Chapter 802: The Unpredictable Meets the Reckless

Huan Wuchang pulled out a folding fan, opened it, and held it against his chest, waving it twice.

A cold wind blew through, and the protruding TV vanished, replaced by a landscape painting.

The frame above the TV also disappeared, replaced by a portrait of a beauty.

The sofa turned into a wooden chair, the wardrobe became a standing cabinet, the scent of old furniture gradually faded, replaced by a faint aroma of agarwood.

The entire house transformed from a residential building in the old district into a mansion in Puluozhou, seeming even older, yet losing the previous sense of oppression.

Huan Wuchang glanced at Li Banfeng: “Does it look more pleasing now?”

Is this the true appearance of this place?

Li Banfeng scanned the room, then shook his head: “This is still an illusion.”

Huan Wuchang was surprised—those who could see through his illusions were rare: “I heard from Ku Pozi that you’re a Traveling Cultivator, but your eyes are unusual. Have you also cultivated other Dao sects?”

Li Banfeng did not answer, only remarked: “False things remain false.”

“True or false—must you draw such a clear line?” Huan Wuchang smiled. “When you were in Yuezhou, didn’t you also believe the private booth in that underground karaoke hall was real?”

During his mission for the Dark Star Bureau, Li Banfeng had once visited an underground karaoke hall where one private booth was extremely dangerous—he dared not enter.

He naturally remembered: “At the time, I truly believed it was real. If not for your warning, I might have walked into that booth. What was the origin of that booth?”

Huan Wuchang said: “That was a path opened by the Great Smelter, leading to the Outer States.”

Li Banfeng recalled Lu Dongjun, who claimed to have escaped from the Great Smelter, summoned by the Chamomile Association, and emerged directly from the karaoke hall’s large screen into Yuezhou.

Lu Dongjun had also said that Old Train had rescued him from the Great Smelter. Yang Ganju suspected a conspiracy behind this, but he never imagined the conspiracy was orchestrated by the Great Smelter itself.

“Does the Great Smelter have this kind of power?”

Huan Wuchang smiled: “Do you think the Great Smelter is merely a vessel for storing souls? You’ve vastly underestimated this treasure. Among the Eleven States and three thousand nations, the Shang Nation dominates them all—its foundation includes the Great Smelter.

Many of the Shang Nation’s methods stem from the Great Smelter, including their unique craftsmanship and weaponry. Now that the Great Smelter has been severely damaged, the Shang Nation’s foundation is weakened, and their situation is truly dire.”

Thinking of the Shang Nation’s dire situation, Li Banfeng felt a flicker of satisfaction.

But recalling the aftermath of the booth incident, Li Banfeng grew uneasy.

There was no aftermath—the karaoke hall was simply sealed off.

“Master, is that path still open?”

Huan Wuchang shook his head: “That path concerns the survival of the Outer States—I couldn’t leave it open. I sealed it, but not by myself alone; several friends from the Outer States helped. You know Lin Fojiao—he’s one of them.”

Li Banfeng was deeply curious about Huan Wuchang’s identity. He had appeared in Yuezhou and in Santoucha, associated with Kongfang Master, seemingly worked for him, and now was friends with Lin Fojiao, aiding the Outer States.

Now he appeared in Kucaizhuang, holding high status in the Hand-Foot Alliance—who exactly does he serve?

Huan Wuchang noticed Li Banfeng’s doubts: “Don’t worry. I’m friends with the Peddler. I founded the Illusion Cultivation sect—we were once bosom friends.”

“So you’re the founding master of Illusion Cultivation? My apologies!” Li Banfeng bowed again. “Let’s not speak of the past—let’s talk about now. How well do you get along with the Peddler today?”

The Peddler once had too many close friends—many have since become bitter enemies.

Huan Wuchang chuckled: “That’s a blunt question. I understand your meaning. Many founding masters of Dao sects have turned against the Peddler—

Shu Wanjuan and Dan Chengjun are among them.

Some remain close to him, like Jin Xiu’s founding master Xu Han, who has always been on good terms with the Peddler.

Others, like me, have grown distant from him, but bear no grudge. I go to Puluozhou, and the Peddler doesn’t stop me—but if I wish to do certain things there, I must inform him first.”

Li Banfeng pressed further: “You’ve become the leader of the Hand-Foot Alliance—is that a feud with the Peddler?”

