Chapter 250: Wu Lü Trading House

After the Autumn Contest ended, Tian Shu Academy's new student recruitment began swiftly.

Cao Jinsong, the instructor responsible for recruitment in Fengzhou, resumed his duties after a half-month rest and returned to Fengzhou, accompanied by Xiang Fu and Liu Jian'an.

Though they were last year's newcomers and had not joined the Administration Hall, as Fengzhou disciples, they were expected to act if capable—no idle hands allowed.

Also returning to Fengzhou with them was Kuang Cheng.

He came back to Fengzhou to audit the ledgers, inventory the grain delivered to the granaries after this year's autumn harvest, and, per Ji You's earlier instructions, establish an external trading house before winter arrived.

Kuang Cheng was merely a frail scholar with no strength to fight; Cao Jinsong feared for his safety and escorted him to Fengzhou Prefecture along the way.

After the large-scale joint land reclamation in spring, the selection of seed grains by the Ministry of Agriculture, and Fengzhou's rare year of favorable weather, all believed the surplus would be substantial.

Yet when they saw the numbers, all were stunned…

Damn, this damned disciple really struck it rich…

After delivering Kuang Cheng to his destination, Cao Jinsong and his group, still burdened with recruitment duties, departed Fengzhou Prefecture and traveled southeast along the imperial road.

Fengzhou was vast, equal to one and a half central provinces, yet the number of candidates eligible for cultivation was actually quite small.

Because the greatest barrier for immortal sect recruitment was not talent, but lineage—only the offspring of officials were chosen for cultivation.

Thus, after days of effort, Cao Jinsong's group found only two candidates with decent lineage: the son of the Governor of Shangfang Commandery and the daughter of the Governor of Anbei Commandery.

Two others were recruited under military merit quotas as family members of the Zhenbei Army.

As autumn deepened, instructors from other prefectures returned one by one with their selected pupils.

Yet this year's Tian Shu Academy recruitment, in three words, was a failure.

There was only one cultivator who had reached the peak of the lower three realms before turning twenty, and he was from the Elder Hall.

His elder was a great immortal; reaching the peak of the lower three realms before turning twenty was no feat—he was destined for Tian Shu Academy anyway.

In other words, in Taiyuan Year Two, Tian Shu Academy admitted not a single truly under-twenty, peak-lower-three-realms cultivator through recruitment.

"Has our Tian Shu Academy's reputation truly fallen to ruin?"

"No. During my journey, I encountered recruiters from other immortal sects and outside wanderers. Upon inquiry, I found most sects faced the same situation—only Lingjian Mountain fared slightly better, having recruited two peak-lower-three-realms cultivators."

On a clear autumn day, as leaves rustled to the ground, Ding Ang sat in the instructor courtyard's teahouse, explaining to the returning instructors.

Instructor Sun stroked his beard lightly: "This is hardly surprising. Lingjian Mountain's disciples didn't take first place at this year's Heavenly Dao Assembly, but three of their pupils entered the Sage's Sacred Ground—still the most among all sects. Their reputation remains immense."

Ding Ang lifted his teacup: "The impact goes further than that."

"Oh?"

"You all know that due to the Sacred Sword reselecting its master, the Heaven Sword Peak and the Dark Sword Peak within Lingjian Mountain have secretly opposed each other. Unlike us, Lingjian Mountain forces every new recruit to choose a peak upon entry—no changing later. This year, both peak-lower-three-realms recruits chose the Dark Sword Peak."

"Is that true?"

"Indeed. After much thought, I believe it's still because of the Heavenly Dao Assembly."

Two months have passed since the Heavenly Dao Assembly ended, and details of the battles have gradually spread.

Especially Ji You's matches—no one knows how the rumors started, but they're clearer than anyone else's, as if one had witnessed them firsthand.

Ding Ang now held his teacup: "Yan Hao, called the strongest of Heaven Sword Peak, took only sixteen of Ji You's swords and was crushed utterly. Yan Rui, from Dark Sword Peak, took thirty-two—and though he lost, he suffered no injury. Dark Sword Peak's reputation soared for good reason. And Yan Rui is merely a branch-line disciple, not a direct heir of the peak's lord."

