Chapter 16: Wandering the Flower City
Sunlight drifted lazily, and the royal banquet wasn’t until evening.
With nothing to do, Zong Ji rested at the Dark Hall branch overnight.
The next day, donning a conical hat, he wandered Baijing City.
Everyone knew the Saint was in Baijing, but the streets were flooded with cultivators in black-and-gold robes.
Many even bought “Saint Zong Ji” replica outfits from tailors, complete with a longsword at the waist and a black-and-gold fan.
They mimicked his style convincingly.
With so many lookalikes, people grew numb to the sight.
Zong Ji blended in seamlessly, his hat adding extra cover.
The sun blazed fiercely at noon.
High-level cultivators could shield themselves with spiritual energy, but many men and women wore hats or veils, or carried umbrellas, to stroll and admire flowers.
While Central Continent transitioned from winter to spring, Eastern Continent was already in summer.
Baijing in summer was picturesque.
Seasonal flowers bloomed vibrantly, their fragrance filling entire streets.
To the east lay the vast Sea of Illusion, home to the renowned Illusory Sea Flower City.
They say its flowers never wilt, always in full, glorious bloom.
Built by the sea, Flower City was a dazzling floral expanse from above.
The Eastern Kingdom, near Flower City, imported flowers yearly to adorn its capital.
Many cultivators, unable to navigate Flower City’s maze, settled for Baijing’s blossoms—a fine consolation.
Zong Ji, clad only in black and gold, hands tucked in sleeves, wandered the bustling market leisurely under his hat.
No spiritual energy, just relaxed steps, utterly content.
His casual strides deftly avoided anyone approaching.
Baijing teemed with people, less chaotic than Shengyang but no less crowded.
Zong Ji disliked physical contact, subtly using footwork to dodge others.
Zong Ji was asexual.
When writing The Carefree Journey, he made it romance-free, a rarity among harem-heavy, power-up authors.
He hadn’t planned a love interest for One Sword to Immortality either.
But its sudden popularity and hefty donations from rich readers forced his hand.
Rich reader: “One million donation, add a girl.”
Zong Ji: “You got it, boss!”
He brainstormed all night, drawing on veteran authors’ tropes, crafting a rich, beautiful goddess to match his sky-defying hero, Jing Zhe.
But before he could introduce her, or even name her, he transmigrated.
Looks like Jing Zhe’s destined to die alone (shrug).
What a tragic tale.
Wandering, he spotted a crowd and joined the commotion.
“Is that Tutor Luo in the carriage?”
On the road to the palace, a young man blocked a carriage, smiling and bowing, drawing onlookers.
“Indeed, it’s me.”
The driver lifted the curtain, revealing Tutor Luo in neat official robes.
Blocking a carriage in the market was hardly proper.
If not for the young man being this year’s emperor-chosen top scholar, with a bright future, Luo might’ve stormed off.
Tutor Luo wasn’t clean.
With shallow roots, to rival Tutor Zou, he secretly recruited poor scholars.
During exams, he turned a blind eye, signaling proctors to pass his allies.
But this year’s scholar was a tough nut.
Luo hadn’t noticed him, yet during the palace exam, he traded poetry with the emperor fearlessly, winning the top spot.
That ground Luo’s teeth.
His schemes were covert, dreading the emperor’s wrath.
Dong Yan’s methods were brutal.
If he learned of Luo’s tricks, the consequences were dire.
Luo, banking on his past as a prince’s tutor, quietly bought loyalty.
“I, Si, came to thank you for your guidance. But…”
The young man’s smile deepened, warm as spring.
Seeing the growing crowd, he unhurriedly drew a small Qiankun bag from his pocket.
“Though I’m just a poor scholar, I’ve got a scholar’s pride.”
“This money’s dirty. Si Ming won’t take it.”
His words rang clear, amplified by spiritual energy for two miles.
The crowd erupted in chatter, buzzing with excitement.
“I heard Tutor Luo was up to this…”
“No wonder fewer scholars pass exams lately. Disgraceful!”