Huan Wuchang closed his fan, turning it into a teapot, and poured Li Banfeng more tea: “Young brother, you underestimate the Peddler’s magnanimity. The Peddler has never struck hard against the Hand-Foot Alliance.

As long as they don’t break Puluozhou’s rules or harm its interests, the Peddler never interferes with their actions.

Besides, I’m not the leader of the Hand-Foot Alliance—their Grand Mistress is the Heavenly Maiden. That’s an unchanging rule. But because the Heavenly Maiden’s situation is special, I sometimes handle affairs on her behalf.

I am indeed a member of the Hand-Foot Alliance, and my status there is not low—but that status depends on context. Once you enter Puluozhou, that status means nothing. I’m merely a respectable businessman.”

3

Li Banfeng said: “Can status be defined like this?”

Huan Wuchang nodded: “I’ve always defined it this way.”

“Isn’t Kucaizhuang within Puluozhou’s territory?”

“The Kucaizhuang you see before you isn’t in Puluozhou!” Huan Wuchang pointed out the window. “The cars, traffic lights, utility poles—all are real.”

He reached back and flipped the light switch; the chandelier above the living room lit up: “This Kucaizhuang lies in the Outer States, not listed on any ordinary map.

But you can check the confidential maps in the Dark Star Bureau’s archives.

This is a real location. Only when I’m in the Outer States am I truly a member of the Hand-Foot Alliance. We must clearly distinguish these identities.”

Li Banfeng understood Huan Wuchang’s definition of identity and asked: “Besides being a Hand-Foot Alliance member, what other identity do you hold in the Outer States?”

“I’m a friend of the Outer States!” Huan Wuchang gave a vague answer. “In Puluozhou, many people are friends with the Outer States—Lin Fojiao is one, Song Qianhun is another.”

Li Banfeng lifted his hat brim. Huan Wuchang’s words were unclear. Though both Song Qianhun and Lin Fojiao were in the Outer States, their situations differed.

Song Qianhun’s ties to the Outer States were extraordinary—not only himself, but his daughter, his ghost servant, even his pants were deeply entangled with them.

But Lin Fojiao was different—his relationship with the Outer States was delicate; calling him both friend and foe was accurate.

“Master, is your identity in the Outer States closer to Lin Fojiao’s or Song Qianhun’s?”

Huan Wuchang turned the teapot back into a fan: “Closer to Lin Fojiao, farther from Song Qianhun. I’m not like Lin Fojiao, who ignores everything about the Outer States—but I also don’t meddle directly like Song Qianhun.”

Li Banfeng said: “Please elaborate.”

Huan Wuchang gave an example: “There was a traitor in the Dark Star Bureau—Deputy Director Wang. He was bribed by the Shang Nation, became a spy, killed many, and did many vile things.

I’ve long wanted to eliminate him, but I couldn’t act directly, so I gave you hints. Unfortunately, you didn’t understand them in Yuezhou. Only after arriving at Santoucha did you finally help me remove him.”

Li Banfeng had indeed dealt with Deputy Director Wang, but the matter didn’t need to be so complicated.

“To eliminate such a traitor, did you really need to use me as a blade?”

Huan Wuchang shook his head: “I can’t act directly—it would cause unnecessary conflict and misunderstandings in the Outer States. I still have many businesses to run. If I meddle where I shouldn’t, my future path will be difficult.”

Li Banfeng fell silent.

Huan Wuchang said: “Do you think I’m a weak man?”

Li Banfeng didn’t directly judge: “Everyone has their own boundaries.”

Huan Wuchang smiled: “No need to be so polite. Dan Chengjun once told me to my face that I was a coward who avoided trouble.

That alone would’ve been enough—but he went further, saying my bones were softer than Che Wushang’s. That truly angered me!

But anger aside, I didn’t argue. I am indeed someone who avoids trouble—I admit it.

When fighting alongside the Peddler, I always avoided the messy affairs—he argued over troops, I stayed out; he argued over supplies, I stayed out.

When they struck against Yuren City, I didn’t interfere—but I also didn’t warn the Peddler.

After driving the Sage away, Dan Chengjun urged the Peddler to become emperor. The Peddler refused. Dan Chengjun was delighted and declared he would be emperor. I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no either. I had no interest in being emperor—whomever took the throne didn’t matter to me.

