Chapter 342: Respect You by Three Tenths! (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 342: Respect You Three Times! (Please Vote for the Moon Ticket)

The lingering echoes faded into silence.

The chamber stretched vast and empty, like untamed wilderness and dense forests, where no sound from the outside world could penetrate.

Chen Yì understood at once—this sanctuary was the result of Ye Guxian’s sword technique, absorbing and sealing the very essence of the realm.

Just as the decapitation art of the “wolf” Du Cang.

No one beyond these walls could pierce through, nor could he perceive or witness what lay outside.

Chen Yì sat cross-legged before the table, gazing steadily at Ye Guxian, silent in his regard.

Since the incident with Bai Da Zong, he no longer believed the Xuanwu Sealing Delight could deceive Ye Guxian.

The truth, after all, had indeed slipped through.

Yet Chen Yì could not fathom the purpose behind Ye Guxian’s summons.

Had it to do with his meteoric rise in sword cultivation?

Or something else?

Unable to discern, he pondered, then averted his gaze, lifted the wine jar, poured a cup, and said,

“Senior, please.”

Before Ye Guxian could answer, he drank it all in one go.

What has come must find its peace.

Since he could neither flee nor fight, “responding to all changes through constancy” became his only path.

Ye Guxian, however, continued to gaze coldly at him, watching his steady pouring and drinking, then setting down the cup.

After a few breaths, Ye Guxian withdrew his gaze, lifted the cup, and drank it all as well.

The sharp sword intent within the chamber’s atmosphere dissipated slightly.

Yet Ye Guxian showed no intention of stopping. One cup after another, he poured and drank until the jar was empty.

Chen Yì stared, bewildered.

Whoever had invited him to drink had done so alone—why go through the trouble of inviting him again?

At this point, Chen Yì was truly at a loss.

Seeing Ye Guxian already tearing open the second jar’s seal, Chen Yì sighed, then followed suit, tearing open a jar himself.

This time, he didn’t use a small cup but instead filled an empty bowl, cradled it to his chest, and naturally offered, “Senior, please.”

Then he drank it all in one gulp.

The spicy Raoyu wine slid down his throat, warming his chest and abdomen.

Chen Yì hummed twice, then picked up his chopsticks and began eating the snacks.

Oil-fried peanuts, cold beef, lamb skewers—he ate and drank at leisure, no longer dwelling on Ye Guxian’s intentions, simply filling his belly.

Ye Guxian watched his movements, set down the wine cup, then switched to a larger bowl, pouring the wine to the brim.

He tilted his head and drank it all in one go.

Afterward, he followed Chen Yì’s example, eating the snacks laid out before him.

Then another bowl, and another, and another…

In less than half a *shi*—a mere half-hour—the two had polished off six jars of wine in the chamber.

Neither employed internal energy to counteract the wine’s effects; three jars down, their faces flushed a deep, pork-liver red.

Ye Guxian tilted the wine jar, letting drops fall into the bowl, his expression still blank, though his eyes betrayed a slight furrow of concern.

He glanced at Chen Yì’s side—the remaining half-jar of Raoyu—and said, “Hand it over.”

Chen Yì gripped the jar but didn’t pass it.

He exhaled a breath of wine, then asked through the mist, “Senior, what brings you here this evening but to drink?”

Ye Guxian shot him a glance, his eyes lingering on the jar, his finger lifting.

The very essence of the realm around Chen Yì surged like a mountain, pressing down upon him.

Caught unprepared, Chen Yì’s frame shrank, nearly crushed by the immense, weighty force born of the realm’s essence.

He clenched his teeth, unleashing every facet of his martial arts—fist, gun, blade, sword, step, and body—in full display.

Even so, within this chamber like a prison, he could only claim a sliver of the realm’s essence.

Yet that fragment was enough.

His fingers tightened on the jar, and a soft *crack* sounded—the ceramic jar, riddled with hairline cracks, began to split.

Had he exerted more force, it would have shattered entirely.

Chen Yì fixed his gaze on Ye Guxian, forcing a smile, “Senior, this wine is mine.”

He meant to convey his message thus: “Respect you three times—do not press further.”

Ye Guxian saw through his intent, glanced at the ceramic jar slowly seeping wine, then dispersed the realm’s essence with a wave of his hand.

Chen Yì’s spirit lightened.

Thank the heavens, thank the heavens—Tiger Sister had once whispered to him about Ye Guxian, allowing him to conclude the elder was no man given to slaughter.

For if he were cruel and bloodthirsty, why would he spare the entire Le family under such hatred?

Chen Yì loosened his grip on the jar, then poured two cups of wine, saying, “Sword Ancestor Senior, please.”

Ye Guxian glanced at his hand, then at the cup before him, the redness on his face fading, his eyes brightening.

Clearly, he had no intention of drinking further.

“White Master Bai, before we spar, a duel between us must first take place.”

“The one he selected, the person from the Storm and Rain Tower.”

Chen Yì watched him stare directly at him, his eyes flicking to the wine cup beside his own, then scoffed inwardly.

