No Fighting Allowed in the Inn-Chapter 109

◎Killing Multiple Birds with One Stone, The Grand Competition Begins◎

White Hair in Vain?

White Hair in Vain!

Upon hearing this news, the martial artists and physicians in the inn all froze, as if something had flashed through their minds.

They seemed to have overlooked something earlier.

By the time Ying Chen snapped out of it, Ying Wumian had already rushed straight to the main courtyard of the inn, leaving not even a shadow behind.

Wasn’t this unfilial son supposed to disdain everything? Why was he suddenly so interested in White Hair in Vain?

Unable to make sense of it, Ying Chen simply summoned Bian Xingzhou and asked, "Did your Senior Brother Ying ever mention wanting White Hair in Vain?"

"No," Bian Xingzhou replied. "Senior Brother has no interest in such external things."

Ying Chen’s instincts told him something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He waved Bian Xingzhou away with a sigh.

The rewards of custom weapons and White Hair in Vain had been announced, leaving many martial artists who hadn’t signed up kicking themselves in regret.

They flocked to the main courtyard, trying every excuse to make up for their missed opportunity.

Ying Wumian strode forward, sword in hand, the imposing aura of a seventh-level Martial King pressing down on the crowd, which instinctively parted to make way.

He stopped before Xue Guanhe, who was blocking the martial artists, his smile refined and elegant.

"May I ask, young hero, if it’s still possible to sign up now that I’ve arrived late?"

Xue Guanhe shook his head helplessly. "I’ve said it many times already—registration is closed. If you want to sign up now, it’s too late."

Should’ve come earlier if you wanted in. Now you’re regretting it, huh?

"I’d like to offer a hefty sum for a single petal of White Hair in Vain. Would your Manager Lu be willing to make this deal?"

"No," Xue Guanhe answered. "White Hair in Vain is a reward. The inn only has this one petal left."

The manager had mentioned that the Gu God Sect had gifted two petals—one had been used in medicine, leaving only this one.

When he heard about the reward, his heart ached.

Since when had the manager become so generous?

Realizing there was no room for negotiation, Ying Wumian didn’t press further and turned to leave the courtyard.

Seeing even a seventh-level Martial King fail to get his way, the crowd dispersed in disappointment.

——

At the Carefree Sect’s residence.

Zhao Rui suddenly slammed the table. "No wonder something felt off! I should’ve realized it sooner!"

"Realized what?" Zhao Xian sipped his tea leisurely. "That you all foolishly overlooked the truth back then and brought back fake flowers to the sect?"

"Father, why didn’t you remind me earlier?"

"If she managed to obtain two petals of White Hair in Vain, it means the Miao people had plenty to spare. The fact that they didn’t care about what you stole suggests you were tricked. Isn’t that obvious enough? Did you really need me to spell it out?"

As for whether it was truly two petals, he leaned toward believing it was.

Even if the Gu God Sect was generous, two petals would be the limit.

Zhao Rui was consumed with self-reproach. "How could I have missed it back then?"

"What would it have changed? Rare herbs belong to those with the ability to claim them."

"That’s not the point! I’m thinking—Xue'er is pure and kind-hearted. Back at the Dianzhou inn, she was deceived by Manager Lu’s smooth talk. She definitely didn’t know about the fake White Hair in Vain! The Miao people must have taken advantage of her innocence to swap the flowers! Xue'er is innocent—she never colluded with the Miao!" Zhao Rui pounded his chest in frustration.

Compared to Xue'er, isn’t Manager Lu far more likely to have teamed up with the Miao?

Zhao Xian’s hand, holding the teacup, paused. "...Get out."

Zhao Rui scrambled out, rolling from the Carefree Sect’s courtyard straight to the Carefree Sect’s neighboring residence.

Bian Xingzhou was there, along with disciples from other sects and young wandering martial artists.

"Xue'er, I shouldn’t have doubted you. I’m sorry."

"Xue'er, that day you stopped us from picking White Hair in Vain, and later the flowers were swapped. I thought you were deliberately distracting us..."

