After gathering what information he could about the Crimson Whale Sect’s bases and internal structure, Lu Sheng left the cemetery.
The next morning, he stepped out for a stroll, intent on taking a look at the sect’s main base. He made his way through a bustling street, where one of the largest shops in the city was holding what they called a “gifting” event—something akin to a promotion.
A crowd of children had gathered at the store’s entrance. A wooden platform stood there, upon which a man shouted energetically, drawing the attention of passers-by. Lu Sheng only cast a brief glance and was ready to walk on.
But as he moved past the platform, he noticed that many people in the crowd were clothed in rags, thin as sticks.
Mountain-Edge City has always been prosperous… I’ve never seen this many refugees wandering the streets. Where did they all come from?
He ignored the merchant’s loud spiel and instead observed the people more closely. Their faces were hollow, their eyes dull, stripped of any spark. They lingered near the platform simply hoping for a scrap of food to keep themselves alive a while longer.
Lu Sheng continued down the street. Ahead, another cluster of people had formed, talking in hushed but animated tones. Curious, he slipped through the crowd.
At the center was a couple, both gaunt and poorly clothed, kneeling on the cold ground. A little girl of only three or four stood beside them, silent and expressionless. Hanging from the couple’s necks was a strip of bark, upon which a crude charcoal drawing of a string of coins had been sketched.
The woman looked up, tears streaking her dirt-smudged face. “Please… have mercy. Our daughter is only three. She’s a good child… please, if someone could spare a bit of food…”
The little girl simply stood there, staring blankly, as if too tired or too young to understand.
Lu Sheng frowned as he pushed his way free from the crowded street. As he continued further in, the sight before him repeated again and again—parents offering their own children for sale. The little ones, barely able to speak, clung to their mothers’ sleeves, their eyes vacant with fear and hunger.
Where did all these refugees come from? he wondered, a heaviness settling in his chest.
He walked on, counting at least five families in similar despair. Each scene seemed to press more weight onto his heart. In all his time since arriving in this world, he had never witnessed suffering laid so bare. Just how desperate must one be to sell their own flesh and blood?
After a long, silent walk, he returned to the building where his rented apartment was located. Even outside the winery on the first floor, a young woman knelt on the cold ground. She was trying to speak, but her accent made her words clumsy and difficult to understand. Anyone who passed could read her meaning, though—the plea in her eyes was unmistakable.
Lu Sheng’s gaze shifted to the waiter from the winery, who was standing nearby and observing the scene with a troubled expression. Lu Sheng approached him.
“Why are there so many refugees in the city lately? Did something happen outside?”
Seeing that it was the young patron from upstairs, the waiter quickly bowed.
“In response to Young Master’s question, there has been a severe drought in Yun Province,” the waiter explained with a weary sigh. “Food ran out, and countless people were forced to flee. They say the number of those who starved on the road is already equal to a tenth of Mountain-Edge City’s entire population. Truly tragic…”
He paused, shaking his head.
“At first, the city gates refused to let them in. But later, seeing how pitiful the situation was, the old master in the yamen relented and allowed entry. Even then, the number here is considered small. In the Central Plains, many cities are already suffering from hyperinflation because of the refugee overflow.”
“Oh… Yun Province,” Lu Sheng murmured.
He knew the name—it referred to the vast region west of the Central Plains. But he had not imagined the drought was so devastating. For these ordinary families to make it this far, countless must have fallen along the way, their bones scattered along the long, burning road of flight.
The waiter leaned closer, glancing around before speaking in a lowered voice.
“Yes… rumor has it… demons and devils caused the chaos in Yun Province. Just look at the weather. When have we ever seen ten days of hail, followed by months of scorching drought?”
“Ten days of hail? Months of drought?” Lu Sheng’s brows drew together in confusion.
The waiter nodded eagerly, unable to contain himself.
“They say the hail was the size of eggs! After that—eight or nine months without a single drop of rain. Tsk, tsk… truly miserable. I even heard some villages resorted to eating human flesh.”
Lu Sheng’s heart tightened. Hail the size of eggs… eight to nine months of drought… In his original world, even three months without rain would be considered a severe drought. For an entire province to endure such extremes, crops must have withered completely, and even drinking water would have become impossible to find. It was no surprise Yun Province had fallen into ruin.
The waiter leaned closer again, lowering his voice further.
“They say that whenever it seemed like rain was coming—when the sky was full of dark clouds—something strange would happen. A whirlpool forming in the air, or thunder crashing without lightning… and then the clouds would simply scatter.”
Lu Sheng listened silently, then made his way back upstairs, his mind still heavy with shock.
Ten days of hail, followed by months of drought—such phenomena violated every known law of nature. After living in this world for so long, he understood it closely resembled ancient China: old customs, old seasons, old rhythms. Only one thing differed—the very real existence of demons, devils, ghosts, and monsters.
Weather that defies the natural order… such a thing must have been caused by a force beyond the mortal realm, he thought. His instincts told him the drought was tied to something supernatural.
Returning inside, he found Little Qiao sewing by the window. When she saw him, she immediately stood.
“Young Master, you’ve returned. Shall I prepare bathwater?”
“No need. How much money do we have left?” Lu Sheng asked in an offhand tone.
