No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 99

Along with the return from Dianzhou came three assassins.

Upon seeing them, Uncle Zhang was momentarily startled before quickly pulling Yue Shu aside to inquire.

"They attacked the inn at night while the innkeeper was away, but we managed to subdue them together," Yue Shu said with some excitement. "By the way, earlier you mentioned the stable to the innkeeper..."

His gaze drifted toward the stable, where two figures lay slumped, barely conscious and in wretched condition.

A thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

"Was Jiangzhou also attacked?"

Uncle Zhang's expression turned grave. "Someone is targeting our inn."

"The innkeeper already questioned them, but they know nothing," Yue Shu frowned. "Who could be behind this?"

"Did the innkeeper say how they’ll be dealt with?"

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"Forced labor."

"Understood."

As Uncle Zhang began dragging the men toward the stable, he caught sight of Wen Zhuzhi and his servant A'Nai stepping down from their carriage, heading toward the dormitory. He quickly called out, "Young Master Wen, wait a moment!"

Wen Zhuzhi halted and turned with a smile. "What is it, Elder Zhang?"

"This matter requires the innkeeper’s decision," Uncle Zhang gestured politely. "Perhaps you’d like to step inside the main hall first."

A'Nai glanced curiously at the dormitory. "Are there patients staying there?"

Uncle Zhang gave an awkward chuckle, his face showing a hint of apology.

Inside the hall, Lu Jianwei sat behind the counter, cradling a ceramic jar.

"Innkeeper," Uncle Zhang stepped forward, "over these past few months, with Doctor Yuan stationed here, many have come seeking treatment. Some patients couldn’t be moved, so we temporarily housed them in the dormitory. You’ve been traveling long and hard, and with the inn now crowded and noisy, it might disturb your rest. I’ve arranged rooms at White Crane Manor. If it’s not too inconvenient, would you consider staying there for a while?"

Yue Shu’s eyes brightened. "That’s right, Innkeeper! You’ve been in Jiangzhou for so long but haven’t visited the manor yet. I’d love to play host for once!"

"Very well, I’ll let you be the host this time," Lu Jianwei agreed with a smile.

She needed a quieter place to nurture Xiao Wu, and the inn’s constant bustle wasn’t ideal. Doctor Yuan was devoted to treating patients, and his work brought steady income to the inn. As partners, Lu Jianwei could tolerate minor inconveniences.

White Crane Manor was indeed a fine choice—Uncle Zhang had considered everything well.

Now that she no longer relied on the inn’s defenses for safety, she could go wherever she pleased.

"Then let’s set off right away!" Yue Shu eagerly grabbed his belongings. "Everyone’s coming along!"

Xue Guanhe and the others had no objections and readily agreed.

Only Tiao spoke up. "Innkeeper, I’d like to stay at the inn."

"That’s fine," Lu Jianwei didn’t interfere with her decision. "You can assist Doctor Yuan with the patients."

"Mm!"

Lu Jianwei turned to Wen Zhuzhi. "And you, Young Master Wen?"

"I defer to the innkeeper’s arrangements," Wen Zhuzhi replied with a smile.

Once again, the group mounted their horses and set off for White Crane Manor.

White Crane Manor was located in the eastern part of the city. After the calamity, the manor had stood empty until Yue Shu and Uncle Zhang returned to Jiangzhou.

They hadn’t hired any new servants, instead painstakingly restoring the vast estate themselves.

The manor’s architecture harmonized with the Jiangnan water town style—rock gardens, koi ponds, delicate pavilions, and winding corridors, all exuding refined charm.

The main courtyard, once the residence of the late manor lord, was not used for guests.

The remaining courtyards were open for selection.

Uncle Zhang assigned Lu Jianwei the largest courtyard—serene and secluded, with a bamboo grove at the rear, perfect for quiet cultivation.

The rest of the staff were also comfortably settled.

"Young Master Wen, this courtyard is close to the innkeeper’s and has been modified for your convenience," Uncle Zhang said warmly as he led them inside.

Wen Zhuzhi nodded. "Thank you, Elder Zhang."

"Don’t mention it," Uncle Zhang chuckled. "The manor’s been empty for so long—it’s a joy to have everyone here."

Yue Shu beamed. "Young Master Wen, A'Nai, if you need anything, just let me know! Don’t hold back!"

This was his first time playing host, and to such dear friends no less—his excitement was palpable.

"Understood, we won’t stand on ceremony," A'Nai couldn’t help but smile.