But the Peddler refused. He drove Dan Chengjun away, saying Puluozhou must have no emperor.

He thought well, but people differ: the cruel differ from the kind, the clever from the honest.

Someone will always want to be master, and someone else will always be slave—this can’t be changed. So I gave the Peddler an idea: I created an illusion where everyone became master.”

Li Banfeng understood: “In short, like Meng Qian—build a Dream Pavilion where everything exists in dreams.”

Huan Wuchang waved his hand: “Dream Cultivation doesn’t work. When people sleep, they can’t do anything—where do their meals, waste, and expenses come from?

To enter the Dream Pavilion, you must pay. Those without capital can’t have good dreams. That’s the flaw of Dream Cultivation—not just the Dream Pavilion, but even in Pillow City, you get three seasons of good dreams, and the fourth season you must struggle just to eat.

My method differs: the clever ones operate outside the illusion, directing the honest ones; the honest ones, inside the illusion, believe they are clever, believe they are masters. Both sides feel satisfied. Isn’t that a perfect solution?”

Li Banfeng said nothing.

Huan Wuchang sighed: “You clearly don’t agree. That’s fine—once, the Peddler also thought this wasn’t perfect. He forbade me from doing it, so I stopped.

I won’t risk offending the Peddler over such matters. I won’t be like those foolish people who get driven away outright.”

Li Banfeng thought of the Dream Pavilion’s situation: “Was Meng Qian exiled to Neizhou because she offended the Peddler by charging fees?”

Huan Wuchang shook his head: “Meng Qian is a junior. I know little about her, but her expulsion wasn’t because of fees.

As long as she charged openly, and all parties consented, the Peddler would tolerate her. But from what I know, when Meng Qian was in Puluozhou,

she used dreams to lure many unaware people into the Dream Pavilion—this violated the Peddler’s rules.

In contrast, Zhao Lanmeng is much more sensible. Pillow City allows free entry and exit; he never interferes. The Peddler not only doesn’t harass him, but even gives him much support.”

Li Banfeng recalled the Peddler’s catchphrase: “Profit and loss, neither owing nor owed—that’s the foundation.”

Huan Wuchang nodded: “In Puluozhou, as long as actions are mutually agreed upon, the Peddler never interferes. Ku Pozi has always resented the Peddler, keeping her cultivation powder in her own hands—but the Peddler still tolerates Kucaizhuang.

Enter Kucaizhuang, eat a bowl of rice with sand in it, and you’ve entered Ku Cultivation. Ku Pozi wants to spread her rules across Puluozhou, but she’s never forced anyone.”

“What are Ku Pozi’s rules?” Li Banfeng had never understood this.

“Suffering and fortune arise together!” Huan Wuchang explained. “The more suffering you endure, the more fortune you earn. I’ve always agreed with Ku Pozi’s rules—they’re a legitimate path for Puluozhou. But the people of Puluozhou can’t learn this rule.”

“Why can’t they learn it?”

“Because there are too few clever people!” Huan Wuchang waved his fan—the scene outside turned into a construction site, where laborers toiled hard.

Huan Wuchang pointed to a worker: “This young man works hard—he’s willing to endure hardship. He spends the day laboring, accumulating good fortune—but he doesn’t know how to use it.

At night, he returns home, eats well, drinks well, sleeps soundly, and squanders all that fortune.”

Li Banfeng stared in disbelief: “Master, I may have misheard—working hard all day, eating well, sleeping well—is that squandering?”

Huan Wuchang sighed: “That’s why they don’t understand the law of suffering and fortune.”

He waved his fan again—the scene outside changed. Li Banfeng saw the Ku Cultivators laboring in Kucaizhuang, enduring great suffering,

yet seeing no reward.

Huan Wuchang said: “Ku Pozi established a rule for them: endure hardship under her, accumulate fortune, and she holds it for them. When the right time comes, she will use that fortune for their benefit.”

Li Banfeng frowned: “Whose fortune is this?”

Huan Wuchang paused, thinking Li Banfeng hadn’t understood: “It’s their own fortune—but they’re not clever enough to manage it.”

Li Banfeng said: “Regardless of whether they’re clever or not, it’s still their own fortune—isn’t that right?”

