87: Chapter 87 The Great Clans Return, and...

The morning mist had not yet dispersed, and dew still clung to the stone steps before the main gate of the Chen Family.

Chen Wuwang stood at the edge of the council platform. At his feet lay the short blade left behind last night, its serrated fire emblem gleaming coldly in the dim light.

He did not have anyone collect it, nor did he spare it another glance, as if what was stuck in the ground was not a lethal weapon, but a broken stalk of grass.

The wind blew from the northeastern woods, carrying the scorched earth and the lingering scent of spiritual energy.

He raised his hand and lightly brushed the edge of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye. The final evacuation trajectory in his field of vision was automatically archived and marked as "Ash-01". The data entered the database silently, without a sound.

He knew that the thirteen raiders from last night were merely shadows sent to scout the path.

The real blade had only just arrived at the door.

When footsteps sounded, he did not turn back. Two figures crossed the warning line outside the Medicinal Field, their boot soles crushing withered leaves. The rhythm of their steps was too steady for visitors; they walked like masters inspecting their own territory.

"Head of the Chen Family." The voice was not loud, but deliberately elongated at the end, as if reading out a verdict. "The East Ling Zhao Clan, special envoy, has arrived again by order."

Only then did Chen Wuwang turn around.

The visitor wore a robe with black and gold patterns, embroidered with a three-headed snake emblem on the chest, and spiritual silk chains on the cuffs—the standard attire for a Great Clan's diplomatic envoy. The regulations exuded an Aura that sought to suppress others.

Two attendants followed behind, their swords still sheathed, but their spiritual power fluctuations were constantly maintained at the critical point of eruption, clearly showing they were here to flex their muscles.

The envoy stood still, his gaze passing over Chen Wuwang and sweeping directly toward the Medicinal Field.

There, the seven spiritual plants had already been retracted underground, and the surface of the protective Formation was scorched black, bearing the remnants of last night's battle.

"The anomaly in your estate's Medicinal Field has shaken the East Wasteland." The envoy spoke, his tone suddenly dropping. "Our clan's high-level decision is that such a miraculous change in heaven and earth cannot be monopolized by one family. We have come today for only one thing—we ask the Chen Family to share the fruits of the mutated spiritual plants."

As the words fell, the air seemed to tighten for an instant.

Chen Wuwang did not move.

He stood there, his back slightly relaxed, his hands hanging naturally, not even his fingertips trembling.

A few strands of his silver-white hair were blown up by the wind, and the claw mark on his right cheek left by the Zerg was faintly visible in the morning light.

He looked at the envoy, his eyes as calm as an old well.

Then, he smiled.

It was not a cold sneer, nor a mocking laugh; he simply curled the corner of his mouth, as if he had heard a not-very-clever joke.

"Share?" He spoke, his voice not loud, yet every word was clear. "Are you saying that you sent people to rob us last night, and since that failed, you've come back today with a different face to demand it?"

The envoy's pupils constricted, and he immediately retorted: "Last night's affair has nothing to do with the Zhao Clan! This is a formal negotiation, not comparable to a private brawl!"

"Oh?" Chen Wuwang raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me, what counts as 'having to do with you'? Does it only count as a formal war when your Sect Master leads a team to slaughter their way in personally?"

The envoy's face flushed red, and he suppressed his anger: "Head of the Chen Family! Do not confuse the public! I represent the orthodox will of the East Ling Zhao Clan. I have come with a clan decree, not to provoke, but for mutual benefit! If you are sensible, you should voluntarily offer the samples in exchange for the protection of a Great Clan. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?" Chen Wuwang replied extremely quickly, taking a step up the stone stairs, instantly standing half a head taller than the other man. "Otherwise you will mobilize troops to suppress the border? Or send another thirteen death squads to sneak into my Medicinal Field in the middle of the night?"

His voice remained steady, yet every word was like a nail, hammered into the ground.

The envoy was forced to retreat half a step, then realized what was happening and said angrily: "You are refusing to engage in dialogue!"