Yue Shu scratched his head sheepishly. "I’ll go check on Brother Xue and the others."

Uncle Zhang had ordered a lavish feast from a nearby restaurant, catering to everyone’s tastes.

"Uncle Zhang, a toast to your breakthrough!" Xue Guanhe raised his cup. "I’d planned to cook myself, but I missed the chance."

Uncle Zhang returned the gesture. "Your kindness is appreciated, but after months on the road, you deserve a proper rest."

"Exactly," Liang Shangjun chimed in. "We can afford to switch things up once in a while."

Xue Guanhe glared. "Just say you’re tired of my cooking."

"Wouldn’t dream of it!" Liang Shangjun raised his cup. "Chef Xue’s dishes are eternally satisfying."

Yue Shu grinned, while Yan Feicang, as usual, focused on his meal, rarely joining the chatter.

Wen Zhuzhi quietly ate his medicinal meal—prepared by A'Nai in the manor’s kitchen. The pale, bland appearance alone betrayed its tastelessness.

The hall’s warm light cast a glow over his lowered lashes and pallid complexion, lending him an air of quiet solitude.

Lu Jianwei seized the moment to announce, "The Fengzhou branch will soon be completed. Come spring, I’ll be heading there."

"Back to Fengzhou?" Xue Guanhe perked up. "Does that mean we’ll settle there?"

"Giving up on wandering the martial world already?" Lu Jianwei teased. "There’s still so much you haven’t seen."

Xue Guanhe sighed. "The martial world is treacherous. With my current skills, I’d only get beaten up. Better to train in peace and venture out later."

After a year of training, his internal energy had reached the peak of the third level, yet he still hadn’t broken through to the fourth—the true threshold of martial mastery.

"Until we depart for Fengzhou, I’ll remain at the manor. Uncle Zhang mentioned there’s a training ground here. For the next few months, all of you must train diligently," Lu Jianwei said sternly. "I’ll set individual goals and provide guidance."

Yan Feicang immediately looked up. "What goals?"

"Yan Feicang—reach the late sixth level. Guanhe—break through to the fourth level and master the fourth stance of your blade technique. Yue Shu—continue studying formations but don’t neglect your internal energy; you must also reach the fourth level. Liang Shangjun, you’ll train independently."

"Wait, no!" Liang Shangjun protested. "Innkeeper, please teach me disguise techniques!"

He’d followed them all the way from Divine Physician Valley precisely to learn advanced disguise arts.

Lu Jianwei relented. "Very well. In recognition of your hard work these months, I’ll gift you a manual on disguise. Anyone else interested may study it as well, but it must not be shared outside."

"Thank you, Innkeeper!" Liang Shangjun was overjoyed. "No time like the present—could you teach me today?"

Since she’d already decided to give him the manual, Lu Jianwei saw no reason to delay and nodded.

"Innkeeper," Yan Feicang spoke solemnly, "I wish to spar with you in blade techniques."

This had long been his wish, and now that the opportunity for her guidance had arisen, he wouldn’t let it pass.

Lu Jianwei nodded slightly. "Very well. I’ve also been meaning to witness the skills of the top swordsman in the martial world."

"You flatter me, Innkeeper."

A fighting spirit ignited in Yan Feicang’s eyes, as if he could hardly wait to drop his bowl and chopsticks and draw his blade at once.

He had sparred with Xue Guanhe before and understood the exquisite power of the Frostwhirl Blade Technique. However, Xue Guanhe could only bring out a fraction of its potential, leaving Yan Feicang unsatisfied.

If he could personally experience Lu Jianwei’s swordsmanship, he would undoubtedly gain invaluable insights.

A'Nai muttered under his breath, "Seems like I’m the only one with nothing to do."

"You need to train too," Lu Jianwei said bluntly. "Last year, you were at the fourth rank, and this year, you’re still at the fourth rank."

A'Nai: "…"

He couldn’t help but glance at his young master.

Wen Zhuzhi: "Listen to Innkeeper Lu."

"Understood," A'Nai reluctantly agreed before returning to his bowl of rice.

"And you," Lu Jianwei turned to Wen Zhuzhi, "come to my courtyard after the meal."

Wen Zhuzhi smiled faintly. "As you wish."

After dinner, Lu Jianwei returned to her courtyard, followed not only by Wen Zhuzhi but also by Liang Shangjun, Yan Feicang, and Yue Shu.

She retrieved a manual on disguise techniques from a chest and handed it to Liang Shangjun. "Remember, do not share this with anyone else."

