Chapter 19: Schemes and Toasts

Dark Five was swift.
In just the time it takes an incense stick to burn, he gathered all the information Zong Ji requested about Si Ming.
He stood respectfully, awaiting the Hall Master’s response.

Zong Ji was pleased.
It gave him the vibe of stepping off a helicopter atop the Empire State Building, barking orders like a domineering CEO: “I want his full profile in three minutes” or “It’s getting chilly—time to bankrupt Si Ming” XD.

He skimmed Si Ming’s file.
It clearly detailed the new scholar’s disdain for power, emphasizing his unyielding spirit.
The jade slip even included a colorful, animated half-portrait—thorough and crystal clear.

Good. Very good.

In the market, this kid had boasted loudly, posing as the Dark Hall’s next hope, his words fervent.
He left onlookers with a glowing impression of the Dark Hall’s justice.

But he was just borrowing the Dark Hall’s name for clout, playing tiger with borrowed fur to seem backed.

Hmph. The Dark Hall’s name wasn’t so easily used, even for good deeds.
Daring to fool Zong Ji came with a price.
Bad luck for this kid, running into the Dark Hall Master himself.

Zong Ji flashed a demon sect-worthy sneer, setting the file down.

“This Si Ming angered Tutor Luo. His official career’s likely done.
Send a few people to watch him.
When he’s packing his bags, down and out, recruit him.”

“As you command.”

Zong Ji had a keen eye for people.

The Carefree Journey’s original text was short.
When it flopped online, he cut parts of the outline, rushing to end it.
Now, with its plot exhausted, the world’s future was anyone’s guess.

Si Ming wasn’t among the few side characters Zong Ji wrote.
He might be a background figure or a native born from the world’s fusion.

But his defiance of power, refusal to conform, and courage to expose corruption impressed Zong Ji.
He wanted to recruit him.

Still, some discipline was in order.
If Si Ming joined the Dark Hall, Zong Ji would make him copy the code of conduct twenty times.

Time flew.
The Twelfth Prince’s mansion buzzed all day, preparing for the evening’s palace banquet.

At dusk, Baijing City glowed with lanterns, casting a warm light across the sky.
Blooming petals turned fiery, blending with the blazing sunset clouds.

“Your Highness, His Excellency the Saint…”

A line of carriages stood ready before the prince’s mansion.
The Twelfth Prince, in ornate royal robes, waited personally, craning his neck.
As time dragged, some dim-witted aides grumbled.

Mainly, the Saint’s attitude seemed too dismissive.
They’d waited nearly several incense sticks’ time without seeing so much as his sleeve.

“Silence!”

Dong Twelve’s face hardened, sharply rebuking them.

“Who is His Excellency the Saint?
He’s only here out of courtesy to lend me a hand.”

He’d fed the Dark Hall plenty of intel.
If he could secure the Saint’s aid, it’d be a massive win.

All cultivators worshipped strength, and next year was the Eastern Kingdom’s decennial royal selection.

Over years of reform, the system had evolved—outside help was now allowed, to an extent.

Normally, the kingdom rarely snagged Saint-tier big shots.
Such figures valued their reputation, avoiding political entanglements for minor gains, lest scholars criticize.

But if not a Saint-tier, a few ninth-tier powerhouses were still a coup.
Zong Ji, the world’s greatest, was a walking billboard.
After tonight, word would spread, and allies would flock to the Twelfth Prince.

Frankly, learning the Dark Hall Master had sent his close friend was already a thrilling surprise for Dong Twelve.
This deal was a steal.

“Let’s go.”

As an aide paled, stammering apologies, a hatted figure appeared like a ghost, holding a glowing lantern.
He stood in the eaves’ shadow, gold threads on his robes glinting as if rolling onto the stone path.

Zong Ji wasn’t one to break promises.
He had no interest in meddling, but attending the banquet to let Dong Twelve borrow his clout was fine.

The Eastern Kingdom’s palace was grand, with red walls and yellow tiles, layered in majesty.
Deep within, bells chimed, echoes lingering, as palace servants moved silently, adding charm.

Called a palace banquet, it was held for the traditional “Mu Shi Festival,” no different from routine feasts.

