Chapter Thirty-Seven: Gathering at the Evergreen Inn

The next day dawned crisp and clear, with a gentle breeze teasing the senses. Only one day remained before the martial arts academy ranking tournament, and nearly all the competing academies of Qiuhua Prefecture had already gathered at the Evergreen Inn.

The entire third floor of the inn had been reserved exclusively for the disciples of the various academies, with no outsiders admitted. All expenses were covered by the prefectural authorities. The private courtyards at the back, reserved for distinguished guests, remained open for business as usual, ensuring the inn’s trade was undisturbed.

Meals were included as well, but only fixed dishes and portions were provided. Those with larger appetites or a desire for finer fare had to pay extra. For Luo Changning and his companions, such costs were of no concern—they ordered a table heaped high with breakfast delicacies.

Breakfasts in the south were exquisite and flavorful, appealing in color, aroma, and taste. There was a pot of Iron Goddess tea and another of Cangshan Snow Green. Bird’s nest porridge, shrimp dumplings, steamed pork buns, beef rice rolls, custard buns, spring rolls, glutinous rice balls, and more filled the table.

The food was elegant and light, free of heavy salt and spice, yet possessed its own unique charm. The group sipped tea and sampled the array of snacks without a hint of tension or anxiety over the impending tournament.

Xiang Tong popped a piece of fish cake into his mouth and sighed, “Though our Annan Circuit is poor, we don’t skimp when it comes to food—so refined and varied.”

“I remember, back when I traveled with the head of the family to Jiannan Circuit, breakfast was a huge bowl of spicy wontons in red chili oil, a plate of noodles with fried bean sauce, and a steaming basket of lamb dumplings. Fresh green onions, a rich red broth, a layer of pepper and chili on top—fragrant, numbing, spicy, and the wontons were stuffed full of meat. It was so satisfying that even with swollen lips and not a single cup of tea, I’d be stuffed to the brim. Look at us now—an entire table of variety, yet I’m only eighty percent full.”

Ma Xue’e, popping a fried milk custard into her mouth, grinned. “If Uncle Xiang isn’t full, let’s order another table. My brother can pay!”

Ma Qingyun, his face cold, thought: My silver is meant for greater things…

Xiang Yinglong, enjoying a soup dumpling, glanced at the girl whose cheeks were puffed like a squirrel’s and felt a tug at his heart. “If Xue’e isn’t full, just have the waiter bring more. Brother Ma is here helping our academy; there’s no reason he should be paying. My father said he’ll cover all our expenses—no need to save him money.”

Luo Changning thought: I have to hand it to you, you’re spot-on!

Caught out, Ma Xue’e blushed and feigned annoyance. “Hmph, I’m not the one still hungry; Uncle Xiang said he’s only eighty percent full. We can’t let him go hungry, can we?”

Uncle Xiang thought: Thank you, young lady… And young master, you’ll never win a wife this way. Girls need to be coaxed—let them save face, don’t expose their appetite!

In the end, Luo Changning called for the waiter and ordered more pastries.

Not long after they finished eating, the rest of the Luoyang Martial Academy arrived at the Evergreen Inn.

They came in a single carriage: the academy master Xiang Ao, and four disciples. Driving was the eldest disciple, Liang Zhenyun, twenty-four, of medium build, honest and taciturn. Orphaned as a child, he’d met Xiang Ao upon his return from martial training at Chixia Temple. Xiang Ao took him in, and he became the academy’s first disciple.

Because of his age, Liang Zhenyun was ineligible for the tournament; he’d come to help look after the younger disciples, lest their inexperience and youthful pride get them into trouble.

Among the three younger disciples, the eldest was Chen Xiangru, who would turn fifteen in less than a month. Unlike the elegant and gifted Sima Xiangru from the history of the Dilong continent, this Chen Xiangru was even burlier than Xiang Yinglong, with a broad frame and bulging muscles straining his clothing.

He was frank, generous, and loyal, though not the brightest. In his right hand he held a seven-foot snake-bladed halberd, taller than himself. When he stood, his imposing presence was hard to ignore.

The second, Mo Feng, was the most mischievous of Xiang Ao’s disciples. He loved to play tricks on his fellow students, earning the nickname “Crazy Mo.” Despite his constant antics, he was sharp and highly perceptive, with an uncanny emotional intelligence that prevented anyone from truly resenting his pranks.

Cute and lovable, and a few months younger than Xiang Yinglong, he was the academy’s little joy-bringer—cherished and cared for by all.

Last was Mao Ruolin, the same age as Luo Changning—small and slender, with fine features. Always dressed in a blue-grey robe, he looked more like a scholar than a martial artist.

His gaze was calm, neither joyful nor sorrowful, as if nothing in the world could stir his interest. Even in training, he seemed a bit languid. Except for Master Xiang Ao, he avoided contact with others and was nearly invisible among the lively youths.

