No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 106

◎Inn Manual, Training Ground, Quasi-Grandmaster◎

The courtyard fell into silence among the martial artists.

Their first thought: Is the Mystic Mirror Bureau this wealthy?

Their second thought: Just delivering congratulations—was such a grand display necessary? It made their own gifts seem embarrassingly inadequate.

Conclusion: The Mystic Mirror Bureau was clearly here to stir trouble!

Qi Yan’s face bore some differences from "Yan Qi," but his demeanor and grace remained as striking as ever.

"Innkeeper Lu, the Commander said you are a rare righteous figure in the martial world. This is his token of appreciation—please accept it."

Lu Jianwei chuckled lightly. "Commander Pei’s kindness is noted. Envoy Qi, Envoy Han, please take your seats."

The seating arrangements followed strict conventions.

First by martial prowess, second by sect influence, and third by closeness to the inn.

Elders from various sects shared a table, with others arranged accordingly.

Qi Yan, a seventh-level martial artist and an unpopular Mystic Mirror envoy, would face hostility if seated among fellow seventh-level warriors.

The inn had already made arrangements—the Mystic Mirror Bureau would not share tables with the martial world’s guests.

Once all guests were seated, Uncle Zhang promptly brought out a jug of wine, pouring a cup for Lu Jianwei.

The rest of the staff soon entered the courtyard, serving dishes and refilling drinks.

Standing beneath the corridor, Lu Jianwei raised her cup.

"Your esteemed presence honors me. This toast is for you all."

She downed the wine in one swift, elegant motion.

The rowdier martial artists cheered.

"Well done!"

"Innkeeper Lu is too kind!"

"Let me propose a toast in return!"

The crowd raised their cups in polite response.

"I’m not one for lengthy speeches. The inn’s rules and operations are all detailed in this manual. Lodgings have been arranged for everyone, with a copy placed in each room. Feel free to read it at leisure. Any questions can be directed to the staff."

The guests: "…"

Though curious about the manual’s contents, the feast took priority.

Their visit to Fengzhou wasn’t merely for congratulations—most sought to uncover the inn’s secrets.

With ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‍hidden agendas, they finished the banquet and were guided to their quarters by the staff.

The powerful were assigned refined courtyards, while the lesser stayed in standard rooms.

Shangguan Yao personally escorted Shangguan Huai and their fellow disciples from Luzhou Academy to a carefully selected residence.

Shangguan Huai had only brought three disciples; the academy’s elders had declined the trip, and their students naturally followed suit.

The courtyard comfortably housed six.

"A-Yao, where’s the manual?"

Shangguan Yao gestured to Little Tao, who retrieved it from a wall-mounted basket.

The booklet was thin, its cover reading "Eight Directions Inn Guest Guidelines." The first page opened with "Rules for Residents."

Shangguan Huai sighed. "Innkeeper Lu is setting rules for us."

It was unheard of—guests, usually treated as royalty in ordinary inns, were now expected to obey the innkeeper’s dictates.

At the same time, martial artists across the inn picked up the manual.

Zhao Rui’s brows furrowed as he slammed the booklet shut. "That steward said tonight’s lodging is complimentary, but starting tomorrow, we’ll be charged. Fine—but these prices are outrageous!"

"Why the anger?" His father, Zhao Xian, opened his eyes from meditation. "I’ve warned you against impulsiveness."

Zhao Rui: "Five hundred taels for a month’s rent? This place is decent, but not worth that much!"

"If it’s too costly, don’t stay. Focus on your training instead." Zhao Xian remained unperturbed.

Defiant, Zhao Rui flipped further and nearly choked at the next line: "Training ground access: one hundred taels per hour."

Who would waste money training at an inn’s grounds? Did Innkeeper Lu really think an eighth-level grandmaster’s reputation alone would open wallets?

Then his eyes caught: "The first ten guests to use the training ground will receive expert guidance. Others must accumulate ten sessions for one session of advice."

What did that mean?

He summoned the attendant outside. Pointing at the manual, he demanded, "What’s this ‘expert guidance’?"

Qi Chuan, assigned to the Sky Pillar Sect’s quarters, answered calmly despite facing a sixth-level warrior: "The training ground allows sparring or observing others. The next day, the inn will privately deliver an analysis of your techniques—flaws and improvements included."