Zhao Rui threw a punch. "If you can’t speak properly, then shut up!"

"Nice hit!" Bian Xingzhou cheered for him for the first time.

The youths, already hot-blooded and simmering with frustration, were further ignited by Zhao Rui’s punch. Soon, the whole group descended into a brawl.

A staff member quickly arrived but didn’t intervene. Instead, he pulled out paper and brush and began taking notes.

Bian Xingzhou, still somewhat rational, caught sight of the staff’s actions out of the corner of his eye and stiffened. He immediately withdrew from the fight and asked, "What are you recording?"

Qi Chuan: "Fighting is prohibited in the inn. That’s the rule. Anyone who breaks it gets a mark. They’ll also have to pay a fine afterward."

"What’s the mark for?"

"One mark for participating in a fight. If you accumulate three marks, you’re barred from staying in the courtyard and entering the training grounds. Six marks, and you’re banned from all functional areas, including the training grounds. Nine marks, and you’re permanently banned from all branches of the Eight Directions Inn."

The brawling youths immediately froze.

Qi Chuan finished his notes.

"Oh, and during the competition, anyone with three marks will be disqualified. Remember to go to the main courtyard later to pay the fine. If you don’t, you’ll also be disqualified."

"..."

Suddenly, someone asked, "If someone gets disqualified, can others take their spot?"

Qi Chuan turned. It was the refined, sword-carrying young master.

He shook his head. "No."

Then he tucked away his notes and left.

Zhao Rui couldn’t help but yell, "Bian Xingzhou, are all members of the Martial Alliance as shameless as you?!"

Bian Xingzhou: "..."

Senior Brother Ying’s behavior was so out of character that even he was too stunned to retort.

Ying Wumian ignored Zhao Rui entirely.

"Junior Brother Bian, come with me to pay the fine."

Bian Xingzhou: "..."

Is this really Senior Brother Ying?!

But with his senior brother’s order, he had no choice.

Baffled and bewildered, he followed Ying Wumian to the main courtyard.

Unable to hold back any longer, he finally asked on the way, "Senior Brother, why did you suddenly decide to join the competition?"

Ying Wumian: "Father’s orders."

"But Master already tried to persuade you before..."

"Why did you fight with them?"

Bian Xingzhou obediently answered, "Someone said something unpleasant. Zhao Rui was afraid Xue'er would be upset, so he threw a punch. Then, somehow, it just escalated."

"If you truly admire her, why didn’t you believe her in the first place?" Ying Wumian lowered his eyes. "Can that even be called affection?"

Bian Xingzhou: "..."

What happened to the gentle, composed Senior Brother Ying he once knew?

He never used to talk about things like this.

"Senior Brother, don’t tell me you also have feelings for Xue'er—"

"Is that all your brain can think about?" Ying Wumian still wore a smile, but the line of his profile seemed inexplicably colder. "Your skills haven’t improved at all since last year. What have you been wasting your time on?"

Bian Xingzhou shrank back.

Alright, the Senior Brother who could scold people mercilessly while smiling had returned.

——

One brawl, a hundred taels fine per person. Twenty people in total—the inn made a clean two thousand taels.

Since this money wasn’t earned through the use of props, Little Ke had no share in it. It all went straight into Lu Jianwei’s private account.

Uncle Zhang was in charge of collecting the fines.

These disciples from major sects were truly wealthy—they handed over a hundred taels without batting an eye. The rules set by the manager were truly brilliant.

"Elder Zhang, how exactly did the Eight Directions Inn obtain White Hair in Vain? Were those fake ones connected to Manager Lu?" someone hidden in the crowd asked.

Uncle Zhang chuckled. "The manager once went to Dianzhou and saved the local tribespeople. White Hair in Vain was their generous gift."

This was the official explanation the inn gave out.

The manager and Gentleman Wen had attended the Gu God Festival and returned without saying a word. Naturally, no one dared to ask.

In truth, even he and the other staff members had no idea what exactly the "Fake White Hair" incident was about.

