No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 92

He had known beforehand that the Tageshan village intended to invite Central Plains guests to the Gu God Festival. Though he had felt a faint unease, the two had saved their tribesmen’s lives. Granting them the Gu God’s blessing was the least the Buwa tribe could do in return, so he hadn’t objected.

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This didn’t violate any rules, but rules were rules. If the Yi tribe deliberately caused trouble, their people would bear the risk.

When the Yi tribe blocked their path, he had been contemplating how to push through with minimal casualties. Never had he expected that the honored guests they invited would effortlessly force the Yi tribe to yield.

Under the overwhelming pressure of an eighth-level Martial King, the Yi tribesmen couldn’t utter a single word. Their crowded procession was forced to part, clearing a narrow path.

The mountain trail was cramped—one side pressed against a cliff face, the other a sheer drop into the abyss. They had no choice but to flatten themselves against the rock wall, their burly bodies squeezed together until their eyes turned red with strain.

A few clever ones climbed onto their comrades’ shoulders, clinging to protruding rocks like flatbreads stuck to the sides of an oven.

Lu Jianwei strolled through leisurely.

The Yi tribesmen, who had intended to pick a fight, could only watch helplessly as the Buwa tribe passed before them, snaking like a long dragon toward Mu'acuo.

Only after the procession had traveled several miles did the Martial King’s oppressive aura gradually fade.

The weaker Yi tribesmen collapsed to the ground, utterly drained of strength.

The Yi leader, though still standing, rasped out a question, “When did the Central Plains produce another eighth-level Martial King? And a young woman at that!”

“W-we don’t know,” someone stammered in reply.

The Yi tribe was obsessed with martial prowess and cared little for other matters.

They prided themselves on knowing the exact numbers and ranks of warriors in the other two tribes, as well as the high-level experts of the Central Plains.

They had intelligence on every eighth-level Martial King in the Central Plains—how could a new one suddenly appear?

Had they known, they wouldn’t have acted so recklessly.

Within the Buwa tribe’s procession, silence reigned as everyone stole glances at the graceful woman in their midst.

The space around her had emptied, save for the noble guest in the wheelchair walking beside her, followed by Amusha and Amuan, as well as a young man rumored to be the sect master of the Sacred Medicine Hall.

Lu Jianwei, receiving so many gazes for the first time, adjusted effortlessly.

“Elder Lu, you cut quite the impressive figure,” Aleshu suddenly remarked with a mocking tone. “Might I ask why a Martial King of your stature has come to attend the Gu God Festival?”

Lu Jianwei replied, “Amuan extended a heartfelt invitation, and it would’ve been impolite to refuse. Weren’t you present as well, Mr. Lin? Why ask what you already know?”

Aleshu: “…”

Humiliating. Truly humiliating.

He had thought his disguise flawless, that he had played the inn’s occupants for fools. A smug sense of pride had swelled within him—only to realize that he was the one who had been made a fool of all along.

This indignation was impossible to swallow.

“Since you’re honored guests of the Buwa tribe, surely you wouldn’t hide everything from your friends, Elder Lu?” Aleshu pressed. “If you were to commit any act that blasphemes the Gu God during the festival, an eighth-level Martial King like you could escape easily, but the Buwa tribe would suffer the consequences.”

The tribesmen pricked up their ears.

Lu Jianwei chuckled. “I came to Dianzhou to search for medicinal herbs to save a life. It’s as simple as that.”

Her explanation was meant to reassure the Buwa tribesmen.

As for whether others believed her, she couldn’t care less.

“Elder Lu is a physician from the Central Plains—of course she’s here to save lives,” Amuan declared first in the Central Plains tongue, then repeated loudly in Dianzhou dialect.

The people of Tageshan village believed him.

Both Amusha and Amuan were from their village. Were it not for Elder Lu and Young Master Wen, neither would be alive today.

The benefactors they had interacted with bore none of the haughtiness typical of high-level experts. They had even drunk the notoriously bitter suqi soup without batting an eye—how could they be anything but good people?

With Elder Lu’s eighth-level strength, if she had ill intentions, she could’ve acted long ago without all this trouble.

Recalling how the arrogant Yi tribesmen had been forced to press themselves against the cliff to make way, the Buwa tribesmen felt a surge of satisfaction.

Someone who understood the Central Plains language called out, “Elder, if you need any herbs, just say the word! I’d be honored to gather them for you!”

