No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 112

◎Chaos of Battle, Ascension to Gu Emperor◎

The inn’s artifacts were bound to the structure, suppressing anyone within its walls.

Lan Ling and the Masked Martial King stood atop the trees, beyond the artifacts’ reach.

Lu Jianwei leaped upward.

Third Form of the Frostwhirl Blade Technique—Western Gale.

A violent gust, infused with eighth-level internal energy, howled toward the Masked Martial King. The latter thrust his sword forward, the blade’s light clashing against the wind’s fury. The overwhelming force of an eighth-level late-stage expert pressed down.

Lu Jianwei’s cultivation was at the mid-stage of the eighth level, indeed inferior to her opponent. But with her Nameless Heart Technique and peerless martial skills, she was far from helpless.

Her movement technique was so swift that none below the eighth level could track her figure.

Her blade’s momentum surged like a river reversing its course—silent yet devastating. In an instant, it shattered the Masked Martial King’s sword light, leaving only his solitary blade hanging in the air.

"Impressive swordsmanship," the Masked Martial King praised, though his attacks remained ruthless.

"Flattery won’t save you," Lu Jianwei retorted, raising her blade to meet him.

The clash between two eighth-level Martial Kings was beyond the comprehension of ordinary warriors.

Lan Ling, merely at the sixth level, couldn’t even perceive their movements. She continued swaying her bell, manipulating the minds of the fighters in the arena.

A blade suddenly slashed out, disrupting her control.

"Hero Yan, must you be so cold to me after we once shared lodging?" Lan Ling dodged nimbly, her golden bracelet activating hidden mechanisms. Delicate yet unyielding threads coiled around the blade, attempting to stall Yan Feicang’s assault.

The golden threads were incredibly resilient—ordinary weapons couldn’t sever them. She had never failed before.

But she forgot: Yan Feicang’s blade was new.

His new weapon could slice through iron as if it were mud. No matter how tough the threads, they were doomed to snap.

With a flick of his wrist, Yan Feicang’s blade severed the threads. The late-stage sixth-level energy erupted, scattering the golden filaments into glimmering dust that drifted slowly to the ground.

"How?!" Lan Ling’s face paled in shock.

Yan Feicang gave her no time to recover. His strikes were relentless, each carrying lethal intent.

She had stirred chaos in the inn—he would show no mercy.

Lan Ling was never skilled in direct combat. Under his relentless assault, she fled in disarray, blood streaking her robes.

On the brink of death, she desperately flung a cloud of knockout powder at his face.

Yan Feicang twisted aside, but the momentary distraction allowed her to vanish from sight.

He moved to pursue, but Yue Shu’s voice called from behind, "No need. She’s trapped in the inn’s formation."

The arena was in utter disarray.

Zhuang Wenqing remained pinned to the ground, but no one had the leisure to deal with him.

Sect elites were caught in the frenzy, forced to protect their disciples from the maddened young warriors who slashed blindly, consumed by insanity.

Shangguan Huai swiftly located Shangguan Yao and Little Tao, shielding them as he surveyed the chaos with rising dread.

His gaze lifted beyond the arena—Manager Lu was locked in combat with the Masked Martial King. How long could she hold? Wait… why did that man’s movements seem familiar?

"Jianwei, Zhuang Wenqing is an eighth-level Martial King, and those frenzied warriors are no weaklings. The ledger’s funds are draining too fast," Xiao Ke lamented.

Lu Jianwei: "How long can we last?"

"Two hours."

Two hours—and her duel with the Masked Martial King might not even be decided by then.

The warriors in the arena, driven mad by the Gu worms, would keep "resisting" as long as they lived. Their relentless struggle forced the artifacts to keep draining funds. No fortune could withstand such expenditure.

Lu Jianwei made a swift decision: "Release Zhuang Wenqing."

"Are you sure?" Xiao Ke hesitated. "Two eighth-level Martial Kings—can you handle them?"

Lu Jianwei narrowed her eyes. "If he doesn’t get close, how can I discreetly release Little Mist?"

Besides, she still had her ultimate trump card—the disguise artifact.

