Chapter 339: Riches Lie in Peril

Entering the city, the streets were relatively clean, with shops lining both sides, selling mostly seafood, exotic overseas treasures, weapons, leather armor, and some medicinal herbs and minerals rare in the inland regions.

The place was bustling, with a high proportion of cultivators, yet overall order seemed good, indicating the Tong family's governance was fairly effective.

Chen Mu casually picked a clean, tidy inn and booked a premium room facing the street.

After closing the door, he did not act immediately, but sat by the window, feigning meditation, while quietly activating "Listen to the Wind," enveloping the inn and several nearby streets.

Various sounds flowed into his ears like gentle streams.

Merchants hawking their wares, cultivators chatting, women gossiping, children laughing, boasts from the tavern, noise from the gambling dens…

"Tong Family City" was not large; total population, including residents and transient folk, was under twenty thousand.

Chen Mu patiently filtered the information, trying to catch even a fragment about Tong Shoutian, the Tong residence, or that breastplate.

From Yan Laogui's memories, Tong Shoutian seemed to have a decent reputation—at least he didn't behave like many playboy heirs, bullying the innocent or ruling with impunity.

This softened Chen Mu's original plan.

He had intended to sneak into the Tong residence at night; if he could meet Tong Shoutian directly, he would seize the breastplate on the spot.

Now, he could afford to be more patient.

As Chen Mu sat quietly for about half an hour, gathering fragmented bits of information, a faint conversation drifting from the second floor of a distant tavern caught his attention.

"... Did you hear? Young Master Shoutian is recruiting people!"

"Recruiting? For what? Isn't the Tong family guard force already full?"

"Not the guard force! Word is he's forming an expedition team to investigate the 'Ghost Wail Island' three hundred miles beyond Icefire Island!"

"Ghost Wail Island? That deserted isle? They say the place is cursed—sometimes when ships get near, they hear ghostly wailing from the island, and even seabirds won't land! What's Young Master Shoutian doing there?"

"Who knows? But the pay is high, and the requirements are strict—must be at least an Innate Realm cultivator, and skilled in swimming or possessing some special ability. Many have signed up, but they still haven't filled all slots…"

"Tsk tsk—riches lie in peril."

"..."

Tong Shoutian was recruiting people to explore a deserted island three hundred miles away?

Chen Mu instantly weighed his options.

Joining Tong Shoutian's expedition team was undoubtedly the most direct and natural way to get close to his target.

Whether he would actually accompany them to the eerily named "Ghost Wail Island" was another matter.

The immediate priority was to infiltrate the team and make contact with Tong Shoutian.

Thinking this, Chen Mu rose and left the inn, asked passersby for directions to the Tong residence, and headed straight there.

…

The Tong residence stood in the central district of "Tong Family City," covering a vast area, with high walls and an imposing presence; sturdy guards stood watch at the gate.

Chen Mu approached, claiming he was a wandering cultivator from overseas who had heard of Tong Shoutian's recruitment and had come to apply, subtly revealing his aura of late Innate Realm.

The guards, seeing his calm bearing and considerable cultivation, did not dare neglect him; one of them went inside to report.

Not long after, an old man in the guise of a steward emerged, sized up Chen Mu, asked a few questions about his name and origins; Chen Mu casually gave the alias "Nie Feng," and was courteously ushered inside.

Passing through several courtyards, they arrived at a spacious side yard.

In the yard stood a large hall, its doors wide open.

"Master Nie, all the recruited cultivators are resting here. Please enter. Young Master Shoutian will join you shortly," said the old steward.

Chen Mu nodded and stepped into the hall.

Inside, over twenty people were scattered about, some seated, some standing.

They dressed differently—some in tight-fitting martial attire, some in leather armor, some even in the loose sea garments unique to overseas regions; their auras varied, but all without exception displayed cultivation within the Innate Realm.

Two among them had especially dense auras: a tall, gaunt old man with a sinister face, and a burly man with a broad, scarred face and a massive broadsword on his back—both clearly at Seventh and Eighth Stage Innate, standing out sharply among the rest.

As Chen Mu entered, several turned to look, their gazes lingering briefly on him with scrutiny, curiosity, or indifference.

Seeing he was alone, his aura hovering around Fifth Stage Innate, his face ordinary, his clothing plain, most quickly lost interest, turned away, and resumed low conversations with acquaintances or quietly ate the snacks and drank the tea provided.

Chen Mu paid no mind, swiftly scanning the room—he saw no sign of Tong Shoutian.

He immediately chose a quiet, unobtrusive spot near the wall, crossed his arms, half-closed his eyes, and waited patiently like the other cultivators.

The hall's atmosphere was somber; occasional muffled voices and the soft clink of cups and bowls broke the silence.

Time passed slowly; seven more people were led into the room.

Outside, daylight faded; servants entered to light the lamps.

Just as impatience began to stir among the crowd, footsteps and a clear, apologetic voice finally sounded outside the hall.

"My apologies for keeping you all waiting! I was delayed by some trivial matters!"

As the words ended, a young man in brocade robes strode in.

He appeared twenty-three or twenty-four, handsome, with an air of refined privilege in his brow, yet his eyes were bright, his smile sincere, devoid of the usual playboy's frivolity.

Most striking was the ancient-style, form-fitting dark silver half-breastplate he wore, engraved with intricate patterns that glowed with a subdued, profound luster under the lamplight.

It was precisely the target of Chen Mu's mission—the "Sword Armor" breastplate!

The man was none other than the young master of Icefire Island, Tong Shoutian.

Upon entering, he bowed to all present, offering sincere apologies.

"I apologize for keeping you all waiting so long. It's late, and you must all be hungry—I've ordered a feast. Shall we move to the dining hall and eat while we talk?"

At this, the crowd's expressions softened.

They had waited half the day; their stomachs were indeed empty.

They rose at once and, guided by servants, followed Tong Shoutian to a larger, brighter dining hall nearby.

Two large tables were already set with lavish banquets—chicken, duck, fish, meat, rare mountain and sea delicacies, even several exotic meats unique to overseas lands, their aromas rich and inviting.

Everyone took their seats in order; Chen Mu chose a corner, unobtrusive spot.

He did not reach for the delicacies, only lifted the amber-colored wine before him, sipped a few sips, his gaze casually sweeping over Tong Shoutian at the head table—but more often fixed on the dark silver breastplate, sensing its faint, unique energy fluctuations, his certainty deepening.

Tong Tong Shoutian, as the host, was highly active, constantly raising his cup to urge others to drink, uttering polite phrases like "Our hospitality is inadequate," "We humbly ask for your forbearance," and "This mission still relies on all of you," striving to ease the atmosphere.

After three rounds of wine and five flavors of dishes, the hall's atmosphere gradually warmed; many martial artists began laughing loudly, toasting each other.

At that moment, a burly man seated diagonally across from Chen Mu—his face thick with whiskers, skin dark and rough, his whole body reeking of strong fish odor, clearly a rugged seafarer who had spent years on the ocean—suddenly wiped the wine from his beard, slammed his cup down on the table, and boomed out in a loud voice.

"Young Master Tong! We've drunk our wine and eaten our meat! What's the plan for going to Ghost Weep Island? You ought to lay it out for us now!"