Chapter 350

Beneath the gloomy sky, the Qin, Wei, and Jiang families had just sprinted into the valley when they were met by a torrent of sword qi like a mountain collapsing.

In the blink of an eye, they understood one thing: why the Wang family guide had looked at them with that expression.

In an instant, the vaporized raindrops rose into endless white mist.

Ji You slashed diagonally, leaping forward to strike with his sword; fierce sword qi rippled through the air, and with it went their storage gourds…

Rustle-rustle—

The rain gradually grew denser, and night slowly rolled in.

The carriage began to jolt over rough terrain, and Zhuo Wanqiu woke from sleep amid the swaying.

She rubbed her eyes lightly, instinctively glancing toward Ji You’s direction, and finding no one, she propped herself up: “Master Cao, where is my young master?”

“He went out to work.”

“?”

Not long after, the carriage gave a sudden gentle lurch.

Ji You returned to the carriage, still carrying lingering aura and sword intent, and his waist-bound storage gourd hung crookedly open.

The clients cooperated well—especially the three families that followed; as soon as they drew their swords, they knew exactly what to do, so little effort was needed.

This was the life he had always dreamed of: diligent, courageous, living by his own skill.

The carriage’s jolt also woke others—Wen Zhengxin, the Lu sisters who had slept later, Ban Yangshu, and more—all couldn’t help but lift their heads to stare.

In their gaze, Ji You’s brows lifted slightly, his expression cheerful and natural, as happy as a child who had just robbed a traveler.

“What did you take?”

“Two copies of the Li family’s ancestral secret arts, a hundred or so storage gourds, a tower, and some miscellaneous odds and ends.”

Cao Jingsong’s lip twitched; he thought, truly, an unparalleled bandit.

But this also proved that since five years ago until now, his unruly disciple had never once sought peaceful coexistence with the aristocratic clans.

He still thought, as he had when he first left Yuyang County, that aristocratic clans and immortal sects were tumors, hoping they would suffer—or even perish.

So when he ambushed travelers, he felt not a shred of guilt.

And as his combat strength grew stronger, the clans he targeted would only grow worse off.

Under the night sky, Ji You’s eyes glowed golden, still unsatisfied; before leaving Zhongzhou for Fengzhou, he left the carriage multiple times.

This speeding carriage had become a mobile bandit den, gradually heading north as stars shifted, crossing Fengzhou’s border at noon the next day.

“They say Fengzhou is the poorest of the Nine Provinces, but it’s not so bad to live in.”

“Indeed, the scenery is quite beautiful.”

After Youyun Provinces fell, Fengzhou received a flood of refugees.

Besides refugees, some aristocratic clans took advantage of the northern buffer zone to flee here—such as the Lan family and Bian family of Youzhou, the Xiang family branch and Yue family of Yunzhou.

Everyone knew since childhood that Fengzhou was the poorest of the Nine Provinces, but only after arriving and seeing its boundless farmland and newly rebuilt structures did they realize how much Fengzhou had developed in recent years.

Especially the people’s demeanor on the streets—nothing like the weary, lifeless expressions of their home provinces.

These aristocratic clans stayed for several days, gradually recovering from their flight-induced exhaustion, and began to consider their next move.

Because their homes had been destroyed, they now owned nothing.

Neither spirit stones nor grain could sustain them.

But Fengzhou had abundant grain reserves and plenty of spirit stones stored away—they knew exactly where to turn.

After the autumn rain, the chill deepened.

Led by the Lan family’s patriarch, a group of clan heads arrived at the Fengzhou Governor’s mansion.

“The invasion by the barbarian and demon races is a disaster for the Nine Provinces; at this time, we must unite against the common foe. I know Fengzhou holds vast grain reserves and a large stockpile of Snowland Demon Stones—it’s time to contribute them.”

The white-haired Lan patriarch looked at Governor He Zhang, his tone steady, commanding without raising his voice.

He Zhang bowed: “Your words are wise, but I have little grain on hand—truly stretched thin.”

“Nonsense! Fengzhou lies far north, has no immortal clans, and escaped the zombie tide. Your autumn harvest just ended—surely your granaries are full?”

The Lan patriarch leaned forward: “The demon and barbarian races seem only to covet Youyun Provinces, but once they fully occupy them, do you think they won’t turn their eyes elsewhere? Fengzhou borders Yunzhou—without us, how will you defend yourselves?”

He Zhang clenched his lips, his brow furrowing with visible distress.

“Let me decide: leave forty percent of the grain for the people, and we’ll take the rest. Mortals don’t need spirit stones—don’t leave any. What do you all say?”