Xiao Ke relented, lifting the suppression on Zhuang Wenqing. The latter instantly sensed his freedom, leaping from the ground and lunging at Lu Jianwei’s back.

As an eighth-level Martial King, he could track their movements.

But he underestimated Lu Jianwei’s speed. His strike met only an afterimage.

At its peak, her Unaging Steps left even the Masked Martial King struggling to keep up—though barely.

To possess late-stage eighth-level power yet fail to dominate was infuriating.

Just which hidden sect had spawned this monstrous talent?

Failing his ambush, Zhuang Wenqing turned his attention to the arena.

Thanks to the sect elders’ intervention, the frenzied youths had been subdued, their acupoints sealed, confined to their seats.

The farce seemed near its end.

A sneer curled Zhuang Wenqing’s lips. He commanded the Gu Emperor within him, issuing orders to its brood.

Outside the inn, the assassins tearing at the formations suddenly erupted with killing intent. They charged recklessly, heedless of their lives, battering through one formation after another, sacrificing themselves without hesitation.

No matter how profound the formations, brute force could overwhelm them.

Against such relentless assault, their only role was to delay.

This time, the assassins outnumbered even those during the Gu God Festival. Under the Puppet Gu’s influence, they had become Zhuang Wenqing’s most loyal and fearless death squad.

The power unleashed by the death warriors was difficult for the formation to withstand.

In an instant, the formation collapsed.

In the main courtyard of the inn, Wen Zhuzhi opened his eyes and looked toward the direction of the arena. His gaze was momentarily unfocused but quickly sharpened again.

The formation had been broken, and the assassins were closing in rapidly.

Tiao and Xue Guanhe were in seclusion, while Zhang Gaozhu and Yun Hui remained inside the room.

He lowered his eyes to his legs, hesitated for a few breaths, then turned his wheelchair and returned to his chamber.

A neatly arranged chest sat in the corner. Wen Zhuzhi opened the innermost lid and retrieved a bundle.

Inside was a set of dark robes and a mask.

One group of assassins charged toward the arena, while another rushed toward the main courtyard.

Twenty in total attacked the main courtyard—seventeen at the sixth rank and three at the seventh.

Without hesitation, Wen Zhuzhi pressed his fingertip toward the Yinlingquan point on his calf.

Before he could complete the motion, the assault arrived.

A formidable force, centered around the main building, rippled outward like waves, instantly sending all twenty assassins flying.

The power of a peak eighth-rank was enough to claim the lives of the sixth-rank assassins, while the three seventh-rankers suffered severe injuries.

Yet, under the control of the puppet gu, they disregarded their wounds and pressed forward with renewed attacks.

The artifact activated once more.

His hovering finger stilled, then curled into a fist.

There was a master guarding the main courtyard.

Lu Jianwei had instructed him to stay put no matter what happened.

But he couldn’t rest easy.

He knew her sect was protecting her in secret, but no matter how deep their resources, no faction could spare enough Martial Kings to safeguard a single disciple out on a training journey.

This wasn’t training—it was a game.

The arena was fraught with peril, and she was alone. Perhaps there was a ninth-rank Martial King aiding her in the shadows, but if he could think of it, so could the mastermind behind this.

Their boldness stemmed from the certainty that a ninth-rank expert couldn’t intervene so easily.

Back at Jiangzhou Inn, a ninth-rank could effortlessly handle fifth and sixth-rank fighters. But against mid or late eighth-rank Martial Kings, even a ninth-rank master would need to exert at least seventy to eighty percent of their strength.

The arena had no shortage of eighth-rank experts, but they were likely stretched thin as well. Few could join forces with Lu Jianwei.

She was facing the danger alone.

Wen Zhuzhi’s expression hardened with resolve as he pressed his finger to the acupoint once more.

Chaos still reigned in the arena when another wave of assassins stormed in, cutting down anyone in their path.

Yan Feicang, Liang Shangjun, A'Nai, and Yue Shu fought desperately to hold them off.

The arrival of the puppet assassins threw the arena into disarray once more.