Of course, that wasn’t important—helping the manager make money was the top priority.

It was unclear whether the others believed it or not, but after paying their fines, they each returned to their rooms.

At the Carefree Sect’s residence.

Lvluo whispered, "Miss, you told me before that the person who saved you at Soul-Severing Ridge was..."

He Lianxue raised a hand to stop her. "At Soul-Severing Ridge, I tried to stop them from seizing the White Hair, but I was struck down. It was a hidden expert from the Miao tribe who saved me."

"Exactly," Lvluo nodded in understanding. "So the tribespeople of the southwest are quite grateful. You helped them, and they saved you. Manager Lu saved their people, and in return, they gifted her the White Hair."

He Lianxue’s expression grew even more resolute. "Stealing from others is no different from being a bandit. No one ever taught me this before—I lived in a daze, like a puppet with no will of my own. It was Manager Lu’s words that woke me up."

She knew very well that Manager Lu had taken her to the Gu God Sect to save her, which meant the sect had deep ties with Manager Lu.

The White Hair couldn’t have been stolen by Manager Lu—it must have been a gift from the Gu God Sect.

No matter how much was given, it was obtained honorably.

"But Miss still suffered unfairly," Lvluo said, distressed. "The Miao tribespeople deliberately swapped the White Hair to trick those people, yet it’s you who bore the blame and insults."

He Lianxue replied, "They didn’t know I would intervene. This was my own choice—it has nothing to do with them."

At the residence of the Sky Pillar Hall.

"Father, if the Miao tribespeople could really pluck the flowers after they bloomed and replace them with fakes without anyone noticing, why didn’t they do it ten years ago? Or twenty years ago?" Zhao Rui, unusually clear-headed after paying his fine, said, "I think this matter is connected to Manager Lu."

Zhao Xian half-closed his eyes. "The fake flowers you brought back were convincing enough to pass as real. If not for our hall’s physicians having used the real thing, they wouldn’t have noticed. Crafting such convincing fakes couldn’t have been done overnight."

"Are you saying the Miao tribe pulled this off because they finally perfected the fake flowers?" Zhao Rui frowned. "But how did they manage it under everyone’s noses?"

Zhao Xian answered, "They used flute music to bewitch people."

"Impossible," Zhao Rui shook his head vehemently. "If Xue’er really conspired with the Miao tribe, why would she act so blatantly? If she hadn’t appeared in person and only used the flute to control people, who would’ve known it was her? What benefit would she gain from this?"

Zhao Xian finally opened his eyes fully. "Finally, a moment of wisdom."

Veterans of the martial world, having seen much, never truly believed that He Lianxue had colluded with the Miao tribe to swap the White Hair.

However, the fact remained that she had interfered, and she deserved some consequences. That’s why, when rumors ran rampant earlier, none of the elders stepped in to correct the younger generation.

If this could shake the youths’ infatuation with He Lianxue, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Unfortunately, the younger generation still lacked resolve.

The other martial artists involved in the White Hair incident also pieced together the truth.

Some even remarked, "Right, why were we fighting over it? If we’d helped the tribespeople like Manager Lu did, wouldn’t we have gotten the White Hair too?"

By using the White Hair as a reward, Lu Jianwei achieved multiple goals at once.

She cleared He Lianxue’s name, ignited the competitive spirit of the inn’s martial artists, and planted a seed in their hearts:

Good deeds bear good fruit.

As night fell and the courtyard gates were bolted, Lu Jianwei gathered everyone in the main hall.

"Who’s participating in the upcoming tournament?"

Uncle Zhang was too old to spar with youngsters; Yun Hui’s skills weren’t advanced enough. The remaining candidates—Xue Guanhe, Yan Feicang, Yue Shu, Tiao, and Liang Shangjun—all met the requirements.

Xue Guanhe spoke up first. "Manager, I’d like to give it a try."

Yan Feicang simply said, "Me."

"What about you three?"

Tiao’s expression was firm. "I also want to try."

