Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Challenge Letter

Hong Qi Sheng’s “modest banquet,” once laid out, made Feng San Chu and the others stare.

Ji City wealth was no joke. Compared to the impoverished disciples of the Ling Zhen Sect, Hong Qi Sheng might as well have been a rich man of legend.

Vegetables and fruit, meat and delicacies—everything carried a faint trace of spiritual energy. Once it settled in their bellies, even Zhao Chun felt her cultivation stir, advancing by a hair.

Feng San Chu knew exactly whose presence had elevated the meal. Smiling, he said, “The dishes are fresh and sweet. Fellow Daoist Hong clearly prepared with care. What do you think, Senior Brother?”

Meng Han poured down a mouthful of harsh liquor, visibly pleased, and gave a curt nod. “He’s got sense.”

“Making the honored guests comfortable is simply a host’s duty,” Hong Qi Sheng said, standing to raise his cup. “I toast you all. Thank you for coming to assist with my daughter’s son-in-law selection. I’m deeply grateful!”

Zhao Chun and Liao Little Yi didn’t drink alcohol. They used tea instead and finished it in one swallow.

Hong Qian sat beside her mother, pretending to be quiet and demure. But her eyes kept flicking toward Zhao Chun, curious as a cat.

“I’ve long heard of the Ling Zhen Sect’s reputation,” Hong Qi Sheng said with a sigh, settling back into his seat. “Yet my status is low. I’ve never had the honor of visiting Secluded Valley. A true regret.”

He shook his head, eyes distant. “It’s been 20 years since I stepped onto the path. In the blink of an eye, my daughter has reached marriageable age. And that day an immortal gifted me a pill still feels like yesterday.”

The table drifted through another round of courtesies.

Then Hong Qi Sheng lifted his hand. Servants approached, placing red-lacquered boxes before each of them.

Feng San Chu and Meng Han accepted theirs without changing expression, sliding the boxes beneath their seats. The Liao siblings did the same, though their delight was harder to hide.

Zhao Chun weighed her box in her hand. She was used to being poor; the heft alone made her pulse jump. She set it carefully at her side.

“A small token of my gratitude,” Hong Qi Sheng said. “Please accept it.”

It was hardly small. Zhao Chun estimated there were several hundred Cui Stones inside.

Still, receiving gifts meant obligation. Under normal circumstances, that would make her uneasy. But with Meng Han and Feng San Chu present, anything Hong Qi Sheng needed would be handled by those in front. He wasn’t going to pin expectations on a Qi Refining Stage second-level disciple.

Seeing everyone accept—seeing even Meng Han take the box—Hong Qi Sheng finally seemed to breathe again. He smiled and began, “Today, to welcome you, I also prepared—”

A sudden boom exploded in the hall.

Smoke rolled thick and black. Dishes clattered. Someone shouted, and Zhao Chun heard Meng Han click his tongue, sharp with contempt.

The smoke vanished as if swept away by an unseen hand, leaving the banquet in ruins.

“What is this?” Hong Qi Sheng roared. “All of you—get out!”

Servants scattered in terror. Madam Hong pulled her pale-faced daughter into the inner rooms. In the hall, only the six at the table remained.

“I will give all of you an explanation,” Hong Qi Sheng vowed, his voice trembling with fury and fear.

Feng San Chu was already moving. He stepped into the wreckage at the center of the banquet and picked something up. “Fellow Daoist Hong—look.”

He opened his palm. A half-sphere of copper sat there, still giving off a thin curl of gray smoke, the smell of burning metal faint in the air.

Hong Qi Sheng stared. “This… what is it?”

Meng Han rose, brow furrowing. “A Flameburst Pellet from Chang Hui Gate. They use fire-talisman methods to carve runes onto copper pellets. The power’s five times that of a standard talisman.”

He took the half-pellet from Feng San Chu, rolled it between his fingers, then snorted. “But this one’s a fake. That’s why it barely had any bite.”

“Chang Hui Gate is far from here,” Meng Han continued, gaze cold. “Their disciples spend most of their lives bent over runes. They rarely cause trouble outside. Have you offended someone recently?”

Hong Qi Sheng’s smile turned bitter. “Because of the cultivation arts taught by that immortal, there are countless people in Ji City watching me. I truly don’t know which one it could be…”

Meng Han crushed the copper half-sphere in his hand with a dry crack. “They’ve already delivered a challenge letter to your doorstep, and you still have no idea who it is.”

“You’re right, Senior,” Hong Qi Sheng said quickly, sweating. “I accept the lesson.”

“Using something like this as a probe,” Meng Han said with disgust. “Cowards who hide their faces.”

Feng San Chu stepped in smoothly. “Fellow Daoist Hong, there’s no need to panic. With Senior Brother here, those petty rats won’t dare stir trouble. We’ll deal with it as it comes.”

“Yes—yes.” Hong Qi Sheng wiped cold sweat from his brow. Yet the shadow in his eyes didn’t lift. It was the look of a man who knew trouble had circled his home and refused to leave.

After that, no one had any appetite. They dispersed to their rooms.

Zhao Chun had hoped this trip would pass quietly. Now it was clear it wouldn’t.

Meng Han was fearless—of course he was. But Zhao Chun was the weakest of the group. If something truly escalated, she feared being collateral damage, crushed without meaning by powers too large for her to even see.

The desire to grow stronger burned hotter than ever. She told herself not to rush, but anxiety still pricked at the edges of her mind.

To calm herself, she opened the lacquered box and began to count.

Inside were green stones, smooth and cool as jade, beautiful enough to make the heart lighten. Cui Stones.

Who in the world didn’t love wealth?

She ran her fingers through them, the stones rolling against her skin, then counted carefully.

Three hundred. Exactly.

That wasn’t even including the reward from the bounty itself. If she added that in, it would be 450 Cui Stones—enough to buy a copy of Tiger Strength Art.

It was all borrowed fortune. If she relied on her own abilities, she might not earn even the loose change.

Don’t let it turn into bitterness, she warned herself. I’ve cultivated less than a year. When my cultivation rises, I can repay them properly.

A cultivator’s foundation, after all, was not only spiritual energy—it was a clear, resilient Dao Heart.

Several days passed without further incident. The mood in the Hong Family estate didn’t lighten. If anything, it grew heavier.

Hong Qi Sheng seemed certain someone was coming for his cultivation arts. He lived in constant dread, keeping his wife and daughter close and flinching at every sound.

Then, in that heavy silence, the day of the son-in-law selection arrived.

Everyone braced themselves. Hong Qi Sheng settled his wife and daughter safely in the inner courtyard, then went out to receive the guests, accompanied by the five from the Ling Zhen Sect.