With the formation destroyed, Lan Ling quickly broke free and resumed shaking her bell, ensnaring the minds of lower-rank fighters.

Yan Feicang was tied up in battle with a sixth-rank assassin and couldn’t break away to stop her.

A figure appeared behind Lan Ling, his blade movements clean and ruthless—every strike a killing blow.

Lan Ling dodged and turned with a coy smile. "So it’s Deputy Commander Qi Yan. With such a handsome face, why resort to violence so quickly?"

Qi Yan answered her with his blade.

A sixth-rank against a seventh-rank stood no chance.

Lan Ling had no intention of facing him head-on. "Master," she called out sweetly, "your servant is about to die."

At Zhuang Wenqing’s mental command, several assassins turned and surrounded Qi Yan.

Forced to engage them, Qi Yan could no longer pursue Lan Ling, allowing her to slip away.

Within the arena, the elite fighters of various sects swiftly dispatched the death warriors, occasionally glancing up at Lu Jianwei’s aerial duel with a mix of awe and unease.

To hold her own against a late eighth-rank Martial King at mid eighth-rank strength—without showing any signs of fatigue—was nothing short of astonishing.

Shangguan Huai wanted to assist Lu Jianwei, but with Shangguan Yao and Little Tao still present, he couldn’t bring himself to leave them unprotected.

Yan Buyou and Jin Huanrong had initially intended to eliminate Zhuang Wenqing, but with assassins pouring in endlessly, they had no choice but to stay and defend their disciples.

"Manager Lu," Zhuang Wenqing taunted, reveling in his control over the battlefield, "why hasn’t your ninth-rank master shown themselves yet? I’ve always been curious about your sect. Why not let this senior come out and greet everyone?"

Lu Jianwei, fully focused on her opponent, couldn’t afford to respond.

His words were meant to unsettle her, to create an opening for the Masked Martial King to exploit.

"Don’t blame me," Zhuang Wenqing continued. "I’m only here to uncover Manager Lu’s secrets. After all, her sect is so elusive—how can we of the Thousand Miles Tower endure repeated failures?"

The crowd remained silent.

"You’d slaughter so many just to satisfy your curiosity?" Ying Chen of the Martial Alliance spoke coldly. "Zhuang Wenqing, your ambitions go far beyond that."

He leaped into the fray, his sword gleaming like a rainbow.

"Wumian, protect your juniors."

Ying Wumian nodded solemnly. "Understood."

A peak seventh-rank against a mid eighth-rank seemed like a hopeless match, but Ying Chen wasn’t renowned for his cultivation—his unparalleled swordsmanship was his true weapon.

The two clashed in a whirlwind of blades.

"Xiao Ke," Lu Jianwei mused inwardly, "Ying Chen actually stepped in."

"He’s part of the Martial Alliance—it’s his duty," Xiao Ke replied. "Though the inn has had disputes with them, those were only with the Celestial Vanguard Hall. As the head of the Purple Star Hall, his priority is the martial world."

Ying Chen wasn’t helping her.

He was helping the Martial Alliance itself.

Moreover, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‍with Ying Wumian, his seventh-level disciple, protecting him, the other sect elders were left as mere figureheads—without capable subordinates, they could only personally guard their own, unable to spare any effort elsewhere.

"Weiwei, another wave of assassins was sent to the main courtyard after the first group was killed. The sect's funds are draining rapidly."

"Wait a little longer." Lu Jianwei's internal energy surged as her cultivation technique operated at full speed, continuously replenishing her strength. "What is Mei Sixian doing?"

"He's observing the entire scene."

"A 'powerless' scribe, yet so bold."

Xiao Ke suddenly interjected, "Wen Zhuzhi has left the main courtyard."

"..." Lu Jianwei paused, then chuckled softly. "How disobedient."

Zhuang Wenqing wouldn’t just wait for death.

While engaging Ying Chen in battle, he simultaneously controlled the puppet assassins to attack the disciples of the Martial Alliance.

The assassins ranged from sixth to seventh level, and Ying Wumian, being only seventh level himself, was soon overwhelmed, struggling to hold his ground.