How could he dismiss a cup of wine touched by his hand? Just because his name bore the “Snow” character, he presumed himself spotless and pure?

Thinking this, Chen Yì finished his cup, then spoke as if he’d heard nothing, “Storm and Rain Tower—loud as thunder.”

“Presumably, Senior Bai’s choice would be his disciple, Shu and Bai?”

“Indeed, a remarkable individual. I’ve heard of him before—gifted beyond measure, not only inheriting Bai Da Zong’s legacy but also carving his own path through a unique martial art.”

Chen Yi finished his half-truth, half-lie, and looked at Ye Guanxian as he spoke with a serious expression: "I wonder, who did you choose? It must be someone equally remarkable, a true genius of the heavens."

Ye Guanxian stared at him, then spoke a single character: "You."

"Me?"

Chen Yi pointed at himself with a grin: "The elder said something funny, didn’t he? My cultivation isn’t even close to matching that water-and-fire master’s strength. How could I possibly be his opponent?"

He knew this person had come to pay him a visit with ill intentions—he’d figured out the plan.

So he was supposed to go spar with the young rising star picked by the immortal White? What did that even matter to him?

Ye Guanxian seemed to have known all along how Chen Yi would react. His voice turned cold:

"Guanmei White chose me to pick you. He also told me, as long as you hear three words, you’ll agree."

"Huh?"

"Xiao Jinghong."

Chen Yi’s smile froze, his wine jar clutched in his hand, crushed to splinters.

He stared at Ye Guanxian for a long moment, then forced his smile back: "Since the elder deems me worthy, I suppose I’ll give it a try."

"But the elder knows my current strength. I’m no match for Shuihong Tong. If I lose, don’t blame me for not trying my hardest."

Jesus Christ.

White the Immortal.

Ye Guanxian.

Two old bastards with no face or skin, threatening him like that… how… utterly unbecoming of a true elder.

Ye Guanxian seemed to sense his thoughts, his face flushing even paler:

"If you win, I’ll do one thing for you."

Chen Yi raised an eyebrow: "Anything at all?"

"Yes."

"Then I’ll go visit the Music Family… Elder, don’t get angry—I was just joking."

Seeing Chen Yi’s sudden sword blade flash across his brow, he let out a nervous laugh: "This matter, I’ll certainly do my utmost."

Shuihong Tong was said to have reached the upper third rank in cultivation, his fist technique towering high enough to shake mountains and rivers.

Plus, being White the Immortal’s disciple, his teachings couldn’t be lacking. His strength was no match for the "wolf" Du Cang and Yang Jingchen—equal in might, no more, no less.

Chen Yi knew he had no chance.

Still, upon careful thought, he could at least give it a shot.

Ye Guanxian’s promise, as weighty as ten thousand mountains, could become a weapon to repel ten thousand soldiers if used rightly.

So Chen Yi’s resistance began to weaken.

Ye Guanxian saw him agree, his lips moving as if saying something to someone.

After a while.

A young waiter from Cloud Qing Lou entered, carrying six barrels of wine, placing them neatly before retreating.

Chen Yi eyed the wine, then looked at Ye Guanxian, whose complexion had returned to normal, his internal energy having dispelled the alcohol in his belly.

Ye Guanxian didn’t mind his movements, as before, slapping the paper off the wine barrels, pouring and drinking.

Chen Yi had no choice but to join him in drinking.

After three rounds.

When Ye Guanxian finished the second barrel, he suddenly said: "Your talent, I’ve rarely seen such in my lifetime."

Chen Yi smashed the third barrel of wine, grinning: "The elder flatters me—I’m merely fortunate in my path."

Ye Guanxian shook his head: "Even human strength has its limits. Even Guanmei White, I’ve only reached three stages."

"And I, only reached the extreme realm in sword and foot techniques."

"You’ve mastered body, foot, fist, spear, blade, and sword—rare in this world."

Chen Yi, hearing him praise endlessly, felt uneasy and grew wary.

"Elder… anything else to command?"

Ye Guanxian nodded directly, his tone softening from cold to calm:

"In two years, there’ll be a Daoist contest of firsts in the South Sea. If you reach the extreme realm in one path, you may attend."

"A Daoist contest of firsts?"

"Yes. The Dali Kingdom, the Barbarian Tribes, the Po Si Suo Kingdom, even the Wa (Japan) Kingdom will all send people."

Chen Yi’s expression flickered, carefully asking: "Are they all elders of your level, like White the Immortal?"

Ye Guanxian nodded slightly: "Guanmei White, myself, and the abbot of Jumeng Mountain, Jingci."

"Jingci the Abbot, her strength rivals yours?"

Chen Yi had heard of Jingci before—when Xiao Wanyan visited Jumeng Mountain each September to tend her health, it was under Jingci’s care.

He’d thought Jingci was only skilled in medical arts, never expecting her to be such a master as Ye Guanxian and White the Immortal.

Upon Ye Guanxian nodding, Chen Yi mused: "No wonder White the Immortal came to Shu Zhou—he was inviting Jingci."

He looked at Ye Guanxian: "Your duel with White the Immortal was also about the Daoist contest in the South Sea?"