The other instructors nodded: "Disciples naturally have their own scales. This time, Heaven Sword Peak truly suffered a heavy blow."

"I happen to know this Yan Rui."

"?"

"You all know my wife hails from Lingzhou. According to what I've learned, Yan Rui was slightly weaker than Yan Hao—yet he performed astonishingly at the Heavenly Dao Assembly. Why?"

Cao Jinsong, sitting by the window in quiet meditation, suddenly coughed.

Why?

Ha—because my daughter-in-law is the junior overseer of Lingjian Mountain!

No divine power was displayed—only masterful acting.

The instructor telling the story heard the cough and lowered his voice immediately, adopting a properly respectful demeanor.

Instructor Cao, who had produced this year's Heavenly Dao Assembly champion, was currently the talk of the instructor courtyard—no one wished to provoke him.

Ding Ang couldn't help muttering under his breath, "Dog barking at a master's shadow," then lowered his voice: "With only one under-twenty, peak-lower-three-realms cultivator this year, next autumn's contest may not even be held."

"That… is true."

"Indeed. Others haven't reached peak, so they cannot enter the Profound Realm. This spot will surely go to the Elder Hall disciple. Thus, Chu He, Fang Jincheng, and others still suffer ill fortune—especially Chu He, who endured countless hardships yet failed to succeed."

With that, all fell silent, memories of last year's Autumn Contest flooding back, sending chills down their spines.

New students, whether from noble families or admitted through quotas, daily visited the Enlightenment Ground to contemplate the Heavenly Book, just as in previous years.

But as last year, no one succeeded for a long time.

The Elder Hall disciple, too, went from ambitious to resigned.

Meanwhile, the new Fengzhou disciples cultivated, made friends, and gradually adapted to Tian Shu Academy's rhythm.

Though born into official families, they were still mortal descendants—especially mortal descendants from Fengzhou. Before entering, they had been anxious, especially upon seeing noble disciples swallowing elixirs by the bottle and piling spirit stones before them, inevitably feeling inferior.

But soon they realized they were never belittled or looked down upon—even some Jingzhong noble families, upon learning they were from Fengzhou, specially hosted banquets to invite them.

In fact, after the Heavenly Dao Assembly battle, few still mocked Fengzhou.

This once barren land, devoid of immortal clans, was slowly transforming in people's minds due to one person's presence.

Meanwhile, a group of students who had spent five years in Tian Shu Academy's outer courtyard departed, filled with endless regret.

Some with higher cultivation were hired by Jingzhong noble families or spirit stone guilds as patrons.

In past years, more chose to join spirit stone guilds, since they received direct access to spirit stones.

Those whose cultivation remained unchanged from their entry were ignored entirely; feeling too ashamed to return home, they voluntarily entered even lower-tier immortal estates.

But this year was slightly different: as soon as they left the academy, they encountered a group, led by a fat man with a large chest, who handed them a sheet of paper.

Everyone knew him as Cao Jinsong of Tian Shu Academy; the paper was an invitation from Fengzhou.

Come. Work like beasts.

Soon, deep autumn arrived. The clamor of the Heavenly Dao Assembly faded, and everyone returned to the silent, timeless rhythm of cultivation—until the new tax collection season began.

Gurgling—gurgling—

With the imperial decree for tax collection issued, tax carts from every region began crisscrossing the Nine Provinces, their wheels rumbling day and night.

Government clerks grew busy, patrolling streets and alleys, inspecting households, and loading sufficient produce onto carts.

Some clerks, upon finding slightly larger households, took extra goods, then at night, shedding their uniforms, headed to brothels.

Loaded carts then carried six-tenths of the commoners' year-long labor to noble families, immortal sects, and regional immortal estates, supplying these immortals so they could cultivate undisturbed, far from the mortal world.