Yue Shu said, "Manager, I’ve looked at the tournament roster—there aren’t any experts in esoteric arts, so I won’t be participating."

Lu Jianwei nodded in approval.

"Manager, all I know is how to steal, not fight. I’ll sit this one out," Liang Shangjun waved dismissively.

Lu Jianwei countered, "Your lightness skill is excellent—you can dodge and wear down your opponent. You’re joining too."

"..."

"Don’t stress too much. Winning isn’t the only goal—what matters is that you gain something from the experience." Lu Jianwei smiled encouragingly. "Of course, if you do win, keeping the rewards in-house is just keeping wealth within the family."

The thought of the rewards falling into outsiders’ hands instantly pained the staff, firing up their competitive spirits.

The tournament was only open to martial artists between the fourth and seventh levels. Those below the third level—usually disciples brought along by their sects to observe or gain experience—could only spectate.

The registration results were in:

148 participants in the fourth-level group, 32 in the fifth-level, 18 in the sixth-level, and only two in the seventh-level.

A total of 200 participants.

While this number was a small fraction of martial artists in the wider world, the turnout for the inn’s opening had been modest to begin with, making this a relatively minor tournament.

Seventh-level martial artists rarely participated in public tournaments, hence the meager turnout—just two, both independent practitioners.

When the roster was announced, some rejoiced while others lamented.

After news of the tournament spread, some sects had scoffed at the idea of participating but sent a few disciples anyway to save face.

Now, seeing the names of other sects’ rising stars on the list, they were filled with regret.

Manager Lu was truly mischievous—delaying the announcement of the rewards just to watch them writhe in frustration.

The promise of priority weapon customization alone had driven most martial artists wild. Adding the White Hair to the mix was like stirring a storm in the inn’s lodgings.

At the Divine Physician Valley’s quarters, Meng Ti’an sighed repeatedly.

In his decades of life, he’d encountered countless rare herbs—but never the White Hair.

If only he were a decade or two younger, he would’ve signed up without hesitation!

The day before the tournament, Lu Jianwei once again convened a meeting with the elders of various sects in the main courtyard.

The seating arrangement and attendees remained unchanged.

"The tournament needs a referee. Who among you is willing to take on this responsibility?"

Neither Xie Tongshu nor Zhao Xian spoke up. Leaders of second- and third-tier sects, like Peak Master Luo and Fort Master Hei, didn’t volunteer either.

"I’ll do it," Qi Yan offered.

"No." Hei Zhan was the first to object, his thick brows furrowing. "The Mystic Mirror Bureau can’t."

Qi Yan retorted, "The Mystic Mirror Bureau isn’t participating in the tournament and has no stake in the outcome. Why can’t we serve as referees?"

"Martial world affairs are none of the Mystic Mirror Bureau’s business," Hei Zhan growled. "Besides, you’re only at the early seventh level—what qualifies you to be a referee?"

"A referee needs to be impartial. I believe Deputy Commander Qi’s position makes him well-suited for the role," Lu Jianwei interjected, raising an eyebrow. "If you disagree, feel free to nominate someone else."

Hei Zhan suggested, "Divine Physician Valley’s Meng Ti’an."

The Divine Physician Valley focused solely on healing and stayed out of martial world conflicts. While they had ties to many sects, they were, strictly speaking, neutral.

"Would Divine Physician Meng be willing to serve as referee?" Lu Jianwei asked.

Meng ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‍Ti'an said with embarrassment, "My martial skills are lacking, and I'm getting old—I truly don't have the discernment for this. Manager Lu, my apologies."

"No need for apologies." Lu Jianwei smiled and asked, "Is there anyone else?"

Zhao Xian suddenly spoke up, "The Thousand Miles Tower isn't on the competition list this time. Tower Master Zhuang might be suitable."

The Thousand Miles Tower had only sent a few people for the congratulatory visit—Zhuang Wenqing, Lan Ling, and three disciples—with no others participating or registering for the grand competition.

As an intelligence organization with little connection to other sects, they were indeed a neutral choice for refereeing.

