Chapter 52: Chapter Fifty-Two: Master Zhen

Qian Chen, carrying the Luo San umbrella and a book chest, entered Jiaobu Town.

Jiaobu Town was a small settlement that grew around a dock, where several major rivers flowed into the Jiuzhen Great Marsh; from the Jiuzhen Great Lake, waterways stretched in all directions, making river transport genuinely convenient if one followed reliable routes. Added to this, every year, martial heroes from all over ventured deep into the marsh to gather herbs…

Rhinoceros horns, crocodile hides, and precious medicinal ingredients were shipped from here to Jing and Jiao Prefectures, generating tens of millions of taels in annual trade.

The town indeed teemed with martial travelers; local gang members carried three-foot-long willow-leaf daggers at their waists, as the Wu-Yue swordplay style was prevalent. Qian Chen observed their footwork—each step bore solid foundation.

Other martial travelers, swords and knives slung at their sides, came and went, speaking in a cacophony of northern and southern dialects; the air reeked of alcohol and herbal fragrance.

Mo yao, jiangzhen incense, dragon brain incense, benzoin, suhe incense, aina incense… these were aromatic medicinals secreted by plants deep within the marsh. Also piled in shops: cinnabar, rhinoceros horn, crocodile hide, ivory, kongqing, duo, shihu, spirit pearls, fine jade… all manner of goods, stacked and ready to be loaded onto ships at the dock.

Qian Chen, alone, carrying only an umbrella, entered this place like a white rabbit suddenly appearing among wolves. The martial toughs stared at him with all manner of glances…

Fortunately, under the bright daylight, no one dared commit violence.

Jiaobu Town was an entire county built around the dock, so all manner of shops lined the lake shore—wine houses, brothels, herbal shops, and merchandise stores. Qian Chen asked for directions at one shop and learned that while many wealthy families lived locally, the only one worthy of being called a clan was the Wei family.

The Wei mansion lay within Wuyi Alley, not far from the dock.

“What kind of lineage is this Wei family, to dare name their alley Wuyi Alley!”

Qian Chen arrived before a narrow alley only nine chi wide, housing only a few households, yet each occupied sprawling garden complexes rivaling the dock district in size—each estate as vast as the Humble Administrator’s Garden he had visited in his past life, truly deep courtyards whose total area matched that of the Four Seas Hall of his former world.

Qian Chen walked slowly from the alley’s mouth for three ke before he saw the Wei residence’s main gate.

The vermilion gate bore rows of bronze nails; two golden-tiger-head door rings, gnashing and fierce, held within them the actual spirits of tigers, bound by white tiger blood rituals—two magic treasures. Ordinary ghosts, upon reaching the gate, would be devoured by the tiger heads before the stone lions even opened their mouths to roar.

Qian Chen tugged the bronze rings and tapped lightly twice; the heavy bronze chime echoed like a tiger’s roar, radiating solemn authority.

Inside the Wei mansion, silence reigned. Had Qian Chen not seen the hundreds of blood auras rising like pillars from within, he would have thought the house empty. Barely had he struck the rings when a servant quietly opened a side door, a black silk-clad gatekeeper peering out. By custom, Qian Chen should have presented a formal visitation note, stating the exact time of his arrival, then waited while the servant delivered it inside, passed through the steward’s scrutiny, before receiving the master’s reply.

This entire process could easily keep visitors waiting for hours.

Qian Chen had no patience for such delays, and since he had no background, submitting a formal note would earn no response—he feared waiting three days would yield nothing. So he deliberately revealed a trick: with a casual pinch, he folded a talisman into a paper crane and told the gatekeeper, “Kindly guide me. Tell the Wei master that a fellow Daoist has come to pay respects and hopes for a moment of his time.”

As he spoke, the paper crane flapped its wings and flew before the gatekeeper.

The gatekeeper dared not delay—he immediately invited Qian Chen inside and rushed to report to the steward… who, in turn, led him into the main hall to find the Wei patriarch receiving guests.

The Wei patriarch, Wei Lecheng, was hosting a banquet for a black-robed Daoist, surrounded by many others—not only Wei family members, but also leading figures from the Tuolong Gang, the Four Seas Shipping Guild, the Jiuzhen Merchants’ Alliance, and the Flying Fish Gang.

