No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 100

◎ Sparring, Cultivating Gu, Trust ◎

The Martial Alliance Grand Tournament is held once every three years, always in mid-April.

The Hero Invitation is a summons sent by the Martial Alliance to various sects across the land, inviting martial artists to gather in Luozhou for the tournament.

But not all sects receive one.

Only those with significant standing in the martial world—such as the Carefree Sect, the Sky Pillar Hall, the Luzhou Academy, the Thousand Miles Tower, the Black Wind Fortress, and the like—are granted invitations. Smaller, lesser-known sects and clans must apply in advance if they wish to participate.

Independent martial artists who want to compete must also submit an application. Only after approval from the Martial Alliance are they granted entry.

The Eight Directions Inn had only appeared in the martial world a little over a year ago. In terms of seniority, it couldn’t even compare to some minor sects.

Yet it had received a Hero Invitation—proof that the Martial Alliance now regarded it as a force not to be underestimated.

Though the origins of Lu Jianwei’s sect remained a mystery, the reputation of the Eight Directions Inn’s proprietor and staff alone was enough to command respect.

Proprietress Lu was an eighth-rank Martial King, exceptionally skilled in medicine. Yan Feicang, the inn’s attendant, was a sixth-rank Martial Master and the top blade master in the martial world. The other attendants, though still developing, were steadily growing stronger under the inn’s protection and guidance.

How many eighth-rank Martial Kings existed in the world?

Many sects’ strongest fighters only reached the sixth rank. The strength of the Eight Directions Inn was undeniable.

And then there was the mysterious "ninth-rank Martial King."

The Martial Alliance’s decision to send an invitation was only logical.

"Proprietress, are we going?" Uncle Zhang asked, while the other attendants watched Lu Jianwei eagerly.

The young ones were eager to make their mark in the martial world. Though Xue Guanhe had once claimed his skills were too lacking to venture out, this was the Martial Alliance Grand Tournament!

A gathering of martial artists from across the land, a chance to meet all manner of warriors, witness countless martial techniques, and spar with peers and seniors alike—it was the perfect opportunity to prove oneself and broaden one’s horizons.

Lu Jianwei did want to take her attendants out for experience, but she had her own considerations.

The Martial Alliance was not the inn. She couldn’t keep constant watch over her attendants, and with unknown forces eyeing the Eight Directions Inn, there was no telling if someone might take advantage of her distraction to strike.

She had to be cautious.

The tournament would be a chaotic mix of people. Even if she wanted to train her attendants, she couldn’t disregard their safety.

The Hero Invitation had not been part of Lu Jianwei’s plans.

"It doesn’t start until next April—no need to rush," she said. "Even if we go, we must first achieve our goals."

Xue Guanhe declared, "I’ll train twice as hard!"

"Can I go too?" Yue Shu asked hesitantly. "Does the tournament include esoteric arts?"

Yan Feicang answered, "Yes, but rarely."

Esoteric arts were difficult for outsiders to understand and far less thrilling than swords and spears. Few studied the mystic arts, and even fewer spectators bet on such matches.

"Oh." Yue Shu’s face fell.

Wen Zhuzhi smiled. "Though few study esoteric arts, those who do master them thoroughly. The mystic arts encompass all things—what I’ve taught you is but a drop in the ocean. If you go, you can learn from other experts."

"Alright!" Yue Shu’s spirits lifted again.

Lu Jianwei turned to Tiao. "How was the inn today?"

"Many patients, but none caused disturbances in the streets," Tiao replied. "Physician Yuan asked me to send her regards."

Lu Jianwei nodded. "You’ve worked hard."

Since Yuan Qiong had taken up residence at the inn, its monthly earnings had grown substantially. Over the past half-year, Yuan Qiong had earned two hundred thousand taels, split evenly with the inn—netting the inn one hundred thousand.

The money was still held in the bank, not yet formally divided, so it couldn’t be added to the system’s ledger.

Tiao said, "Proprietress, I’ll head back to the inn now."

She wanted to earn even more for the inn!

As Tiao left, Lu Jianwei prepared to return to her room to check on Little Wu, but Yan Feicang stopped her.

"Proprietress, yesterday you agreed to spar with me in blade techniques. Does that still stand?"

Lu Jianwei turned. The First Blade Master’s face was alight with excitement, his eyes blazing, his weapon practically trembling in anticipation.

A promise was a promise.

"I’ll fetch my blade."

Moments later, everyone gathered in the training yard.

The yard was a vast, open space, empty of any obstructions.