“Who knew Tutor Luo was like this? The emperor trusts him so much…”
Luo’s face flickered between pale and livid, his glare at Si Ming venomous.
This was a calculated move.
Baijing swarmed with cultivators; word would spread, maybe reaching the emperor.
“Good, good, good.”
Luo spat three times.
If this kid dared enter officialdom, Luo would ruin him.
Si Ming smiled breezily, brushing his sleeves, the picture of upright virtue.
“No need for grudges. We Dark Hall folk are just that righteous.”
Zong Ji: ???
Mid-melon-munching, the drama hit him.
He was thrilled.
Hating evil, untainted by corruption—what a model Dark Hall disciple. Bravo!
He’d promote this unsung hero and pin a flower on him later.
Noting Si Ming’s name, Zong Ji resumed wandering, buying trinkets from stalls.
His hands filled with curious items.
Don’t be fooled by the vendors’ humble appearance.
To sell in the capital, each had a craft to earn their keep.
Zong Ji respected commoners.
Without their quiet efforts, there’d be no peace or prosperity.
He dropped all airs, squatting with kids, eyes gleaming at an old man blowing sugar figures.
The old man wore a faded robe and tattered straw shoes, eyes dim but hands masterful.
His sugar-blowing skill was astounding.
From a thumb-sized sugar lump, with a few wooden sticks, he breathed life into it.
The sugar stretched and swelled into lifelike animals.
“Young man, want a sugar painting?”
The old man finished one, stuck it on a wooden stand, and grinned at Zong Ji.
“Make a few zodiac animals, please.”
“Sure thing.”
Zong Ji glanced at the eager kids nearby, handing over some spirit stones.
The old man’s poor eyes missed the high-grade stone mixed in.
He set them aside and started blowing.
When done, Zong Ji gave the chickens, sheep, and cows to the kids, taking a chubby sugar pig for himself.
Bidding the old man farewell, he moved to the next stall.
The sun blazed overhead at noon.
Fewer people roamed, and vendors closed for lunch.
The air carried a faint floral scent.
Zong Ji, holding his sugar pig, strolled from south to north Baijing.
In this heat, the sugar should’ve melted.
But finding the pig adorably plump, he coated it with spiritual energy to preserve it, then entered a tavern.
“Server, one jug of wine.”
“Right away! What kind, sir? Our Rainstorm Tavern’s famous for Pear Blossom White.”
“Bring a jug, then.”
The tavern’s wine aroma hooked him.
He had to taste it.
Eastern Kingdom’s wines were unmatched.
He’d once stolen the Autumn Dew White recipe from the palace.
Even common wines here were exceptional.
Sipping leisurely, Zong Ji’s mood was great.
At a window seat, staring at his sugar pig, he listened to chatter, never bored.
“Who’s stronger, the world’s greatest or Sword Sovereign?”
“Maybe the Saint’s cultivation is higher, but in swordplay, who knows without a fight.”
“If they clashed, it’d be a battle for the ages.”
Zong Ji: …
Can’t-use-a-sword · the man himself · eternal sword legend · blinked, turning away.
His gaze swept casually, nearly dropping his sugar pig at the sight of the doorway.
A white-clad swordsman stood like a ghost, silent, halting all chatter instantly.
Zong Ji wanted to scream.
Was he cursed to cross paths with Jing Zhe?
Did this guy have a “world’s greatest” radar or something, always tailing him?
No matter.
Jing Zhe didn’t know him.
As long as Zong Ji avoided sword aura, he’d stay unnoticed in his low-key corner.
But as the saying goes, trouble never comes alone.
The tavern was packed, noisy, and chaotic.
With Jing Zhe’s aloof, no-one-matters attitude, he wouldn’t notice Zong Ji’s oddity unless he foolishly used sword aura.
Thinking this, Zong Ji lowered his head, sipping calmly.
Then another figure appeared at the door, wrapped in a gray robe, carrying a long blade, exuding defiance.
An old rival, clashed with for decades, recently trampled by Zong Ji.
A true tragedy.
It was Blade Master Mu Ye.
Fate, how marvelous.
Zong Ji: …
Done for. Today’s the end.