Wei Lecheng was exchanging cups and toasts, the atmosphere jovial. When he saw his steward approaching with the paper crane, the crane bowed its head three times, then unfolded midair into a sheet of paper that landed in Wei Lecheng’s hand. Qian Chen had written only a few lines on the talisman: “The wandering Daoist Qian Chen pays his respects to the Wei patriarch…”

Sitting below Wei Lecheng was his second son, Wei Taiping. He glanced at the unconventional salutation and sneered: “Just a petty left-path trick—how dare you parade it as art? Who are these wandering sorcerers now, thinking they can just walk into our Wei household?”

As soon as he finished, Wei Taiping turned to the black-robed Daoist and immediately switched to flattery.

“Master Zhen, your cultivation is profound, yet you remain so humble… Had it not been for the great tu dragon lurking near the dock, nearly sinking our Wei family’s cargo vessel, we would never have seen your skill. You captured the crocodile tu with a mere flick of your hand—this young man admires you deeply, which is why I begged so persistently… Thank you for deigning to come.”

The black-robed Daoist had unusually high brow ridges—he was the same cultivator who had appeared in Sanyang Village.

He smiled, raising his cup: “Merely trifles, Young Master Wei, you overstate it.”

All present praised him. Master Zhen had reached the Tongfa realm and possessed several magic treasures—among wandering cultivators, his cultivation was exceptional. Everyone present, except Wei Lecheng, was inferior. Since compliments cost nothing, why not offer them? A good connection might be worth a few words.

As Qian Chen entered with the steward, he heard Master Zhen lauded as a “majestic deity,” a master who could seize a tu dragon with a single finger.

He felt ashamed.

“I haven’t even mastered the art of carrying a sedan chair! I thought showing off a paper crane to enter this grand mansion was clever. Now I see—I’m just a third-rate sorcerer begging for entry! I should’ve just flown in with swordlight, cultivating the aloof sword-immortal persona. Then I wouldn’t be reduced to groveling like this!”

Qian Chen reflected on his own tactics: others were invited in; he was “begging for an audience.”

He was instantly reduced to nothing.

Master Zhen, seeing Qian Chen enter, flickered a strange light in his eyes, then casually shifted the topic: “It’s remarkable how this town of Jiaobu is blessed with talent and auspicious feng shui—there’s a giant plum tree nearby, its canopy covering several mu.”

Someone immediately picked up the thread, mentioning the recent events in Sanyang Village.

The Tuolong Gang’s second boss vividly recounted how a strange serpent dwelled within the plum tree, how a high cultivator passing by sensed it, and bestowed a magic treasure to exterminate the demon.

The black-robed Daoist watched Qian Chen’s expression closely—but Qian Chen showed no reaction, no special emotion.

“Could it not be him? But how could it be so coincidental? A passing cultivator slays my serpent, and now another arrives at the Wei household?”

The black-robed Daoist decided to test him. He chuckled: “Funny enough, that was precisely what I did when I passed through Sanyang Village—just a casual act!” He watched Qian Chen’s face: Qian Chen lifted his head slightly, looking puzzled. Was he unresponsive? He seemed moved. Was he responsive? He didn’t look angry at being falsely credited…

The black-robed Daoist wasn’t afraid of being exposed. If Qian Chen now produced the serpent’s corpse, he’d lose face—but he was certain Qian Chen was the one who ruined his plans. Later, he could seize the serpent’s bones through scheming or force. As for face? What is a cultivator’s face? Even if he lost it, could it harm him even a hair?

But Qian Chen’s reaction hovered precisely between connection and non-connection.

It made judgment difficult…

“This man has depth!” Master Zhen weighed his options, then decided to test him. Even if he angered Qian Chen, it wasn’t a big deal. Once they parted ways, they’d never meet again—this karmic thread held no weight.

Qian Chen truly didn’t care… He was merely surprised. This black-robed Daoist’s cultivation was strong; eliminating a serpent demon was trivial. Why risk losing face by stealing someone else’s merit? He had no interest in exposing someone’s pretense…

As the saying goes: blocking someone’s pretense is like killing their parents…

He calmly paid his respects to the host of this place: Wei Lecheng.

Wei Lecheng did not neglect Qian Chen. After inviting him to sit, he smiled: “What brings you here, Daoist?”

Now that Qian Chen had met the master, he abandoned all pretense: “I wish to enter the Great Marsh to gather herbs. I’m unfamiliar with the routes and fear getting lost. I seek to exchange an elixir for a map of the Great Marsh.”