“She needs wujing fruit,” a voice in the crowd replied—Amuli, the medicine shop assistant.

Amuqiao, the Buwa leader, froze.

Wujing fruit was a rare medicinal ingredient, but its applications were highly specific—primarily for detoxification, and only for extremely unusual poisons.

Merchants from the Central Plains would pay high prices for it, but the demand was never high, as cases requiring wujing fruit were exceedingly rare.

Now that he thought of it, long ago, another female physician from the Central Plains had also sought wujing fruit.

He pushed through the crowd and approached Lu Jianwei, offering a solemn bow.

“Honored guest, I am Amuqiao, leader of the Buwa tribe. We still have some wujing fruit in storage—three can be gifted to you.”

Amuan instinctively protested, “I promised Elder Lu that I’d gather any herbs she needed myself.”

“Nonsense! Do you think harvesting wujing fruit is easy?” Amuqiao scolded under his breath. “Human lives outweigh material things. You were barely saved—don’t throw your life away on dangerous tasks.”

The leader’s authority was absolute, and Amuan dared not argue further.

“Then I thank the leader for his generosity,” Lu Jianwei replied with a smile. She had expected to wait much longer—this was an unexpected boon.

She was accustomed to meticulous planning, to controlling every variable. But small surprises like this didn’t vex her.

Perhaps she didn’t need to remain so tightly wound all the time. Sometimes, drifting without a purpose could be its own form of cultivation.

The moment this thought surfaced, the barrier at the early eighth level seemed to tremble, its collapse accelerating.

Xiao Ke exclaimed excitedly, “Weiwei, you just had an epiphany!”

The barrier shattered, and her advancement flowed naturally. She leaped from the early eighth level straight to mid-eighth level.

Ever since the incident at Guihe Residence, the system had restricted the skill of absorbing others’ internal energy, slowing Lu Jianwei’s progress significantly.

She mused inwardly, “Coming to the southwest was the right decision. The gains have been plentiful.”

The leader’s voice reached her ears again: “However, you’ll have to wait until after the Gu God Festival.”

“Naturally.” Lu Jianwei’s smile deepened.

The procession resumed its winding journey along the mountain path, an unbroken line snaking toward the sacred land of Mu'acuo.

Assured that the eighth-level Martial King sought only medicine to save lives, the Buwa tribesmen’s curiosity waned.

The closer they drew to Mu'acuo, the more their excitement swelled, their spirits soaring.

The southwest was a land of endless mountains, and within those mountains lay countless villages and tribes.

Mu'acuo was the heart of all villages and tribes.

Nestled in the valley of Gu God Mountain, the vast, flat expanse was lush and verdant, with babbling streams winding through. The wind sweeping through the valley carried mist and moisture, brushing against faces with a refreshing coolness.

In Lu Jianwei's imagination, the Gu God Festival presided over by the Gu God Sect might have been eerie and terrifying, perhaps even bloody and cruel—after all, such mysterious sects were often portrayed in films and shows as shadowy and sinister.

But Mu'acuo's clear, bright serenity completely overturned her expectations.

Truly worthy of being a sacred land.

In modern times, this place would undoubtedly be a top tourist destination.

The three tribes had all gathered in the open valley, each keeping a distinct boundary from the others.

The most enigmatic of them, the Miao tribe, had the fewest members, yet their warriors boasted the highest average strength among the three.

Most were at the fifth rank, with quite a few young sixth-rankers among them—no weaker than some of the major sects in the Central Plains.

Their leader was an elderly woman, judging by her attire and the respectful demeanor of those around her. She was the Miao tribe's chieftain, a seventh-rank cultivator.

The chieftains of the Buwa and Yi tribes, in contrast, only possessed sixth-rank internal energy.

At the center of Mu'acuo stood a tall, wide circular platform, its midpoint occupied by an altar, both constructed from neatly cut mountain stones.

The precision of the stonework suggested immense effort—how many warriors must have labored to build such a massive structure?

Colorful banners lined the platform's edge, embroidered with symbols and characters that were likely the emblem of the Gu God Sect.

Outsiders were rarely permitted to attend the Gu God Festival, and the records of Luzhou Academy made no mention of the ritual's specifics.

Lu Jianwei found it all quite novel and felt a growing anticipation for the upcoming ceremony.

Suddenly, her sleeve was tugged.

She looked down.

Wen Zhuzhi was holding two oil-paper bags filled with snacks—walnuts and dried fruit.

