Conjuring Friends from Nothing
1606 Words
On the longevity hall’s desk, the candlelight burned bright, its flame twisting like a golden serpent.
“Inner energy?” Cao Chengyun stared into the candle’s glow, his tone laced with curiosity. “Brother Yue, you’re well-traveled—do you recognize which branch of Taiping Sect’s martial arts this belongs to?”
Brother Yue shook his head.
“I know little of the Taiping Sect,” he said. “But I’ve heard that in the lands between Yangtong and Subi, there’s a martial art called the Burning Wood Finger Technique. It resembles what this person just used.”
“Yangtong?”
Cao Chengyun murmured, “So it’s a martial art from the Western Qiang region.”
His thoughts were interrupted by a clear, confident voice.
“The old master is blessed by the heavens. His fate chart foretold a great calamity, but now, with his natal star god manifested before him, the misfortune has already been dispelled.”
Zhou Yi spoke to the elder, Cao Ruinian, yet his gaze shifted toward a corner of the hall.
Naturally, the old man followed his eyes.
There was neither wind nor rain today, and the longevity hall was enclosed by high walls. The candles shouldn’t have flickered out unless something had disturbed them.
Cao Ruinian cast a glance in that direction—expression calm, eyes sharp.
West River Hunyuan Sect—Wu Guanlan.
He was an old fox; when he looked back at Zhou Yi, clarity dawned in his heart.
The Cao family was caught between two powers—offending either side would bring trouble.
Cao Ruinian waved his hand, and his steward promptly brought forth a larger jade tray.
“My fate has been ill in my twilight years,” he said mildly. “Today, thanks to the Celestial Master’s aid, I’ve been granted a few more days of peace. This humble gift is but a token of my gratitude.”
Xia Shu hesitated—unsure whether to accept—but she knew it would be improper to refuse in front of everyone.
Stealing a glance at her senior brother’s face, she instantly understood. Taking a step forward, she accepted the heavier tray in Zhou Yi’s stead.
The Hunyuan Sect ruled the Yongqiu region like local lords. Though the Cao family’s wealth made them unafraid, Cao Ruinian was no reckless youth—he preferred to turn major conflicts into minor ones.
“Gentlemen, please, take your seats!”
Following the old man’s cue, the steward smiled and beckoned everyone back to the banquet.
Firecrackers burst again outside; warmth and cheer returned, as if the earlier disturbance had never happened.
Because of Zhou Yi’s brief display of Taiping magic, many eyes still lingered on him with intrigue.
But—whatever the curiosity—first came food.
Wine flowed; meat and vegetables alike were devoured without restraint.
Seated with the Cao family’s younger generation were two familiar merchants from Gaoyangji, and several cousins from Kaoxing and Chuqiu.
One of them, Ji Jing’an, owned a martial arts hall and had brought his daughter, Ji Niantao. The father and daughter were the most enthusiastic toward Zhou Yi, often bringing up weapons and martial techniques—their interest in Taiping Dao’s skills was plain.
Unfortunately…
Though Zhou Yi had studied many manuals in the training hall, most were common techniques—insufficient to impress seasoned fighters like the Jis.
As the longevity feast drew to a close, the Cao family escorted Zhou Yi out.
Ji Jing’an and his daughter also rose to leave.
“Father,” Ji Niantao said softly, “I don’t think this Celestial Master Zhou’s martial ability is that impressive.”
Ji Jing’an pondered for a moment. “Every craft has its specialty. Perhaps he’s not versed in spears or staves—but even so, he could converse freely with us over drinks. Doesn’t that show his composure?”
“Father always overestimates people,” she muttered. “You raise others while diminishing yourself.”
She cast a skeptical glance toward the candle still burning in the longevity hall. “To me, his displayed power doesn’t match his supposed insight. Stage tricks are common—wasn’t even the emperor in the Eastern Capital deceived by a charlatan recently?”
Ji Jing’an chuckled. “It’s good to have such caution.”
Then his tone grew serious.
“But remember this—the martial world is dangerous. Never underestimate those you don’t fully understand. One misstep could cost your life.”
Ji Niantao was about to argue when a commotion erupted outside the main gate.
“Come, let’s have a look.”
Father and daughter hurried out—only to see someone blocking the path in the courtyard.
And the one being blocked was none other than the young Celestial Master of Taiping Dao.