Truthfully, she wasn’t overly concerned about secrecy. She only said this to make Liang Shangjun believe the manual was hard-earned, ensuring he would treasure it all the more.

"Understood!" Liang Shangjun accepted it with both hands, his expression reverent. "Innkeeper, from now on, wherever you point, I’ll go without hesitation!"

He turned away gleefully, clutching the manual, but paused when he saw the cover. "What does ‘Volume One’ mean?"

"Exactly what it says," Lu Jianwei raised an eyebrow. "It’ll keep you occupied for a while."

"Innkeeper, aren’t you just teasing me? Giving me the first volume but not the second—how am I supposed to sleep at night?"

"If you’re worried about losing sleep, you can always return the manual."

Liang Shangjun: "…"

Why was he always the one getting the short end of the stick?

Realizing the second volume was out of reach for now, he could only trudge away dejectedly with the first volume in hand.

Lu Jianwei turned to the other two. "Why did you follow me here?"

"Brother Yan, you go first," Yue Shu deferred politely.

Yan Feicang: "Innkeeper, would it be possible to purchase a treasured blade from your sect?"

"Is Surging Tide not good enough?" Lu Jianwei asked. "It’s been with you for so many years—can you bear to part with it?"

Yan Feicang: "It’s not that it’s lacking, but it doesn’t perfectly complement my swordsmanship. I’d like a blade custom-forged to match both my technique and my intent."

"Xiao Ke, do we accept custom orders?"

"We do!" Xiao Ke replied without hesitation. "If we could customize ink for Feng Yan, what’s a blade? But custom work isn’t cheap, you know."

"How much?"

"You sold Hong Yingjie a spear for two hundred thousand. Charging five hundred thousand for a custom blade isn’t unreasonable, right?"

"Deal."

Lu Jianwei looked at Yan Feicang with complete candor. "A treasured blade is expensive, and a custom one even more so."

"Price is no concern," Yan Feicang said without hesitation. "As long as the blade meets my needs, I’ll pay whatever it takes."

Lu Jianwei mused to herself: He dresses so plainly, yet he’s secretly loaded. No wonder—he’s from a prominent family.

She asked, "If money isn’t an issue, why not commission a renowned blacksmith from the martial world?"

Yan ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‍Feicang: "The Yan family owns several blades crafted by master smiths, but none compare to the craftsmanship of your sect. Besides, most masters insist on their own forging methods."

His words were diplomatic.

True masters had their own temperaments. Even if they accepted custom orders, they wouldn’t fully comply with the buyer’s requests.

Lu Jianwei understood. "Write down your exact specifications and give them to me tomorrow. I’ll relay them to my sect."

"Agreed!" Yan Feicang bowed deeply before clasping his fists and taking his leave.

Now it was Yue Shu’s turn.

He glanced at Wen Zhuzhi, hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, "Innkeeper, I understand the advice you gave me today, but no matter how hard I train, my rank just won’t improve."

A trace of frustration flickered across the young man’s face. He had never slacked off—in fact, he trained harder than most—yet his internal energy progressed at a snail’s pace.

If not for his talent in formations, he might have given up martial arts altogether.

"I started learning before Brother Xue, but he’s already surpassed me," Yue Shu muttered, lowering his head. "I swear I’m not slacking, Innkeeper. I just don’t know what to do anymore."

Lu Jianwei had long been aware of his struggle.

Previously, she had been preoccupied—curing Tiao’s poison, strengthening her own skills—so she hadn’t been able to focus on Yue Shu.

Seeing him excel in formations, she had set the matter aside.

Now that her plans were nearing fruition and the inn’s staffing issues needed addressing, she finally had the time and energy to spare.

"What internal energy technique are you practicing?"

"My family’s Soaring Crane Scripture."

Lu Jianwei: "Xiao Ke, assess Yue Shu’s aptitude and recommend a suitable technique and martial art."

"Five thousand coppers deducted. Assessment complete," Xiao Ke announced. "Aptitude rating: 74%, above average. Recommended technique: Dreamwalk Through the Mists. Recommended martial art: Mystic Gate Divination."

As expected—he’s suited for esoteric arts.

Lu Jianwei asked, "If he switches to a new technique, does he need to discard his current internal energy first?"

She vaguely recalled something like that from a novel.

"No," Xiao Ke replied, baffled. "Where did you hear that? Internal energy techniques only govern how energy is accumulated and circulated. An ill-suited technique slows progress; a well-suited one speeds it up. That’s all."

