Chapter 10: You Don

Luo Jingtian had his head cut off.

He had decent connections; someone came to bury his body.

Chen Guanlou didn’t rush to leave the city. He learned that Luo’s family wouldn’t depart for their exile in the northwest until half a month later, so he settled in to serve his duties at Tianlaomiao.

Only when he felt the storm had passed and unfamiliar faces had vanished from outside the prison did he disguise himself and go to Yangliu Village outside the city. There, beneath a cassia tree, he dug up an oil-paper bundle. Without checking its contents, he hurried back to Jingcheng, confirmed no one was following him, then returned home.

Without even drinking water, he opened the bundle: gold, silver, jewels, and a thousand-ounce silver note—totaling roughly two thousand ounces. Beneath them lay a list. He scanned it quickly, then decisively placed it under the candle flame, watching it burn to ash before his eyes.

At the very bottom of the bundle was a cultivation manual: *Sheng Tian Lu*.

Merely reading the title, Chen Guanlou could barely contain his excitement. Was this the *Sheng Tian* he thought of? Was this a hidden immortal cultivation world? Did true immortal masters truly exist?

He flipped through it eagerly, then his face fell.

Whether immortal masters existed was still unknown, but he was certain he couldn’t practice it—for now.

Because he couldn’t understand it.

The language and characters were far too obscure; he’d have to painstakingly dissect each word. Misinterpret even one character, and he risked demonic deviation. No wonder Luo Jingtian had never practiced after acquiring this manual. He flipped straight to the end and found several pages of swordplay techniques hidden beneath.

He mimicked the swordplay techniques and felt they were meant to be used in tandem with *Sheng Tian Lu* to maximize their effect.

*Sheng Tian Lu* must be an extremely profound cultivation art. Luo Jingtian had no reason to deceive him with it before dying. Since he couldn’t practice it yet, he decided to memorize the entire manual, then seek out learned men whenever he could, to decipher every single character’s true meaning.

He had all the time in the world. If not one year, then two or three—he wasn’t in a hurry at all.

Money made things easy.

Chen Guanlou found the yamen runners escorting the exiles. They were all from the same system; though they rarely interacted, as long as the money was right, helping to watch over a few prisoners was no problem.

He paid them, smoothed over the connections, avoided showing his face to the Luo family, and merely watched them leave the city gates. Then he hired a top fighter from the Da Xing gang to ensure the Luo family reached their northwest exile safely.

Luo Jingtian had only asked him to ensure his family’s safe departure from Jingcheng. Chen Guanlou had already received *Sheng Tian Lu* and the silver, so he decided to see it through—hiring someone to escort them all the way to the northwest. If anyone intended to kill the Luo family, they wouldn’t strike within the city’s borders; it would happen somewhere along the dangerous road after leaving Jingcheng.

The Da Xing gang arranged a top fighter to meet them at the Five-Li Pavilion.

At the Five-Li Pavilion, he saw a martial artist wearing a wide-brimmed hat, arms crossed over his sword.

“Just you?” Chen Guanlou doubted the man’s strength. Ants can kill an elephant, but one man—even if he could handle five—could he fight ten or twenty at once?

“Master Lou, rest assured—he’s our Da Xing gang’s top fighter,” the gang’s reception manager said with a fawning smile.

Chen Guanlou had not used his real name when dealing with the Da Xing gang. He went by the alias Lou Wu, and everyone called him Master Lou.

“What if there are many of them…”

Shhh!

The sword drew.

The sword sheathed.

A fly that had just flown by was split cleanly in two, falling onto the stone table.

Chen Guanlou grimaced, his heart jolted—such a swift sword! He stared at the swordsman, whose face remained hidden beneath the hat; only the lower half was visible: a scruffy beard, looking both downtrodden and recklessly elegant, never speaking a word.

He whispered to the Da Xing manager, “What rank?”

The manager held up two fingers.

Second-rank martial artist.

Is this the power of a second-rank martial artist? Chen Guanlou hadn’t seen the sword drawn at all—only heard a single sound. The sword drew and sheathed, yet he heard only one noise. Such speed—undeniably second-rank.

Still, as a customer, he had to be picky.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be third-rank?”

“Master Lou, you don’t know the market—your payment only covers a second-rank fighter.”

The implication: third-rank fighters existed, but extra payment was required.

Chen Guanlou thought for a moment, gritted his teeth, “Then get me a few first-rank fighters—I’m afraid one won’t be enough.”

“This… Master Lou, perhaps you don’t understand the trade—if a second-rank fighter can’t handle it, a first-rank fighter won’t either.” The manager subtly hinted: Master Lou, you’re an amateur. We don’t cheat you—we’re in this for the long haul.

Chen Guanlou paid without hesitation.

The swordsman took the money and vanished in a few leaps.

Seeing how readily Chen Guanlou paid, the Da Xing manager began pitching more services: “Master Lou, rest assured—this trip will go perfectly. Next time you need us, come back to me—I’ll give you a five percent discount.”

Chen Guanlou was disgusted. He didn’t want a discount—he wanted a sword technique. Even a common one would do; he didn’t care. He was certain the Da Xing gang knew their way around such things.

The manager indeed knew his trade—he recommended a sword technique that required no internal cultivation method, and, out of goodwill for their cooperation, offered it to him for free.

That good?

Chen Guanlou instantly suspected—he might have been had.

Having obtained the sword technique, he returned to Tianlaomiao to resume his duties.

A new batch of prisoners had been locked into the Bing-cell block.

Passing Cell 60, he saw the newly arrived flower thief—a man reviled by all, like a rat crossing the street. He had committed crimes in the provinces and evaded capture, yet dared to come to Jingcheng and even infiltrate the home of the Vice Minister of War, nearly violating the minister’s daughter.

Fortunately, the minister’s household employed several martial artists, and his retainers were vigilant—they spotted the thief in time and captured him with one move.

In the cell next door was the infamous bandit known as “Master Kongkong,” a thief who had plundered from Tiannanhaibei and even broken into the Princess’s palace.

The Princess’s guards were no fools. No matter how skilled he was, he was caught in their net, his legs broken, and thrown into Tianlaomiao.

One had his hands broken, the other his legs—both captured in the homes of Jingcheng’s powerful families. Truly, kindred spirits.

“Got any food?” Master Kongkong, his legs broken, could only lean against the wall. His face was caked in blood and grime—he hadn’t cleaned himself since arrest. He looked wretched.

“Ask the food server,” Chen Guanlou said, then continued his patrol. New prisoners like this were lambs in Tianlaomiao. He was a rookie and knew his place—he wouldn’t compete with the old hands for these lambs’ business.

Master Kongkong shouted: “The food server’s a heartless bastard—he charges five ounces for a bowl of porridge. No money? He gives me swill instead.”

Chen Guanlou glanced at him, then kept walking.

Master Kongkong called out again: “I’ve got money—I just don’t want to be a fool.”

Chen Guanlou: …

Heh!

You don’t get to choose!