"Hall Master Ying, will you just stand by and watch your son and disciple die here?"

Ying Chen’s sword hesitated for a fraction before striking even more fiercely.

He Lianxue set aside her jade flute and took the pipa from Lvluo’s hands.

Among her martial techniques, the pipa’s melody was the most formidable.

Its ability to influence minds far surpassed that of the flute, though she had yet to master it fully, so she rarely played it.

The delicate, winding notes of the pipa spread across the arena, carrying a soothing power that seeped into the hearts of all present. The frenzied bloodlust gradually dissipated, replaced by tranquility and peace.

The red-eyed assassins slowed their attacks, their faces twisting in conflict.

The submissive instinct instilled by the puppet Gu worms compelled them to continue killing, yet He Lianxue’s pipa melody made them yearn to lay down their weapons.

However, He Lianxue’s cultivation was still insufficient—she couldn’t target her music precisely. Aside from the seventh and eighth-level experts, everyone else in the arena was affected, losing the will to fight.

Even so, Ying Wumian’s pressure eased considerably.

He continued to engage the seventh-level assassins.

The crowd thought to themselves: We misjudged He Lianxue earlier. It wasn’t her flute that incited madness—it was Zhuang Wenqing.

Her pipa melody had arrived just in time.

Seeing this, the gathered experts redirected their attacks toward Zhuang Wenqing.

Disliking the Eight Directions Inn was one thing, but eliminating a scourge of the martial world was another.

Zhuang Wenqing sneered. "Miss He Lianxue, you truly are different from your father. But that’s all."

He fiercely activated the Gu Emperor, commanding the puppet assassins to break free from the melody’s control and attack He Lianxue at all costs.

The young warriors who had been immobilized by sealed acupoints, now under the influence of the love Gu worms, once again showed signs of madness. Ignoring the damage to their meridians, they forcibly broke through their sealed points and charged toward He Lianxue, who was still playing the pipa.

"What’s happening?" The disciples of the Carefree Sect were stunned, fending off the frenzied warriors while glancing at He Lianxue in confusion.

Just moments ago, they had praised her timely intervention. Now, doubt crept in.

Why were all these people targeting Sister Xue?

What secret was she hiding?

Xie Tongshu turned back, using his internal energy to repel the assassins and the frenzied youths. The other experts, worried about their own disciples, also retreated to protect them, missing the best opportunity to corner Zhuang Wenqing.

"Xie Tongshu!" Zhao Xian caught Zhao Rui, who had been sent flying, blood spilling from his lips. Furious, he roared, "Will you still shield that mind-controlling He Lianxue?!"

Xie Tongshu replied coldly, "Fool."

"The fool here is you!" Zhao Xian carefully probed Zhao Rui’s meridians and found them damaged, his dantian on the verge of collapse. Heartbroken and enraged, he bellowed, "She’s nothing but a calamity!"

A surge of internal energy erupted from his palm, aimed directly at He Lianxue’s face. The pipa’s melody faltered for an instant.

The assassins, momentarily subdued, renewed their ferocious assault.

Xie Tongshu flicked his horsetail whisk, deflecting Zhao Xian’s attack. "I’ll protect you. Keep playing."

He Lianxue closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and resumed plucking the strings with swift fingers. The notes fell like pearls onto a jade plate, striking the ears of all present.

Yet, the power of the Gu worms within the assassins gradually overpowered the melody’s influence. Its effectiveness waned.

The other sect elders examined their disciples who had broken through their sealed acupoints, hearts heavy with grief.

If this continued, their elite disciples would all perish here.

Hei Zhan bellowed, "Manager Lu, why hasn’t your senior intervened yet?!"

His thunderous voice pierced Lu Jianwei’s eardrums. She frowned slightly, revealing a fleeting opening in her defense.

The Masked Martial King let out a short, mocking laugh. His sword gleamed brilliantly as he targeted her weak points.

The more he pressed, the more openings she showed.

Zhuang Wenqing, who had been observing the battle, seized the moment. His sword pierced through the air, aiming straight for her back.

"Weiwei, watch out!" Xiao Ke cried in alarm.