Ji Niantao’s eyes lit up—not with anger, but with eager curiosity. She tugged her father closer to watch.
“Celestial Master Zhou, wait!” The man blocking the way was Elder Wu Guanlan of the Hunyuan Sect.
Zhou Yi looked calmly at the square-faced elder.
This confrontation was inevitable—he had expected it.
He stepped forward to meet it head-on. “Elder Wu, what do you want?”
Wu Guanlan raised his voice first: “A disciple of my sect went missing near Mount Fuzishan. I expect an explanation from you, Celestial Master Zhou!”
“Is that so?” Zhou Yi didn’t look at Wu, but instead turned to the two young Taoist attendants beside him.
Yan Qiu shook his head. “Senior brother, we didn’t see anyone from Hunyuan Sect. But a few days ago, two thieves snuck up the mountain—one was chased off by the temple disciples, the other fell from the back cliff. Later, we discovered they had poisoned the water source.”
Xia Shu blinked innocently at Wu Guanlan. “Elder Wu, was the one who fell your sect’s disciple?”
The onlookers began to whisper among themselves. Wu’s face turned the color of iron.
Zhou Yi spoke smoothly:
“Elder Wu, tonight we are both guests of the Cao family. If there’s a misunderstanding, you can come to our temple to discuss it. To stir trouble here would be discourteous.”
The Cao retainers turned their gaze on Wu Guanlan; several were visibly angry.
Cao Chengyun was about to step forward, but Brother Yue quietly pulled him back.
Wu glared at Zhou Yi, realizing he was in the wrong.
Then the short, thin man beside him reacted first, laughing boisterously.
“Celestial Master Zhou jests! We rough men of the martial world speak bluntly. The Cao family is of noble standing, filled with learned scholars of poetry and ritual—surely they won’t stoop to our level.”
“Oh?”
Zhou Yi lightly adjusted his sleeve, having already noticed this man. “And you are?”
The man’s eyes glinted with malice. His tone was low and cold. “Baling Gang’s Dongting Incense Master—Lai Changming.”
At the name, several people in the Cao residence frowned.
The Baling Gang, entrenched around Lake Dongting, was one of the eight great gangs and ten societies of the realm. Vast in power, they ran gambling dens and brothels, gathered intelligence, and walked freely between black and white paths.
But their reputation was foul—they trafficked women and were despised by all decent folk.
They survived only by brute strength.
And in these chaotic times, few dared to oppose them.
All eyes turned to Zhou Yi.
He frowned, contempt plain on his face, and raised his voice:
“So this is the great ‘hero’ of the martial world—merely a filthy vermin who trades in women’s misery!
Incense Master Lai, this is not Baling. If you think to prey upon women here, then not just the other sects—even my Taiping Dao—will not forgive you!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“Father, this man truly hates evil,” Ji Niantao whispered. Ji Jing’an motioned for her to be silent.
“You—!”
The short man flared like a powder keg—never expecting this Taoist to tear through all pretense and shame him publicly.
It was the Baling Gang’s first encounter with Taiping Dao, and Zhou Yi had just ripped away their mask. Such humiliation could only breed enmity.
Still—
Lai Changming, though seething, exchanged a quick glance with Wu Guanlan.
Why is this Taiping priest so confident? he thought. Could Jiaowuzi be nearby?
Calm. He had to stay calm.
The two didn’t strike immediately.
Wu Guanlan feigned restraint, giving Lai an excuse to back down, and turned with a forced smile:
“Celestial Master Zhou, don’t misunderstand. Incense Master Lai came to Yongqiu to pay respects to your teacher, Jiaowuzi.”
“No need,” Zhou Yi cut him off coldly. “My master has gone out visiting friends—he’s not at the temple.”
“Oh? And which friend might that be? When will he return?” Wu asked casually, but there was calculation behind it.
Zhou Yi almost laughed aloud—of course they wanted information.
Suddenly, he recalled what Jiaowuzi had told him before leaving: ‘In the martial world, your identity is what you make of it.’
Meeting Wu Guanlan’s eyes, Zhou Yi said evenly,
“My master has gone north to visit the Wanderer Ning. As for when he’ll return—there’s no telling.”
Wu froze, blank for a moment.
“Ning… the Wanderer?” he muttered—then, as realization struck, his entire face drained of color.
- Writer