Aside from Xie Tongshu, everyone else nodded in agreement.

Lu Jianwei then asked, "Tower Master Zhuang, would you be willing?"

"Since all esteemed peers have recommended me, I shall humbly accept the role of referee." Zhuang Wenqing, with a genial expression, clasped his hands in salute.

And so, the matter was settled.

Time passed swiftly, and soon the day of the grand competition arrived.

Carving out a vast arena across eight thousand acres of land was effortless.

The arena shared similarities with training grounds but also had key differences.

Like the training grounds, it had a raised platform and spectator seating, but the arena featured an additional referee's seat, and the audience was seated farther from the stage.

The front rows of the spectator stands were reserved for elders and senior figures from various sects. Lu Jianwei sat in the very center, flanked by Xie Tongshu of the Carefree Sect and Zhao Xian of the Heaven Pillar Hall—two of the most prominent sects among the martial world's elite.

Zhuang Wenqing occupied the referee's seat.

With so many revered elders and sect leaders present, the younger martial artists, many of whom had never witnessed such a gathering, felt their blood surge with excitement, their chests swelling with boundless fighting spirit.

They were determined to put on an impressive performance before these esteemed figures!

Even before the competition began, the arena buzzed with fervor. A single exchanged glance between young warriors could spark tension, as if a fierce clash was imminent.

Many also stole glances at the innkeeper seated at the center.

Standing out among the bearded elders, she wore a moon-white martial outfit, her beauty ethereal and striking.

Compared to the venerable figures beside her, her presence was no less commanding.

A twenty-seven-year-old Martial King of the eighth rank—how many in the world could claim such a feat?

The young martial artists were filled with admiration and longing, but they dared not stare too long, fearing it would be disrespectful.

Among the Qingyun Peak competitors, Luo Lianhuan stared for a long moment before suddenly asking Luo Sheng, "When will I ever reach the level of Manager Lu or Deputy Commander Qi?"

"Maybe in your next life?"

Luo Lianhuan raised a fist.

"Just joking." Luo Sheng dodged with a grin before turning serious. "You're only twenty. Keep working hard, and you might still catch up."

Luo Lianhuan nodded fiercely. "I will!"

At the far end of the stands, Shangguan Yao clenched her fists nervously.

Frail in health, she was usually kept away from martial competitions where uncontrolled inner energy could easily harm her. But she had pleaded with Shangguan Huai to let her attend, and when he refused, she went straight to Lu Jianwei.

Lu Jianwei had assured her that the inn's defensive mechanisms would envelop the entire arena, neutralizing any stray energy that might threaten spectators.

With that guarantee, Shangguan Yao was allowed in—though Shangguan Huai insisted she sit at the very back.

Before the matches began, Little Tao, seated beside Shangguan Yao, pulled out several bags of snacks.

Tall and always hungry, she needed provisions to last through the long event.

Her munching drew attention. A short-bearded old man nearby, dressed in scholarly robes with paper and brush on his lap and a book chest at his feet, leaned over.

"Little girl, I'm feeling a bit peckish. Might you spare some?"

Little Tao turned, surprised she hadn’t noticed him earlier.

"Didn’t we just have breakfast?" She tightened her grip on the bag, protective of her food.

Mei Sixian chuckled sheepishly. "I woke late and didn’t eat much."

The inn’s dining hall had strict hours—miss them, and you went hungry.

Sympathetic, Little Tao reluctantly scooped out a handful of dried fruit.

"I don’t have much to spare."

Mei Sixian accepted it with both hands, beaming. "Kind young people like you are rare these days."

"Really?" Little Tao blinked. "I think there are plenty."

Mei Sixian: "..."

After a pause, he laughed softly, nibbling on a piece before musing aloud.

"The Eight Directions Inn truly lives up to its reputation. For Manager Lu to reach the eighth rank as a Martial King at such a young age, and to command respect from so many sect elites—remarkable indeed."

Little Tao brightened. "Twelve is amazing! And her medical skills are incredible too."

