CHAPTER 29: CHAPTER 29 THE GENTLEMAN IN BLUE ROBES

The waiter, who had worked in the tavern for twenty years, thought to himself that the young master clearly didn’t like fish.

It was rare to see someone in the fish-abundant Chentang Pass who wrinkled their brow just at the mention of fish.

The waiter raised his voice toward the kitchen and shouted, "A pound of yellow wine, a plate of edamame, a plate of stewed peanuts, a plate of pickles, a bowl of hot soup! Guest, please wait—"

After a while, when the yellow wine arrived and the side dishes were placed, the young man in the blue robe picked up the chopsticks, took a couple of sips of wine, and his brows furrowed even more.

He occasionally drank half a sip of wine and ate a bite or two of the dishes; he occupied a table in this bustling small tavern for an entire afternoon. If he didn’t have a Seven-star Treasure Sword hanging from his waist, the shopkeeper would have long thrown him out in anger.

The moment Mr. Fan’s ox cart appeared at the end of the long street, the shopkeeper shot a glance, and the waiter immediately rushed to the table, smiling, and said, "Young Master, I think you’ve had enough wine and food. That elder sitting in the ox cart over there is Mr. Fan from the neighboring Calligraphy and Painting Pavilion."

The young man in the blue robe turned to look, lowered his eyebrows, slammed a large gold ingot onto the table, and without turning back, left immediately.

The waiter was startled; the plump shopkeeper who had been pretending to do accounts while keeping an eye on this side reacted quickly. He rushed over to the table in two steps, picked up the gold ingot, bit it twice to confirm it was real, and once again exclamations echoed throughout the store.

Such a large gold ingot could not only pay for occupying a table and eating for an afternoon but was more than enough to buy the whole shop.

The tavern, whose conversations had just calmed down, immediately focused back on this mysterious source of wealth.

There were even those who specifically went home to tell their daughters to powder their faces, apply rouge, and stroll in front of the Calligraphy and Painting Pavilion with intentions that needed no explanation.

The young man intercepted Mr. Fan’s ox cart at the entrance of the Calligraphy and Painting Pavilion. He first clasped his hands in salute and asked, "Is the gentleman in the cart Mr. Fan from Zhaoge?"

The Attendant Student stopped the ox cart and glanced at the gentleman. Mr. Fan’s face showed displeasure, wondering where this young fellow came from. He seemed extraordinary, yet didn’t know to introduce himself before asking questions, quite impolite.

But before he could respond, he perceived intuitively that the entire body of this young man in the blue robe was covered with a layer of golden light. If he was not mistaken, he must be an incredibly powerful cultivator.

Realizing this, the displeasure on Mr. Fan’s face disappeared. Although the cultivator seemed young, he might actually be older than Mr. Fan himself.

He said, "I am Fan Zhenbang. Daoist, from where do you come, and what business do you have with me?"

"I am Ao Bing."

When he said, "I am Ao Bing," the Attendant Student driving the ox cart was still thinking about who Ao Bing was, but Mr. Fan already knew the reason for this visit.

He maintained his composure, first instructing the Attendant Student to park and open the door, then invited the young man who claimed to be Ao Bing into the store.

Ao Bing, the third dragon prince.

Even if Mr. Fan didn’t know before, once he arrived at Chentang Pass, he could not be unaware of such a divine figure. Even in Bailing Town, some families worshiped the idol of the third dragon prince, offering incense during festivals and even on idle days, praying for favorable weather and safe passage.

"The place is simple, apologies for the inadequate reception, please have a seat," Mr. Fan spoke, and then found a chair for himself to sit down, gesturing to the third dragon prince to sit wherever.

Ao Bing scanned the surroundings with his dragon eyes, pulled over a square stool, and sat in front of Mr. Fan, saying, "This is a humble room."

"You’re too kind."

"I came here for the case of the Sea Patrol Yaksa Li Gen being murdered."