"Technique analysis?"

"Precisely."

Zhao Rui’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"The manual doesn’t lie. If you doubt it, visit the training ground."

"A hundred taels for a look? Not worth it."

"Expert advice is priceless, even at a thousand taels."

Zhao Rui scoffed. "My sect has plenty of mentors. Why rely on your inn? Leave."

Qi Chuan turned to go.

"Wait." Zhao Xian suddenly spoke. "Your name?"

"Qi Chuan."

"Qi." Zhao Xian repeated the surname, then resumed meditation.

Qi Chuan: "…"

These martial artists were bizarre. Innkeeper Lu was far kinder!

Most dismissed the manual like Zhao Rui, but a few curious souls decided to test the training ground’s worth.

Luo Lianhuan and Luo Sheng, unwavering in their trust, each brought a hundred taels and claimed the ninth and tenth slots.

The first eight were mostly rogue practitioners or minor sect disciples.

Leading them was a fifth-level bladesman.

At the entrance, staff collected payment before granting access. All ten paid and stepped inside.

The arena was vast—a central platform surrounded by tiered seating.

A lone figure stood atop the platform, imposing and armed with a gleaming saber.

That blade was no ordinary weapon—it was a divine artifact!

"It’s Brother Yan!" Luo Lianhuan gasped, slapping Luo Sheng’s thigh in excitement.

Luo Sheng: "…"

"Brother Yan got a new saber?" She marveled. "Only such a treasure could match his skill."

Luo Sheng: "…"

The others recognized Yan Feicang too, including the fifth-level bladesman in front.

A devoted admirer, he nearly dropped his weapon in awe.

"Senior Yan… may I request a spar?"

Yan Feicang nodded. "Proceed."

The bladesman leapt onto the platform, bowing. "This junior is Kong Xin. I beg for your guidance."

Main courtyard of the inn.

After the guests had dispersed, the staff quickly cleared the tables and chairs, restoring the courtyard to its pristine and tranquil state.

Lu Jianwei turned to head toward the main hall, only to find her path blocked by the congratulatory gifts piled inside. Large and small boxes and gift cases covered the floor, with the presents from eight carriages standing out prominently.

Uncle Zhang asked, "Innkeeper, should we move these gifts to the storeroom first and sort them out later?"

"That’s fine." Lu Jianwei had no objections.

She had already asked Xiao Ke to scan them.

Most of the gifts were items symbolizing wealth and prosperity, such as golden toads and jade cabbages, while the more established sects had sent precious porcelain and calligraphy. Among them, Commander Pei’s gifts were the most straightforward and extravagant—pure gold, silver, jewels, and jade artifacts worth approximately 8.88 million taels.

Fortunately, the boxes had remained unopened during delivery, or else the dazzle would have blinded the martial artists present.

These gifts weren’t earned through props, so they would become her personal property, with no share for Xiao Ke.

The door to the common room creaked open.

The sound of a wheelchair approached from behind and stopped near her.

Lu Jianwei turned and asked, "How did you earn all this money?"

"By doing business. I sell what others lack," Wen Zhuzhi replied candidly. "Many sects have accumulated wealth over centuries. This is just a drop in the bucket."

Lu Jianwei raised an eyebrow. "You do business with sects?"

"The Martial Alliance has a Tianlu Hall dedicated to managing finances. It oversees countless estates and shops, all handled by specialists. I deal with these people."

Lu Jianwei recalled the treasure map incident, where someone had mentioned that Wen Zhuzhi, the richest man in Jiangnan, frequently donated to aid the poor.

Earning money from powerful sects and then using it for charity—it was a form of robbing the rich to help the poor in its own way.

"It seems these sects still have plenty of money to spare," Lu Jianwei mused with a smile. "I hope they enjoy their stay at the inn."

Whether others were enjoying themselves was unclear, but Kong Xin certainly was.

He had long hoped to spar with Senior Yan, and today, that wish was fulfilled.

Senior Yan was even stronger than he had imagined, thoughtfully suppressing his internal energy during the match to guide Kong Xin’s blade techniques.

Was this the "expert guidance" mentioned in the manual?

With the final strike, before Kong Xin’s blade could reach Yan Feicang’s face, the edge of Yan’s sword was already at his throat.