As Xiang Ao and his party disembarked, a waiter hurried over to greet them.

This waiter had worked at the Evergreen Inn for seven or eight years and knew how to read people. Without needing to see Xiang Ao’s invitation, he greeted them with obsequious enthusiasm.

“Master Xiang and noble disciples, please, come inside! Sanzi, take Master Xiang’s carriage to the stable and feed the horses the finest hay!”

“Would the esteemed guests like to eat first or enjoy a hot bath? I’ll have the servants prepare whatever you need.”

It was no wonder the waiter was so careful. Among all the martial artists in Qiuhua Prefecture, only Gao Ba surpassed Xiang Ao in reputation—though the former’s was through fear. Xiang Ao was merely a postnatal-stage martial artist, and his family’s roots were not as deep as the Gao family’s. Yet Xiang Ao was well-liked, with many official and merchant friends—not to mention his status as a lay disciple of the Buddhist order. As the largest sect on Yaohua continent, even their lay disciples were afforded respect and few dared offend them.

“Take us to the rooms reserved for Luoyang Martial Academy,” Xiang Ao said, his voice deep and resonant, like aged wine.

With a heart devoted to Buddhism, Xiang Ao might have entered the monastery if he hadn’t been his parents’ only child. He walked with steady dignity, a solemn presence softened by kindness—an aura that drew people in and encouraged friendship.

“Right away!”

Mo Feng, toying with a pair of small throwing knives, said excitedly to Mao Ruolin beside him, “I hear Senior Brother Xiang found two impressive experts to help us out. I wonder just how good they are—can they take on Ling Yancheng from Divine Hand Academy?”

Mao Ruolin focused only on climbing the wooden stairs, ignoring Mo Feng as though he hadn’t heard.

Mo Feng pouted: What a boring old stick!

But Chen Xiangru, with his booming voice, declared, “Of course they’re good—when has our young master ever been wrong? This time, we won’t lose to those brats from Divine Hand Academy! Last time I was too young to fight, or I’d have smashed their turtle shells to bits!”

“Tch, Senior Brother, you sure like to brag. Can’t even beat Junior Brother Mao,” Mo Feng retorted.

Though Mao Ruolin was young and reserved, his skills were formidable; he could take down a crowd of senior brothers in sparring matches. That’s why Xiang Ao brought him to the tournament—a privilege many disciples never got.

Mao Ruolin remained as composed as ever—if a stranger saw him now, they’d never guess he was the “Junior Brother Mao” Mo Feng mentioned.

Chen Xiangru scratched his head with a goofy smile. “I may not be as good as Junior Brother Ruolin, but I’m still better than those rotten-hearted thugs from Divine Hand Academy!”

“A humble bamboo bows its head, while a proud plum never looks up to the sky. Have you all forgotten my teachings? As martial artists, you must guard against arrogance and impetuousness if you hope to advance.”

“We have learned, Master,” they replied in unison.

Nearing forty, Xiang Ao had never broken through to the innate stage—a regret for most, but not for him, given his unambitious, contented nature. He founded the academy to help the Buddhist order train disciples and entered the tournament to keep Gao Ba in check, preventing him from dominating all.

In his youth, Xiang Ao had wandered the martial world and seen much, but never learned any martial arts outside the Buddhist tradition. To him, a disciple of one school should not dabble in others. Thus, he placed his hopes for martial excellence in his students.

Aside from the Buddhist hard techniques, disciples could choose whichever weapon they liked. Once accomplished, they could remain at the academy or venture out, so long as they remembered the kindness of the Buddhist sect.

Liang Zhenyun was the only one of the earliest disciples still at the academy—Xiang Ao’s family was his own. Wherever Xiang Ao went, he followed.

Soon, the five of them were led by the waiter to the academy's private rooms—each one top-class.

Divine Hand Academy’s disciples naturally didn’t stay here. Not only was it crowded and full of prying eyes, it couldn’t compare to their own academy’s accommodations.

This brought relief to the other academies: at least they wouldn’t have to live with those unruly troublemakers or be on edge all day, fearing to provoke their temper.

Inside, Luo Changning and the others were discussing the next day’s competition when a commotion arose outside the door.

Xiang Yinglong’s ears perked up in delight. “That’s Mo Feng—Father and the others are here!”

Generally, seniority in martial circles was based on the order of entry—not age. The first to join was senior brother, regardless of age. But in large sects, seniority was determined by rank, and the defeated would become junior to the victor.

As Xiang Ao’s son, Xiang Yinglong had started training young, so most at the academy addressed him as senior brother, except those currently away on travels.

The group hurried to open the door, even the usually aloof Ma Qingyun moving to greet them. He might not truly respect Xiang Ao, but as the son of a noble family, he understood the importance of courtesy, however little he thought of it.