Of course, some still could not pay their taxes, living in constant dread until, finally, they fled in thin clothing, families in tow, as winter's chill approached.

Most of those unable to pay taxes had newborn children or elderly parents to support.

Amid biting winds, infants in swaddling clothes endured cold and hunger; one misstep, and they turned purple overnight.

Some elderly or infirm simply gave up, weeping as they watched their children and grandchildren flee, urging them only to survive.

Yet though Qingyun's realm was vast and boundless, where could such mortals flee?

Especially during this season, every local government dispatched patrols to secretly intercept and capture them—there was no escape.

Tie Niu's family, living in Zhuxi County, Tian Shui Prefecture, Zhongzhou, was just like this: hiding as winter neared, yet eventually captured and thrown into prison, utterly hopeless.

Tie Niu wasn't afraid of death—he simply lacked the courage to end it himself. A swift slash across the throat would have been over, and he'd never return in the next life.

But the problem was, evading taxes wasn't a capital offense—it was flogging.

Beaten until flesh tore open, yet next year's quota still had to be paid.

His wife was frail; his son still in swaddling. Tie Niu had to take the punishment for them—but he didn't know if he could survive it, nor how his wife and child would live if he somehow escaped.

His family had warned him not to have children, saying one life meant one more burden—he hadn't listened, believing his strength would never drive him to this end. He'd underestimated things.

Beneath his prison window at midnight, cold and starving, Tie Niu couldn't sleep.

He stared blankly until dawn, when the prison door opened and the warden tossed him the single sack he'd carried when fleeing: "You're free to go."

Tie Niu opened his mouth: "Free to go?"

"Your debt has been paid for you."

"Then… what of my wife and child?"

Tie Niu didn't believe anyone had paid his debt—he thought the prison had made a mistake—but he didn't protest, only anxiously asked after his family.

The warden glanced at him: "They're already home. Go quickly—don't dawdle."

"Thank you, warden. Thank you, warden…"

Five others arrested with Tie Niu also stumbled out, dazed.

After spending the night in darkness, the sudden sunlight blinded them with pain; only when the white haze faded did they notice grain carts constantly entering and leaving.

But these carts bore no government insignia—they flew the banner of Wu Lü Trading House.

Tie Niu rubbed his eyes, gradually adjusting to the daylight, then walked toward the city's edge, traversing many dirt roads until he finally reached his village.

Pushing open his door, he saw his wife holding their child, a bowl of barley porridge in hand. Upon seeing him, she rose instantly and embraced him.

Tie Niu patted his wife's back, his eyes following her shoulder toward the corner of the room.

There sat a small sack of grain, labeled with the name Wu Lü Trading House.

Tie Niu froze: "This… where did this grain come from?"

His wife returned the child to the bedroom, then stepped back into the main hall and pulled out a promissory note: "Mother saw us taken, so she went to borrow from the trading house…"

"How could Mother dare borrow from a trading house? These bloodsuckers—how much will we owe next year?"

"They don't require repayment. But you must work for them for half a year."

Tie Niu shuddered: "Where? Another spirit mine—where hundreds die every year?"

His wife gripped his hand: "Husband, don't fear. Not the mines. You'll go to Fengzhou."

Hearing this, Tie Niu's eyes widened: "How can I go to Fengzhou? Officials patrol daily to prevent people from fleeing there—normally, even paying taxes was forbidden. Why now?"

Since last year, when Fengzhou's tax tribute was slashed to thirty percent, countless people had wanted to flee there—but many had their legs broken. Now, somehow, they could go.

His wife shook her head after listening: "It's not about moving there. You'll go with the Wulü Merchant House, earn money, then return. You still pay six percent tax to our local government office. Your wife and son will be held here. The masters only want the tax tribute—they won't stop you even if you earn elsewhere."

Tie Niu opened his mouth: "I'll go alone..."

"You'll survive, husband. This is a way out. I've inquired—do you remember that immortal who appeared in Fengzhou a few years ago? He'll give you land, and others will help you. If you work hard, it'll be enough for our three to live."