Lu Jianwei smiled. "Don’t panic. I was waiting for him."

Deliberately exposing a flaw would arouse suspicion, but Hei Zhan’s shout had given her the perfect excuse.

She had left herself open to set a trap.

Zhuang Wenqing was the prey.

Just as his sword was about to strike her spine, Lu Jianwei flashed a triumphant smirk at the Masked Martial King.

The latter, momentarily fooled, hesitated for a split second.

Lu Jianwei used that instant to spin around and block Zhuang Wenqing’s attack.

"The two of you alone aren’t worthy of my senior’s intervention."

The two men: "..."

So they weren’t even comparable to those low-level martial artists from Jiangzhou?

The others had even more thoughts.

From the "guidance from masters" in the training grounds to the "guarantees from experts" during the arena battles, everything proved that there was a true master hidden within the inn.

This master must be above Level Nine—otherwise, they wouldn’t have been completely unable to sense their presence.

Back in Jiangzhou, the Level Nine senior had intervened solely to intimidate the martial world and prevent petty troublemakers from disturbing the disciples running the inn.

This time, since they hadn’t shown themselves yet, it meant Manager Lu hadn’t been pushed to her absolute limit.

Strong—so incredibly strong!

To hold her own against the Masked Martial King, a late-stage Level Eight fighter, while still having enough strength to fend off Zhuang Wenqing’s sneak attack.

Awe surged in everyone’s hearts.

Before, they had regarded Lu Jianwei as merely their peer, but now they had no choice but to admit that some people were simply prodigies, surpassing them at such a young age.

The Masked Martial King finally realized that Lu Jianwei’s earlier smile had been a bluff. Furious and humiliated, he raised his sword, preparing to team up with Zhuang Wenqing for a two-on-one assault.

But a long saber suddenly blocked his path.

Clad in black robes and wearing a mask, a metal plaque hung at his waist, inscribed with the character "Mirror."

"Pei Zhi?!" freewebnoveℓ.com

The Masked Martial King immediately recognized him and swung his sword to parry the fierce saber strike.

Qi Yan, Han Xiaofeng, and the other envoys of the Mystic Mirror Bureau, locked in their own battles, felt their spirits lift, their fighting will surging.

The Chief Commander himself had joined the fray—they couldn’t afford to disgrace the Mystic Mirror Bureau!

Others might not know, but Lu Jianwei understood all too well.

Given Pei Zhi’s current physical condition, he wouldn’t last long.

She had to deal with Zhuang Wenqing as quickly as possible.

Zhuang Wenqing’s internal energy was on par with hers, but his martial techniques were slightly lacking. Under the relentless onslaught of her Frostwhirl Saber Technique, he was gradually losing ground.

He had assumed that subduing Lu Jianwei would be effortless for the two of them—who would’ve guessed Pei Zhi would appear out of nowhere?

As the leader of the Thousand Miles Tower, he had access to more intelligence than most. Rumor had it that Pei Zhi had been poisoned by an incurable toxin, forcing him to retreat into the shadows in recent years. Every time he fought, it shortened his lifespan.

Since the Eight Directions Inn had emerged in the martial world, he had appeared twice.

Once to capture Xia Huaigu, and once to intervene in the Jingzhou Guihe Residence case.

Both times were connected to Lu Jianwei.

He had previously sent Lan Ling to investigate Wen Zhuzhi’s background in Jiangzhou precisely because he suspected these coincidences.

It was known that Lu Jianwei possessed exceptional medical skills, and Wen Zhuzhi had been staying at the inn under the pretense of recuperating. Yet, on both occasions when Pei Zhi appeared, Wen Zhuzhi was nowhere to be found.

Coupled with the Mystic Mirror Bureau’s early acquisition of the treasure, he had reason to suspect that Pei Zhi and Wen Zhuzhi were one and the same.

The congratulatory procession hadn’t included Pei Zhi—his sudden arrival meant he must have been staying at the inn all along.