Frost from the night before had left a silvery sheen on the ground.

At the center stood a low circular platform, reserved for martial practice and sparring. Combatants were expected to keep their energy and blade winds within the platform’s edge to avoid harming bystanders.

This was standard in sect training.

It demanded absolute control over one’s inner energy and techniques.

Yan Feicang, a seasoned sparring partner, had no trouble with this.

Lu Jianwei, who had honed her precision while treating parasitic inner energy ailments, was equally adept.

The two stood at opposite ends of the platform, blades in hand.

"I’ll suppress my inner energy to match yours," Lu Jianwei said. "We’ll focus solely on blade techniques."

Dressed in white martial attire, her Frost Coil Blade gleaming, she seemed one with her weapon.

Where Yan Feicang’s aura surged like a rising tide, she remained calm and effortless.

She stood there, neither imposing nor aggressive, yet an inexplicable unease prickled the onlookers’ hearts.

The attendants watched intently from outside the platform. Few had ever seen the proprietress wield her blade—except Xue Guanhe.

Back in Fengzhou, when Lu Jianwei had first taken him out to train in lightness skills and blade techniques, he had witnessed her artistry and been utterly captivated.

"Proprietress, enlighten me." The moment Yan Feicang spoke, his blade flashed toward Lu Jianwei’s face, a roaring wave crashing down.

Lu Jianwei tilted her head slightly, evading the strike. Her blade lifted with deceptive ease—the first stance of Frost Coil Blade Art, "Enveloping All Life," met the onslaught with silent, overwhelming force.

Blade lights clashed. With inner energy equalized, Yan Feicang’s tide faltered, its momentum dissolving into nothingness.

Yan Feicang retreated half a step, his gaze burning brighter.

"Exhilarating!"

The tide surged again, waves upon waves rising like a towering wall, a furious deluge intent on burying its foe beneath the roar of the sea.

The second stance of Frost Coil Blade Art, "Forest Flowers Wither," descended like frost. All things withered and faded before its power. No raging tide could defy it.

Decay was its fate.

Yan Feicang only grew fiercer, his heart alight with exhilaration.

It had been too long since he’d faced such a formidable opponent.

The Frost Coil Blade Art was peerless, but its true might lay in the wielder. Sparring with Xue Guanhe had never evoked this sense of grandeur.

This was true mastery. A true transcendent warrior.

"Again!"

Their strikes grew fiercer, the air above the platform distorting—yet not a shred of energy spilled beyond the platform’s edge. Their control was terrifying.

Yan Feicang pressed harder, each slash clean, ruthless, relentless.

Their movements blurred—exchanges too swift for the attendants to follow. Only Wen Zhuzhi could track their strikes.

Against Yan Feicang’s assault, Lu Jianwei had no choice but to devote her full focus.

She rarely drew her blade, so her experience with swordsmanship was undoubtedly inferior to Yan Feicang's. This duel was something she had long anticipated.

After dozens of exchanges, the Frost-Curling Blade felt increasingly natural in her grip.

The third stance of her blade technique, "Rising West Wind," unleashed a bone-chilling cold that instantly enveloped the training platform. Every gust of blade wind was as biting as the western gale, lashing at the skin with stinging force.

"So strong!" Xue Guanhe clenched his fists, his blood boiling with excitement.

Uncle Zhang remarked, "The innkeeper's blade technique is truly extraordinary."

"I can't even catch a glimpse of her sleeves," Yue Shu admitted with a hint of shame, though his eyes remained fixed on the platform.

Liang Shangjun described the scene: "Yan the Hero is like a fierce tiger—brutal and domineering—while the innkeeper is a drifting white cloud, seemingly soft and harmless, but before you know it, she’ll drench you in a sudden downpour."

The others: "..."

At this point in their fierce battle, the outcome was already clear.

Lu Jianwei remained on the platform to offer Yan Feicang pointers on his blade technique while also honing her own experience.

She had previously worried about revealing her true strength and rarely unsheathed her blade. Now that her internal energy had improved, opportunities to draw her weapon were even fewer.

But in the future, she might face other Martial Kings of the eighth rank. At equal levels, victory would hinge on combat skill.

More practice never hurt.

After "Rising West Wind" came the fourth stance, "Moonlit Clarity."

The harsh winter winds receded, replaced by the silent radiance of a full moon hanging high in the night sky, its boundless light spilling across the land.