"I am not refusing to engage in dialogue." Chen Wuwang shook his head slowly, his tone suddenly shifting, as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "I said we can trade."

The envoy was stunned.

"You want the spiritual plants?" Chen Wuwang looked at him, his gaze like iron. "Fine. Bring resources to trade for them."

The air paused again.

The envoy stared at him, as if seeing this person in front of him clearly for the first time.

He was not the head of a ruined clan who had turned his fortunes around by luck as rumored, not an opportunist hiding behind a mech, but a madman who dared to slam the word "trade" into the face of a Great Clan.

"You... what did you say?" The envoy almost thought he had misheard.

"I said, if you want something, you have to trade something for it." Chen Wuwang repeated, his speaking speed slow, every word landing firmly. "It is only natural. You want samples, fine. But you must bring equivalent resources—spiritual mines, land vein rights, high-level rune diagrams, take your pick. Equivalent exchange, fair and honest."

He stopped for three seconds at this point.

Not more, not less, just enough for the other party to realize—this was not a request, not a compromise, but a counter-offer.

The envoy froze in place, his lips moving slightly, unable to speak for a moment.

He had brought an order, not a negotiation document.

He had prepared words to apply pressure, prepared the moral blackmail of "the greater good," and even rehearsed the image of the other party kneeling and begging for mercy.

But he was not prepared for an answer to: "Why should we give just because you want to take?"

Chen Wuwang just stood there, calm and composed, like a mountain that had just risen from the ground.

He did not mention the bloody battle of last night, did not mention the injuries of his clansmen, nor did he mention the short blade stuck in the ground.

With just one sentence, he had turned "extortion" into "trade," and flipped "the strong bestowing favors" into "an equal game."

The wind swept across the stone steps, lifting a few scorched leaves.

The envoy finally found his voice and gritted his teeth: "Do you know... that with a single command from my Zhao Clan, we can mobilize three thousand elites and trample the Seven Clans Alliance within a day?"

"I know." Chen Wuwang nodded. "That's why I said 'we can trade.' If you really wanted to fight, you wouldn't have only sent thirteen people to test us last night."

He took half a step forward, his gaze pressing down: "You dare not act rashly because you don't know my trump cards. But you are unwilling to give up, so you've come back to ask in a different way. Right?"

The envoy's breath hitched.

Chen Wuwang did not give him a chance to retort and continued: "I am not afraid of you coming to ask, nor am I afraid of you coming to rob. But you must remember one thing—nothing from the Chen Family is given for free. If you want it, you must pay the price. This is my rule."

After saying this, he stopped looking at the envoy and turned to walk toward the stone table in the center of the council platform.

Spread out on the table was a terrain map of the East Wasteland, with the markings from last night's battle not yet erased.

He picked up a charcoal pen, drew a circle on the perimeter of the Zhao Clan's territory, and said nonchalantly: "Within three days, send over the list of resources you are willing to trade. I will see if it is worth talking about."

After speaking, he put down the pen, looked up at the envoy, and said in a tone as flat as if he were seeing a guest out: "You may leave."

The envoy stood in place, his body stiff, his face turning green and white.

What he had brought was not a negotiation, but an ultimatum.

But now, the ultimatum had been torn up and replaced with a price quote.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found that all his prepared words were stuck in his throat—to speak harshly would make him seem like a paper tiger; to retreat would be to lose too much face.

In the end, he only managed to squeeze out: "You... will regret this."

Chen Wuwang smiled slightly and did not reply.

He just stood on the stone steps, watching the envoy's back as he turned and left, until that streak of black and gold disappeared into the end of the morning mist.

The wind rose again.

He lowered his head and glanced at the short blade at his feet.

Then he raised his hand and lightly pressed his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye.

In his field of vision, a new instruction silently appeared: [In three quarters of an hour, an encrypted transmission from the West Ridge direction will connect.]

He did not open it.

He simply cast his gaze back toward the long path outside the main gate and whispered to himself: "One has come, so don't blame me if I... invite the rest in as well."