—strictly on karmic principles, so they rarely cheat.”

As he spoke, a knock came at the door; the waiter entered with a tray:

“Sir, your dishes are ready.”

“Hmm.” Feng Xue tossed a tip, then asked the same waiter a few more minor questions before signaling him out.

“Little Bell, is the intel enough?” Feng Xue asked mentally as he ate. Little Bell replied at once:

“Not much, but enough to sketch a power map. Given your feud with the Port Gang, I’ve plotted a rough route—first, head to the brokerage.”

“Same as I thought. But how’s the wish-energy here? Too chaotic?”

Feng Xue glanced out the window; in his spiritual sight, the city’s wish-energy was muddled yet relatively clear, with no particularly foul pockets—likely because the Stove God had just been honored and the Jade Emperor welcomed.

“No problem—in fact, this is the best wish-energy environment I’ve seen since I joined you!”

Little Bell gave a vigorous thumbs-up; Feng Xue smiled, pulled out Li Yunxi to join him in eating, drinking, and chatting—and for the first time in a long while, he enjoyed a normal meal.

“Sir, your package.” Seeing Feng Xue emerge with an unfamiliar woman, the waiter was startled, but restrained his curiosity and returned the massive sack.

Feng Xue glanced at the seal on the sack’s mouth and smiled—he’d left the Yin Bag unguarded because it contained nothing.

Shouldering the huge sack, Feng Xue had long since hardened his skin; he walked calmly along the directions given, arriving at “Qingshan Brokerage.”

Seeing Feng Xue’s peculiar appearance, the gatekeeper’s eyes flickered; he whispered to a colleague and hurried inside. By the time Feng Xue reached the door, a man in his early thirties, with a trustworthy, earnest face, stepped out.

Feng Xue took one look—damn, another six-digit cultivator!

(End of Chapter)