Compared to the icy ferocity of the previous stance, the moonlit clarity seemed gentle—yet beneath that gentleness lurked blade flashes in the darkness, striking from unseen corners to subdue the enemy without warning.

Lu Jianwei had mastered the essence of the first four stances of the Frost-Curling Blade technique, refining them to perfection.

The fifth stance was still in its early stages, requiring further study.

Yan Feicang was forced into a desperate retreat by the unpredictable blade winds, teetering on the edge of the platform. Though he nearly fell several times, he stubbornly endured the Frost-Curling Blade’s assault.

"Hero Yan seems about to lose," A'Nai murmured.

Though he couldn’t clearly see the two fighters, he could sense the shift in momentum.

Wen Zhuzhi smiled faintly. "Holding out this long is already impressive."

"..." A'Nai narrowed his eyes. "Young Master, ever since we returned from Dianzhou, I’ve had this feeling… and now it’s stronger than ever."

"What feeling?"

"You and Innkeeper Lu…"

"I concede!" Yan Feicang suddenly called out.

One foot dangled off the platform’s edge as he steadied himself with his blade. Sweat poured down his face, but his eyes gleamed with exhilaration.

"That was incredible!" Xue Guanhe clapped enthusiastically.

The others joined in sincere applause, marveling at such a rare and thrilling duel.

Lu Jianwei sheathed her blade with a smile. "The First Blade Master’s skills are indeed worthy of admiration."

"Innkeeper, you flatter me," Yan Feicang wiped his sweat. "Your guidance today is something I’ll never forget."

After this exchange, his respect for her deepened even further.

Lu Jianwei turned to the onlookers. "All of you should train diligently too."

"Yes!" they chorused.

"I’ll retire first." With that, she left the training grounds and headed toward the secluded courtyard.

Wen Zhuzhi, who lived nearby, followed behind in his wheelchair, its wheels creaking softly.

A'Nai tactfully stayed behind.

"Care to critique today’s match, Commander Pei?" Lu Jianwei wasn’t teasing him—she genuinely wanted his opinion as a seasoned warrior.

Pei Zhi had danced on the edge of life and death countless times. His combat experience far surpassed hers, even Yan Feicang’s. His insights would be invaluable.

"Blade technique—top-tier. Footwork—top-tier. Awareness—top-tier," Wen Zhuzhi answered without hesitation.

Lu Jianwei: "...Are you serious?"

She acknowledged her blade skills, but the rest? Far from perfect.

Wen Zhuzhi nodded. "Among martial artists at twenty-six, you are unquestionably the best."

His tone was utterly sincere, without a trace of flattery.

"I want the truth," Lu Jianwei said, her smile fading.

Wen Zhuzhi looked slightly flustered. "I am telling the truth."

"With your discernment, you can’t possibly see no flaws?"

"You mean… lack of experience?" he ventured. "You’ve only left your master’s tutelage a year ago. As a newcomer to the martial world, occasional oversights are natural. With your talent, you’ll quickly compensate."

Lu Jianwei met his gaze firmly. "Since leaving my master, I’ve received more than enough praise. Right now, you’re the closest to me and the one most capable of spotting my shortcomings. I need your cold, hard critique."

"Jianwei, you’re too hard on yourself," Wen Zhuzhi said softly, his eyes deep and unwavering. "That praise is what you’ve earned."

"Earned or not, what I want is progress." She leaned in, bracing her hands on the armrests of his wheelchair. "If your poison is cured, would you spar with me?"

"Nothing would please me more."

Lu Jianwei grinned. "Then I’ll look forward to witnessing the Commander’s prowess firsthand."

Wen Zhuzhi smiled back.

The following days at White Crane Manor passed in peaceful routine.

Lu Jianwei fed Little Wu her blood daily, strengthening their bond. As the silkworm consumed more medicinal herbs and toxins, its power steadily grew.

At this stage, it was time to begin its training to evolve into a Gu Emperor.

Raising gu insects involved pitting them against one another—only the strongest survived.

Most gu masters prepared numerous low-level gu insects as fodder for their prized specimen to battle. Victory meant success; defeat meant wasted effort.

Some of these sacrificial gu were captured from the wild, others bred in captivity.

The mountains and forests of the southwest teemed with insects locked in their own struggles. Naturally hardened fighters made ideal training opponents.

Since Jiangzhou’s wilderness lacked suitable gu insects, Lu Jianwei had to purchase them from the system.

A third-tier gu soldier cost 100 copper coins.

A fourth-tier gu general cost 1,000.

And so on.

It didn’t sound like much—until you considered the numbers.