He had retrieved them from the bundle resting on his lap, a large pack prepared by A'Nai that he had carried all the way here.

Lu Jianwei traveled light: a waterskin and a single blade were all she had brought to the festival.

After a day and night of travel, though the Buwa tribe had provided food along the way, she found it unpalatable and had eaten little. Just moments ago, her stomach had growled.

"A'Nai really knows how to pack," Lu Jianwei teased, taking a piece of dried fruit and chewing quietly.

Given that this was the grandest festival for the three tribes, cracking walnuts would have been too noisy.

Dried fruit was the better choice.

As she nibbled, she turned her gaze back to the altar.

Then, a hand appeared before her, holding a clean handkerchief piled with plump walnut kernels.

Lu Jianwei: "…"

She blinked in surprise and glanced down.

Wen Zhuzhi picked up a walnut, held it in his palm for a few breaths, and then—with a subtle application of internal energy—the shell split into perfectly shaped fragments. A light tap, and the shell fell away, leaving only the intact kernel behind.

He collected the fragments in an empty paper bag.

Shattering a walnut with internal energy wasn’t difficult, but achieving such precision was rare.

It demanded an extraordinary level of control, something only years of experience could hone.

Lu Jianwei had reached the eighth rank of Martial King in just a year, but her use of internal energy had been limited. She couldn’t yet manipulate it with such finesse.

Her eyes lingered on his focused profile, and she smiled faintly.

One ate, the other shelled—soon, the walnuts were gone.

Aleshu, who had been watching silently, finally spoke up.

"Are you two planning to receive the Gu God’s blessing?"

Neither responded.

Since becoming a hall master, Aleshu had never been so thoroughly ignored. Ever since Lu Jianwei exposed his identity on the road, he’d been simmering with frustration.

But she was an eighth-rank Martial King—picking a fight with her was out of the question.

His gaze slid to Wen Zhuzhi, and he suddenly sneered.

"Shopkeeper Lu, why bother getting so close to a sickly man? Sweet words from men aren’t to be trusted. If you must choose someone, at least pick someone strong and handsome—so when your heart’s broken, you can console yourself that you weren’t blind."

Lu Jianwei replied airily,

"Mr. Lin, you sound quite experienced. Have you suffered heartbreak before?"

Aleshu: "…"

"What heartbreak?" He scowled in disgust. "How could I possibly have suffered heartbreak?!"

"Protesting too much suggests otherwise. You must have been deeply wounded." Lu Jianwei grinned. "Do share your wisdom, so I can learn and avoid being fooled so easily."

She was itching for gossip.

Aleshu flushed with anger. "I was never fooled!"

His voice carried, drawing glances from those nearby.

Amusha and Amuan exchanged glances, struggling to suppress their laughter. The other Buwa tribesmen didn’t dare provoke their hall master, but they were nearly choking on suppressed amusement.

"You—"

"The High Priestess has arrived."

The announcement instantly doused Aleshu’s fury. He shot a glare at the crowd before turning toward the platform, his expression gradually shifting to solemn reverence.

Five figures appeared atop the platform.

Leading them was a woman in ceremonial robes, wielding a scepter—Alehong, the eighth-rank mid-stage Martial King. Behind her stood four seventh-rank Martial Kings, two on each side.

Each carried a woven vine box.

The Gu God Sect had always been shrouded in mystery, with little known to the outside world. Yet Alehong’s reputation had spread even to the Central Plains.

Rumors spoke of her extraordinary talent, a rare martial prodigy who had reached the fifth rank at a young age, preserving her youthful appearance. Even past fifty, she showed no signs of aging.

Her prowess wasn’t limited to martial arts—her mastery of gu sorcery far surpassed others’.

With eighth-rank internal energy and the secrets of gu magic, she would be nearly unmatched in the martial world.

Yet for decades, she had remained within the Gu God Sect, never venturing into the Central Plains.

"Begin the rites—"

A resonant voice, infused with seventh-rank energy, echoed across the valley.

Amuan quickly translated, adding, "As outsiders, you need not kneel."

All around them, the tribespeople prostrated themselves.

Lu Jianwei and Wen Zhuzhi stood out—one standing, the other seated.

Out of respect, Lu Jianwei crouched down.

That left Wen Zhuzhi as the most conspicuous.

He adjusted a mechanism on his wheelchair, lowering it until he was level with the kneeling crowd.