"Hahahaha! Who would’ve thought that the illustrious Chief Commander Pei Zhi, after suffering grave injuries, would transform into the wealthy merchant of Jiangnan, scouring the land for medicine?" Zhuang Wenqing’s voice rang out, reaching every ear. "Young Master Wen, how much longer can your body hold out?"

Everyone: ???

Qi Yan and Han Xiaofeng both faltered for a moment, nearly getting stabbed by their assailants.

Hearing this, the Masked Martial King intensified his assault.

A half-dead man still dared to stand in his way?!

Lu Jianwei, seizing the moment, deliberately left an opening in her defense—as if Pei Zhi’s exposed identity had shaken her focus, her Frostwhirl Saber losing its earlier sharpness and dominance.

"Manager Lu, you’re so concerned about him—could it be that the two of you have long been entangled?" Zhuang Wenqing continued to provoke her with words.

Lu Jianwei feigned indignation. "Don’t spout nonsense."

Her saber movements grew sluggish, full of gaps.

Zhuang Wenqing narrowed his eyes. Strike while the iron is hot!

His sword thrust mercilessly toward Lu Jianwei’s heart.

Lu Jianwei pretended to dodge clumsily, discreetly pressing the switch on her glass bead. Zhuang Wenqing’s body conveniently blocked everyone’s line of sight.

She twisted her saber, reflecting sunlight into his eyes, forcing him to squint.

A sesame-sized, dark golden insect—unnoticed by anyone—slipped into Zhuang Wenqing’s ear.

Little Mist had consumed countless rare herbs and devoured all sorts of exotic poisons. It could heal—or kill.

A mere trace of its toxin could silently assassinate a Level Eight Martial King.

But because she had released Little Mist, her evasion was delayed. Zhuang Wenqing’s sword sliced through her sleeve, leaving a shallow cut on her arm—so shallow that only a few droplets of blood welled up.

Lu Jianwei didn’t care. Those few drops of blood could trickle down her arm into the glass bead—a reward for Little Mist once its mission was complete.

"Manager Lu, your heart is in turmoil," Zhuang Wenqing gloated, unable to resist a triumphant grin.

Lu Jianwei: "…"

Fine. Let those be his last words.

Behind her, Pei Zhi’s fighting spirit suddenly surged. His strikes became ruthless and precise, his near mid-Level Eight internal energy straining to hold back the Masked Martial King’s relentless attacks.

"Pei Zhi, meddling comes at a price," the Masked Martial King sneered. "And yours is death!"

His savage swordplay finally found an opening—a lethal thrust aimed at Pei Zhi’s neck.

Pei Zhi barely managed to evade, but the sword’s energy shattered his mask. The face-covering disguise split diagonally in two, clattering to the ground.

His true face was laid bare for all to see.

It was a face utterly unlike that of the wealthy and refined Wen Zhuzhi from Jiangnan—covered in dark purple veins stretching from the jawline to the forehead, twisted and horrifying to behold.

Only the faintest outline of the features could still be matched to Wen Zhuzhi; beyond that, there was no resemblance left to recognize.

This face had long lost any possibility of being identified or compared.

A'Nai gasped in shock, "Young Master!"

The onlookers fell into a heavy silence.

Zhuang Wenqing caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye and burst into laughter. "Pei Zhi, so you really were poisoned!"

Pei Zhi gripped his long blade, his gaze calm and indifferent.

He did not turn around, did not spare a glance at Lu Jianwei. Instead, he raised his sword and continued fighting.

Lu Jianwei also lifted her blade, her eyes cold as if staring at a dead man.

"Pavilion Master Zhuang, these will be your last words."

Zhuang Wenqing sneered, "You—"

His voice cut off abruptly.

No one saw it—a golden Gu insect, tiny as a speck of dust, streaked out from his ear like a flash of light, returning to the glass bead where it rolled gleefully in its master's blood.

"Congratulations, Weiwei, for successfully refining the Gu Emperor of Yin-Yang Gu. Your Gu arts have ascended to 'Master' rank. As both your Gu arts and medical skills have now advanced, the restrictions of your unique cultivation technique are hereby lifted."

The aura around Lu Jianwei surged violently.

"Xiao Ke, it's our turn now."