To nurture a fourth-tier gu general required at least a hundred gu soldiers.

Advancing from gu general to gu king demanded fifty fourth-tier, thirty fifth-tier, and twenty sixth-tier gu generals.

And ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌‍ascending to gu emperor? Ten seventh-tier gu kings, five eighth-tier, and three ninth-tier.

All told, the cost exceeded 3.5 million taels of silver.

Raising a gu emperor was a fortune-burning endeavor.

The system consoled her: "High investment, high return. Once you cultivate the ultimate Gu Emperor, no number of enemy gu emperors will threaten you. You’ll also cure the richest man in the world—who, in gratitude, will surely gift you eighty percent of his wealth. And let’s not forget, he’s still young. Decades of earnings lie ahead."

Lu Jianwei knew the logic. Still, parting with so much of her painstakingly saved "going-home fund" stung.

With a sigh, she bought a larger wide-mouthed pottery jar from the system. "Start with a hundred gu soldiers. Dump them straight into the jar—and seal it tight. I don’t want to see a writhing mass of bugs."

Ten thousand copper coins vanished from her account as a hundred vigorous gu soldiers materialized inside.

She patted Little Wu’s container. "I’ve spent a fortune on you. Don’t you dare slack off now."

Little Wu fluttered its wings, as if showing off its strength. The Hunting Gu was naturally combative, and after days of good food and care, Little Wu had grown robust and was eager for action.

As soon as it entered the wide-mouthed pottery jar and landed among the Gu soldiers, it surged forward like an unstoppable force, swiftly killing several of them. Fueled by victory, its fighting spirit soared higher, effortlessly maneuvering through the encirclement of nearly a hundred Gu soldiers.

Lu Jianwei didn’t watch the battle, but she could sense its "emotions."

No wonder it was the most expensive larva in the mall—its combat prowess was truly impressive. The hundred Gu soldiers stood no chance, and soon, a large number lay dead.

Gu insects could devour each other, and typically, after killing an opponent, a Gu would consume its defeated foe. But Little Wu had no interest—its diet far surpassed these lowly Gu soldiers, and it looked down on them.

The slaughter ended without any suspense. At Lu Jianwei’s command, Little Wu flew back to its nest and curled up in a corner to rest.

She could clearly feel that after slaughtering a hundred Gu soldiers, Little Wu’s abilities had significantly improved.

It might soon break through to the fourth rank.

Jiangzhou leaned toward the south, where winters rarely saw snow but were damp and chilly.

An eighth-rank Martial King like Lu Jianwei had no fear of the cold, but she still indulged in a sense of ritual, dressing in winter attire before heading to the dining hall for a meal.

In winter, dishes cooled quickly, so Xue Guanhe had prepared a hot pot, the broth bubbling vigorously, evoking memories of last year’s snowy feast in Fengzhou’s inn.

"Envoy Han was with us when we ate hot pot last year," Yue Shu mused. "It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him."

Xue Guanhe said, "As a Purple Envoy, he must be very busy."

"Have you all heard?" Liang Shangjun suddenly spoke up. "Many sects have been spreading news that the Withered White Flowers their disciples snatched from Soul-Severing Ridge were all fakes!"

"Fakes?" A'Nai exclaimed. "How could they be fake? Didn’t they pick them from the trees?"

"Who knows? But this matter has caused quite a stir. Even the Withered White Flowers brought back by the Martial Alliance disciples were fake. The Alliance is probably so furious they don’t even want to hold the Grand Tournament anymore."

Xue Guanhe couldn’t make sense of it either. "Flowers picked from trees couldn’t possibly be fake, right? If they were, wouldn’t they have noticed while holding them? And yet they still rushed back to their sects to report?"

"Could it be that someone deliberately spread this rumor?" Yue Shu reasoned. "It feels like every little disturbance in the martial world these days has some conspiracy behind it."

Lu Jianwei chuckled. "No need to be overly suspicious. Maybe the Miao people were just playing tricks on them."

"That makes sense," Xue Guanhe agreed. "The Gu God Sect is incredibly powerful. A single Gu insect could easily deceive them into thinking fake flowers were real."

The others nodded in agreement.

Liang Shangjun added, "After the news broke, rumors began circulating about He Lianxue stopping martial artists from seizing the Withered White Flowers. Some are blaming her for the fake flowers, claiming she conspired with the Miao people and betrayed the Central Plains martial world."