Kong Xin clasped his fists respectfully. "I concede. Thank you for your guidance, Senior Yan."

"You fought well," Yan Feicang replied, sheathing his sword.

The spar had lasted no longer than the time it took for an incense stick to burn. Since one entry allowed a full hour in the training field, Kong Xin stepped down and settled into a corner to reflect on the match. He felt as if he had brushed against a barrier—just one more push, and he might break through.

The Eight Directions Inn’s training field was truly worth it. A hundred taels well spent!

Lounging on a soft couch on the third floor, Lu Jianwei instructed Xiao Ke to display the live feed from the training field.

The field was linked to a prop under Xiao Ke’s control, allowing it to record footage for a small fee in copper coins.

The field had just earned a thousand taels. After splitting it 60-40, Xiao Ke would receive four hundred, making the recording cost negligible.

As she watched the match, Lu Jianwei jotted down flaws in Kong Xin’s techniques and ways to improve them.

Those entering the training field could choose to spar with Yan Feicang or challenge anyone else present, as long as they didn’t exceed an hour or deliberately harm others.

Even meditating in the field was allowed.

More people gradually gathered outside.

Some waited to observe, while others paid to step inside and investigate.

A middle-aged man, dressed like a scholar and carrying a case of writing tools, approached to pay the entry fee.

The guard at the door, a third-level martial artist who had joined the inn after hearing of its reputation, scrutinized him.

The man was slender and unremarkable, with a short beard and not a trace of martial energy about him.

"Wait—are you even a martial artist?"

The man bowed slightly and replied leisurely, "No, I’m not. I’m a scribe accompanying the Mystic Mirror Bureau to document significant events."

"A scribe?" The guard frowned. "What’s a scholar doing in a training field? Can you even understand what’s happening?"

The scribe shrank back slightly but stole another longing glance at the entrance. "But the manual clearly states that anyone who pays can enter."

The guard: "..."

Another staff member chimed in, "The manual does say that, but the training field is meant for martial artists. If you get hurt by stray energy, what then?"

"An envoy went in earlier. I’ll ask him to protect me."

"Fine. The rules don’t forbid non-martial artists. Senior Yan is inside anyway—it should be fine."

With a reluctant nod, the guard let him pass.

Xiao Ke could only record events inside the field, so it relayed the exchange at the entrance verbally to Lu Jianwei.

Only when the scribe entered did she get a clear look at him.

"With so many guests today, I only remember Qi Yan and Han Xiaofeng from the Mystic Mirror Bureau. I didn’t realize they brought a scribe."

Observing him through the feed, Lu Jianwei couldn’t detect any internal energy, but her instincts told her this was no ordinary scribe.

He seemed genuinely awed and fearful of martial artists, settling in the farthest corner of the field to diligently take notes.

His demeanor was flawless—no hint of pretense.

"Xiao Ke, scan his level."

Xiao Ke: "He’s just a scribe, no level… Huh?"

"What?"

"It’s fluctuating again."

The last time this happened was when scanning Wen Zhuzhi—and that had turned out to be significant.

"What’s the fluctuation range?"

"Zero and three question marks."

Lu Jianwei: "..."

"Do you know what three question marks mean?" Xiao Ke said nervously. "When a martial artist reaches the grandmaster realm, they can perfectly conceal themselves as ordinary people. It’s not like Liang Shangjun’s stealth techniques."

Lu Jianwei narrowed her eyes. "A grandmaster?"

"The fluctuation means he’s not quite there yet. If he were, the scan would only show zero. But this level suggests he’s close."

"A quasi-grandmaster, here to deliver congratulations, then sneaking into the training field to take notes—what’s his game?"

"No idea."

Lu Jianwei rose and headed downstairs, instructing Uncle Zhang to fetch the guest registry.

When she reached the Mystic Mirror Bureau’s page, the last entry—"Scribe Mei Sixian"—stood out sharply.

"Summon Wen Zhuzhi."

Moments later, Wen Zhuzhi arrived in the hall.

"Weiwei, Uncle Zhang said you wanted to see me."

Pointing at Mei Sixian’s name, Lu Jianwei asked, "Why is there a scribe listed?"

