35: Take the initiative

That evening, Wu Guohua was meditating by the Taro River Valley medicinal field when he suddenly felt the True Qi within him surge like a tide, his bones crackling like stir-fried beans, and the metallic luster on his skin becoming increasingly solid.

Opening his eyes, the sun had already set, dyeing the medicinal field a golden hue. A gentle breeze swept through, causing the rice waves to ripple like a golden ocean.

Through continuous cultivation, Wu Guohua had now opened up over thirty mu of land on both sides of the stream in Taro River Valley. In this tranquil and harmonious scene, Wu Guohua felt a subtle, inexplicable unease.

"What's meant to come will always come..." he murmured softly, looking towards Qinghe Prefecture City. The threat from the Liu Family was like a sword hanging over their heads; until it was removed, the Wu Family would never know peace.

After half a month of busy preparations, the entire family gathered in the main hall. Wu Guohua explained his plan to go to Qinghe Prefecture City in detail, and to his surprise, his grandfather did not object.

"It's time," the old man tapped his tobacco pipe. "But this time, my third uncle and I will accompany you."

"Father, we want to go too!" His father and second uncle stood up simultaneously.

"The family cannot be left without someone in charge," his grandfather waved his hand. "Wenbin and Wenzhang will stay behind. In case of any unforeseen circumstances, they can take care of things."

It was finally decided that the grandfather, third uncle, and Wu Guohua would go to Qinghe Prefecture City. This time, they did not bring any spirit rice or Spirit Potato, as these items could not be exposed too much.

The night before their departure, Wu Guohua went alone to the highest point of the back mountain, overlooking Wu Family Village in the night. Three years ago, it was still a barren small village, but now every household had renovated their homes and built granaries.

On the watchtower at the village entrance, the villagers on night watch were full of spirit—they were young people who had been following the Wu Family in martial arts practice.

The night wind blew, bringing the fresh scent of earth and grain. Wu Guohua took a deep breath, feeling the surging power within him.

An eleven-year-old Seventh-Rank Martial Artist was an astonishing existence in the entire Qinghe Prefecture. But he knew that this was far from enough.

"Six-Rank Martial Master..." He clenched his fist, his eyes gleaming with determination. Only by Breaking through to the middle three ranks could he truly protect this hard-won home.

In the distance, a bright moon quietly rose, casting its cold light upon the earth.

Five days later, the thin morning mist enveloped Qinghe Prefecture City like a light veil, blurring the towering grey city walls, making them appear hazy and mysterious.

The rising sun spread a faint golden halo in the mist, but it could not dispel the lingering chill at the city gate.

Merchants had already formed long queues, pushing handcarts laden with grains, fruits, and vegetables. The wheels rumbled heavily over the bluestone road.

The air was filled with the earthy smell of soil and the dampness of morning dew, mixed with the sweat of horses, forming a unique scent of the marketplace.

Wu Jiulong walked amidst the crowd, his coarse linen clothes washed to a pale white, his bamboo hat pulled low, obscuring his sharp gaze.

He deliberately hunched his back and walked slowly, just like those old farmers who had toiled for years in the countryside.

The copper tobacco pipe tucked into his waist swayed gently as he walked, occasionally clinking softly against the iron buckle on his belt.

His palms were rough and broad, with prominent knuckles, seemingly old and weak, but in reality, they contained the explosive power of a Seventh-Rank Martial Artist.

A few steps behind him, Wu Guohua followed discreetly.

The young man's figure was tall and straight, his dark-green short martial attire clean and neat. A short knife with a dark wooden sheath was tucked into his waist, its handle wrapped in dark red hemp rope, giving him a steady and reserved appearance.

His gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, yet as calm as still water, not at all like the usual impulsiveness of a thirteen-year-old.

The shouts from both sides of the street, the haggling, and the children's laughter all clearly reached his ears.

But he was not distracted; instead, he carefully sensed the aura of this city—beneath its prosperous facade, undercurrents surged.

Further away, Wu Wenwu blended into the stream of people entering the city, deliberately keeping a distance from the grandfather and grandson.

His figure was thin, and his face was ordinary, the kind of person who would disappear into a crowd and never be found again.

But his gaze was as sharp as a blade, scanning his surroundings discreetly.

The guards at the city gate, the wandering Martial Artists loitering at street corners, and the merchants conversing in low voices at the teahouse stall were all taken in by his eyes.

His hand remained poised at his waist, where a short dagger was hidden, ready to respond to any sudden situation.

The three followed the slowly moving crowd and finally passed through the city gate.

The shops along both sides of the street had already opened. Steam rose from the breakfast stalls, the aroma of steamed buns and fried dough sticks mingling, making hungry passersby frequently turn their heads.

A cloth shop assistant was shaking out a newly arrived bolt of silk, its surface gleaming like flowing water in the sunlight;

From the blacksmith's shop came the clanging of hammers, sparks flying;

At the entrance of the pharmacy, the shopkeeper was drying medicinal herbs, their rich fragrance wafting on the wind.

Just then, a team of Martial Artists dressed in uniform emerged from the street corner. The leader had a long sword at his waist, and his gaze swept through the crowd like lightning.

Wu Wenwu's figure immediately melted into the shadows of a cloth shop, while Wu Guohua naturally turned sideways, pretending to be interested in a sugar figure stall by the roadside.

The sugar figure vendor was an old man with a wrinkled face, skillfully using syrup to draw a Phoenix with outstretched wings.

The golden sugar threads shimmered in the morning light, and a sweet, cloying scent wafted over.

Wu Guohua took out two copper coins and bought a sugar horse, using the opportunity to observe the movements of the team of Martial Artists out of the corner of his eye.

"Young Master, is this your first time in Qinghe Prefecture City?" the old vendor asked with a smile, his hands not stopping as he made another sugar rabbit.

Wu Guohua showed a shy smile appropriate for his age: "Yes, I came with my grandfather to sell grain."

The old man chuckled, his gaze lingering on the short knife at his waist for a moment, then he continued his work as if nothing had happened.

In the distance, the team of Martial Artists had already moved away. Wu Wenwu quietly emerged from the shadows and gave a signal to the grandfather and grandson.

The three rejoined the flow of people and walked deeper into the city. The morning mist gradually dispersed, but the dark clouds hanging over Qinghe Prefecture City seemed to grow thicker.

The sign of "Old Fu Ji" Teahouse was faded, and the wooden door frame was covered with years of scratches.

Wu Jiulong pushed open the creaking wooden door, and a strong scent of tea mixed with the smell of sweat wafted out.

The teahouse was dimly lit, with a dozen rough wooden tables scattered about, each polished smooth by the tea customers.

Wu Jiulong chose the table in the furthest corner, brushed away non-existent dust from the stool with his sleeve, and then slowly sat down.

He took off his bamboo hat and hung it on a wooden peg at the corner of the table, revealing his greying hair and wrinkled forehead.

A waiter hurried over, a grey-yellow towel draped over his shoulder, a professional smile plastered on his face.

"Two guests, what tea would you like?"

"A pot of Old Jun Mei, and two plates of beans flavored with aniseed (fennel beans)," Wu Jiulong's voice was hoarse and low, and he lightly tapped the table twice with his finger.

Wu Guohua sat quietly opposite his grandfather, his gaze subtly scanning the customers in the teahouse.

At a table to the left sat three men dressed as escorts, with gleaming steel knives at their waists; to the right was a one-eyed old man, drinking by himself with a plate of peanuts;

The liveliest was the table in the middle, where four or five people dressed as Martial Artists were laughing loudly, reeking of alcohol.