No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 77

◎Level Up, Commander Pei◎

Lu Jianwei didn’t move, her expression skeptical.

"I was just leaving for a while. Why would the host need to see me?"

"You jest, Friend Shen," Dou Ting said. "The host is benevolent and kind-hearted. He simply feels that your sudden departure might reflect poorly on his hospitality and wishes to apologize in person."

Lu Jianwei frowned. "I’ve already imposed by staying here. Even if there were any shortcomings in hospitality—which there weren’t—I wouldn’t hold it against him. I’m in a hurry to meet a friend. There’s really no need for such courtesy."

"Friend Shen," Dou Ting sighed, "the host is prone to melancholy and overthinking. If you don’t reassure him directly, he’ll dwell on it needlessly. It’s just a few words—it won’t take much of your time. How about this? If you go and ease his mind, I’ll waive your friend’s consultation fee entirely."

"Really?" Lu Jianwei’s eyes lit up. "Not a single coin?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine, I’ll go then. It’s only right to thank him for his hospitality anyway."

Dou Ting: "..."

So he’d overestimated her. She was just a shortsighted, greedy woman.

Lu Jianwei followed him to the main courtyard.

Guihe Residence was vast—walking from the guest quarters to the main courtyard took about fifteen minutes.

The silence along the way grew awkward, so Dou Ting made small talk.

"Might I ask which sect you belong to, Friend Shen? And what your parents do?"

Lu Jianwei replied, "No sect. My parents just had some fortuitous encounters in their youth and picked up a few martial techniques. That’s how I got the chance to wander the martial world."

"I see." Dou Ting continued, "Friend Shen, you possess remarkable talent. To have such profound inner energy at such a young age..."

"What makes you say that?" Lu Jianwei feigned surprise. "I only know a few crude techniques—nothing involving inner energy cultivation."

Dou Ting stroked his beard and chuckled. "It’s common for wanderers to conceal their strength, and your method is quite clever—most wouldn’t notice. But the difference between a true master and a low-level martial artist is still evident. Someone like you stands out."

Lu Jianwei: "..."

She doubted Dou Ting had actually discerned anything.

"Xiao Ke, didn’t you say no one below the Grandmaster level could detect it?"

"Your inner energy is hidden, but a master’s aura is hard to mask. He’s an eighth-level Martial King—someone at that level has sharp instincts."

"Fair enough."

She let it go. If he only sensed she was strong without knowing her exact level, it wasn’t a big deal.

"To have raised someone as exceptional as you, your father must be quite remarkable," Dou Ting mused. "But I don’t recall any prominent martial families with the surname Shen in the jianghu."

Lu Jianwei abruptly stopped walking and gave him a look.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Friend Shen?" Dou Ting asked, puzzled. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Have you ever considered that maybe I take after my mother’s surname? There’s no rule saying one must follow the father’s name, is there?"

Dou Ting: "..."

He forced a laugh. "I’ve also never heard of any renowned female martial artists with the surname Shen."

"I already told you—my family has no experts, and I only know basic techniques. Do you not believe me?"

Dou Ting: "...We’re here."

He quickened his pace and pushed open the courtyard gate.

The gate faced the main hall, its doors slightly ajar, obscuring the interior.

"Friend Shen, after you."

Lu Jianwei stepped inside.

The gate closed behind her with a soft but heavy thud, like the ominous toll of a war drum.

She had a feeling—what awaited her ahead would be a merciless hunt.

Dou Ting stood behind her, his sleeves fluttering in the breeze.

"Friend Shen, the host is waiting inside."

Lu Jianwei strode up the steps.

Her blue robes brushed against the white jade corridor, swept over the high threshold, and vanished behind the doors as they slowly shut, sealing off all sight.

As expected of an eighth-level Martial King’s dwelling—every furnishing in the room was exquisite.

The chairs and tables were carved from the finest pearwood, rare vases held freshly cut blossoms, and the shelves displayed priceless antiques. Even the calligraphy and paintings on the walls were treasures coveted by collectors.

So much wealth.

Envy flickered in Lu Jianwei’s heart.

"Friend Shen, please come in." A deep, composed voice called out.

She followed the sound into the inner chamber.

A low table, two bamboo chairs.

Steam curled from the teapot on the table. A man sat on the left, dressed in loose robes, his posture relaxed. His hair was half-tied, and he turned slightly, gesturing with his right hand.

"Have a seat."

Now she saw his face clearly.

