Brother Song, who had been sleeping on the other side, stretched long and deep before sitting upright. “What happened? Young Master Chenxin’s not here?”
“Didn’t see him since early this morning. Wonder where he’s run off to,” Lu Tianyang muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Perhaps he snuck out to meet some woman,” he added with a grin that needed no explanation.
Brother Song let out a knowing chuckle. The two finished tidying themselves, stepped outside, and found the camp already stirring. A few others were up and about, and by the ox-cart, Lu Quanan stood directing two soldiers as they hefted supplies.
He turned sharply when he saw them. “You’re here. Where’s Chenxin? Where’s that lad run off to?”
Lu Tianyang scratched his head, baffled. “Er… he should be somewhere nearby. I haven’t seen him since I woke up.”
Off to the side, Brother Song suddenly roared, his voice cracking through the morning air. “Dongzi! Little Lin! Where are they? Where have they disappeared to?!” His expression darkened as he stood before the bonfire, now cold and lifeless.
“I told those two monkeys to keep watch through the night—but the fire’s dead! Not even a spark left! Those bastards!” He kicked at the ashes in fury.
The guards exchanged troubled glances. No one spoke, but the tension in their eyes said enough—they all knew Dongzi and Little Lin were responsible.
Brother Song scanned the faces around him. “Who has seen Little Lin?” His tone was cutting.
Heads shook in unison.
“Haven’t seen him this morning. Maybe he went to take a wee-wee?” someone joked.
“NONSENSE!” Brother Song snapped, glaring at the Lu family dependents nearby. They were city guards—people directly tied to the Second-in-Command of the garrison. If this disgrace reached his ears…
“Find him! Don’t stand around doing nothing!”
Meanwhile, Lu Quanan had begun his own search. He paced the perimeter several times, anxiety tightening his brows. No matter what troublemaker Lu Chenxin might be, he was still his son.
Both groups scoured the area, calling out names and checking every possible corner. Yet the camp remained silent. Three men—alive and well the night before—had vanished without leaving even a footprint behind.
A knot of unease tightened in Lu Tianyang’s chest. Moving quietly, he slipped over to Zhang Xiuxiu.
“Xiu Xiu, did Chenxin come looking for you last night?”
“No. I slept straight through. I didn’t wake up at all,” Zhang Xiuxiu replied, though her face had grown noticeably pale. She, too, sensed something was wrong.
Lu Tianyang’s panic rose. All around them, people were calling out in every direction, overturning crates and peering into shadows, but no answer came—not even an echo.
Sweat beaded along Lu Quanan’s brow. He sent men fanning out across the entire area, tearing through brush and checking every nook and cranny, yet still they found nothing.
Brother Song rushed over. “Old Master, we can’t find them!” He relayed the report from his subordinates without delay.
“Can’t find them…” Lu Quanan murmured. His eyes swept across the small village, and an oppressive stillness pressed down on his shoulders, as though the place were shrouded beneath an unseen veil.
“This won’t do. It’s too dangerous to stay here. We need to leave immediately.”
“But the three who went missing…” Second Mother Liu Cuiyu’s voice trembled.
“We’ll leave first, then send a search party back. We can’t all remain here!” Urgency edged Lu Quanan’s words. In a world riddled with unseen threats, he could not risk losing everyone in one blow.
Third Mother Wang Yanyu stepped forward, distressed. “Old Master, we still haven’t found Chenxin. We can’t go yet!”
“I’m not abandoning him,” Lu Quanan said firmly. “I’m moving everyone to safety first. Then I’ll return to search. We’ll leave a sign for Little Three so he’ll know where we’ve gone.”
Even as he spoke, his jaw tightened. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his third son, but the situation had become unnervingly strange. The two men on sentry duty weren’t weaklings—they were strong, seasoned guards. Yet they had vanished without so much as a sound.
Nothing about this was normal.
A creeping suspicion dawned on him: whatever trouble lurked here, they were already entangled in it.
“Old Master…” Wang Yanyu pleaded again.
“We must leave! Now!” Lu Quanan commanded, his voice ringing with finality.
Under the direction of Brother Song and Lu Quanan, the group quickly gathered into formation. Ox carts and horse carts creaked into motion as they departed the abandoned village, moving at a steady, determined pace.
Lu Quanan made a point to leave behind a horse, along with food and water, setting them neatly beside the village well—the most conspicuous spot in the entire place. Anyone entering the village would see it immediately.
As he stepped back, a heaviness settled over him. To be lost in this barren wilderness… he knew, deep within, that the signs were ominous. The three men could not have gone far in terrain like this. And if they were close—close enough to hear the frantic shouts of dozens—and still did not appear…
Then something truly terrible must have happened.
Though his chest tightened with pain, he could not allow grief to cloud his judgment. He was responsible for the safety of everyone under his care, and he could not jeopardize the lives of the many for the sake of a few.
…………
At the Crimson Whale.
Inside the vast meeting hall, the old Sect Master, Chen Ying, several External and Internal Affairs Emissaries, and Lu Sheng were gathered. At daybreak, the old Sect Master had sent word summoning every high-ranking member of the sect, and now they sat in orderly silence, none knowing the reason for this sudden meeting.
Lu Sheng occupied the sixth External Affairs Emissary seat—the seat once belonging to Wu San.
Cool morning light streamed through the stained glass windows, scattering distorted patterns of color across the polished floor. Servant girls hurried about with trays of steaming tea and freshly made cakes, setting them down before slipping away.
The old Sect Master swept his gaze over the room, his expression stern enough to silence even the faintest whisper.
“Alright, those who have no business here, leave.”
