Chapter 80: Judging by Appearance?

That night, Liu Xiaolou tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Two new rivals for the position of patron had suddenly appeared, both with cultivation levels two tiers above his own—how could he sleep well?

These two rivals were also cautious, unwilling to reveal their true strength prematurely, leaving him unable to gauge their capabilities. His own cultivation was shallow, and he lacked the ability to discern his opponents’ true nature; tomorrow would surely bring him no advantage. He did not know how many patrons Red Snail Manor sought to recruit—if the number was small, his hopes might vanish entirely.

At dawn the next day, both eastern and western wings were empty; no trace of the two men remained. The evening banquet was still far off, so Liu Xiaolou left his courtyard and wandered slowly through the manor. Some areas were off-limits, and the manor stewards politely barred his way—he followed only the paths he could take, walking and observing, until without realizing it, he reached the northern edge of the estate.

The northern edge of the manor bordered White Dew Lake. Under the morning sun, the snow from yesterday’s shore continued melting, trickling into the lake and rising in wisps of mist. Liu Xiaolou stood on the lakeside embankment, gazing out—his heart felt expansive and serene, the anxieties of last night gradually fading, no longer weighing on him. If I gain it, it is fortune; if I lose it, it is fate—why force it?

Suddenly, he saw a figure seated cross-legged atop a tree canopy dozens of zhang to his left, his white Daoist robe fluttering gently in the breeze—it was White Cloud Swordsman. To his right, a hundred zhang away, a three-chi-high lake stone sat upon the shore; seated upon it, breathing in rhythm, was the Green Robe Scholar.

Liu Xiaolou inwardly winced in shame, reproaching himself for wasting half an hour. Though he had no spirit stones, transforming true essence was not the entirety of cultivation. He thought for a moment, then decided to familiarize himself with the Levitating Dispersing Essence Cord.

Liu Xiaolou lacked the ability to sit motionless atop a tree canopy like White Cloud Swordsman—he could jump up and step on the branches, but could not remain steady for long; he would fall after only a few breaths. Such skill was impressive indeed—he wondered whether he could achieve it himself once he broke through to the fifth level.

As for the large lake stone upon which the Green Robe Scholar sat, Liu Xiaolou looked around but found no other such stone. He settled instead on a spot that appeared relatively clean and sat cross-legged.

He channeled true essence into his right arm, sensing the spiritual cord that resembled a meridian, then guided the essence into it. The cord immediately manifested half its head, writhing like a spirit snake tasting the air.

Simultaneously, the eleven acupoints of the Hand Taiyin Meridian, the twenty of the Hand Yangming Meridian, the twenty-one of the Foot Taiyin Meridian, the forty-five of the Foot Yangming Meridian, the eight already opened acupoints of the Hand Jueyin Meridian, and the Jingming acupoint opened by swallowing the snake gallbladder on Mount Wuling—all one hundred and six acupoints trembled, lighting up one by one within the Levitating Dispersing Essence Cord like twinkling stars. These were the shadow acupoints.

The cord’s efficacy was directly tied to its master’s cultivation level, reflecting his realm. If an enemy’s opened acupoints numbered fewer than one hundred and six, they would be entirely covered by the cord’s one hundred and six shadow acupoints—their dantian’s true essence could no longer circulate, losing its spiritual nature and all spiritual power, left helpless as the cord drained them dry.

It was like a man having his airways sealed—suffocating, being sucked empty. This was the essence of “dispersing essence.”

Of course, its weakness was equally clear: if an enemy’s opened acupoints could not be fully covered, their true essence retained pathways to circulate—their “breathing” remained open. The more acupoints left uncovered, the weaker the “dispersing essence” effect became.

Thus, for Liu Xiaolou at his current stage, the cord could not yet fully function—because each Qi Refining cultivator opened different meridians and acupoints; at the same realm, it could only lock a portion of the opponent’s acupoints. Yet it grew stronger as Liu Xiaolou’s cultivation advanced, possessing exceptional potential.

After practicing and sensing its control for a long while, he felt much more proficient. Seeing no one around, he rose and walked to the lake’s edge, releasing the cord from his wrist. One end of the cord plunged into the lake water.

The cord stretched about one zhang long; after most of it sank into the water, Liu Xiaolou’s meridians became linked to the cord, his perception merging with it—as if his eyes had plunged into the depths, sensing the underwater scene.

Every grain of sand, every stone, every blade of grass, every insect, every fish, every crab, every shrimp, every snail—all appeared clearly in his mind, as if before his eyes.

Wait—snail?

The snail was the size of a child’s fist, its shell coated with what looked like silver-white dewdrops, darting swiftly among the lakebed stones and sand, far more agile than even a fish—truly a spiritual creature, vastly different from ordinary shellfish.

The White Dew Longevity Snail was extremely alert; at the slightest disturbance, it vanished in an instant, nearly impossible to catch. Liu Xiaolou loosened his spiritual focus, maintaining only a faint connection to the cord. As a result, the cord floated limply in the water, like a waterweed without roots, swaying gently with the ripples.

He did not know how long this went on, until finally the cord drifted beside the White Dew Longevity Snail. The snail, having grown accustomed to the cord’s presence, mistook it for ordinary waterweed and paid no heed. Liu Xiaolou seized the moment—the cord’s tip shot out, wrapping the entire shell and hauling it to the surface.

From Chen hour until Shen hour, Liu Xiaolou remained by the lake, diligently hunting White Dew Longevity Snails to refine his control of the Levitating Dispersing Essence Cord. After half a day’s effort, he had caught only three—enough for perhaps half a dish if sliced—demonstrating just how difficult they were to capture.

Logically, these three snails belonged to Red Snail Manor. As a guest, taking them without permission was improper. So he pried out the flesh and swallowed it raw, filling his stomach before the banquet. The spiritual power was slight, but building true essence required constant, persistent effort—every bit counted, no matter how small. This was the habit of a hermit from Wulong Mountain.

By You hour, the sun slanted westward. The steward found him by the lake and summoned the three to the banquet. White Cloud Swordsman drifted down from the tree canopy; the Green Robe Scholar adjusted his robes upon the lake stone; Liu Xiaolou hastily tossed the three shells back into the lake and followed them into the manor.

Looking back at the lake beneath the setting sun, he suddenly saw several manor servants straining to carry away the very lake stone upon which the Green Robe Scholar had sat—it was being transported back to the manor. His heart tightened. This man’s ties to Red Snail Manor must be deep—he carried himself with great authority. He must not compete with him.

The banquet was held in the largest hall of the manor, Luwei Hall. Two pillars of purple nanmu wood, painted red with gold trim, stood tall within—truly grand in scale. Over a dozen tables had been arranged: one central main table, with five on each side, extending all the way to the entrance. Many people stood inside, but the host had not yet arrived, and no one sat.

Liu Xiaolou entered and took a corner to wait. As he looked around, every single person in the hall was strikingly handsome—either refined and delicate, or elegant and composed, or adorned with jade belts and bearing an air of nobility, or dignified and calm. Even he himself found them pleasing to the eye.

What was going on? Was Red Snail Manor recruiting patrons based on appearance?

If so, did that mean his chances had suddenly increased?

Liu Xiaolou fell into deep thought.