He appeared to be in his forties, with average features—neither handsome nor plain—clean-shaven and neatly kept.

Yet despite his ordinary appearance, the sheer presence he exuded was undeniable.

"Dou Ting said you were worried I’d resent your hospitality and insisted on seeing me in person," Lu Jianwei said, refusing to play along. "Now that we’ve met, I should be going. As for whether the hospitality was lacking—that depends on your own standards."

The man blinked, then admitted frankly, "That was just an excuse to bring you here."

Lu Jianwei ignored his attempt at conversation.

"It’s been years since I’ve met someone as bold as you," the man remarked, sipping his tea. "Aren’t you afraid at all?"

Lu Jianwei smirked. "Since you put it that way, meeting me must be the highlight of your life. Why should I be afraid?"

"Shen Shier. A good name."

"Flattery won’t help."

"Did you know? Two days ago, another ‘Shen Shier’ left this place. Many witnessed her departure. From now on, there’ll be no trace of you in the jianghu."

The pressure of an eighth-level Martial King bore down on her, the kindly facade giving way to bared fangs.

Lu Jianwei laughed softly. "I see."

Every martial artist who entered Guihe Residence met their end here.

Dou Ting had questioned her background back at Divine Physician Valley to confirm she had no powerful backers who’d seek justice if she vanished.

The "Shen Shier" who left two days ago was an imposter—someone disguised to create witnesses.

A nobody like her, disappearing after leaving Wenxian Town? Who’d care?

Even if friends or family noticed her absence, what clues could they possibly find?

The martial world was vast. People died mysteriously every day.

They’d assume "Shen Shier" met with misfortune after leaving Guihe Residence.

Her disappearance? Nothing to do with this place.

And she wasn’t the only one—that seemingly ordinary couple likely suffered the same fate.

Dou Ting and this eighth-level Martial King were clearly in league. But why kill so many martial artists?

Did Dou Ting dare lure "Lu Jianwei" into the valley because he had an eighth-level Martial King backing him?

But an eighth-level against a ninth-level—how could that possibly work?

The man studied her. "You’re clever. But clever people are often arrogant, and arrogance leads to ruin."

"I’d like to know the reason," Lu Jianwei said, smiling. "Surely you won’t deny me that?"

"I thought you’d ask for my name."

"Does it matter?"

"Don’t you want to know your killer’s name before you die?"

"The King of Hell will tell me. I just want to know—what do you gain from killing me?"

The man shook his head helplessly. "You're trying to stall for time, but unfortunately, there's no chance of rescue."

The internal energy of an Eighth-Level Martial King surged toward Lu Jianwei like a straight line, with not a single wisp spilling outward.

A warrior who had cultivated to the Eighth Level had mastery over their internal energy far beyond what a Sixth-Level Martial Master could achieve. Unless one was exceptionally gifted, a Sixth-Level Martial Master could hardly control their energy with such precision.

"Xiao Ke, the disguise prop."

Lu Jianwei's aura abruptly rose to the Ninth Level, her internal energy similarly condensed, forming an impenetrable shield that blocked the Eighth-Level Martial King's attack.

Three minutes—the disguise prop only lasted three minutes.

But it didn’t matter. Her account still had over ten million, more than enough to buy another. However, there was a purchase limit, and Lu Jianwei had no intention of wasting it on scum like this.

The man’s composed mask shattered completely.

How was this possible?!

How could she be at the Ninth Level?!

Only after ascending to the Ninth Level did Lu Jianwei sense the peculiarity in the man’s internal energy.

In that instant, realization struck.

She smiled meaningfully.

"Such impure energy."

The overwhelming pressure of a Ninth-Level Martial King pinned the man firmly to the ground.

With no energy leaking outward, those outside the courtyard remained oblivious to what was happening inside.

The man tried to cry for help, but a hand clamped around his throat, silencing him.

"I don’t care to know your name because it isn’t worthy of my ears."

"Ghk—"

Her nameless technique whirred into motion, forcibly drawing the man’s internal energy into her own meridians, where it settled into her dantian.

"Dou Ting’s 'Internal Energy Parasitism Syndrome'—it was researched for you, wasn’t it?"

"Ghk—"

"You need him to regulate your energy every month because you’ve absorbed too much chaotic energy and can’t refine it yourself, right?"

"Mm—"

Terror and despair widened the man’s eyes.

She was draining his energy!

How could she absorb another’s energy so effortlessly?

