Chapter Fifty-Seven: A Game Within a Game

Morning.

Yang Fan dressed in casual attire and headed out to the street for breakfast.

He was in high spirits, so he ate ten tea eggs, and just as he was about to leave, he spotted someone familiar.

The other man saw him as well.

Both were momentarily startled.

Yang Fan stood up and walked over, smiling, “Brother Lou, our fates truly intersect.”

“Brother Yang, I didn’t expect to meet you here.” The man was Lou Qingshan, whom Yang Fan had met once in the Misty Mountains. Lou cupped his hands in greeting and pulled Yang Fan into a nearby alley. “You didn’t come here because you’re planning to…”

He trailed off, his expression growing more complicated.

After their parting that night, Lou Qingshan had spent a day tending his wounds before heading to the mines to investigate. He discovered the site had collapsed.

All the guards were dead.

The mining slaves had fled.

He was shocked.

Lou Qingshan left as well. Being well-informed, he sensed something was amiss in Baofeng County and secretly came to investigate.

“Brother Lou, don’t overthink it. I’m just passing through,” Yang Fan hurriedly waved his hands.

Such matters, even if known, must never be admitted.

“Let’s hope so!” Lou Qingshan was very serious. “I’ve just received word that the prince’s visit here is likely part of a scheme.”

“A scheme?” Yang Fan frowned.

“Yes!” Lou nodded, then said bitterly, “I didn’t understand before, but after leaving the Misty Mountains and coming here, someone deliberately sent me a message. Though the Duke of Tianhe isn’t favored and holds little power, he is a duke nonetheless. Even if he lacks extraordinary guardians, there are likely second-grade, perhaps even first-grade martial artists protecting him. Moreover, the duke has wealth and men. Who knows what hidden forces he may have—just like the Misty Mountains, until investigated, no one could guess!”

“Reasonable!” Yang Fan was secretly alarmed.

Had he not encountered Lou, he might have suffered a great loss.

He must plan meticulously, and be cautious—again and again.

“So, after I released news of the purple-gold mine, the prince likely thinks it was the Divine Fist Sect’s doing, so he came here, using himself as bait to lure the sect into the trap, planning to catch them all at once,” Lou Qingshan sighed. “Otherwise, as the prince of Tianhe, a noble lord, why would he come here and linger so long?”

“Are you planning to warn the Divine Fist Sect?” Yang Fan asked.

“They’re all no good—let them bite each other!” Lou Qingshan curled his lip and continued, “I have other matters to attend to, so I won’t chat further. I’ll find you when I have time.”

He hesitated, then gave a wry smile: “Since you saved my life, here’s another warning. The city might soon become a whirlpool—be extra careful. If you can leave, do so. If not, keep your head down.”

With that, he hurried away.

“A whirlpool?” Yang Fan frowned.

It was likely not just the feud between the prince and Divine Fist Sect.

He suddenly recalled what the innkeeper had said about the appearance of an unparalleled martial art here—could this be the reason?

Could a single martial art create such a whirlpool?

Yang Fan found it hard to believe.

He didn’t dwell on it and returned to the inn.

He decided not to venture out during the day, choosing instead to continue studying the martial art.

He also practiced Fierce Tiger Fist. Though he felt improvement, compared to the rapid enhancement from absorbing spiritual items, the progress was far too slow.

At the prince’s secluded manor.

Near noon, the prince received another message. His eyes widened in disbelief: “What? Feng Zhenglie’s entire group was killed?”

“Master, yes!” The old steward’s voice was bitter. “After learning of the trouble at the mine, I instructed him to take men and investigate. Not far from the site, they were all slain—not a single survivor.”

“With Feng Zhenglie’s skill, plus his elite martial artists who trained in battle formations, they could even stand against third-grade experts. How could they all be wiped out?” The prince narrowed his eyes, a cold gleam flashing. “The mine’s collapse, the purple-gold mine’s discovery, my arrival here, the Divine Fist Sect’s senior disciple coming with his group—and now news of Feng Zhenglie’s demise. Divine Fist Sect, you’re launching a full-scale assault against us? Ruthless, indeed. I had thought not to slaughter them all, maybe keep a few female disciples to enrich my harem, support them after they bore heirs. But now, you force me to exterminate you. Old dog, tonight we strike—I can’t wait any longer. Remember, bring me a woman first, to vent my anger! No, I’ll go myself tonight. Before them, I want their female disciples kneeling and wailing before me.”

“Yes, master!” The old steward nodded, then asked, “Should we pay attention to Nanshan Town?”

“That trivial matter can wait!”

“Yes!”

“My father still hasn’t sent word?”

“No!”

“That old fool, surely he’s found some beauty. Hmph, sooner or later…”

The old steward shuddered.

Evening.

The innkeeper brought dinner, grinning widely, “Young master, there was trouble last night!”

“Speak!” Yang Fan glanced at him.

“I heard the prince’s men were watching Divine Fist Sect’s disciples, but got caught and were all killed,” the innkeeper whispered, rubbing his hands. “Also, officials came again to investigate guests. For you, I said you were a merchant.”

“Good!” Yang Fan tossed him a piece of silver.

“Thank you, young master!” The innkeeper left, delighted.

As for the source of his information?

Yang Fan wasn’t worried.

Many martial artists dined at the inn, and several were staying there.

He narrowed his eyes, a smile appearing.

A short while later, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

He called out, and a young man in a blue robe entered. He appeared to be about twenty, with sharp brows and bright eyes, handsome and charming.

He carried a bottle of wine and two cups.

“Brother, my name is Hong Ziyang. I’m staying next door, also alone. Drinking by myself is dull, so I thought I’d disturb you—may I?” Hong Ziyang cupped his hands.

“Brother Hong, please!” Yang Fan stood and cupped his hands in return. “I am Yang Fan.”

“So you’re Brother Yang!” Hong Ziyang’s face broke into a broad smile. He sat opposite, set down the cups, and poured the wine. “I was passing through, heard the courtesan at Fragrant Pavilion was famed for beauty, her fragrance delicate, and her skill with the tongue unmatched. I hoped to sample her charms, but someone else had booked her. Disappointed, I lingered. Alone, I grew bored, noticed someone moved in next door, also alone, so I came to make your acquaintance. Brother Yang, since fate brought us together, let me drink first!”

He lifted his cup and downed it in one gulp.

“I didn’t expect Brother Hong to be such a man of temperament.” Yang Fan raised his cup without hesitation and drank.

“Brother Yang, you’re forthright!” Hong Ziyang grew more cordial.

Few would dare drink a stranger’s wine on their first meeting.

He’d tried it a dozen times, always refused.

Yet now he found a kindred spirit—young, strong, much like himself—how could he not feel drawn?

“Another round!” Yang Fan laughed.

Had he not already known Hong’s background, and possessed the ability to devour energy, he would never drink someone else’s wine.

They spoke not of past or future, only of lighthearted matters.

Laughter echoed between them.

“Brother Yang, you look young, but your mastery of the arts of yin and yang astounds me. I’m left speechless,” Hong Ziyang exclaimed. “The old cart driver is nothing, but your piercing the twin peaks, blooming the rear garden, like a bone stuck in the throat—truly, truly a novel approach!”

Yang Fan merely smiled.

After the meal, Hong Ziyang departed.

Yang Fan summoned the innkeeper to tidy up, then retired to rest.

Around midnight.

Yang Fan rose.

Next door, Hong Ziyang was already gone.

“That fellow, I wonder what his purpose is?”

Yang Fan didn’t dwell on it and headed toward the Divine Fist Sect’s quarters.

If his guess was correct, tonight would be lively indeed.