At his gesture, all the servant girls bowed and departed. The heavy main doors thudded shut behind them, sealing the hall in a deep, weighted stillness. With the lesser staff gone, only the high ranks of the Crimson Whale Sect remained.
A subtle tension thickened the air. Every man present could see that something was troubling the old Sect Master.
Chen Ying’s brows knitted together. “Just what has happened?”
Another Emissary leaned forward slightly. “Sect Master, has there been movement in the North?”
“No. The matter lies within our own territories. There’s been a problem,” the old Sect Master replied, his voice grave. From his sleeve, he carefully drew out a silver-colored letter—its surface metallic, gleaming faintly. It was no ordinary missive, but one forged from a strange, silver-toned gold.
Hong Mingzi spoke quietly, yet his words sent a chill through the hall. “Everyone here knows who stands behind Crimson Whale Sect. This message came directly from them.”
Chen Ying stiffened. His thick fingers curled tightly around the arms of his seat. “A message from them? Ten years ago, the last time they sent word, over a thousand of our sect members died. And now… they’ve sent news again…” His face darkened, the memory clearly bitter.
Lu Sheng’s eyes narrowed into a thin, sharp line.
“The Noble Family—Zhen Family,” the old Sect Master, Hong Mingzi, answered.
Noble Family…
The words struck Lu Sheng like a blow. The weight behind that title was immense.
The room shifted into a heavy silence. Only those at their level understood what that name represented. Every face in the hall darkened with solemnity.
Elder Wang exhaled slowly. “The Zhen Family rarely shows themselves. If they’ve stepped forward… it means the situation has reached its breaking point. Don’t tell me that now…”
“The situation is indeed extremely dire,” Hong Mingzi said, his tone grave. “I received the report only moments ago. In the Northern lands—from Xichuan Manor to Donglin Manor—within all territories under Crimson Whale Sect… in a single night, eight forbidden zones have appeared.”
“EIGHT FORBIDDEN ZONES?!” Chen Ying shot to his feet, eyes bulging in disbelief.
The hall erupted. Murmurs, gasps, incredulous exclamations—everyone was shaken.
A forbidden zone was no trivial matter. The Song Manor, where Lu Sheng had previously been injured, was one such place—a newly formed one at that. The northern territories were vast, and even before this incident, they already housed several known forbidden zones. For eight more to appear overnight… it meant that at any moment, an unsuspecting person could wander into a death trap without warning.
Whether they survived—or vanished without a trace—would be left entirely to fortune.
Lu Sheng felt his muscles tighten. He could sense the enormity of the crisis. He shifted slightly, listening with complete focus as the old Sect Master continued.
“The Zhen Family considers this a direct provocation,” Hong Mingzi went on. “They have already dispatched specialists to handle the situation. The Nobleman they sent is Zhen Xun. He requests that we manage the aftermath of the eight new forbidden zones and fully cooperate to prevent widespread panic.”
“Just he alone would be able to settle it?” Chen Ying asked, uncertainty knitting his brows.
Hong Mingzi shook his head. “Young Master Zhen Xun is the only one directly sent by the Zhen Family. However, as is customary, he will take charge while others are dispatched under him. With eight locations to manage, he couldn’t possibly handle all the traveling alone.” He lifted the silver letter. “These are the details on the eight forbidden zones—everyone, take a look.”
He passed the missive to Chen Ying, who read it quickly before handing it to the next person. One by one, it moved down the line until it reached Lu Sheng.
Lu Sheng carefully unfolded it.
The letter contained a map of the northern territories, and on it were eight small red dots—each marking the location of a newly formed forbidden zone.
As he traced them with his eyes, one dot in particular caught his attention.
“There’s also a forbidden zone between Nine Links City and Mountain-Edge City?” he asked, unable to contain his surprise.
“Yes,” Hong Mingzi replied. “Junior Apprentice Brother, you should inform your family to take a detour and avoid that region.”
Lu Sheng nodded, his expression darkening. This was the first time he was formally encountering a Nobleman—Duanmu Wan not included. He still had no clear grasp of what truly separated them from ordinary people or even from seasoned martial artists.
But perhaps, through this incident, he might finally understand what lay at the heart of that difference.
Once the situation had been fully explained, the old Sect Master began assigning responsibilities, designating which members would oversee the aftermath surrounding each of the newly formed forbidden zones.
Lu Sheng received a task as well. Perhaps out of consideration for him, he was assigned to the forbidden zone located between Nine Links City and Mountain-Edge City.
After the meeting adjourned, Lu Sheng immediately selected his men and prepared the horses. He gathered a total of twenty subordinates—twenty-one including himself. Five were Strength Proficiency experts from the Soaring Eagle Squad, while the rest were seasoned, elite saber masters. Mounting up, twenty riders on twenty horses surged out of the Crimson Whale Sect at full speed.
He was determined to witness for himself what truly set the Noblemen apart from ordinary humans.
Their horses thundered across the terrain without pause, not stopping even once to rest. By the time the sun stood high overhead, nearing noon, Lu Sheng finally arrived at the outskirts of the forbidden zone.
…………
In the abandoned village.
After Lu Quanan’s group had departed, the sun edged toward its zenith. Near noon, the quiet settlement by the main road welcomed an unexpected visitor.
Beneath a sky heavy with gray clouds, a pitch-black horse moved at a leisurely trot into the empty village.
Seated atop it was a young man—a gentle-looking Young Master whose smile seemed carved permanently onto his face.
“Is this the place?” he murmured, the unchanging smile still fixed in place.
He wore simple green robes and carried no weapon—no blade, no metal ornamentation of any kind. Aside from a single piece of dark green jade hanging at his waist, his appearance was plain, almost understated.
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