A sudden realization flashed in his mind—her identity was undeniable.

"You’re—"

"Clever." Lu Jianwei patted his cheek, smiling in mock praise. "When you reach the underworld, the King of Hell will confirm it for you."

Three minutes was short, but for the man, it felt endless.

The panic of losing his energy, the despair of impending death, the bitterness of years of effort benefiting another—it all consumed him.

The internal energy of an Eighth-Level Martial King was an excellent supplement. Though impure, it made no difference to Lu Jianwei.

Her level gauge skyrocketed, breaking through to the Seventh Level, then the Eighth.

But after reaching the Eighth Level, she distinctly felt a barrier—her progress could advance no further.

"Xiao Ke, what’s going on?"

Xiao Ke replied, "The technique isn’t omnipotent. The system has its limits."

"What limits?"

"Jianwei, your energy is rising too quickly. The system imposes hidden restrictions—until your martial skills and medical expertise reach the corresponding levels, you can’t take this shortcut anymore."

Lu Jianwei: "Understood."

She wasn’t too disappointed. Jumping from the Sixth to the Eighth Level was already a massive gain.

The system’s restrictions made sense.

When the three minutes ended, the disguise prop shattered completely.

Lu Jianwei felt no regret—she no longer needed it.

The man in her grasp had lost most of his energy, barely clinging to the Third Level. She forced a pill down his throat to suppress what little remained.

Outside the courtyard, Dou Ting still waited.

Just as she turned to leave, a faint sound came from the rooftop—so subtle only an Eighth-Level warrior or higher could detect it.

Another Eighth-Level?

Her energy condensed into an arrow, streaking toward the roof with lightning speed, only to be deflected before it could shatter the tiles.

Having just absorbed impure energy, Lu Jianwei wasn’t yet accustomed to wielding it smoothly.

She halted her attack.

The figure on the roof didn’t strike either.

The two stood in tense silence, their Eighth-Level energies clashing, distorting the very air between them.

No breath, no presence—even their blood seemed to freeze.

Lu Jianwei could have bought another disguise prop to intimidate the intruder with a Ninth-Level aura, but she refused.

Eighth-Level against Eighth-Level—who would lose was anyone’s guess.

The figure moved with ghostly grace, vanishing from the roof and reappearing at the rear window, where a blade pried open the shutters, its cold gleam blinding.

One stood outside the window, the other inside—mere feet apart.

A black robe obscured the scenery beyond, blotting out a sliver of sunlight.

They stared at each other in silence.

Lu Jianwei wore a disguise mask; the stranger wore an iron one. Neither could glimpse the other’s true face.

Had she not been part of this scene, Lu Jianwei might have laughed at its absurdity.

The stranger’s gaze lingered on her briefly before shifting to Shangguan He, crumpled on the floor.

In the blink of an eye, he vaulted through the window and stepped inside.

"Stop." Lu Jianwei spoke.

The intruder halted by the windowsill, motionless.

He was tall, clad in dark robes with gold-threaded embroidery at the collar and cuffs. A leather belt cinched his waist, from which hung an iron token stamped with the character "Mirror."

His identity was obvious.

Lu Jianwei flicked a teacup from the table toward him. Instinctively, he blocked with his blade—the cup shattered against the steel, scattering shards across the floor.

The noise went unnoticed by those outside.

Struggles from trapped prey were nothing new.

Lu Jianwei asked, "Who are you?"

"Mystic Mirror Bureau. Pei Zhi."

"Pei Zhi? Never heard of you."

"..."

"What do you want?"

"To apprehend a criminal."

"Who’s the criminal?"

"Shangguan He."

Lu Jianwei nudged the limp figure with her foot.

"Him?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

"The Wuzhou Ge Family." Pei Zhi paused. "He lured and murdered innocent martial artists."

Lu Jianwei raised a brow. The case had been solved quickly—how had they uncovered the killings?

"You’re taking him to the Mystic Mirror Bureau?"

"Yes."

"But he tried to kill me. As a victim, I don’t want him handed over."

"..."

"You called him 'Shangguan He'—is he from Luzhou Academy?"

"Yes."

Lu Jianwei narrowed her eyes. "How interesting."

A renowned physician from the Divine Doctor Valley and a noble from Luzhou Academy, colluding to prey on weaker martial artists and unsuspecting wanderers—it was truly appalling.

"His accomplice, Dou Ting, is outside. Bring him here."

Pei Zhi: "..."