The same decadent music, graceful dancers, beauties glancing, ministers whispering, all unspoken agreements.
The hall’s decor was exquisite, dominated by regal yellow, showcasing the kingdom’s vast wealth and Xuanyu Continent’s imperial status.

But tonight, an undercurrent of tension swirled amid the clinking cups.

Next year was the kingdom’s big moment.
The eighteen princes schemed and plotted, each marshaling their forces, none willing to miss the throne.

Emperor Dong Yan was strong but not invincible.
Though the princes fought internally, they united against him, planning to topple him first.

“Announcing—the Twelfth Prince!”

All eyes snapped over, gasping at the elegant, aloof figure beside him.

“Royal Brother, this is my friend, Tai Xu Sect’s top disciple, Zong Ji. You’ve likely heard of him.”

Dong Twelve showed no unease, shedding his usual quiet demeanor for a polished, hypocritical smile, bowing to the throne.

“Yesterday’s rumors were true…”
“The Saint rarely appears. We only knew he was close with the Dark Hall Master. Who knew he was friends with the Twelfth Prince?”
“If the Twelfth Prince secures the Saint for next year’s contest…”

The Twelfth Prince, usually overlooked with humble origins, was the quietest at banquets.
Now, he seemed to have bided his time, stunning all.

The court buzzed like boiling oil, only to hush under the emperor’s casual glance.

“So, it’s His Excellency the Saint. Your fame precedes you.”

In golden robes, exuding regal aura, the emperor smiled faintly.
Beaded tassels swayed before his deep purple eyes, veiling their depth.

“The emperor’s name is equally renowned, Zong humbly acknowledges.”

Zong Ji, neither servile nor arrogant, nodded with a near-expressionless face.

Dong Yan’s lips curled wickedly.
His hand, lazily propped on the throne, retracted as he rose, descending the red carpet to greet Zong Ji personally.

“I’ve long admired the world’s greatest. Meeting you is a rare delight—worthy of a toast!”

Though Xuanyu Continent had royalty, strength ruled.
High-tier cultivators were the ultimate goal; only those lacking talent chose other paths.

Dong Yan shed his imperial airs, clawing the air.
Two jade cups filled with wine appeared in his palm, not a drop spilled.

He locked eyes with Zong Ji, smiling, infusing the cup with spiritual energy and nine-tenths of his strength, sending it forth with a sharp gust.

Such force could injure a ninth-tier cultivator.

“Good wine.”

Zong Ji didn’t dodge.
Seemingly effortless, he tensed inwardly, summoning full spiritual energy.
With three fingers, he caught the cup lightly, swept his sleeve, and drained it.

“Such boldness!”

Only Dong Yan knew the tricks in that toss.
He’d used subtle force, yet Zong Ji dispelled it effortlessly.

With just three fingers.

At Saint-tier four-star, Dong Yan realized Zong Ji’s cultivation far surpassed his to handle it so casually.

Perhaps—
The rumored first immortal-tier cultivator had truly appeared.

Realizing this, Dong Yan’s smile turned genuine.
He boldly ordered a seat added beside the throne, inviting Zong Ji to drink and watch the banquet.

Cultivators were straightforward.
Show strength worth respecting, and their attitude flipped like a magical girl transformation.

Dong Yan, ruling as a tyrant for so long, had the sense not to make an enemy with no conflicting interests.

Zong Ji: …

His face stayed enigmatic, but inwardly he grimaced.
His hand ached from catching the cup, numbed despite using Tai Xu Sect’s White Jade Palm.

Damn! This Dong Yan was sneaky.

Post-Saint-tier, a single star’s gap was massive.
A fresh Saint-tier rookie would’ve crumbled.

Thinking of the dozen new big shots from the world fusion, Zong Ji’s heart ached.

Fine wine, bitter heart.jpg

That said, Eastern Kingdom’s wine was unmatched.
Who knew what new recipes the palace brewers had crafted?
These cups lingered in his memory, endlessly delightful.

He really wanted to rob their brewing secrets again.

So Zong Ji didn’t refuse Dong Yan’s invitation.
To keep drinking, he ditched the Twelfth Prince, switched to his non-numb hand, and toasted cup after cup with the emperor.

The banquet ended with laughter and joy for hosts and guests alike.