"So, for an individual, internal energy from any technique is compatible?"

"Exactly," Xiao Ke said, puzzled. "You’re not confusing this with how energy clashes between different people, are you?"

"Of course not," Lu Jianwei deflected. "How much for Dreamwalk Through the Mists?"

Novels really do mislead people.

"Five hundred taels."

"Deduct it."

The moment she spoke, a new manual appeared in her system inventory, and her account balance shrank by five hundred taels.

Nothing gets deducted faster than money.

The exchange in her mind lasted only an instant. Before her, the young man still stood, head bowed in dejection.

Lu Jianwei softened her voice. "I’ve known about your struggles for a while. I was just too busy before, and finding the right technique for you took time."

"Innkeeper?" Yue Shu looked up, stunned.

"When I first entered the world, you and Uncle Zhang were the first people I met. The first money I earned was thanks to you both." She patted his shoulder. "For that alone, I wouldn’t abandon you."

Yue Shu’s eyes reddened instantly. "It was barely a hundred coppers—nothing compared to your kindness. If not for your protection, I might not even be alive today."

What he had done paled in comparison to what Lu Jianwei had given him.

"I’m training you to strengthen the inn’s forces," Lu Jianwei said frankly. Using the chest as cover, she retrieved Dreamwalk Through the Mists and handed it to the teary-eyed youth. "This technique suits you. I expect you to practice diligently."

Yue Shu wiped his tears and accepted it solemnly.

"Innkeeper, I won’t let you down."

Though the innkeeper always claimed that guiding them was for the sake of the inn—as if framing it as a "transaction" could mask the "favor"—the staff knew better. There would never be another innkeeper like Lu Jianwei.

She spoke this way to ease their conscience, not wanting them to feel indebted or act against their true desires.

But for Yue Shu, working at the inn for the rest of his life was his true desire.

From beginning to end, it never changed.

He carried the cultivation manual back to his room.

Now only Lu Jianwei and Wen Zhuzhi remained inside.

Lu Jianwei sat at the table and said, "Give me your hand."

An arm stretched across the table—slender yet strong fingers loosely curled, palm lines distinct, the lifeline trailing down to the wrist. The forearm, half-hidden under wide sleeves, bore well-defined muscles.

"Judging by your lifeline, you’ve got plenty of years left. No need to worry," Lu Jianwei teased lightly before pressing her fingers to his pulse.

Wen Zhuzhi’s gaze deepened. "I’d like to live long enough to see your sect."

"Wasn’t there someone who once said they had no regrets and asked for nothing? Changed your mind?"

"Yes. The more one gains, the more one desires." Rare honesty colored his words.

Lu Jianwei glanced up at him, then withdrew her hand.

"Get on the bed. Take off your robe."

Wen Zhuzhi: ?

"Needling treatment. What were you thinking?" She pulled out a needle case, arching a brow. "Want me to help you up?"

Warm candlelight illuminated her striking features.

Wen Zhuzhi’s ears burned. He lowered his head and pushed his wheelchair forward, but his vision abruptly darkened, leaving him disoriented. His mind, still flustered by the earlier misunderstanding, failed to react in time—until the wheelchair slammed into the bedframe.

Lu Jianwei stretched out a leg to block it. "Seems I do need to help."

"My apologies," Wen Zhuzhi murmured, his unfocused eyes filled with self-reproach.

"No matter. Patients get privileges."

"What privileges?"

She grabbed his collar and hauled him onto the bed, laying him flat before producing a silver needle.

"The privilege of being manhandled onto the bed."

Wen Zhuzhi: "..."

"Can’t see, but can you still use your hands?" she teased. "If you’re still as shy as before, I can wait."

"Forgive my clumsiness." Following her voice, he turned his head and undid his front robe.

In the dim candlelight, his skin resembled cold jade—every contour perfectly balanced, neither overly muscular nor too frail.

During the first needling session, Lu Jianwei had treated him like a medical dummy.

But now, with no urgency, the amber glow cast a hazy intimacy. The flickering flames painted shifting shadows, and the air carried a faint scent of lilacs—rich, bittersweet, lulling the senses.

The November chill seeped in despite the charcoal brazier.

Lu Jianwei shook off the distraction and focused.

Though his poison was suppressed by inner energy, relying on constant vigilance meant no true rest. A'Nai had mentioned his master’s sleeplessness upon first arriving at the inn—it wasn’t an exaggeration.

"Wen Zhuzhi, I’ve found a method that might cure you," Lu Jianwei murmured as she placed the final needle, leaning close. "Do you believe me?"