"These people are insane," Xue Guanhe frowned. "Stealing is wrong in the first place, and now they’re calling the person who stopped them a traitor? How can they twist right and wrong like this?"

Liang Shangjun sighed. "That’s just how the martial world is—black becomes white, and white becomes black."

"Brother Liang, I’ve been curious for a while—did you suffer some kind of injury in the past?" Yue Shu dropped a meatball into his bowl. "Moping isn’t good for your health. Eat more."

"..."

Lu Jianwei asked, "How is He Lianxue now?"

"Not sure," Liang Shangjun shook his head. "But she’s the daughter of the Carefree Sect’s leader. She’ll be fine."

Wen Zhuzhi said, "She’s in Cangzhou, investigating clues at the Yao Family Ironworks."

"She actually went?" Liang Shangjun was surprised. "And how do you know this?"

"The merchant convoy heard the news while searching for herbs," Wen Zhuzhi replied casually before turning to Lu Jianwei. "I received the report this morning, but your door was closed, so I didn’t disturb you."

Lu Jianwei smiled faintly. "Mm."

"Something’s off," Liang Shangjun’s eyes darted between the two. "You two are acting strange."

"Just eat your food," A'Nai glared at him. "Is Xue Guanhe’s broth not tasty enough?"

Xue Guanhe abruptly looked up. "Not tasty?"

Liang Shangjun: "...It’s delicious, really."

Even after returning from Dianzhou, he remained at the bottom of the inn’s hierarchy.

After the meal, the staff gathered in the courtyard to spar, taking turns in pairs.

Yan Feicang was the highest-ranked, but when sparring with the others, he suppressed his internal energy to match their level, making the exchanges lively and engaging.

Lu Jianwei sat under the corridor, basking in the sun and occasionally offering pointers.

Whether it was the Rippling Palm, Surging Wave Saber Technique, or Xue Guanhe’s Frost-Curling Saber Technique, each move was executed with breathtaking momentum, ending cleanly and decisively.

When it came to Yue Shu’s formations, however, Lu Jianwei couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The staff trapped inside struggled to break free, slowly wearing down their patience.

After expending tremendous effort to forcibly dismantle the formation, Yan Feicang nodded at Yue Shu.

"You’ve improved greatly."

Yue Shu beamed with joy.

Since practicing "Dreaming of the Lost Ford," his internal energy had grown rapidly, and his comprehension of esoteric arts had deepened.

"I owe thanks to Young Master Wen for teaching me."

Wen Zhuzhi: "It was only natural."

Yue Shu: ?

Why was it "natural"?

Uncle Zhang coughed lightly, Liang Shangjun snickered, Xue Guanhe was still clueless, but Yan Feicang helpfully explained.

"He’s staying here rent-free. Teaching you esoteric arts is the least he could do."

Yue Shu hastily waved his hands. "You’re all friends! I invited you to stay—no need for rent. Secret manuals and martial techniques are far more valuable than rent. Nothing is 'only natural.'"

He had always wanted to repay Wen Zhuzhi but never found the chance.

"My young master saw your talent and didn’t want it wasted. There’s no need to be so nervous—we’re all friends now. Why fuss over such things?" A'Nai couldn’t help but interject.

Uncle Zhang chuckled. "Exactly. We’re all friends, all family. No need to draw such clear lines."

Suddenly, the manor gates were knocked.

Uncle Zhang went to answer and, recognizing the visitor, quickly ushered them inside.

"Little Tao?" Lu Jianwei was surprised. "Where’s Yao?"

Little Tao’s eyes were red, her voice choked. "Miss is at the inn. Physician Yuan is treating her, but her condition is critical this time. She sent me to ask for your help."

"Why is it critical?" Lu Jianwei had checked Shangguan Yao’s pulse before—though naturally weak, it shouldn’t have worsened suddenly unless she was injured.

Little Tao wiped her tears. "I don’t know. Shi Er, can you save her?"

Lu Jianwei would never refuse to help, especially since Shangguan Yao had once shielded her.

"I’ll fetch some supplies from my room, then go with you to the inn."

She needed her medical kit. Without the protective formations of the Eight Directions Inn, White Crane Manor wasn’t safe enough, and she couldn’t leave Little Wu behind.

But if she left, what if someone took advantage of her absence to harm the others?

"Don’t worry. They’ve grown stronger," Wen Zhuzhi said from his wheelchair, offering reassurance. "I’ll be here too."

Lu Jianwei smiled. She really ought to learn to trust and let go.

The days of Lu Jianwei, the isolated innkeeper, were long gone.