“About twenty-one taels,” Little Qiao replied quickly, her voice small with embarrassment.
Lu Sheng fell silent. That amount was pitiful. His thoughts drifted to the possibility of borrowing silver from Song Zhenguo or Chen Jiaorong. He also considered selling the white jade chimera gifted by Chen Jiaorong—an exquisite treasure worth a small fortune. And the purple jade hairpin… though he had already absorbed the Yin Qi within it, the material itself remained valuable.
But those would only be temporary solutions. His brows lowered as he ate. It’s better to follow through with the plan I had before. If it works, I might be able to establish a foothold here in Mountain-Edge City for the Lu family.
The dishes Little Qiao served were purchased from the restaurant next door. The flavors were good, warm and comforting. She stood at his side, pouring wine, speaking with him softly between bites.
“How long before the results are announced?” Lu Sheng asked after a moment.
“In about a month. When the Institution posts the notice, Qiao’er will make sure to keep watch,” she replied promptly.
“Good. Just don’t forget. I’ll be busy with some matters in the coming days. Be careful when you’re here alone. With so many refugees entering the city, some of them may not have good intentions.”
“Qiao’er understands,” she answered obediently.
After finishing his meal, Lu Sheng stepped out once more. He had already scouted out the Crimson Whale Sect’s bases earlier that morning. With noon now past, only one question remained—how exactly he would gain entry into the sect.
He lifted a hand to stop a passing horse carriage and climbed aboard, letting it carry him through the city at an unhurried pace.
Before long, he arrived before the Golden Seal Casino.
Its name was gaudy, but fitting. The entrance itself was shaped like a massive, gleaming golden seal—square, imposing, impossible to miss.
Lu Sheng stepped down from the carriage, producing a gold-threaded folding fan. He snapped it open with a practiced motion, the gesture casual yet refined.
Then, at a steady pace, he walked with the crowd through the towering entrance of the casino.
The moment Lu Sheng stepped inside, the air shifted—thick with noise, sweat, and excitement. The clatter of dice, the slap of cards, and the rising shouts of gamblers melded into a chaotic roar. Tables large and small filled the hall, each surrounded by clusters of men caught in the heat of their wagers, their voices hoarse from shouting their luck into existence.
Lu Sheng spared them only a passing glance. He had no interest in gambling. His eyes moved instead toward the back of the casino, where a ruddy-faced middle-aged man stood quietly, observing the commotion with a detached expression. His clothes were no different from the bouncers around him, yet there was a gravity in the way he stood that set him apart.
This was Zhao Jie—the one who oversaw the Golden Seal Casino. More importantly, he was the person one needed to speak to when seeking entry into the Crimson Whale Sect.
Lu Sheng approached him unhurriedly. Zhao Jie noticed his presence, raising a brow in curiosity.
“Brother, why come all the way back here instead of trying your luck?” Zhao Jie asked casually. The table he leaned against held no game; it served simply as a resting spot.
Lu Sheng smiled lightly.
“I am a student of the Eastern Mountain Institution. I wish to join the Crimson Whale Sect. Can you make an introduction?”
Zhao Jie blinked, caught completely off guard.
“A student of the Eastern Mountain Institution?” he echoed, unsure he had heard correctly.
In all his years with the sect, he had never seen an Institution scholar request to join of his own accord. The Crimson Whale Sect may have been powerful, but students of the Institution usually aimed to become dignified officials, not men bound to the regulations and risks of a sect. Those who entered were either well-connected elites or were forced in by special circumstances—rarely out of personal choice.
Recovering from his surprise, Zhao Jie’s expression grew more cautious. He studied Lu Sheng from head to toe.
“If you claim to be a student of the Institution, do you have proof?”
Lu Sheng smiled and retrieved the nameplate issued by the Eastern Mountain Institution. It bore a large engraved character for “East,” and beneath it, the smaller character “Lu.” The yellow-bronze plate had a satisfying weight to it. Fine floral engravings lined its surface—delicate craftsmanship that made counterfeiting nearly impossible.
When Zhao Jie saw it, his expression shifted. No ordinary person could acquire such a token. Forging one would require the skill of official craftsmen, and such craftsmen were forbidden from taking private commissions—any violation meant execution.
Zhao Jie nodded, now fully convinced.
“Why do you want to join us?” he asked. Most who came to the Crimson Whale Sect were commoners—merchants, laborers, men with no backing. But this young man clearly came from a stable and educated background. There was no practical need for him to bind himself to a sect.
Lu Sheng answered without hesitation.
“I have heard that the Crimson Whale Sect is the foremost sect in the northern lands—that its experts are many, and its martial arts are unmatched. I want to learn the strongest skills, so I wish to join.”
“Ah, for the martial arts, then.” Zhao Jie understood now. And what the boy said was not wrong—the Crimson Whale Sect’s techniques were indeed unrivaled in the region; no family, guild, or clan could compare.
He gestured toward a small door to the right.
“Very well. Come with me and register your name, age, and abilities.”
Then, with a slight pause, he added a reminder:
“But know this first—the sect’s martial arts are stored in the Martial Proclamation Library. To gain entry, we must evaluate your strength, as well as your contributions to the sect.”
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