"I do."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"Why?"

"I believe everything you say." His fingers brushed hers blindly. "Besides, Innkeeper Lu never makes baseless claims."

She took his hand, tracing the bamboo-like knuckles—firm and resilient.

"You still call me 'Innkeeper Lu.' Is it out of respect... or something else?"

"..." His long lashes lowered. "I wouldn’t dare presume."

Lu Jianwei chuckled. "My family and friends call me 'Weiwei.' If you prefer 'Innkeeper Lu,' or have another name in mind, suit yourself."

"Weiwei." The word escaped him instantly.

She laughed outright. Teasing her partner never got old.

"Time to remove the needles."

She carefully withdrew each one, wiped them clean, and returned them to the case.

As he fastened his robe after the last needle, she leaned in and whispered something that made his ears redden.

"..."

Wen Zhuzhi sat up, his partially restored gaze meeting hers with forced composure. "Thank you for the compliment."

"Need help?"

"No."

He shifted back into the wheelchair, strands of hair falling over his forehead. "It’s late. You should rest."

The wheelchair creaked away, the door clicking shut behind him.

Lu Jianwei smirked briefly before retrieving an earthen jar from the corner, its woven vine casing now scratched from two months of use.

Xiao Wu had grown, its appetite for herbs and toxins increasing. Fortunately, the daily dose of Gubaitou had ended yesterday—any longer, and she’d have gone broke.

Today called for blood.

She pricked her fingertip and let a drop fall into the jar.

Xiao Wu, dozing in a corner, stirred at the scent. Its nimble body darted to the blood, devouring it in seconds.

A faint, elusive connection threaded through her mind—wavering but persistent.

She added another drop.

The link solidified instantly, binding human and insect.

Lu Jianwei patted the lid. "Work hard. Aim to be the greatest Gu King, unrivaled in the insect world."

Xiao Wu’s wings fluttered in response.

Three drops per day were ideal. She gave one more before it retreated to sleep.

The next morning, Yan Feicang handed her a sheet of paper after breakfast.

"This is the blade I want. Your assistance, Innkeeper."

Lu Jianwei scanned it and nearly laughed.

The demands were excessive.

Beyond standard dimensions, it specified blade grain, hilt engravings, tip curvature, scabbard color, and even decorative motifs.

Most craftsmen would refuse such a finicky client.

"Are you sure this design suits you best?" she asked.

Yan Feicang nodded. "Certain. When wielding Jingtao, I often felt resistance. After every battle, I’d mentally refine the ideal blade. There’s no mistake."

"Very well." She shrugged. "Your budget?"

"Xu Sanzuo, the top weaponsmith, charges a million taels for a premium custom weapon."

Lu Jianwei: "..."

Seriously?

Even the Divine Doctor Valley’s medicines weren’t this lucrative.

A million taels—what fortune could spare that for a single weapon?

"Your sect’s craftsmen surpass Master Xu. A million would be an insult." Yan Feicang raised his offer earnestly. "One and a half million. Acceptable?"

Lu Jianwei's lips curved slightly. "As an employee of the shop, you get an internal discount—this is the price. But you’ll have to wait a while."

"I don’t mind waiting however long it takes," Yan Feicang replied, an unusually bright smile breaking across his stern face.

Yue Shu blinked. "Brother Yan, I had no idea you were so wealthy!"

Xue Guanhe whistled. "As expected of a centuries-old noble family."

"Most of that money probably has nothing to do with the Yan family," Liang Shangjun drawled, lounging back in his chair. "It’s likely the winnings Brother Yan has collected from bets over the years."

"Bets?" Yue Shu craned his neck forward. "What bets?"

Liang Shangjun smirked. "Ever heard of the Martial Alliance’s triennial tournament? Participants aged fifteen to thirty-five, with skill levels between fourth and sixth rank, are eligible. Brother Yan’s been competing since he was fifteen, never missing a single one. Now at thirty, he’s racked up quite the fortune in prizes."

"There are prizes in the tournament?" Xue Guanhe asked, astonished.

Liang Shangjun waved a hand. "That’s a long story. You’ll find out when you compete someday."

"But who knows when I’ll even qualify? Just tell me—"

"Manager," Uncle Zhang interrupted, stepping into the room with Tiao trailing behind him. "The inn received an invitation from the Martial Alliance early this morning. Tiao didn’t delay—she brought it over right away."

The group exchanged glances. Speak of the devil!