Ye Guanxian nodded again: "No opponent to be found, itchy hands."

After a pause, he shook his head: "Guanmei White came to Shu Zhou not just to invite and spar—there’s more."

Chen Yi leaned closer, trying to catch every word, but waited in vain for further details, feeling frustrated.

Fortunately, his curiosity wasn’t strong—otherwise, such half-sentences would’ve driven him mad.

"What exactly is a 'Daoist contest of firsts'? Why does White the Immortal need to invite personally?"

Ye Guanxian still shook his head: "Cannot say."

…

Chen Yi thought to himself, guessing it was because his current strength and techniques weren’t sufficient.

So he stopped asking further.

Then he raised the wine barrel toward Ye Guanxian: "Please."

Ye Guanxian simply said: "Come."

Until sunset, the two finally finished their duel.

The result was a draw—they each drank ten barrels of wine.

Even though they both had martial arts in their bodies, able to use internal energy to dispel the alcohol’s effects, they were both a bit drunk now.

Chen Yi looked outside, stood up, and bowed: "Thank you, elder, for your hospitality. I must take my leave for now."

Ye Guanxian glanced at him, his hand resting on the sword hilt, then vanished into a streak of light.

Blinked away into the horizon.

Chen Yì blinked, his mouth slightly opening as he stared at the spot where the figure had vanished, standing frozen for a long moment.

“Damn…”

Chen Yì, usually good-natured, found himself at a loss for words in the presence of such a senior master.

He could only mutter and curse under his breath.

There was no way out.

Ye Guxian had fled—this was a place where someone had to foot the bill for the wine, food, and all the rest.

Chen Yì shook his head, let out a sigh, and ambled out of the teahouse, making his way down to the counter to settle the bill.

“Gentleman Xiao Zhou, twenty jars of the finest Goulang wine, a hundred taels—consider these dishes your complimentary snack.”

Chen Yì, red-faced, pulled out his money pouch, dropped a silver ingot on the counter, and turned to leave Cloud Clear Tower, heading toward the Bai Cai Tang across the way.

He’d have to remember this debt—on the twenty-first year of Anhe, the twenty-ninth day of the ninth month, “Sword Immortal” Ye Guxian owed him a hundred taels of silver!

Standing tall on the sword suspended in the air above, Ye Guxian gazed down at Chen Yì as he entered the Bai Cai Tang, his icy features rarely showing even a hint of a smile.

“Not bad… your drinking capacity.”

Then, he vanished in a flash of light.

……

Thanks to Ye Guxian’s unexpected interference, Chen Yì’s leisurely pursuits had been thoroughly disrupted.

He retreated to the study at Bai Cai Tang, fetched paper and brush from Wang Ji, and began meticulously recording his plans.

“Supplies: Procure medicinal ingredients from the mountain clans swiftly—should anyone inquire, cite Pei Wenlu as the name.”

“Expansion in Shu must not lag. Establish bases in Guangyuan and Fucheng, spread outward, and aim to cover all of Shu by year’s end.”

“Additionally, purchase the five stalls from Xinglin Pavilion in Fucheng—no need to restrict tea and refreshments.”

One by one, task by task, he inscribed them onto the paper, speaking only of these peripheral matters.

Inquiring about Bai Cai Tang’s recent affairs, the distribution of profits from the medicine hall, and the whereabouts of “Chen Yu” the proprietor, among other things.

Wang Ji read the notes, smiling as he responded.

Once the business was settled, as evening approached, Chen Yì mused and asked, “Are Liu Hu and Zhang Daobao here?”

“They’ve been staying with the guards from the Tian Shan Sect.”

“Per the boss’s orders, Bai Cai Tang’s expansion concerns Hou Fu, so Liu Hu has been instructing those guards in martial arts.”

Chen Yì raised an eyebrow, murmuring, “Liu Lang’s idea?”

To his surprise, Wang Ji shook his head. “The Tian Shan disciples requested it themselves.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not entirely clear on the details, but I’ve heard that their disgrace from the recent Poison Sect attack has driven them to seek swift advancement.”

“So Xue Duanyun found Liu Hu and asked him to guide and instruct the others.”

Chen Yì nodded thoughtfully, a faint smile touching his lips. “Liu Hu, at last doing something worthwhile.”

They chatted idly.

Chen Yì entrusted Wang Ji with a few more instructions before rising to leave.

He hadn’t forgotten to first visit the Bai Cai Tang to collect Pei Wenlu, then bring her back to the Xiao family.

But the tiger cub didn’t know what had befallen her, and all the way there, she was gloomy and silent.

Chen Yì’s mood wasn’t much better, but his carefree nature prevailed—when trouble arose, he’d tackle it head-on. So he chuckled and said, “How has your relationship with Liu been?”

Pei Wenlu snapped back to herself, confusion flickering across her face. “Brother Chen, is my martial arts really that poor?”

Chen Yì fell silent, realizing the cause of her sullenness.

“You’re not bad at all.”

Though it depends on who you’re comparing yourself to…

(Chapter Complete)