But this forced his legs to stretch forward awkwardly, leaving him in an undignified pose.

Lu Jianwei felt both amused and a pang of sympathy.

Life in a wheelchair was inconvenient, often inviting ridicule. Had he not been the wealthiest man in Jiangnan, skilled in the esoteric arts, he might never have been able to shed his mask and travel the world as himself.

"Rise—"

The crowd surged to their feet. Lu Jianwei waited until Wen Zhuzhi readjusted his chair before standing.

The Gu God Festival’s rites were simpler than she’d imagined—no elaborate chants or dances, just reverent kneeling and silence.

"Bestow the blessing—"

At the command, a stretcher was carried forth, bearing a man slowly ascending the platform.

Even from a distance, Lu Jianwei could tell the patient was gravely ill, nearing death.

Were they going to save him with a gu insect?

One of Alehong’s seventh-rank priests approached the stretcher, gazing sorrowfully at the dying man before opening the vine box.

A dark golden gu insect emerged, alighting on the patient’s forehead.

The man’s face, twisted in agony, gradually relaxed. His eyes, fixed on the vast sky above, softened—and then, impossibly, he smiled. A serene, contented smile.

Lu Jianwei recognized that particular gu worm—it was a special sensory gu, capable of both extending its master's perception of the outside world and altering human senses.

By eliminating the suffering of the afflicted, it allowed them to pass away peacefully in sweet dreams. Indeed, this could be considered a form of blessing.

The effects of this gu technique lasted five days, but the patient from earlier likely had only three days left to live.

To depart this world without pain was also a kind of mercy.

So this was the so-called "blessing."

"Not all warriors are granted the chance to receive this blessing," Amuan explained. "These individuals have contributed greatly to the tribe—they are true heroes."

Lu Jianwei nodded, but a sudden chill ran down her spine.

Something was wrong.

Her cultivation technique was unique, granting her exceptionally sharp intuition. Just then, she had sensed a faint but unmistakable trace of killing intent from nearby.

Her sleeve was tugged again.

Wen Zhuzhi traced a single character into her palm: "Kill."

As a seasoned commander who had navigated countless battles, he was all too familiar with the aura of bloodlust.

For such hostility to emerge during the Gu God Festival—this was a dire situation indeed.

Lu Jianwei narrowed her eyes, her gaze shifting to Alehong and the others on the high platform, fully engrossed in their blessings.

Gu masters of their level undoubtedly possessed sensory gu worms. Could they truly be unaware of what was happening?

The blessings continued uninterrupted.

Lu Jianwei took a paper bag from Wen Zhuzhi, filled with crushed walnut shells.

Their hard texture made them perfect for use as hidden projectiles.

Yet, even as the final terminally ill patient received their blessing, no chaos erupted during the festival.

Lu Jianwei turned to Amuan. "What comes after the blessings?"

"The inter-tribal competition," Amuan replied eagerly. "Each of the three tribes sends forth their strongest warriors to spar under the gaze of the Gu God."

"What do the winners and losers gain?"

"The victor earns another chance at a Gu God blessing, as well as a petal of 'Old White Hair.' Most importantly, they’ll catch the eyes of many young women. Unmarried warriors and maidens who wish to wed can also request the Gu God’s blessing for their union."

Lu Jianwei paid little attention to the Gu God’s matchmaking role, focusing instead on the herb. "'Old White Hair' grows in the Miao tribe’s territory. Are they willing to offer it as a prize?"

"Why wouldn’t they? The final champions earn the right to join the Gu God Sect and serve the Gu God. 'Old White Hair' is a divine gift from the Gu God—it’s only fitting to bestow it upon the sect’s warriors."

Lu Jianwei understood now. This competition was essentially a recruitment drive—the Gu God Sect absorbed talented individuals from each tribe, using rewards to ensure their loyalty before putting them to use.

Most major sects operated this way. There was nothing unusual about it.

The warriors participating in the competition were the finest selections from the three tribes, mostly youths aged fifteen to thirty, with cultivation levels ranging from third to fifth rank.

As an eighth-rank Martial King, Lu Jianwei found these low-level skirmishes rather dull. Still, the martial techniques of the southwest differed significantly from those of the Central Plains, making them somewhat intriguing upon closer inspection.

Then, disaster struck.

The warriors on the circular platform suddenly became bloodthirsty, abandoning all restraint in their duels. Their clashes grew increasingly vicious, as if they sought to tear each other limb from limb.

