Chapter Sixty-One: Discord Within the Walls

As night fell, the Zhìbīn Inn—the largest tavern in Qiantang—rarely closed its doors, yet tonight it was shuttered. From afar, the usually brightly lit establishment lay in complete darkness. New arrivals were repeatedly turned away at the door, receiving only the fleeting explanation: “Full.”

Such behavior was uncharacteristic of the Zhìbīn Inn, prompting those familiar with its ways to suspect something grave had occurred. Yet, no matter how severe, it was none of their concern, so most simply turned away.

Only a few groups of merchants from Ningzhou suffered, all regular patrons of the inn. For years, whenever they came to Qiantang to transport goods, they always lodged here. Now, with no place to stay, over a hundred gathered before the inn, clamoring for Zhan Ting to come out and offer an explanation.

Seventeen attendants in blue robes blocked the crowd, politely persuading them to disperse. Yet, no matter how much they insisted, entry was impossible. Behind the scenes, in the inn’s most secluded northeast chamber, nine people sat densely packed in an oppressive silence.

Zhan Ting, dressed plainly in yellow, occupied the main seat. Beside him, the floral tea had been brewed and refilled three or four times, yet his mouth remained parched. His gaze swept over the others before settling coldly on Zhan Wenjun, who sat beside him. A frosty smile curled his lips as he declared, “Since no one objects, that means you all agree with my decision. There’s no time like the present. It’s rare for us all to gather thus. Let us seal our agreement with fingerprints: from now on, the Zhan family and the Celestial Master Sect shall be united as one, inseparable…”

The Zhan family had few descendants. After the elder steward’s death, other relatives had passed away. Only three legitimate branches remained, alongside a few illegitimate ones of lesser standing, who were not permitted to attend such meetings. The legitimate sons were the third son Zhan Tian, fifth son Zhan Xi, and eighth son Zhan Hong.

Zhan Tian was a drunkard, never sober a day; Zhan Xi was a gambler, spending nights at dice games—both idle and good-for-nothing. They did nothing but draw monthly stipends from the family accounts. Only Zhan Hong possessed some talent, though years ago he was blinded in one eye and lost three fingers on both hands in a fight. Ashamed, he secluded himself in study, avoiding family business.

Thus, the family’s prosperity relied wholly on Zhan Wenjun. Since her departure, Zhan Ting had held sole control.

A clever man, Zhan Ting ensured those less capable were never shortchanged financially, fostering their obedience. Before he finished speaking, the eldest, Zhan Tian, promptly voiced agreement: “Zhan Ting speaks rightly. To forge ties with the Celestial Master Sect is a blessing others can only dream of. Our modest estate, offered to the Masters, will surely earn their favor…”

Zhan Wenjun retorted coldly, “Wasn’t it Dou Qi who earlier vowed compensation? Yet today, that unfortunate party is absent while the Sect sends two spirit officials. What is their intent?” Her gaze shifted to Li Yifeng, seated to Zhan Ting’s lower side, and the other man beside him.

This man bore strange features: his forehead protruded unusually, eyes deeply sunken, his nose bent into an indescribable shape. Thick, short, black eyebrows contrasted with his paper-thin lips, evoking a chilling sensation at first glance.

Zhan Ting said nothing of his identity, but Zhan Wenjun, well-informed despite her absence, recognized him immediately as Xi Yuanda, one of the five great spirit officials of the Celestial Master Sect’s Yangzhou branch.

Legend held that Xi Yuanda’s mother died giving birth; his father passed violently a month later; at three months old, a flood claimed many villagers. Deemed a harbinger of misfortune for his hideous appearance, the villagers abandoned him in the mountains to wolves, who curiously did not harm him.

A young wanderer named Du Jing found the infant, marveled at the wolves’ restraint, and took him in.

Thirty years flew by; the forsaken infant had risen to become a high-ranking spirit official with a formidable reputation, rivaling even Li Yifeng.

Li Yifeng sat expressionless, silent. Neither he nor Xi Yuanda should have been present here, but Zhan Ting, uncertain of his hold over Zhan Wenjun, insisted on their attendance as pillars of support.

Xi Yuanda kept his head bowed. When addressed, his yellow eyes flickered greedily before the gleam vanished. Yet Zhan Wenjun’s womanly intuition sensed the oddity radiating from him, stirring unease within her. Nevertheless, her resolve remained unshaken; no emotion betrayed her calm facade.

Confident with his two spirit officials present, Zhan Ting spoke measuredly: “Dou Langjun is a devotee who voluntarily transferred his promised compensation to the Sect, benefiting all under heaven. Thus, Chief Du dispatched spirit officials Li and Xi to handle the matter. You have been away from the family, so it’s natural you’re unaware.”

His words implied Zhan Wenjun was an outsider. She shook her head, having long given up on this ungrateful man who once cared for her. Turning to Zhan Xi, she asked softly, “You, fifth brother, what say you?”

Zhan Xi yawned widely; last night’s gambling left him exhausted, eager to conclude and rest. “Sister, you now enjoy boundless wealth in the Guo household. Why covet our humble estate? What Zhan Ting says must have merit. As third brother said, aligning with the Celestial Master Sect means support. Life isn’t so different… nothing changes.”

He and Zhan Ting were gambling companions, their bond deep. Zhan Wenjun held no hope for him. Undoubtedly, Zhan Ting had promised them money and future security, which these shallow men accepted without doubt.