After a silent beat, he leapt out the window.

Soon after, dull thuds echoed as servants and attendants of Guihe Residence were flung into the main courtyard like sacks—all immobilized, none daring to scream.

Lu Jianwei considered, then sealed Shangguan He’s acupoints as well. Gripping his hair, she dragged him unceremoniously toward the door.

At the threshold, the step proved too high for Shangguan He to clear.

"It’s not that the step is too high—you’re just not trying hard enough." Lu Jianwei spoke sagely. "Let’s see how many layers of skin you’ll scrape off before you make it through."

Shangguan He: "..."

His scalp was being ripped off—ahhhh!

An Eighth-Level Martial King’s skin was tough, and his back could endure grinding against the threshold. But his hair roots? Still fragile.

After relentless tugging, a clump of hair tore free from his scalp.

It stung a little.

But that wasn’t the real issue.

The real issue was—he was now bald.

Shangguan He felt so wretched he could die, his entire demeanor visibly crumbling into despair. He deeply regretted the decision he had made today.

Unable to free himself after repeated struggles, Lu Jianwei also grew impatient and decided to stop tormenting him. She kicked down the threshold and dragged him into the courtyard, laying him side by side with Dou Ting.

Pei Zhi hauled the last servant into the yard, followed by a married couple. The commotion at Guihe Residence had been so loud that the couple sensed something amiss. When they stepped out and saw Pei Zhi apprehending people, they realized a major incident had occurred and followed to investigate.

"Has everything been resolved?" Another figure flew in with light-footed agility. "How is the Disguise Heroine—"

The voice abruptly cut off.

Lu Jianwei chuckled. "Thief Liang, are you well acquainted with the Mystic Mirror Bureau?"

"Acquainted? Hardly!" Liang Shangjun waved dismissively. "After meeting you that day, I became quite interested in your disguise techniques and followed you here. Then, two days ago, I saw someone disguised as your current appearance leaving the residence. It seemed suspicious, so I reported it to the Mystic Mirror Bureau."

After all, they were the only ones enthusiastic about handling such matters.

Lu Jianwei didn’t press further and raised an eyebrow. "So, I should thank you for saving my life?"

"No need, no need! How could I dare claim to be your savior?" Liang Shangjun was sharp enough to recognize who truly held authority in this residence now.

"But if you’d be willing to exchange a few pointers on disguise techniques, I’d be more than happy."

Lu Jianwei: "..."

She ignored him and turned her gaze to a medicine servant, who lay stiffly in the courtyard after being acupunctured, his eyes brimming with sheer terror.

"Such a rare spectacle deserves a wider audience," Lu Jianwei said, tossing a pill toward Liang Shangjun. "Feed this to him."

Liang Shangjun obediently shoved the pill into the servant’s mouth and waited for it to dissolve before asking, "What is this?"

"Poison. Without an antidote within an hour, his organs will rupture, and he’ll vomit them out piece by piece."

Everyone: "..."

The medicine servant was on the verge of tears. He wanted to beg for mercy, but the acupuncture points kept him mute.

"I’m not actually going to kill you," Lu Jianwei said with a smile. "Once your acupoints are unsealed, rush back to the Divine Physician Valley immediately. Inform the physicians there that Dou Ting, in broad daylight, committed unspeakable acts against the master of Guihe Residence. A kind-hearted passerby witnessed this and intervened, outraged by the injustice. They’ve detained Dou Ting here to demand justice for the master. If they’re late, Physician Dou might not survive."

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"If you misreport even a single word, there will be no antidote," Lu Jianwei added ominously. "Of course, you could also choose to return to the valley and seek a cure—if you can find a physician to detoxify you within the hour, you’ll be free. Care to gamble?"

The servant: "Mmph! Mmph!"

No gamble! No gamble! Just unseal his acupoints—he’d sprint back to the Divine Physician Valley right now!

"Commander Pei, you sealed his acupoints. You undo them," Lu Jianwei said.

Pei Zhi flicked a copper coin, striking the servant’s acupoint. The servant shuddered violently, and the moment the seal lifted, he scrambled out of the courtyard in a frantic, stumbling rush.

Waiting for reinforcements would take time, and Lu Jianwei wasn’t one to sit idle. Her attention shifted to another man lying on the ground, who didn’t dare meet her eyes.

She tossed out a "Common Guest" pill and ordered, "Feed him first, then unseal his acupoints."

Liang Shangjun reflexively caught it, then froze.