"The Mystic Mirror Bureau has never been allowed to participate in the Martial Alliance’s tournaments, but they often send disguised agents to gather intelligence. Since the inn’s opening had no restrictions, they assigned a scribe to document the event."

Wen Zhuzhi paused. "Is there a problem with this person?"

Lu Jianwei couldn’t explain the system’s level detection to him, so she simply replied, “I was just curious. Has this Clerk Mei always worked for the Mystic Mirror Bureau?”

“No,” Wen Zhuzhi said. “The Bureau is composed entirely of martial artists; there are no dedicated clerks. He was assigned by the imperial court. If you dislike him, I can have him leave the inn.”

Lu Jianwei shook her head. “I don’t dislike him. The court assigning a dedicated clerk—are they interested in the inn?”

“Weiwei, there isn’t a single faction in the world that isn’t interested in the inn right now. The imperial court is no exception,” Wen Zhuzhi said seriously. “Don’t worry, all records will be reviewed by me before being submitted. Nothing unfavorable to the inn will be included.”

Lu Jianwei wasn’t afraid of others investigating her, but she was touched by Wen Zhuzhi’s words.

“The court wants to reform the martial world’s customs, and so do I. We’ve already collaborated a few times—why not continue?”

Wen Zhuzhi smiled. “As you wish.”

But if that day truly came, the Eight Directions Inn might very well become the court’s next target of wariness.

Lu Jianwei was well aware of this.

But it didn’t matter. By then, she might have already returned home.

As for that quasi-Grandmaster—

“Xiao Ke, let’s pretend we don’t know. Just bind an attack tool to his residence and upgrade it to level one—enough for surveillance.”

“Understood.”

An hour later, Kong Xin reluctantly left the training grounds, only to be swarmed by curious martial artists waiting outside, eager to learn about the experience.

Having gained insights from his spar with Yan Feicang, Kong Xin enthusiastically endorsed it: “A hundred taels is absolutely worth it! The expert guidance is real—Senior Yan personally instructed me on my blade techniques. I feel like the bottleneck I’ve been stuck at for so long is about to break! No time to chat, I need to go meditate on this.”

The crowd fell silent, watching him hurry away in bewilderment.

More people emerged one after another. When questioned, some remained aloof, some shook their heads with sighs, and others grinned without saying a word, leaving everyone even more confused.

“What’s it really like in there?”

“Should we just spend a hundred taels to try it?”

“Didn’t you read the manual? Only the first ten entrants get immediate guidance. We’ve missed our chance.”

“If only I hadn’t hesitated earlier…”

Luo Lianhuan, having stayed for the full hour, wanted to continue admiring Yan Feicang’s prowess. She dragged Luo Sheng along and paid for another session.

Every martial artist who entered the training grounds inevitably sparred with Yan Feicang—and without exception, they were all defeated.

Until one person stepped onto the platform.

“Qi Yan of the Mystic Mirror Bureau, here to learn from you.” The woman wore tight-fitting martial attire, her movements crisp and efficient.

Yan Feicang froze.

He had always been face-blind, recognizing people not by appearance but by voice and other cues.

Even though Qi Yan’s face differed from when they’d met in Jiangzhou, he recognized her instantly.

Having once lost to her, Yan Feicang had never forgotten the humiliation. Now, with a chance for a rematch, his spirits soared.

The earlier bouts had been like cutting vegetables—tedious and unchallenging. Only a worthy opponent could reignite his fighting spirit.

“I await your guidance,” Yan Feicang said solemnly, clasping his fists—the first time he’d ever spoken such words on the platform.

With a metallic ring, two blades unsheathed simultaneously, swift as lightning, their dazzling arcs cutting through the air.

The two engaged in a fierce duel, neither gaining the upper hand.

Qi Yan was at the early stage of Level Seven, while Yan Feicang was at the late stage of Level Six. In terms of internal energy, she outmatched him.

But Qi Yan deliberately suppressed her strength, focusing solely on blade techniques.

“The Yan Clan’s Surging Waves Blade lives up to its reputation,” Qi Yan remarked with a laugh as their figures crossed. “The new blade suits you even better.”

Yan Feicang’s style was domineering and unrestrained, while Qi Yan’s was precise and lethal, each strike calculated.