Before Wei Lecheng could answer, Master Zhen interjected: “Oh? You have elixirs to exchange? If they’re of high quality, the trade isn’t unreasonable. But if the elixirs are poor, to trade them for the Great Marsh’s secret map—a treasure vital to your family’s livelihood—is inappropriate.”

He smiled: “Did you personally brew these elixirs?”

Qian Chen nodded: “Yes, I brewed them myself. Their quality should be adequate—I believe one map is a fair exchange.”

Master Zhen shook his head: “If you brewed elixirs, why are you so ignorant of the rules?” Everyone froze, puzzled why Master Zhen was targeting this visiting young Daoist. Qian Chen was also confused, but he had no anger—he remained polite: “Daoist friend, what do you mean?”

Master Zhen swept his sleeve across the table: “Your visitation note calls you a wandering Daoist—clearly, you have no lineage. Elixirs are ingested—how vital! If a dan master harbors ill intent… wouldn’t that ruin our entire profession’s reputation? Thus, only elixirs from dan masters with clear origins and known backgrounds may circulate. Ordinary wandering Daoists, carrying elixirs, demand trade.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?”

Qian Chen reflected on his own arrogance. Earlier, Cui Dan treasured his elixirs as priceless; unconsciously, Qian Chen had inflated his own expectations. Though his qi elixirs were wondrous and worth a fortune to those who understood them, trading one for a map still seemed too cheap…

But as the saying goes: treasures go to those who recognize them; objects belong to those with affinity.

He, Qian Chen, had no name or reputation, and could not claim to be a true heir of the Supreme Dao. To offer such elixirs in exchange for a map used annually by a clan to enter the marsh—this was indeed presumptuous. He should have offered hard currency whose value even the ignorant could recognize.

For instance, the mountains of magical treasure embryos and materials piled up in his Qiankun Bag!

Qian Chen nodded gently: “I was rash! If elixirs are unacceptable, I can still…”

Master Zhen raised his hand to interrupt: “Thus, according to dan master rules, when first arriving in a place and unproven, one must hold a Danhui—before fellow cultivators interested in buying or trading elixirs, you personally brew elixirs using herbs provided by locals. This demonstrates openness, invites oversight, and prevents tampering.”

“Why not let potential buyers inspect the elixirs themselves?” Qian Chen asked curiously. “Careful inspection won’t catch everything, but it can detect seven or eight tenths of tampering.”

Master Zhen smirked, confirming Qian Chen was an outsider.

He mocked: “How could ordinary cultivators detect tampering in elixirs?”

Qian Chen was stunned: “They can’t?”

Even the Wei family’s young servant, barely past the threshold of cultivation, couldn’t help stifling a laugh—they knew he was a complete novice. Qian Chen pondered and suddenly understood: cultivators’ breakthroughs to the Sensing threshold were far cruder than he imagined. Far more cultivators than he thought could not sense the subtle qi of elixirs.

To judge whether an elixir’s medicinal nature was pure required sensing its subtle qi—a trivial matter for Daoist true disciples, a mere sweep of spiritual awareness.

Yet in the mortal world, it was considered a rare skill.

Qian Chen continued self-reflection: he had made another assumption. He always measured worldly wandering cultivators and clan youths by his own standards. From Cui Dan’s cultivation level, he saw that a Golden Core demon cultivator like Miao Kong was already a giant among the mortal world’s demon sects…

Yet he had thought Miao Kong could be crushed by the Supreme Dao with a single pinch—though, indeed, he could be, against a Nascent Soul True Person.

But Miao Kong had wiped out the entire Languan Sect!

In this world, Nascent Soul True Persons were likely legends, like ancient immortals.

Even during his mission in the Reincarnation Realm, a world far inferior to the Central Lands, the top figures he encountered—such as the Twelve Yuan Chen—were already the pinnacle of their realm, the very essence of their world.

Their knowledge and cultivation might be inferior to ordinary Central Lands cultivators, but their talent, character, and foundation were already exceptional.

Though the Central Lands were rich in talent and spiritual energy, the absolute best were all within Daoist, Buddhist, or Demon sect true lineages. The slightly lesser ones were scattered across the vast world, with only one percent in the mortal realm. The ordinary clan youths and wandering cultivators, though skilled, still fell far short of those who could become the absolute peak of a world—those forged through endless trials and possessing unparalleled personal qualities.

“I thought the average cultivation level here was about one-tenth of mine. Now I see—I was too optimistic! Indeed, without investigation, there is no right to speak!”

Qian Chen sighed, bowed slightly to Master Zhen, and said: “I have learned.”