How strange—why was he obeying so readily?

Wait, wasn’t this the "Common Guest"?!

Suddenly, it clicked. The familiarity of being ordered around—this "Disguise Heroine" was none other than Shopkeeper Lu!

Any thought of refusal vanished instantly.

What kind of sect did Shopkeeper Lu come from? Even her disguise skills were extraordinary.

Liang Shangjun obediently fed the pill, and Pei Zhi unsealed the man’s acupoints.

The man, realizing his internal energy had been suppressed, paled in shock, momentarily forgetting to stand.

"You were quite hospitable when welcoming guests the other day," Lu Jianwei remarked with a smile. "Pity I haven’t seen you since."

The fifth-rank servant snapped out of his daze and rasped, "In the martial world, only the 'Common Guest' can suppress internal energy. You’re Lu Jianwei. No—wait, you’re not disguised."

"So those shoddy disguise masks were your handiwork," Liang Shangjun sneered. "No wonder your discernment is so poor—I spotted the fakes at a glance."

"Who are you?" the servant demanded.

Liang Shangjun: "I’m your ancestor."

"I’m tired. Fetch me a chair and brew some tea," Lu Jianwei commanded without hesitation. "Unless you want your master diced into a thousand pieces, you’ll obey."

The servant: "..."

His gaze involuntarily flicked to Shangguan He, whose scalp was scraped raw and bleeding, his entire appearance a far cry from the dignity of an eighth-rank Martial King.

How had it come to this?

This was an eighth-rank Martial King!

Resigned, the servant retrieved a chair from the house, placed it in the corridor, then brought out a low table and tea set, expertly brewing tea with practiced ease.

The aroma soon filled the courtyard.

The married couple, having watched everything unfold, remained baffled.

The woman cautiously asked, "Heroine Shen, what exactly is happening?"

"No rush. Once everyone arrives, all will become clear."

Lu Jianwei settled into the chair, leisurely sipping her tea.

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Her nameless cultivation technique circulated within her, steadily absorbing and refining the internal energy she had just siphoned. The power of an eighth-rank practitioner grew increasingly stable.

The realm of a Martial King was truly extraordinary.

Her senses had amplified severalfold. If she willed it, she could hear every sound within miles of Guihe Residence, see each feather on the sparrows perched on branches, even catch the delicate fragrance of magnolias from the eastern end of town.

And if the clamor grew too much, she could shut off her senses at will, undisturbed by the outside world.

The cultivation levels, expressions, and slightest movements of everyone in the courtyard were laid bare before her—all except one.

Pei Zhi, Commander of the Mystic Mirror Bureau, had made a name for himself at thirteen. Sixteen years later, no one in the martial world had ever seen his true face.

Low-profile and enigmatic.

A twenty-nine-year-old eighth-rank Martial King—his talent was indeed peerless.

"Xiao Ke, you mentioned level restrictions earlier. What’s the specifics?" Lu Jianwei asked. "The martial techniques you sold me cap at seventh-rank, and the medical scriptures’ grading system differs from internal energy."

Xiao Ke: "Eighth-rank is already considered a top-tier expert in the martial world. Unless a ninth-rank Martial King or grandmaster appears, your life is no longer in danger. But your martial techniques and medical skills are still lagging behind."

"Here’s a question," Lu Jianwei said. "Now that I’m this powerful, if I subtly hinted for others to send me tributes regularly, I could probably save up enough for the return ticket home pretty quickly, right? Why bother honing martial techniques and medicine?"

"..." Xiao Ke fell silent for a moment before replying, "Why would anyone send you tributes?"

"To curry favor, obviously."

"Currying favor requires benefits in return. If they gain nothing from you, what’s the point?" Xiao Ke argued. "If you simply strong-arm them, the tributes won’t count as legitimate income and can’t be used to purchase dimensional travel items."

Lu Jianwei: "So, I still have to run a shop to earn money?"

"Correct."

"Another question—Dou Ting and Shangguan He tried to harm me. If I confiscate their assets as punishment, does that count as legitimate income?"

"Not just you—other victims are also entitled to compensation."

"That goes without saying."

Given the wealth-gathering abilities of an eighth-level Martial King and a sixth-level Physician, their assets were undoubtedly substantial—a fact evident just from the furnishings in the main hall.

She sat beneath the corridor eaves, remaining there for the better part of two hours.

It wasn't until the sun reached its zenith that commotion finally arose outside.