Special Inspector Deng Bo sat in the corner of the small roadside inn known as Tan’s Palace and rubbed at his eyes. His qi moved sluggishly through his meridians, working with the tea to keep him awake. The building’s second story served as a restaurant and teahouse that was clean enough for him to attempt relaxing. Mists veiled the river and distant farmlands, and the dreary sight suited his mood.
Three months on the road had taken him all over Black Tiger Kingdom. From old Mountain Root City in the north, to the southwest trading hub of Golden Egg City — that den of vice, avarice, and delicious, mouth-watering noodles — where the kingdom touched upon the empire spanning White Horse River.
He’d gone job to job, investigating in the Emperor’s name, sealing official documents with the sigil of the Empire, and generally just showing up when needed, and it had left him utterly drained.
Even sampling local cuisines wasn’t enough to stave off his desire for his own little office in the Imperial Bureau of Violet Hills City. He missed his city, the beautiful little capital of the kingdom tucked into the pleasant eastern valleys.
He sighed and picked up his tea, but it was empty. Setting it down, he took the lid out of his teapot to indicate he wanted more.
Last night had been long and cold as he scoured the snowy mountaintop and argued with the Shining Mountain Sect disciples about exactly where their jurisdiction ended and his began. He understood the locals felt that this was their personal matter to deal with, but demons were the responsibility of the Heavenly Phoenix Emperor, and…
A yawn derailed his line of thought.
The proprietor’s daughter, Tan Lu, noticed his exhaustion and quickly replaced his teapot. He thanked her, and she offered a demure smile in return.
What a charming young flower, Deng thought to himself. It wasn’t hard to imagine some drunken farmers starting a brawl over that smile. Though he was far removed from such things, and the girl was young enough to be his granddaughter — if he had any family.
His raven black robes weren’t so out of place with the local fashion, but the family running the inn picked him as a Special Inspector before he even showed his Imperial Ring.
They hadn’t charged him once, which was unnecessary and technically illegal, but he appreciated the gesture.
Truly, the heavens could be generous.
Because Deng was fucking tired.
Though he was a cultivator at the 9th and final stage of the Body Tempering realm, running up and down icy slopes while chasing shadows from dusk till dawn still sapped his energy. Without an awoken dantian to store qi, he was barely more than a mortal.
He certainly couldn’t go without sleep or food, and so he plucked another delicious soup dumpling with his chopsticks. A wide yawn almost made it impossible to swallow, but somehow he managed.
If he didn’t need to get on the road and head to another job to the north, he would happily pay for a room downstairs and sleep for a week.
As it was, he leaned against the windowsill and tried to ignore the growing commotion in the inn behind him.
The cultivators he’d been forced to work with — low-ranking inner disciples from the Shining Mountain Sect — were deep in their cups and celebrating their rout of the demonic cultivators. To hear them tell it, each one had single-handedly fought off a horde of monsters, only to send the dastardly ringleaders running with their tails behind their backs.
Truly a tale for the epics, if half of it was even true.
Deng Bo stifled another yawn.
Really, there had been no battles and no ringleaders. It was much like any other Imperial mission: confusing, underwhelming, and exhausting.
There’d been a brief surge of demonic qi from one of the Shining Mountain Sect’s outer peaks, which one of the sect elders detected. Deng had been in the area, and so his superior reached out through his ring and assigned him to the task.
The demonic qi signature vanished by the time Deng and the sect cultivators reached the peak — he knew he’d slowed them down, but he doubted they would have found anything anyway.
Demonic cultivators weren’t known for being easy to catch.
Their group scoured the mountaintop and found a large hand, disturbingly human and curiously half-eaten. There might be a coming case of demonic activity in the area after whatever unfortunate hungry animal mutated.
Other than that, there was a formation hidden in the stone.
Even a cursory inspection revealed the qi to be demonic and hideously complicated. Without a Nascent Soul cultivator to cleave their way inside, it might take the sect days, weeks, or even months for them to break their way into the facility.
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Any evidence they could glean would be vital for the continued pursuit of the Hidden Lotus Sect. Even a century after their dispersal, the empire was still cleaning up the messes left behind.
The server brought him a plate of fried dumplings, their crisp lace still sizzling from the fryer, and he tucked in with gusto. There was no qi in the food, but the pork and chives were expertly seasoned. Enough travel occurred on the Emperor’s roads that no sub-par inn could long survive, and for that, Deng thanked the heavens.
Until one of the Shining Mountain Sect cultivators sat opposite him. The young man wore the same silver and grey robes as the other disciples, but wore them better.