Huan Wuchang paused for a moment, then smiled: “A peddler once said the same thing—each Dao sect has its own rules; I can’t say who’s right or wrong, but I believe the Old Ku Woman is right, so I often stay awhile in Kucai Village to gather some fortune for myself.”

He waved his folding fan, and the view outside the window reverted to a desolate street: “Young brother, you didn’t come here to argue over right and wrong, did you?”

Li Banfeng said: “I came to seek you out to inquire about one thing—the Great Totem of Shang. Do you know where it might be?”

Huan Wuchang tapped his fan against his palm a few times: “Why did you come to me?”

Li Banfeng replied: “I guessed.”

“Guessed that well?” Huan Wuchang waved his fan, and the room returned to an old residential building; a suffocating atmosphere settled over the living room—this was Huan Wuchang’s warning to Li Banfeng.

Huan Wuchang—his name truly fits; in a single sentence, he seemed ready to turn hostile.

Li Banfeng, expressionless, said: “I’ve spent years in the Dark Star Bureau and had many dealings with the Heavenly Maiden. It’s only natural I guessed you were involved.”

As his words ended, the room changed: furniture and decorations vanished; the living room became the stairwell of the Dark Star Bureau, the walls transformed into a massive iron door marked “Cell No. 6.”

In Huan Wuchang’s home, Li Banfeng used Yi Xing Qian Shan—his response to Huan Wuchang.

“Have you forgotten where you are?” Huan Wuchang’s face turned ashen; he was deeply displeased with Li Banfeng’s attitude.

The two stared at each other in silence; the room’s tension grew heavier.

When Yi Xing Qian Shan faded, the frame on the television suddenly shattered, and photographs floated out, circling the four walls.

The people in the photos had lost their smiles, staring fixedly at Li Banfeng.

“I don’t know where the Great Totem is. Ask someone else. Goodbye, no need to see you out!” Huan Wuchang closed his fan and vanished from the recliner.

Li Banfeng lifted his teacup, drained the tea, pulled down his hat brim, and rose to leave the room.

Long after, Huan Wuchang reappeared and gathered the teaware from the table.

“Such an audacious young pup!” Huan Wuchang remained angry, and something else gnawed at him: “Who leaked my whereabouts to him? This must be investigated— I shouldn’t have let him go!”

As he finished putting away the teaware, he suddenly heard Li Banfeng say: “Master, I haven’t left.”

Huan Wuchang was stunned!

He looked around but saw no trace of Li Banfeng.

“Show yourself!” Huan Wuchang’s fingers rubbed incessantly along the fan’s ribs.

“Master, I’m right before you.”

The voice clearly came from right before him, yet Huan Wuchang could not see Li Banfeng.

“What are you trying to do? Are you going to fight me?” Huan Wuchang opened his fan.

Li Banfeng still did not appear:

“You’ve guided me twice. I sincerely thank you, Master. But I must find out the whereabouts of the Great Totem.”

Huan Wuchang tapped the fan’s bones; furniture vanished one by one—the cabinets, the tea table, the sofa and TV—all gone; even the wall plaster peeled away, leaving only bare bricks.

The entire room had been stripped bare, yet Huan Wuchang still could not see Li Banfeng.

This made Huan Wuchang deeply uneasy—he did not know what kind of invisibility technique Li Banfeng had used.

After a long silence, Huan Wuchang spoke: “I’ve asked friends in Shang to investigate the Great Totem. I’ve only heard rumors—I still can’t tell truth from falsehood.”

“Please, Master, tell me.”

Huan Wuchang said: “Rumor has it the Great Totem was forged in Chaoge, then destroyed by the peddler, leaving less than one-tenth of its power, which was sent to Yin Du.”

“What is Yin Du?”

Huan Wuchang explained: “Yin Du was the old capital of Shang. After Shang moved its capital to Chaoge, Yin Du vanished from records. Some early Shang maps still mark its location.”

With that, Huan Wuchang entered the bedroom and brought out an iron box: “These are maps I’ve collected over the years—all mark the location of Yin Du. But those sent to verify them never found it. If you can find the Ding Pan Tu, perhaps you’ll find Yin Du.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Li Banfeng appeared before Huan Wuchang, took the iron box, and left the residential building.

Huan Wuchang waved his fan, producing a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.

PS: Salala caught the flu, aching all over—this chapter is shorter than usual. Please forgive me, dear readers.