"But... what do they want?"

His wife looked at him, eyes brimming with tears: "I don't know what they want. But our little Niu can live."

Tie Niu embraced his wife's shoulder: "I'll go. I'll go to Fengzhou. Did they say when?"

"In a few days. Your second uncle will go with you. Travel together—it'll ease my mind."

"Why go in the dead of winter?"

"I don't know..."

"Forget it. Let fate decide. I'll work hard. I'll come back when I earn enough—I'll come back, no matter how hard it gets."

His wife raised tear-filled eyes to him: "I'm not afraid you won't come back—you're heartless. But they said: if you don't return to support your wife and child, they'll break your legs too."

Tie Niu held her tighter: "Even if they don't break my legs, I'll come back..."

After tax tribute was collected, winter arrived swiftly. A cold front swept across the northern frontier, surging past the towering city walls, chilling the Nine Provinces until all things withered.

Among the people of the Nine Provinces, few failed to pay tax tribute—those who couldn't wouldn't have survived this world to begin with.

But whether one could survive the winter after paying tax was uncertain, for many poor families had little left after payment to feed their kin.

In past years, some chose to resist, leaving life and death to fate.

Others borrowed grain from merchant houses—borrow one, repay three, or five. When they couldn't repay, they became lifelong servants, selling children, becoming beasts of burden.

Yet as the first snow fell, a wave of cheap grain began flowing into the Nine Provinces.

Some sold it half-price, half-gift; those with no coin at all simply signed labor contracts.

This move hurt some interests, for certain merchant houses specialized in grain lending.

These lenders mostly relied on minor, low-tier clans, clans that had long since declined and survived only by such trade.

The grain they lent was, in fact, tax tribute collected earlier.

Some clans didn't need so much—so it flowed into their hands. One branch of the Lu family of Lingzhou specialized in this business.

They'd planned to squeeze more wealth from commoners this winter—yet this had happened.

"What's the background of this merchant house?"

"A new one. It appeared only in autumn. Little is known—only that it came from the north."

"Dare northerners interfere in my southern business?"

The patriarch, who had cultivated for ages until reaching the Fusion Dao realm, spoke without anger but with undeniable authority: "Have you found out who runs it?"

The Lu family steward bowed: "A merchant from Shengjing. No background could be uncovered."

"Let's go meet this merchant house."

The stern patriarch rose, took several household experts who had reached the peak of the Lower Realm, and left home, arriving at a newly opened merchant house on Changjie in Lingzhou's capital.

Immediately, a surge of qi passed through the hall. The patriarch struck his palm, shattering the signboard bearing the words "Wulu." He roared at them to leave at once, never to return, warning that next time, what shattered wouldn't be just a signboard.

The patriarch had acted cautiously, fearing hidden backers—he'd harmed no one on his first visit.

But in truth, such caution was unnecessary. To him, those who ran such trade couldn't possibly have powerful patrons.

As expected, the shop clerks looked terrified, prostrating themselves on the ground, trembling, too frightened to speak.

Seeing this, the patriarch departed satisfied.

Yet he never expected that the next morning, as he rose from his bed, he saw several palanquins flying through the sky, landing in his courtyard.

Before him stood an elder of the Lu family's main line, who slapped him to the ground with a wave of his hand, eyes sharp as blades, ordering him to carve a signboard immediately and deliver it.

As he left the courtyard, the Lu elder couldn't help but glance fearfully toward the three sword peaks by the sea.

Lingjian Mountain normally ignored worldly affairs—even when clans fought and died, they rarely intervened. He couldn't fathom why they'd take interest in such a trivial matter as grain sales.

Worse still, the one who came—he'd inquired—was said to have once been the personal maid of Lingjian Mountain's Junior Inspector.

It was said that Zhongzhou and Fengzhou were buried under blizzards, and even Lingzhou, rarely touched by snow, now saw constant flakes falling.

Standing in the snow, the Lu elder felt a chill—but it came not from the air, but from within.

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(End of chapter)