If one were to ask which pleasure quarter in Fenglin City was the most soul-stirring, any connoisseur would give but one answer—San Fen Xiang Qi Lou.
It is not merely a place with three parts of powdered beauty, but rather a place that claims three parts of the world's fragrance, hence the name San Fen Xiang Qi Lou.
Though it is but a branch establishment.
Since its inception, it has swept through Fenglin City's mediocre market of flowers and willows with an unstoppable force.
Nowadays, the young masters of Fenglin City who enjoy romantic affairs owe their thanks to San Fen Xiang Qi Lou for raising the standard of the city's singing and dancing girls.
It is akin to how the fifth-rank grandmaster Dong A has elevated the educational level of the Fenglin City Daoist Academy. Of course, this remark could only be whispered privately by Zhao Rucheng.
The current leading courtesan at San Fen Xiang Qi Lou is a woman named Miaoyu.
Countless men daydream about her boudoir, wishing they could crawl on their hands and knees to be beneath her skirt. However, those fortunate enough to have a close encounter with her are, after all, few and far between.
On a luxuriously decorated step-shaking bed, a middle-aged naked man lies with a fanatical expression, yet beneath him is clearly only a pile of bedding.
Separated merely by a string of pearls, a soft couch faces the step-shaking bed. Miaoyu, propping her chin with her hand, reclines lazily, her curves exquisitely delicate. Her eyes are dazed, and it is unclear whether she notices the middle-aged man's "self-entertainment."
A man in black kneels before the soft couch, reporting something in a respectful tone.
"So, this Jiang Wang fellow knows a rather exquisite sword technique, but he has never revealed it to others before?"
Her voice is languid, like a kitten just waking up, teasingly touching the heart.
The man in black, kneeling, never raises his head: "Indeed. I am incompetent, truly unable to find out where he learned it."
Miaoyu ponders, lifting her finger: "You may leave."
Upon hearing this, the man in black presses his forehead to the floor, curls his ring and little fingers, forms a triangle with his thumb, index, and middle fingers over his heart, and softly recites: "At the bottom of the Lethe, at the abyss of the Yellow Springs. The revered deity returns to the world, illuminating the human realm."
The entire person then seeps into the floor.
"A sword technique that has never appeared in the Fenglin City Daoist Academy? Passed down from which great warrior of the Sword Trial World? Or perhaps..." Miaoyu's gaze becomes dazed.
"Daoist child..."
She thinks more, further, and more ethereal.
"At the bottom of the Lethe, at the abyss of the Yellow Springs. The revered deity returns to the world, illuminating the human realm."
She makes the same gesture and softly recites in the same manner.
The naked man on the step-shaking bed continues to writhe with himself, lost in a delightful fantasy, seemingly able to be submerged forever.
...
...
At this moment, in a village far away in the Kingdom of Yong, a fierce-looking bald man is voraciously gnawing on something, blood covering his face and hands.
He is enjoying his meal when suddenly a streak of light falls and heads straight for him.
Unfortunately, this is not a righteous sword from the heavens, come to eliminate evil.
The bald man swiftly grabs the streak of light, which turns into an antique long sword in his hand.
"Damn it! I'll swallow your heart sooner or later!" The bald man, clearly annoyed at being interrupted while eating, mutters under his breath.
"Old man, what age is it now, still using flying swords to send messages!" He grumbles while opening the letter on the sword with his bloodied hand.
The Thousand-Mile Voice Box of the Mohist School has been widely used for many years and sells extremely well. However, there are always some factions that refuse to use it, as no one can be certain whether the Mohists, who are adept at mechanisms, have left any hidden tricks in the voice boxes.
Even if the Mohists swear by the heavens and the earth—no matter how strict the heart-demon oath is, dozens of solutions have long been discovered. What's the use of swearing?
"Zhuang Country, Qinghe Prefecture, San Mountain City?" He pronounces each word distinctly and can't help but spit out, "What a remote corner!"
The sword wavers in the air, as if urging something.
The bald man becomes increasingly irritable, but clearly, the sender of the letter is someone he cannot yet resist.
With his blood-stained finger, he scribbles five strokes on the letter paper, forming a simple drawing of a horse, meaning: Go immediately.
He casually fixes the letter back onto the sword, and the sword vanishes as swiftly as it came.
After the flying sword disappears, the bald man suddenly seems to remember something, "The boss won't be able to understand this, will he?"
He ponders for a while, then shakes off this minor worry.
"If he can't understand this, what kind of boss is he?"
...
...
...
Arriving at the dormitory entrance, Jiang Wang hears voices speaking inside.
After entering the inner gate, he still lives with Ling He and Du Yehu, which is convenient for them to constantly exchange ideas and seek the Dao. Zhao Rucheng comes over to stay for a night every now and then, but he doesn't stay long. Although the room is much better than before, for Zhao Rucheng... there isn't much difference.
Hearing Jiang Wang's footsteps, Ling He quickly walks out, "You're finally back. Your family has been waiting for you for a long time!"
Family...
Jiang Wang's heart skips a beat, and he hurriedly turns into the room. There, on the set of rosewood furniture by the window, he sees a charming woman—the furniture, of course, was also something Zhao Rucheng insisted on having brought over.
Du Yehu sits awkwardly beside her, answering her questions in a meek and obedient manner—one question from the woman, one answer from him. He looks like a wild child who has reined in his nature in front of his friend's parents.
Only this "child" has rather too dense a beard and a face that seems too eager to age. In comparison, he appears to be older than the well-preserved woman.
Seeing Jiang Wang come in, the woman quickly stands up, her eyes filled with delight, "Xiao Wang, long time no see! You've grown taller and stronger!"
Jiang Wang nods and greets her, "Aunt Song, hello."
His birth mother passed away early, and this woman is his father's second wife. He can't bring himself to change his address and has always called her "aunt."
This aunt is not a bad person and has never mistreated him. It's just that after his father remarried, Jiang Wang was admitted to the outer gate of the Daoist academy within a few years. Cultivation is hard work, and he rarely goes home except during holidays. They have never had any conflicts, but their emotional bond is not particularly deep.
While greeting, Aunt Song pulls the little girl hiding behind her to the front, "Hurry up and greet him!"
This is a shy little girl who, urged by her mother, finally opens her small mouth and whispers, "Brother."
Aunt Song's silk clothing is bright and adds three parts of charm to her appearance. The little girl is also well-dressed, but her delicate features are naturally eye-catching and praiseworthy.
Unfortunately, after calling out once, she quickly hides behind her mother again, only sticking out half of her little head to observe her brother, whom she hasn't seen for a long time.
He, of course, loves his sister. Blood is thicker than water, and this is something no one can change. It's just that he is devoted to cultivation, and each time he returns home, it is only a brief visit. It has been a long time since he last heard the word "brother."
Though soft and small, this voice is as clear and pleasant as a pearl rolling on a jade plate.
Having seen much bloodshed and darkness, Jiang Wang's heart, which he thought had become cold and hard, suddenly feels a sense of melting.
After returning from Tangshe Town, Jiang Wang rarely shows a genuine smile, "Greetings!"