Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Ethereal Abode

Liu Feng turned and walked down to the second floor, settled the bill, and left the place.

He returned to the Zhao residence, ate a simple meal, and went to his room. Sitting cross-legged, he began to cultivate using the “Qi Qian” technique.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and by the time Liu Feng emerged from his meditative state, dusk had already fallen.

He washed up briefly, then made his way to the place where he had arranged to meet Zhao Hong. When he arrived, he found Zhao Hong already waiting for him, along with the two who had fought the Zhang family earlier that day—Zhao Jun and Zhao Bochao.

When Zhao Hong saw Liu Feng approach, a smile appeared on his face. “Brother Wenfeng, you’ve finally arrived.”

Liu Feng looked apologetic. “Sorry, once I start cultivating, I lose track of time. I hope you don’t mind.”

Zhao Hong laughed. “No wonder you’ve achieved such strength at a young age. So it’s your diligent cultivation!”

“Enough with the pleasantries. Eating and drinking at ‘Mist Pavilion’ is what matters now,” Zhao Jun interjected.

Zhao Hong slapped his forehead. “You’re right, let’s continue our conversation at ‘Mist Pavilion’ over food and wine.” He took the lead, and Liu Feng, Zhao Jun, and Zhao Bochao followed closely behind.

In no time, they left the Zhao estate and found themselves on the bustling main street.

As Liu Feng watched the throngs of pedestrians and the brilliant lights of the night market, he was filled with a touch of emotion. The liveliness of a great city was incomparable—nothing like the small town of Qingfeng where he’d come from.

Suddenly, Zhao Hong asked, “By the way, Brother Wenfeng, where are you from? You don’t look like a local.”

Liu Feng considered for a moment. “I’m from a remote village on the outskirts of Nanzhou City.”

“Well, when you have time, you must explore Nanzhou City properly. The countryside can’t compare to the excitement here,” Zhao Hong said warmly.

Chatting as they walked, it wasn’t long before they arrived in front of an impressive building.

“This is ‘Mist Pavilion.’ I suppose this is your first time here, Brother Wenfeng?” Zhao Hong said.

“Yes, I’ve never seen such a magnificent restaurant before,” Liu Feng replied.

He looked up and saw the grand establishment, shrouded in wisps of mist, lending it the air of a recluse’s abode—a sense of ethereal grace.

“Enough admiring it from below. Let’s go up to the second floor,” Zhao Hong said.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor of Mist Pavilion, which was already completely packed. Had Zhao Hong not reserved a table in advance, they would have had to turn back.

As they arrived, a waiter hurried over, greeting them warmly. “Young Master Zhao, your table is ready. This way, please.”

The waiter led them to a private room—spacious and bright, with tables and chairs crafted from the finest wood.

Zhao Hong picked up the menu and told the waiter, “We’ll have these dishes, and this one as well.” The waiter nodded repeatedly. “And bring us your best wine—the ‘Mist Immortal Brew.’”

“Certainly!” the waiter replied, dashing off to the kitchen.

The group nibbled on exquisite pastries as they awaited the arrival of fine food and wine.

Suddenly, Liu Feng spoke up. “Brother Zhao Hong, judging from what happened today, it seems there’s some bad blood between your family and the Zhangs.”

Zhao Hong’s face darkened with anger. “There is indeed. Both sides covet the other’s influence, and neither is willing to yield.”

“So, today’s events were hardly as simple as they appeared,” Liu Feng mused, his eyes glinting.

“Exactly. Now that you mention it, Brother Wenfeng, I suspect this may have been a deliberate scheme,” Zhao Jun chimed in.

Zhao Hong looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Zhao Jun pondered aloud. “I think this may be the work of Lord Wang Rui, the city governor. By exploiting the relationships between you, Zhang Wenbin, and Wang Yue, he could be inciting greater conflict between the Zhao and Zhang families, weakening both in the process.”

Zhao Hong was incredulous. “That’s impossible! Would he really sacrifice Wang Yue’s happiness for such a plan?”

Zhao Jun replied, “Of course, it’s just my personal guess. Perhaps things aren’t as bad as I imagine.”

“Enough. It’s only speculation. We must do nothing without evidence,” Zhao Bochao said gravely.

“Right! I imagine father and uncle have long since noticed something amiss,” Zhao Hong agreed.

Liu Feng clapped his hands. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. The food’s getting cold.” Several dishes had already arrived.

The conversation ceased as they turned their attention to the feast before them, launching into a “battle” with the delicacies.

Liu Feng tasted the fish, finding it tender and delicious, leaving a lingering fragrance on his palate. He sampled more dishes—each one a rare treat.

“Young Master Zhao, your ‘Mist Immortal Brew’ has arrived. Please enjoy,” the waiter announced, bringing a porcelain bottle of wine.

Zhao Hong took it, uncorked it, and poured everyone a full cup. Immediately, an intoxicating aroma wafted from the crystal-clear liquid.

Liu Feng took a sip, feeling a warm current flow into his stomach and then spread through his entire body. He felt as if he were floating, on the verge of ascending to the clouds.

“What a marvelous wine,” Liu Feng exclaimed.

“Of course. This is a peerless vintage, worth hundreds of spirit stones per bottle. Ordinary folk have no chance to taste it,” Zhao Hong explained.

Bang!

Just as they were merrily eating and drinking, the door to their private room was flung open. Five or six young men, dressed like wealthy dandies, strode in.

The one in front walked up to Zhao Hong, a mocking expression on his face. “Isn’t this the second son of the third master of the Zhao family? I heard you were to wed the city lord’s niece today. Did you bring the bride?”

Another, wearing a cold smile, chimed in, “Brother Yang, you must be drunk. Young Master Zhao never married Wang Yue—the Zhang family’s Zhang Wenbin ruined that.”

“What a pity. Who would have thought that Young Master Zhao couldn’t even protect the woman he loves? I truly feel sorry for Wang Yue—why did she pick such a spineless man?”

“I heard that if not for a young man stepping in to help the Zhao family, Wang Yue would already belong to the Zhangs.”

The two traded barbs, each word a heavy blow to Zhao Hong.

His face grew darker as he listened. Slamming the table, he stood and pointed at the leader. “Yang Hao, are you looking for trouble? Don’t think that just because the Yang family is powerful, I’ll be intimidated.”

Yang Hao’s expression was calm. “Why would I? I only came to offer some advice. There are plenty of good women in the world—why get hung up on someone so fickle? But it seems I’ve had too much to drink and started spouting nonsense.”

A cold look settled on Zhao Hong’s face. “Enough. You’re not welcome here. Please leave.”