*Great Zhou, Imperial Capital*
At dawn, the warm morning sun bathed the land in golden light. The towering gates of the imperial city groaned with a deep, resonant sound as they slowly parted. The ground quaked, hooves thundering as three hundred armored cavalry charged through the dust along the official road, four prison carts rattling in their wake. The gates swung wide, allowing the convoy to surge into the city.
This was the escort led by Beiluo’s city lord, Lu Changkong, departing before dawn to reach the capital. Inside the city, the cavalry slowed, the main thoroughfare cleared by imperial guards. Street vendors and passersby were held back, their curious eyes fixed on the procession and its creaking prison carts. The citizens craned their necks, eager for a glimpse of the spectacle.
Luo Yue, Beiluo’s general, waited beneath the city tower alongside the commander of the imperial guard, hand on his sword, standing in silent vigil. As Lu Changkong approached, the commander, respectful, leaned slightly in his saddle. “Lord Lu, this way.”
Luo Yue trailed quietly behind. Lu Changkong, clad in armor, his face stern, returned the courtesy and led his three hundred riders toward the imperial palace. At the palace gates, the cavalry dismounted, and the prison carts were secured.
Having ridden since before dawn, Lu Changkong arrived just in time for the morning court. The palace gates formed three arches—the central one soaring nine meters, the side gates two meters high. Beyond lay the grand plaza, paved with white stone, stretching toward the majestic Taihe Hall, its massive eaves and pillars looming over ten tiers of white jade steps etched with intricate patterns. Flanking the hall were two white jade lions, exuding divine majesty, while corridors with a hundred rooms each lined the sides like twin dragons guarding the treasure.
Lu Changkong, helmet in hand, his hair loose, strode forward with Luo Yue in tow. On the jade steps, high-ranking officials and nobles crossed the threshold into the hall, many casting curious glances at Lu Changkong. His defense of Beiluo, repelling Tantai Xuan’s fifty-thousand-strong army, was already legend in the capital—a rare victory for a Great Zhou beleaguered by twelve warlords.
Inside the hall, officials lined both sides. At the center, the young Emperor Yuwen Xiu sat on the dragon throne, clad in a five-clawed golden dragon robe, his youthful face radiating regal poise. Seeing Lu Changkong, a faint smile crossed his lips. The morning court was less about substance and more about signaling to the realm. Among the four prisoners were three martial grandmasters and one of Tantai Xuan’s lieutenants. After the session, they would be beheaded at the Noon Gate, under the watchful eyes of the public and the hidden spies of noble families scattered in the streets.
The execution proceeded. Four heads rolled, blood staining the ground.
---
Lu Changkong emerged from the palace, helmet in hand. Outside, a refined Confucian scholar approached from a distance, bowing deeply. “Lord Lu, my master requests your presence.”
Lu Changkong’s expression remained impassive. “Beiluo’s affairs are pressing. I must return. Please convey my apologies to the Imperial Preceptor—I’ll visit personally another day.”
He donned his helmet, summoning Luo Yue to depart swiftly.
The scholar, undeterred, maintained his gentle smile. “Lord Lu, my master insists on a meeting at the Library Pavilion. He recently gained insight into medicine and believes he can treat Young Master Ping’an’s leg condition.”
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Lu Changkong paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the scholar’s serene demeanor. Such an offer was hard to refuse. “Very well. Since the Preceptor remembers my son Ping’an, I’d be remiss to decline. Lead the way.”
---
Deep within the palace, amid gilded halls, stood a modest two-story building—the Library Pavilion, unadorned and weathered. Here resided the Great Zhou’s most revered figure, mentor to emperors and scholars alike. The scholar led Lu Changkong to the pavilion’s courtyard gate but stopped short, barred from entering without the Preceptor’s summons. Even high-ranking officials needed permission. Luo Yue, too, was halted outside.
Lu Changkong, armor shed, entered alone, hands clasped behind him. The small courtyard bloomed with flowers. Before the pavilion, a disheveled middle-aged Confucian lay sprawled on a bamboo chair, reeking of wine. His robe hung open, chest bared, as he clutched a massive wine gourd, muttering poetry between foul-smelling belches.
Lu Changkong’s eyes narrowed. “Sir, I am Lu Changkong, Lord of Beiluo, here to meet the Preceptor.”
The drunken Confucian squinted at him, then pointed, laughing. “So that’s it! I divined Beiluo’s fall as certain, but you, a farmer’s heir, must’ve stumbled into some damned luck!”
He guffawed, swigging from his gourd. A mild, aged voice echoed from the pavilion. “Tianyu, stop your nonsense.”
An elderly man in plain robes and straw sandals emerged, holding a bamboo scroll, his white hair framing a gentle face. The drunken Confucian’s laughter ceased, and he turned away. Lu Changkong, his face softening, bowed deeply. “Preceptor.”
The old man warranted such respect. “No need for formalities,” the Preceptor said, waving a hand, his gaze sweeping Lu Changkong. Though a grandmaster, Lu Changkong felt an immense pressure, as if the frail old man saw through him entirely.
The Preceptor’s eyes narrowed, a glint passing through them. “I see. You’ve found a way for Ping’an’s legs.” He smiled warmly, then tapped the drunken Confucian’s head with his scroll. “Tianyu, prepare the carriage.”
The man blinked, bewildered. “Carriage? Where to?”
The Preceptor glanced at Lu Changkong with a knowing look. “You’ll go to Beiluo in my stead. Though Changkong may have a solution for Ping’an’s legs, you should still check. If his condition persists, try my method. I’ve long heard of Ping’an’s talent, but his ailment kept him from travel. If he’s healed, I’d like to meet him.”
Lu Changkong’s body jolted. The drunken Confucian’s eyes lit up. “A new junior brother? Finally, I can ditch this damned pavilion guard duty!”
---
*Drunken Dust Pavilion*
The young master sat in his wheelchair, a jade crown securing his hair, a jade hairpin gleaming, his fair face radiant like a refined gentleman. Behind him, Ning Zhao’s long skirt fluttered, her dark hair dancing in the breeze. Nie Changqing stood by, butcher’s knife slung over his shoulder.
The young master propped his chin with one hand, the other tapping the wool blanket, his eyes narrowing as a system prompt appeared:
Side Mission 2: Build a Transcendent Force from Scratch [Current Progress: Selected Location ‘Drunken Dust Pavilion’ (Rename Opportunity: 1)]
Rename? His fingers tapped his chin thoughtfully. Saving Nie Changqing had completed one task, but securing Drunken Dust Pavilion hadn’t finished this one. Building a transcendent force clearly required more—perhaps clearing out rival factions’ spies. What name to choose? Drunken Dust Pavilion, poetic as it was, carried the stigma of Beiluo’s grandest pleasure house.
His eyes flickered, his mind stirring. “In the heavens, White Jade Capital, with twelve towers and five cities…” he murmured, the breeze carrying his words.
A soft laugh escaped him. “Let it be… White Jade Capital.”
Congratulations, Host. Location renamed successfully. Transcendent Force ‘White Jade Capital’ established. Reward: A couplet imbued with the Charm of Enlightenment.
The system prompt faded. The young master’s mind cleared, his gaze sharp. He looked up at the pavilion’s signboard, raising a hand as if to wipe away the name “Drunken Dust Pavilion.”
“Hand raised to erase the name that clouds the eye, henceforth White Jade graces this city. Such a tower belongs in the heavens, rarely seen on earth.”
He chuckled. Behind him, Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing trembled, staring in awe at the signboard. The words “Drunken Dust Pavilion” vanished under an eerie force, replaced by three new characters:
*White Jade Capital.*
