Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Emergence of All Factions

On the upper levels, the formidable figures from the various powerful factions stood tall in the sky, exuding an awe-inspiring presence and basking in the reverent gazes of the multitude below. The second floor of the Merchants’ Guild building was equally hushed in anticipation.

Yang Cheng felt a ripple of excitement—it was his first time personally witnessing such an extraordinary and rare spectacle. Suddenly, he whispered, “If, at this very moment, the anti-flight formation were to activate, what do you suppose would happen?”

Zhu Buhuo spewed out a mouthful of tea. Even Lord Le Yin, typically so composed and elegant, couldn’t suppress his laughter. In a low voice, he replied, “They would all come crashing down.”

Zhu Buhuo added with a snicker, “Trust you to come up with that. No matter how powerful they are, from such a height, they’d all be eating dirt.”

The group stifled their laughter, careful not to make too much noise. Meanwhile, the crowds surrounding the plaza were still awestruck by the illustrious names and reputations arrayed before them.

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice rang out, “His Highness has arrived!”

Compared to the resonant calls that had accompanied the appearances of the various sects’ Golden Core experts, this cry was clearly far weaker in spiritual power. Nevertheless, every gaze turned toward a tall building to the west. Adorned with ornate carvings and resplendent with gold, it stood nine stories high—a privilege reserved only for the imperial family.

On its highest floor, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women, stood a man dressed in splendid finery. His face was as radiant as the autumn moon, his brows as if painted with ink—truly a figure of regal grace. Yet his bearing was anything but dignified: he stood on tiptoe, stretching his hand out past the balustrade, waving energetically as if eager to draw all eyes to himself.

Yang Cheng remarked with amusement, “His Highness certainly is an interesting character—not at all like those other experts, soaring in on their magical artifacts and making such grand entrances.”

Zhu Buhuo couldn’t help but chuckle again. “He’d like to make such an entrance, but he’s only at Foundation Establishment. He can’t fly on artifacts even if he wanted to.”

The company exchanged quiet laughter. Lord Le Yin said, “It seems, Brother Yang, you’re the only one in Wuzhou City who didn’t know this.”

Yang Cheng was speechless. Even with lesser cultivation, the prince’s status was unassailable—but the way he sought attention was certainly unique.

The sect leaders, upon seeing the prince, showed no signs of disrespect; all turned toward him and offered formal greetings. The majesty of the royal family was not to be taken lightly. Even Tong Meng, the city lord, rose once again and saluted the prince with deference.

Within Wuzhou City’s web of powers, some forces stood apart. Prince Zhu Wushang was one such figure. A royal scion, he was one of many imperial sons. Once these princes came of age, unless they were crown princes, they were invariably sent to distant regions as idle nobles, to prevent fratricidal struggles for the throne. If their mothers were favored, they might be assigned to prosperous, pleasant lands; otherwise, to remote outposts. Zhu Wushang belonged to the latter, but he was content—at least he hadn’t been sent to the bitter cold of Ice City.

To prevent these princes from nurturing ambitions of usurpation, their households were forbidden from keeping more than a hundred guards, of whom only one could be a Golden Core expert. In title, they were princes, but they had no say in local affairs and only drew a portion of the taxes from their fiefs each year—little more than wealthy gentlemen of leisure. There was no direct hierarchy between them and the city lord, and the two were not allowed to grow too close. Should the imperial spies sense undue intimacy, suspicion would fall upon both. Thus, they maintained a careful distance, each supervising the other: the city lord watching for signs of royal ambition, the prince for indications of local overreach.

Yet all were compelled to show this princely gentleman the utmost respect, whether sincerely or not. Weak as the prince’s household might be, he was still of imperial blood. The royal clan might squabble internally, but outsiders could not insult them without courting disaster.

Another unique presence in the city was the Mercenary Corps headquartered in the “Guest Pavilion” not far from the nine-story palace. Much like the Merchants’ Guild, which was independent of the cultivator factions, the Mercenary Corps was a body straddling the worlds of commerce and martial arts. Composed mostly of itinerant cultivators, it welcomed many formidable freelancers into its ranks. Yet it had no clear leader; in the interest of fairness, all major and minor matters were decided by vote. They refrained from participating in any family or factional conflicts, taking only paid jobs and focusing on earning resources for their cultivation.

Typically, their work involved escorting goods for merchants or protecting travelers between city-states. Sometimes, they took on contracts to hunt fearsome beasts targeted by the great families, venturing into perilous places even the nobility feared. At the other end of the spectrum, they might simply carry tokens or messages between cities and villages. Occasionally, they assisted officials in apprehending criminals, but they would never accept assassination jobs lest they give the authorities grounds to act against them.

After all, their sole aim was to earn resources for themselves—they had no desire to be pawns in the struggles of families and factions. The great clans, too, observed this unspoken boundary; if everyone had to guard against assassination every day, the business of the families would grind to a halt and the world would descend into chaos.

At this moment, nine figures sat in a circle on the eighth floor of the Guest Pavilion, gazing down at the square—these were the members of the Mercenary Corps’ highest council. Among them, one man in flowing white robes, a feather fan in hand, exuded a breezy elegance and stood out as the group’s natural leader. This was Qiu Shuduan, the brains behind the Mercenary Corps.

Qiu Shuduan was a legendary figure, well-known throughout Wuzhou City. Of all nine, his cultivation was the lowest—merely at the Fusion stage. For decades, he had advanced little in his practice, but after joining the Mercenary Corps, he propelled it to greatness, and in doing so, achieved a personal zenith.

When he had joined, the Corps was little more than a rabble, not much different from the street gangs. Through his strategies, rule-making, and the establishment of their reputation, the Corps flourished in just a few short years. He expanded their operations, built relationships with the major families and factions, and attracted countless experts, making the Mercenary Corps a force to be reckoned with.

It was Qiu Shuduan who pioneered the practice of publishing the Corps’ job listings, allowing anyone—sect disciple, clansman, or freelancer—to take on assignments, with the Corps collecting a handling fee. This made them a major intermediary, and won the approval of the great powers, who gained not only the Corps’ services but also more opportunities for their disciples and clansmen to gain experience.

Although the Mercenary Corps had no formal leader, Qiu Shuduan’s word carried tremendous weight. The other eight council members were all Golden Core experts of considerable power—some founding members, others already renowned before joining—each proud and headstrong, yet all willingly rallied around Qiu Shuduan. His abilities were clear for all to see.

Within the territory of Wuzhou, only the sects outside the city were truly independent, openly or covertly waging their own wars. Inside Wuzhou City, the surface appeared tranquil, but beneath it surged hidden currents. The City Lord’s Mansion, the five great families, and the lesser clans were both rivals and interdependent, their relationships tangled and complex.

Countless minor gangs vied for turf in the city’s various districts. Though insignificant on the surface, they fought fiercely behind the scenes for control.

Amidst all this, three special groups stood apart: the Royal Mansion, the Mercenary Corps, and the Merchants’ Guild. The latter two simply minded their own business. As for Prince Zhu Wushang, he seemed to treat life as a game, drifting through the world with laughter and ease—making everyone envy the luck of those born to such privilege.

Even Yang Cheng had to sigh: this, truly, was the very model of a rich and handsome young lord.