Before anyone could react, the terminally ill patients who had received blessings earlier let out agonized wails and lunged at their fellow tribesmen.

These were battle-hardened warriors, now driven into a frenzied state. Ordinary tribesmen stood no chance—before they could even cry out, they were swiftly cut down by the very elders they had once revered.

The pristine Mu'acuo descended into a maelstrom of slaughter. The killing intent that had lurked in the shadows now revealed itself in full.

A group of assassins, their techniques reminiscent of Central Plains martial artists, surged in from nowhere, encircling the tribespeople around the platform and launching a merciless massacre.

Without hesitation, Lu Jianwei sent walnut shells streaking through the air like meteors, striking down dozens of assassins in an instant.

Aleshu cast her a complicated glance before leaping over the crowd toward the platform, shouting, "Granny Xi! I’m coming to help!"

The woman in priestly robes was locked in combat, too occupied to respond.

Internal energy, martial techniques, and gu worms clashed in a chaotic storm, turning the battleground into a swirling vortex of violence.

At the center of the platform stood the sect leader, wielding a staff, yet she made no move to intervene.

Her eyes were closed, her expression unyielding and sacred. An eighth-rank aura enveloped her, rendering her defenses impenetrable.

Once the walnut shells were spent, Lu Jianwei took dried fruit from Wen Zhuzhi, using them with pinpoint accuracy.

"For so many to suddenly turn bloodthirsty, it must be linked to gu worms. Whoever’s behind this has planned meticulously."

Wen Zhuzhi casually picked up a pebble, flinging it at an oncoming assassin.

"Alehong is searching for the one controlling the gu worms."

"Those people are clearly under the influence of puppet gu. To evade Alehong’s detection, the mastermind’s gu techniques must be on par with hers."

Lu Jianwei suddenly recalled Aleshu’s failed attempt to harm He Lianxue with a gu worm, only to suffer backlash instead.

"Could it be the Gu Emperor?"

Only the Gu Emperor could deceive an eighth-rank gu master so effortlessly.

He Lianxue’s body harbored what might be the Gu Emperor. Now, another Gu Emperor had appeared—was crafting such a being truly so simple?

"Will you assist me?" Her sleeve was tugged once more.

Lu Jianwei looked down. "Go on."

Wen Zhuzhi opened the large bundle on his lap, retrieving materials and tools for setting up an array.

"My mobility is limited. Could you arrange the array in my stead?"

Without hesitation, Lu Jianwei accepted.

If an array could halt the slaughter, all the better.

The sacred Mu'acuo was now drenched in blood.

Amusha and Amuan had vanished in the chaos. The surroundings teemed with flashing blades and anguished screams.

Lu Jianwei attempted to suppress the violence with her eighth-rank Martial King aura, but the puppet gu’s overwhelming control rendered her efforts futile.

The gu worms’ primal instincts overpowered any fear of danger—those under their thrall showed no reverence for a Martial King’s might.

For now, Lu Jianwei couldn’t save everyone.

She turned with the array tools but paused after a few steps.

"What about you?"

"I’ll be fine," Wen Zhuzhi replied calmly. "They cannot harm me."

Lu Jianwei trusted him.

Though gu worms feared no danger, they could be deceived—just as the blood-devouring worms in Jiangzhou had been.

Once the array was complete, those controlled by the gu worms would be left wandering blindly.

Lu Jianwei activated her movement technique—the fourth stance of "Questioning the Years," "Holding Back Time"—halting the flow of moments, freezing those around her like statues.

Her figure dissolved into a wisp of smoke, darting through the crowd with impossible speed.

Wen Zhuzhi communicated via internal energy transmission, meanwhile arranging a simple illusion around his wheelchair. The frenzied killers ignored him entirely, even unconsciously avoiding his small space.

His gaze never left her as she moved with effortless grace through the battlefield.

Lu Jianwei meticulously placed each array marker until the final one was set.

The array activated instantly.

In a flash, the bloodshed and screams vanished.

The illusionary array was complete—the entire valley had become a vast maze.

No one could see another soul or find their way.

With their targets lost, the slaughter had no choice but to end.

After placing the last marker, Lu Jianwei, too, became lost within the array.

She stood still, counting silently in her mind.

One. Two. Three...

A familiar figure emerged through the layers of mist, appearing before her just as she had anticipated, and extended a hand.

"Shopkeeper Lu, let me take you out of here."