Burying his sigh, Deng gave a brief nod to the other man. Technically, an imperial agent didn’t need to show deference, but outside of the courts, strength was power. The smug man sitting opposite him — Ren Feilong — was in the 2nd stage of Qi Formation. Rather than tea, Ren Feilong drank rice wine, and judging from the gourds on his group’s table, he was deep in his cups.
“It was a fine battle we fought last night,” Ren Feilong said after a moment.
“Yes,” Deng said, wondering where the conversation was going. “The Emperor will be pleased.”
“And you will mention how the Shining Mountain sect drove back the darkness?”
Deng should have guessed: politics, and not even subtle.
“Of course,” he said with another deferential nod of his head. “Your sect shall be rewarded for all their valiant contributions.”
He would be sure to mention how the boisterous and foolhardy cultivators had most likely chased away any possible leads.
Ren Feilong, oblivious to the sarcasm, simply nodded and sipped at his alcohol. He showed no sign of moving, and so Deng returned to his dumplings.
Deng didn’t know why Ren Feilong was separating himself from the others, nor did he care. Most likely, the young master was reinforcing his authority over the other two disciples. Even the way he lounged in his chair showed how much he thought himself a preening young master.
The other two disciples — Deng had already forgotten their names, though he wrote them down earlier — were harassing Tan Lu. Deng’s heart went out to the young woman; it must be hard to be a flower in a backwater region where men such as these were the cultivators.
The only other customers were a group of old merchants, keeping to themselves as they ate a late breakfast in the far corner.
Tan Lu escaped the crude flirtations as she passed back over to check on his meal.
“The dumplings are fantastic,” he said. “Thank you.”
She once again smiled, but as she turned to leave, Ren Feilong caught her wrist. The movement was quick and graceful, but everyone at the table knew she had no chance of breaking away.
“Come, sit with us a while,” he said with a smile.
It was all the more infuriating that Ren Feilong was handsome. He truly looked every inch the masterful cultivator from his long, silky hair, high cheekbones, pure skin, and clean, flowing robes.
Tan Lu smiled and bowed.
“You honor me, sir,” she said. “But I must assist my father.”
“Oh, they can wait, can’t they? After all, this inn is about to become a favorite of the Shining Mountain Sect! I’m sure your parents will appreciate the business.”
The woman looked conflicted.
Deng glanced at his teapot.
“It seems my tea is cold,” he said. “Perhaps she can get me a refill first?
Fortunately, Ren Feilong was drunk enough not to notice the lie.
The young master frowned with annoyance, but nodded and released his grip on her wrist. Tan Lu walked away to the kitchen — not too quickly — but with a stiffness that made Deng want to punch the man opposite him.
Of course, such an action would only result in him breaking his knuckles.
As a peak Body Tempering cultivator, Deng Bo was faster and tougher at fifty-six years than most men half his age. He could walk a dozen miles in a day without collapsing — even if it was uphill. He could fill paperwork without sleeping if the occasion demanded it. He could knock mortal bandits if they decided the imperial robe wasn’t protection enough.
None of that mattered when facing someone in the realm above him.
Ren Feilong was a true cultivator.
When Ren Feilong broke through at eighteen and completed the heavenly tribulation, he marked himself as a genius by the standards of Black Tiger Kingdom. Now, at twenty-one, he was in the second stage of Qi Condensation, his dantian steadily filling with powerful liquid qi.
Compared to Deng, Ren Feilong was stronger, faster, and — most dramatically — he could wield qi in a way Deng could only achieve through expensive talismans.
It was rumored that the sect elders even taught Ren Feilong the sect’s coveted Shining Mountain Fist technique.
All of Deng’s physical ability was nothing in the face of that. Not to mention that even lifting a finger against the young master would result in him getting chewed out and beaten by both the sect and his supervisor.
A beating swiftly followed by losing his job and a possible execution.
He sighed.
In all his travels, it was an unfortunate truth that young masters tended to act like dickheads until another young master came along and squished them. Such squishing either resulted in death or manners. He wasn’t sure if it was unfortunate that it was mostly death.
“I wonder what you are thinking, special inspector?” Ren asked with cold fire in his eyes.
“This servant is simply tired,” Deng said with honesty. “And I am thinking of the long road ahead.”
“You’re from Violet Hills City?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’ve heard tales of Violet Hills City. Is it true that the women there are as numerous as peach blossoms in spring?”
Deng buried another sigh and started talking about his home. Tan Lu was taking her time with the tea, but he was glad she’d seized the excuse he gave her. As he spoke, his gaze drifted out the window.
Which caused him to stop talking completely. He blinked, but that didn’t change what he saw.
“What is it?” Ren asked at his abrupt silence.
“A stark naked man,” Deng said. “And he’s coming this way.”
They both stared through the window and wondered why a naked man was walking towards the inn with such a confident expression.
