Chapter Seventy: The Trading Conference

Early the next morning, Autumn Pond City was already deserted. The bluestone bridge was packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, throngs of passersby streaming endlessly by.

At the gate of a small courtyard, Dao Sansheng, Zhao Qianqian, and Li Zihong stood, anxiously waiting. Just then, a dark-skinned young man dashed out from within, his shoes nearly flying off as he ran toward them.

“Sorry, I’m late! I was at a critical point in my cultivation just now—so close to a breakthrough, but I missed it. What a pity.”

Li Zihong jabbed a finger at Chao Xiong and, if not for Zhao Qianqian holding her back, would have charged straight at him. “Chao Xiong, do you even know what day it is? You were cultivating last night, nearly breaking through? If you’d needed three or five months, were we supposed to wait that long for you?”

Dao Sansheng, seeing there was nothing more to say, announced, “Let’s set out,” and strode off, the others following behind.

The central plaza of Purple Immortal City was already a sea of people. More than a dozen disciples from Purple Immortal Palace stood on the stage. Two young women at the front drew every eye: one, cold and aloof, dressed in pure white; the other, smiling brightly in a pink skirt. Behind them stood a cluster of girls of similar age. Seated on the stage were representatives from the major sects, with the three brothers of the Zi family in the center and Zi Fancheng in the place of honor, greeting guests with warm cordiality.

Zi Fancheng beckoned, and soon a group of maids came forward, each bearing a tray of food and wine, placing them before the guests. Tu Tianxiong, Elder Hu, and Elder Guo sat together. Elder Hu and Elder Guo meditated with eyes closed, while Tu Tianxiong’s eyes darted restlessly over the crowd, searching for someone. Before long, he spotted Zi Chenyu sitting in the upper left corner and immediately rose to approach him.

Zi Chenyu was dressed today in a silver-gray scholar’s robe, his hair meticulously combed. After entering, he’d chosen a seat in the corner, his gaze fixed on the audience, searching for a particular someone.

Tu Tianxiong, wine cup in hand, made a brief circuit before hurrying to Zi Chenyu’s side. “Young Master Zi, it’s been a while. Allow me to toast you.” With that, he thrust a bronze cup toward Zi Chenyu.

Zi Chenyu turned, eyeing Tu Tianxiong—this fellow was the very reason he’d gotten entangled with Dao Sansheng, that fearsome character. And now he’d come to toast him? Delivering himself into the lion’s mouth.

“No need,” Zi Chenyu said, pushing Tu Tianxiong away without the slightest courtesy, drawing the attention of those nearby.

The city’s prominent families were long accustomed to Zi Chenyu’s arrogance and weren’t surprised; some only chuckled.

A man in yellow whispered to his companion, “Senior was right—Zi Chenyu really is an overbearing young lord. To dismiss the future heir of Heavenforging Valley in such a setting! I doubt even his father would dare do that, at least not so openly.”

Tu Tianxiong stood with his cup raised, ignored by Zi Chenyu. Disciples from various sects watched, whispering among themselves, and Tu Tianxiong’s face flushed crimson, his embarrassment reaching to his ears. He wanted to snap, but dared not offend the Zi family. Still, he nursed a deep resentment; if not for Zi Chenyu’s father’s sake, he’d have stormed off already.

Steward Liu, seated beside Zi Chenyu, nudged him, then picked up his own cup to meet Tu Tianxiong. “Young Master Tu is the heir to Heavenforging Valley—a figure destined to command the Four Winds. I’ll drink this cup on behalf of my young master.” With that, he drained the wine.

Zi Chenyu followed suit, downing his own cup, then moved to sit—but Tu Tianxiong leaned in, whispering in his ear, “I’ve brought the little junior sister from Icefire Peak.” He gestured toward the Heavenforging Valley table.

Following Tu Tianxiong’s gesture, Zi Chenyu saw a graceful young woman in a blue gauze dress, seated quietly, her jet-black hair framing bright eyes that blinked beneath neat bangs, long lashes quivering—a sight that left Zi Chenyu entranced. This was the breathtaking girl he’d glimpsed years ago during a visit to Heavenforging Valley, the one who had haunted his thoughts ever since. Now, finally, he saw her again.

Tu Tianxiong, satisfied with Zi Chenyu’s reaction, said, “Young Master Zi, I’ll return to my seat. We’ll talk later.” As he turned to leave, Zi Chenyu grabbed his sleeve, signaling him to stay, but Steward Liu promptly gave up his own seat. Tu Tianxiong brushed Zi Chenyu’s hand away, saying, “No rush, Young Master Zi. Let’s discuss things at length later,” and left.

Soon, a short, middle-aged man stepped onto the stage. A massive bronze gong was brought forward and placed at the center. Grasping a bronze mallet, the man struck the gong once.

“I hereby declare this year’s Trade Conference officially open!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

“Who is that? I’ve never heard of him. Doesn’t seem all that impressive,” a pockmarked old man remarked to a young man beside him.

“That’s the current Master of Purple Immortal Palace—a formidable figure who clawed his way up through fierce competition. His hands are stained with blood,” the youth replied.

“But Master, if the palace belongs to the Zi family, is he one of them too?”

The old man patted his disciple’s head and drawled, “He’s not a Zi—his name is Chen Xiaofeng. Everyone knows it. Purple Immortal Palace belongs to the Zi family because, aside from the palace master, all the upper echelons are Zi clan disciples. No one can shake their hold. Chen Xiaofeng is just a puppet for show.”

A crowd had gathered around to listen, but just as the old man reached a crucial point, he caught sight of others approaching and quickly led his student away.

After making the announcement, Chen Xiaofeng withdrew to stand behind the three Zi brothers. The items onstage were cleared away. Zi Fancheng rose, lifted his cup, and everyone present stood, watching him.

“We celebrate the successful opening of this Trade Conference.” With that, he drained his cup and sat.

After the toast, everyone began to eat. Qian’er and Xue’er led a group of female disciples from Purple Immortal Palace onto the stage, causing a stir below.

“Who are those two girls on stage? So beautiful! Which sect are they from? Let’s go make friends,” a sharp-faced youth said, drool trailing from his mouth.

“As if you have a chance! Those two are inner disciples of Purple Immortal Palace, both born with single spiritual roots—one-in-a-million geniuses. You’re not worthy,” a passerby scoffed, tossing something his way.