Both had their own profound understanding of the blade, making it impossible to determine a victor even after hundreds of exchanges.

Luo Lianhuan clenched her fists, leaning forward in excitement. At the most thrilling moments, she couldn’t help but applaud.

“Senior Brother, Envoy Qi is incredible! She’s holding her own against Brother Yan for so long!”

Luo Sheng: “She’s a Level Seven Martial King and the deputy commander of the Mystic Mirror Bureau. Of course she’s impressive.”

“Right…”

On the platform, blades wove a net of light; below, the audience’s blood boiled with excitement.

A back-and-forth match was far more exhilarating to watch.

After another half-incense’s time, Yan Feicang began to falter.

His internal energy was inferior to Qi Yan’s, and the earlier spars had drained him. Faced with her increasingly fierce onslaught, he decisively halted and lowered his blade.

“I concede. Thank you for the guidance.”

“Well fought,” Qi Yan said, sheathing her weapon with a smile. “Pity I wasn’t among the first ten entrants—no expert advice for me.”

Yan Feicang: “Ten sessions will do.”

“You want me to defeat you ten times?”

“I’m not afraid of losing.”

Qi Yan: “I’d gladly defeat you ten times, but alas, my pockets aren’t deep enough for a thousand taels.”

“…”

“Yan Feicang, till next time.” With that, Qi Yan turned and strode off the platform, her blade in hand.

The spectators: “…”

Luo Lianhuan’s gaze clung to her retreating figure. “She’s amazing,” she murmured.

“Anyone who becomes the deputy commander of the Mystic Mirror Bureau would be,” Luo Sheng said.

“She defeated Yan Feicang,” Luo Lianhuan sighed, cupping her cheeks. “She’s really amazing.”

Luo Sheng: ???

Weren’t you calling him “Brother Yan” just earlier?

“Lianhuan, Brother Yan isn’t invincible. Someone was bound to beat him eventually.”

“It’s different. She uses a blade too.”

Luo Sheng: “If I recall correctly, Innkeeper Lu is also skilled with the blade—she’s even pointed out Brother Yan’s flaws multiple times.”

“That’s just hearsay. I’ve never seen it myself.” Luo Lianhuan abruptly stood. “Ah, she’s leaving! No time to chat!”

Luo Sheng: “…”

He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To make friends!”

“She’s a Level Seven Martial King and the deputy commander of the Mystic Mirror Bureau. Why would she befriend you?”

Luo Lianhuan: “Why not?”

“You know the relationship between the Bureau and martial artists isn’t exactly cordial.”

Luo Lianhuan paused, hesitating. “But they get along well with Innkeeper Lu, and we’re on good terms with her too. A friend of a friend is a friend—what’s the problem?”

Luo Sheng sighed. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh.” Luo Lianhuan puffed her cheeks and plopped back down. “Why so many rules? The Mystic Mirror Bureau aren’t villains. Why can’t we be friends?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Hmph.”

Third floor, main courtyard.

After observing Qi Yan and Yan Feicang’s duel, Lu Jianwei jotted down a few notes.

No martial technique was flawless—the only differences lay in the number and severity of its weaknesses.

Qi Yan’s blade work was exceptional, each move clean and her attacks swift and sharp, making it difficult to spot openings amidst the flurry of strikes.

Having mastered the Nameless Technique and the peerless Frostwhirl Blade Art, Lu Jianwei possessed a profound understanding of blade skills, allowing her to discern the nuances.

As a Level Seven Martial King, Qi Yan had no real need to spar with Yan Feicang.

Her true motive was likely to assert dominance among the martial artists.

By defeating the “face” of the training grounds, she could intimidate those in the inn who harbored hostility toward the Mystic Mirror Bureau.

Although brawls were forbidden within the Eight Directions Inn, the wandering warriors of the jianghu wouldn’t openly target low-ranking agents of the Mystic Mirror Bureau—but what if they did?

There were countless ways to cause trouble without breaking the rules.

Relying solely on the inn’s protection would only bring shame to the Mystic Mirror Bureau’s reputation.

Lu Jianwei cut ten sheets of paper, sealed each into an envelope, and inscribed the names of the top ten individuals on the covers before summoning Liang Shangjun.

“Deliver these to their quarters after nightfall.”

A master thief like him was perfect for such a task.