"Why come to me? It wasn’t me who killed him," Mr. Fan reached over to the Attendant Student for the tea, sniffed it between his nose and mouth, showing a satisfied expression, thinking that this Zhaoge tea was indeed good, unlike the nonsense fish tea of Chentang Pass, which frankly insulted the finer senses. "Besides, for the Dragon Palace to investigate a case, requiring the personal involvement of the third prince, it’s really rare."

Hearing Mr. Fan’s words, Ao Bing didn’t get angry; he replied calmly, "Do not play rogue with me, sir. This matter couldn’t be more clear: Nezha of Chentang Pass unlawfully killed personnel registered with the Heavenly Court. What more needs investigation?"

Having seen many major events in life, Mr. Fan scrutinized the third dragon prince closely and caught a hint of leeway in his words, said, "So, instead of capturing Nezha, you come to me, a mere scholar-teacher, what is your intention?"

"Since you’ve asked, I’ll be straightforward," Ao Bing slightly smiled. "This case can be big or small. As the sun rises and sets and all things thrive, countless cultivators have met untimely deaths. Li Gen was not an influential figure; without reports, even the Heavenly Emperor would not remember such a subordinate, and this affair would pass unnoticed."

This meant that how the matter would be handled was just a word from the Dragon Palace.

Mr. Fan also understood that beneath the sun, nothing was new. Whether it was the court in the sky or on earth, ultimately, they were the same. However, such times were often most troublesome. His face showed no emotion, knowing the best approach was to remain unchanged and unaffected. He calmly asked, "So, what does the Dragon Palace want?"

"Firstly, we each take a step back. The Sea Dragon King’s ritual can still be held three times a year, but cannot be ceased. This is the face and bottom line of the Dragon Palace. After all, we are not the Chan Sect, and consuming a few small humans does us no benefit; throwing those carcasses into the sea only feeds fish and turtles for nothing."

"The Dragon Palace wouldn’t retreat for no reason."

"Sir is wise. I also examined this matter thoroughly. You and Nezha are, after all, only cultivators in the God Absorption Realm. Even if you were lucky to kill Li Gen, facing the Dragon Palace of the East Sea and the Four Sea Dragon Kings, you have no chance of winning. Our Dragon Palace has delayed taking action only to avoid offending the Chan Sect behind Nezha. We merely want Nezha to convey a message to the Chan Sect; in the matter of Divine Enthronement, give Ao Bing a position, and we will surely be eternally grateful!"

Upon hearing this, Mr. Fan sighed internally. To reach the Chan Sect, why come to Nezha?

This third dragon prince must have already visited the Chan Sect and was turned away, hence seeking out Mr. Fan and Nezha.

But suffice to say, Nezha would never agree to such terms. Even if he did, the destiny was set in place, not something Nezha could sway. The third dragon prince was truly desperate, clutching at straws.

Desperation can’t always last but could offer a chance to secure something Nezha urgently needed at this stage.

Time.

Mr. Fan said, "I don’t know about this Divine Enthronement business, and Nezha is now away on a trip. If it’s something important, how about discussing it when he returns?"

Ao Bing sneered, "Don’t mess with me. I’m a reasonable person. At that time, Nezha gave Li Gen three days, and today I give Nezha three days. If there’s no satisfying response in three days, I will deal with it officially."

Ao Bing left, and Mr. Fan took another sip of tea. He suddenly felt that the tea, brought from Zhaoge, wouldn’t disgrace cultural propriety, but at this moment, it tasted somewhat insipid. His hand rose three times and fell three times, ultimately not taking a second sip.

As for Ao Bing, though he left, he hadn’t gone far. When he returned to sit at the small black lacquered table inside the tavern, the shopkeeper, usually opportunistic, had already pushed the waiter aside and began to serve him obsequiously.

He said, "Does the Young Master still want wine? Let me tell you, besides the wine you had this afternoon, we also have Daughter Red buried under the willow tree for twenty years."

Twenty years.

Ao Bing sneered in his heart. In the Dragon Palace, he often drank elixirs aged for hundreds or even thousands of years. Did this ignorant fool really think he was sitting here drinking because he fancied the tavern’s wine?

He calmly said, "Same as when I arrived this afternoon."