"Twelve?"

"That’s what she has us call her—she’s the twelfth in her family."

"A large family, then." Mei Sixian smiled. "Has she mentioned how many siblings she has?"

Little Tao shook her head. "No."

Shangguan Yao, wary of loose talk, suddenly clutched her chest. "Little Tao, I’m not feeling well."

"Miss! Should we go back?" Little Tao immediately set the snacks aside, turning to support her.

Shangguan Yao waved it off. "It’s fine. The auras here were overwhelming, but it’s better now."

"With your health, Dean Shangguan allowed you to come?" Mei Sixian smoothed his paper with a paperweight, speaking mildly. "If you’re unwell, best return early."

Shangguan Yao frowned. "You know me?"

"I’m a scribe with the Mystic Mirror Bureau, here to document the event. I must know everyone present."

Shangguan Yao nodded. "Please focus on your records. Little Tao, don’t disturb the elder."

"Yes, miss."

The inn’s surveillance covered the entire arena.

Every word exchanged between Mei Sixian and Little Tao reached Lu Jianwei’s ears.

"Jianwei, he seems to be probing about you."

Lu Jianwei smirked. "Little Tao accidentally helped."

Scribe Mei likely now assumed she had numerous powerful relatives—something that might give him pause, whatever his intentions.

"Jianwei, didn’t you and Gentleman Wen speculate that the mastermind wouldn’t give up? Could they strike today?" The system sounded both eager and anxious. "With so many eighth-rankers here, what if they’re all enemies?"

Lu Jianwei reassured, "They won’t be. Besides, we still have the disguise artifact."

"Right."

"Speaking of which," Lu Jianwei recalled, "the disguise artifact boosts the user’s level by three. I’m at the eighth rank—what’s three above that?"

"The maximum is Grandmaster."

"Got it." She ordered, "Activate the defensive artifact at the eighth rank."

Previously, to save funds, she had only bound eighth-rank offensive artifacts to five key structures.

But this competition was too critical—another million taels for eighth-rank defenses was necessary.

The system sighed. "Our funds are dwindling."

"This might be the chance to reel in a big fish and recoup losses." Lu Jianwei soothed it. "Have I ever failed to turn a profit for you?"

"I’m just… mourning the expense a little."

The eighth-level defensive artifact was immediately activated, binding itself to the arena and rendering the entire battleground impregnable—unless a ninth-level Martial King or Grandmaster were to intervene personally.

A sharp, resonant gong strike signaled the official start of the competition.

The first to take the stage were the fourth-level martial artists. Opponents were decided by drawing lots, with all fourth-level participants—whether early, mid, or late-stage—mixed together in the matches.

Two young warriors, both around seventeen or eighteen years old, stepped onto the platform first.

One was a wandering rogue, while the other wore the disciple robes of Qingyun Peak. The former, a mid-stage fourth-level practitioner, wielded a saber, while the latter, an early-stage fourth-level fighter, gripped a sword.

Duels of this level failed to stir even the slightest interest among the true masters.

Lu Jianwei only needed a few glances to spot countless flaws in their techniques—and she was certain the elders and senior figures present felt the same.

What did catch her attention, however, was the two thin ribbons tied around the Qingyun Peak disciple’s arm.

One was red, symbolizing a reserved appointment with a physician; the other was green, representing a guaranteed pass for the tournament.

Qingyun Peak clearly valued its disciples highly.

The thought had barely crossed her mind when the situation on the platform took a drastic turn. The rogue martial artist failed to rein in his saber’s momentum, and even as the Qingyun Peak disciple shouted, "I yield!" the blade continued its deadly arc toward his neck.

Zhuang Wenqing sat calmly in the referee’s seat, closest to the action, yet he seemed frozen, unable to react in time.

Below the stage, Luo Wanchun shot to his feet in alarm, but before he could intervene, an overwhelming yet gentle force swept aside the rogue’s saber at the last possible moment—saving the Qingyun Peak disciple’s life in the nick of time.