Yet they failed to realize: when the house is gone, money too will run out. Then, if others feed you, it is grace; if not, starvation awaits.

Zhan Wenjun’s eyes lingered on Zhan Hong with pity. She spoke softly, “Eighth brother, I thought you wouldn’t come today…”

Once handsome, Zhan Hong’s scars and injuries had distorted his features. He smiled faintly, “Though secluded, I know when to step out. Sister, rest assured, I always support you.”

She sighed; if possible, she would spare this unfortunate brother from family strife. But the stakes were high, and his support vital.

Zhan Ting’s expression soured, sneering, “Zhan Hong, don’t forget who has supported you all these years. Without me stepping in, you’d have died in that fight.”

This was Zhan Hong’s weakness; none dared mention it. His lips trembled as he clenched his crippled hands beneath his sleeve. Even Zhan Wenjun thought he might storm off in anger, but unexpectedly, he calmed and quietly said, “Thank you for saving me. But there’s a question I’ve long wished to ask. That day I visited Yun Tower secretly, fearing Father’s knowledge, I concealed it from all. How did you arrive in the chamber so swiftly?”

Zhan Ting froze. “Didn’t I tell you? I was discussing matters nearby and arranged to meet at Yun Tower…”

“Is that so?” Zhan Hong’s gaze was flat. “At first, I believed you. These years of study have broadened my view. Occasionally recalling that day, I find discrepancies in your story…”

Zhan Ting’s heart raced; unwilling to continue, he said, “That was long ago. What’s the use of dredging it up? You choose to support an outsider now, your right.”

Zhan Hong replied calmly, “Thank you for your understanding, brother,” and did not press further.

Only then did Zhan Ting realize this once despised cripple was far tougher than expected. Zhan Wenjun’s eyes also reflected surprise and a tender relief.

“Seventh uncle, what’s your opinion?”

Zhan Ting, eager to end the dispute, turned to an elder sitting beneath Zhan Wenjun. This was Zhan Liang, the family elder and last surviving senior. His eyes dim and hair white, he had once been astute and revered, his stance pivotal to today’s outcome.

Though a believer, Zhan Liang was no blind follower. He would donate money but never surrender the family estate.

“I… I…” he stammered under Zhan Ting’s scrutiny, glancing at Zhan Wenjun. He opened his mouth, but words failed him.

Impatient, Zhan Ting snapped, “Agree or not? Why dawdle? The two spirit officials wait. Shall we wait until nightfall?”

Zhan Liang’s face darkened, but he dared not oppose. After a long pause, he shakily rose and approached Zhan Wenjun, eyes full of affection: “You are married with a home and future. Don’t entangle yourself with these men. Whether the Zhan family survives is unimportant. Your well-being surpasses all.”

Just as he was about to speak further, Zhan Wenjun held him back gently. “Uncle, wait a moment. No rush.”

Though puzzled, he knew she still fought to save the family. Shaking his head, he said, “Ah Lu, look at your brothers. Saving them once may not save them next time. Fate is fixed; what’s meant to perish won’t survive. Don’t waste your strength.”

“Ah Lu” was Zhan Wenjun’s childhood name, seldom used since she took charge.

Moved, she nonetheless replied firmly, “If it can be saved once, then once is worth it. The Zhan legacy must not fall by our hands.”

Zhan Liang sighed helplessly, “There are things you do not know…”

At that moment, a knock came. “Madam, the maid has urgent news!”

“Come in.”

A maid entered quietly, leaning close behind Zhan Wenjun to whisper, “News from the western outskirts: the matter is settled. This is a token.”

Zhan Wenjun took it and handed it to Zhan Liang with a smile, “Seventh uncle, A Ke’s handwriting is so good now…”

“Ah?” Zhan Liang hurriedly took it. Seeing his son Zhan Yun’s signature, tears streamed down his face. “Ah Lu, it’s all thanks to you.”

Zhan Ting’s face turned pale. He snapped his fingers, and a retinue entered on command, receiving orders before hurrying away.

Zhan Wenjun’s eyes grew cold. “Zhan Ting, I don’t blame you for not recognizing me as your sister. I don’t blame you for betraying the family. But to achieve your ends, you sent men to kidnap A Ke. Do you know he is seventh uncle’s cherished son, born when he was nearly fifty? Any harm to him would mean death! Li Spirit Official, does the Celestial Master Sect condone such vile schemes to seize others’ estates?”

Though ruthless behind the scenes, the Sect publicly upheld the law and even surpassed gentlemen in propriety. They had devised the ‘Sacred Deer Meat’ ruse to maintain appearances. Hearing Zhan Wenjun’s accusation, Li Yifeng frowned and looked at Zhan Ting. “Madam Guo, is this true?”

Zhan Ting, flustered, knew Li Yifeng sought to defend him. “Nonsense! A Ke and I are as close as brothers. How could I stoop to such vile conduct?”

Li Yifeng nodded, “Dou Langjun is a man of integrity in Qiantang. If he denies it, then it did not happen. Perhaps Madam Guo is mistaken.”

Zhan Wenjun smiled calmly. “Mistake or truth, the county magistrate’s arrival will decide.”

Neither Li Yifeng nor the previously silent Xi Yuanda tensed up. The latter’s thick eyebrows knit into a sinister inverted ‘eight’ shape, exuding an indescribable malevolence and gloom.