After speaking, the Lan patriarch looked to the other clan heads who had come with him.

Several nearby clan heads bowed in response: “This is an exceptional time—we can’t demand too much. We leave this entirely to the Lan patriarch’s judgment; we have no objections.”

The Lan patriarch nodded, then turned to He Zhang with a gentle smile: “Don’t leave all forty percent to Fengzhou’s people—refugees must be aided too. We’ll send people to help with relief efforts. This matter is yours to handle.”

“Your Excellency, I cannot make this decision.”

“You are the governor of this prefecture—how can you not decide on aiding refugees?”

He Zhang bowed low: “I’m not speaking of refugees—I mean the grain and spirit stones. I truly have no authority over them.”

The Lan patriarch tilted his head slightly: “I am making the decision now. You needn’t worry—just do as I say.”

“But I don’t have the warehouse keys, nor do I know where the spirit stone reserves are stored. Every year’s grain distribution and spirit stone sales are decided by the other side.”

Hearing this, the clan heads exchanged glances, their brows knitting.

Opposite the governor’s mansion stood Ji Zhai—they had seen it upon arrival.

The Lan patriarch paused, then exhaled slowly: “Ji You was gravely wounded and fell unconscious during the campaign—he may be dead. Fengzhou now lacks a leader. I am temporarily taking charge to prevent chaos. So this decision stands—go prepare.”

“But…”

“He Zhang, remember your station. I’ve cultivated for a century; though my heart is calm, I can still grow angry.”

He Zhang, helpless, bowed and nodded.

Outside the front hall, the governor’s three stewards stood by the door, frowning as they listened to the commotion within.

“These demons and monsters—can’t even hold their own lands, yet come to Fengzhou to bully us?”

“Shh, speak softer—Master Qiu said to be careful with cultivators; their hearing is far sharper than ordinary folk.”

“They act shamelessly and won’t even let us speak? When did Fengzhou become theirs to rule?”

As they whispered, suddenly a rumble of wheels reached their ears.

They looked up and saw a carriage entering their view, slowly stopping before the gates of Ji Zhai across the way.

Seeing this, they froze, then immediately rose and hurried outside.

As the carriage curtain lifted gently, Ji You stepped down.

This journey had been diligent, fruitful—truly worthy of the “homophone” on his gate plaque.

The Lu sisters followed behind, stepping down and gazing curiously at the mansion bearing the characters “Ji Zhai.”

It was their first time in Fengzhou; along the way, they’d seen boundless farmland and contented people—nothing like their expectations.

“Is this Master’s residence?”

“Yes. After three days’ travel, we’ve finally arrived. Everyone, go inside and rest.”

The Lu sisters immediately climbed the steps, making Ding Yao and Zhuo Wanqiu exchange glances.

They remembered how their lord had looked when he first arrived.

Kuangcheng and Wei Rui followed, walking side by side into the compound.

They had been here once before and were familiar with it, yet felt a nostalgic sense of returning home.

Then came Cao Jingsong, Wen Zhengxin, and Ban Yangshu.

They hadn’t seen Pei Ruyi in ages; as soon as they entered the courtyard, they began calling out.

Ji You was about to step inside when footsteps sounded behind him.

“Young Master Ji!”

“?”

The governor’s steward rushed over: “Young Master Ji, something’s happened.”

Ji You frowned slightly: “What happened?”

“A group of refugee cultivators arrived from Yunzhou and Youzhou—they demand grain and spirit stones, claiming this is an emergency and we must unite against the enemy. They say the demon races will soon come to Fengzhou and will help defend us. My master is inside and dares not refuse.”

“Robbing me now?”

Ji You murmured, then followed the three stewards to the governor’s mansion.

He didn’t let them announce him; instead, he had them wait in the courtyard, then lowered his head and slipped into the front hall, leaning against the left doorframe.

The Lan patriarch had just asked He Zhang to bring the grain ledger and spirit stone inventory; after reading them, he looked up: “Is the spirit stone exchange with the demon races still ongoing?”

“Your Excellency, two shipments came after the zombie tide, then it stopped.”

“Pity.”

The Lan patriarch muttered under his breath.

Fengzhou’s spirit stone reserves were indeed substantial, but they would eventually run out.

In his view, if that trade route hadn’t been cut, they might have exchanged grain for even more spirit stones.

He had just seen the grain output—it was astonishing, far exceeding his expectations.

Even if they ate half and threw away half of the sixty percent, they’d never finish it; stored too long, it might even sprout.

Still, one step at a time—losing their ancestral lands but still having grain and spirit stones was already an excellent outcome.