"You folks are unbelievable! That's just plain rude!" someone yelled after the Golden Fan Young Master, sounding oddly familiar. Yang Qi glanced over—it was that honest kid again, shaking his fist in outrage!
"Zhang Wei?" That was the only name he knew, so that's what he called out. Not her real name, but the tough girl probably knew he meant her.
Sure enough, the tough girl jerked her head like she'd just been whacked, spun around, and gawked at Yang Qi. "Whoa, it's you!" A reunion—well, it hadn't been that long, and they weren't exactly besties, but still, a surprise. She strode over, curious: "What're you doing here?" Then her gaze turned cold. "Here to rubberneck again?"
In her mind, Yang Qi's reputation was shot... but hey, she wasn't wrong; he really was just here for the drama. "Yep, it'd be weird not to check out a spectacle like this." Yang Qi patted the big box. "Curious what this thing is, but I've got stuff to do. I'm out. Two busted wheels, so drive safe." With that, Yang Qi kept tailing Golden Fan Young Master.
"Save your fake concern!" the tough girl grumbled.
Yang Qi kept walking, passing through the middle of the tough girl's convoy. Suddenly, he felt a chill and glanced at one of the carriages. Nothing special—just roomy. He sensed only one person inside, no martial arts aura, nothing out of the ordinary. But for some reason, as he got within three meters, a powerful presence hit him.
It was an indescribable, swelling sense of presence—like there was a dormant volcano inside, quiet but ready to blow. Yang Qi whipped his head around, but the feeling vanished, like a mirage. Behind the thick curtains, a sharp gaze met his for a split second, like two legendary swords clashing in midair.
Yang Qi just kept walking, leaving it all behind. "This place is crawling with weirdos," he muttered. That was his only takeaway.
After he left, the convoy started moving again. When the big carriage reached the accident spot, an old but powerful voice called out from inside: "Stop."
The whole convoy came to a halt.
Someone inside parted the curtains, shooting a glare out the window straight at the road. A few onlookers, busy gossiping, suddenly felt an overwhelming pressure and scattered. Once the crowd cleared, two footprints were left on the road—Yang Qi's handiwork.
The person inside examined the scene for a while, then called out, "Han'er, come here."
The tough girl hurried over, respectful: "Grandpa, what's up?"
"Do you know that man from earlier?"
"Uh, not really. We bumped into each other a few days ago at Greenhill Town, chatted a bit—never even exchanged names." The tough girl didn't want to revisit that embarrassing day.
"Keep an eye on him."
"You mean..." The tough girl hesitated, then remembered something. "Right, his apprentice said he was super strong. Could he be... one of us?" She whispered the last part, afraid of eavesdroppers.
"Better safe than sorry." The elder pointed at the footprints. "Those weren't made with internal energy, that's for sure."
"I'll chase after him right now!" The tough girl was ready to sprint.
"No rush," the elder stopped her. "We'll see him again in Eight Directions City. For now, let's focus on the smelting—way more important. If you ever learn to chill out, I'll finally be able to relax."
"Got it." The tough girl shrank back, grinning sheepishly.
Meanwhile, over on Yang Qi's side: tailing Golden Fan Young Master was a breeze. In cop movies, the stalker always worries about losing the target, keeping them in sight, and if spotted, starts haggling with street vendors to blend in. But for Yang Qi, tracking someone was child's play—he didn't even need eyes on them. Crank up his hearing and smell, and he could monitor them from a mile away.
Eventually, Yang Qi ditched the tail—Golden Fan Young Master just wasn't worth it. The guy spent all day running errands, playing big shot while doing grunt work. Buy this, fetch that, everything ended up in some fancy mansion. From overheard chatter, he was basically busting his butt for the "Golden Old Master"—living the high life thanks to his loyal servant.
After a whole day, all Yang Qi got was a crash course in Eight Directions City's luxury shopping scene—and a couple of sword and knife moves dissected on autopilot. Clearly, Golden Fan Young Master No. 3 was not worth following. Time to shift focus to his boss. That mansion sure looked tempting for a little recon, but daylight wasn't the time for mischief. He'd poke around at night instead.
Golden Old Master ran the Tienjin Pavilion, and after more than a decade of fame in the martial world, he was no ordinary guy. If Yang Qi wanted to take him on, he'd need a better plan.
That night, Yang Qi returned to the Grand Brothel—hey, he's a VIP here! Who's laughing at him for being a virgin now?
"Yo, Yang bro, you're back!" The greeter at the door was none other than Easton, looking so fresh-faced he could tempt a saint. A pretty boy like him in a place like this—hard to tell who was the customer and who was the merchandise. He walked in with Yang Qi. "Get any hot tips today?"
"Nope."
"Figured as much—real intel needs the right connections. Snakes have their own paths, dogs have their own holes; you won't hear anything juicy on the street. But my big bro snuck out today and came back with three major scoops." Easton flexed his veteran informant skills: "First, Ouyezi entered the city this morning. In a few days, the big weapon showcase will kick off—it's gonna be wild."