The heavy wooden door of the Crouching Tiger Inn swung shut behind them with a solid thud, muffling the cacophony of horrors that filled the streets outside. The contrast was immediate and jarring—like stepping from a nightmare into a dream, though one still tinged with darkness at its edges.
Inside, the atmosphere was surprisingly civilized. The main hall stretched before them, filled with sturdy wooden tables and chairs occupied by patrons who ate and drank with an almost ordinary decorum. Conversations were conducted at reasonable volumes, without the constant undercurrent of threats and obscenities that seemed to form the basic vocabulary outside. No blood stained these floors, no severed limbs decorated the walls.
Oil lamps cast a warm amber glow throughout the space, supplemented by a large hearth at the far end where a fire crackled pleasantly. The air carried the scents of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced wine—a welcome change from the miasma of death and decay that permeated the city streets.
Along one wall ran a polished wooden bar where several bartenders worked with practiced efficiency, serving drinks to patrons who waited their turn without shoving or drawing weapons—behavior that would have seemed unremarkable anywhere else but felt almost miraculous within the City of Sin.
"This is... unexpected," Liang Chen murmured, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly as he took in their surroundings.
"The Crouching Tiger maintains certain standards," Driver Mo replied quietly. "It's why I brought us here. The owner understands that some travelers prefer not to sleep with one eye open, and he charges accordingly."
The old driver gestured for them to follow him toward a counter at the rear of the hall, where a young man sat hunched over what appeared to be a ledger, his fingers moving rapidly as he counted through a pile of translucent stones that glowed with faint inner light—Refined Jade, the standard currency of the cultivation world.
Even from a distance, it was clear this was no ordinary innkeeper's son. His clothing was of exceptional quality—silks and brocades that would not have looked out of place in the most exclusive establishments of the imperial capital. Gold rings adorned several fingers, each set with gems that pulsed with stored spiritual energy. His features were handsome in a sharp, predatory way, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that suggested aristocratic bloodlines.
Most striking, however, was the complete absence of fear or caution in his bearing. In a city where everyone—from the lowliest beggar to the most hardened criminal—maintained a constant vigilance against potential threats, this young man's casual confidence spoke volumes about his position and the protection he enjoyed.
As they approached, he looked up from his counting with obvious irritation at the interruption. His eyes—cold and calculating despite his youth—swept over the group with the dismissive assessment of one accustomed to judging others solely by their potential value.
"What do you want?" he demanded, not bothering with even the pretense of courtesy.
Driver Mo stepped forward, adopting a deferential posture that seemed at odds with his usual dignified bearing. "Rooms for the night, Young Master Zhao. A single large chamber would suffice for our group."
The young man—evidently Zhao Yunli, son of the establishment's owner—curled his lip slightly as he examined them more carefully. He ran his index finger along his upper lip in a gesture that suggested habitual contempt rather than any actual need to scratch an itch.
"Five thousand Third Grade Refined Jade," he announced, his tone making it clear this was not a starting point for negotiation but a final price.
The amount was staggering—five times what they had paid merely to enter the city, and enough to purchase modest accommodations for a year in most respectable towns.
Even Li Meixia, accustomed to the extravagance of noble living, could not entirely suppress a sharp intake of breath at the outrageous sum.
Zhao Yunli's eyes narrowed at their hesitation, his expression hardening into open disdain.
"If you don't have the money to pay, why the fuck are you wasting my time?" he snapped, his cultured appearance belied by the crudeness of his language. "This isn't a charity for beggars. Get lost if you can't afford it."
The contempt in his voice was palpable, each word delivered with the casual cruelty of one who had never faced consequences for his actions.
Around them, several patrons glanced over briefly before quickly returning their attention to their own business—a telling reaction that suggested Zhao Yunli's behavior was both familiar and best ignored by those who valued their safety.
Driver Mo's weathered face revealed nothing of his thoughts as he reached into his robes and withdrew a pouch that clinked heavily with the weight of its contents. With practiced movements that betrayed neither resentment nor submission, he counted out the required amount and placed it on the counter before Zhao Yunli.
The young man made no move to verify the payment, his absolute confidence that no one would dare short-change him more revealing than any display of power could have been.
Instead, he yanked open a drawer beneath the counter and extracted a heavy iron key, which he tossed carelessly in their direction rather than handing it over properly.
"Room twenty-one, first floor," he said, already turning his attention back to his ledger as if they had ceased to exist the moment the transaction was complete. "Try not to bleed on the furniture."
Driver Mo bent to retrieve the key from where it had landed at his feet, his movements careful and measured. He had just straightened and opened his mouth—presumably to offer thanks despite the young man's rudeness—when a commotion at the entrance drew everyone's attention.
A middle-aged man stormed into the inn, his face flushed with anger or drink or both. He was powerfully built, with the thick neck and calloused hands of one accustomed to physical labor, though his clothing suggested he had risen above such work—perhaps through cultivation or less savory means.
Without hesitation, he marched directly to the counter where they stood and slammed his fist down with enough force to make the pile of Refined Jade jump and scatter.
Several stones rolled off the edge, but Zhao Yunli made no move to retrieve them, his attention fixed entirely on the newcomer.
"How dare you slam my table, dog?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft despite the vulgarity of his words. "Are you so eager to end that miserable life of yours?"
The middle-aged man's face darkened further at the insult, veins standing out on his forehead as his anger visibly mounted.
"You know why I'm here, you little bastard," he growled, leaning forward until his face was mere inches from Zhao Yunli's. "Your father promised me payment for that job in the eastern quarter. Three days I've waited, and nothing. I want my money now, or there will be consequences."
The threat hung in the air, its audacity causing a ripple of tension to spread through the previously calm establishment. Conversations died away, patrons shifting subtly to ensure they were not in the potential line of fire. The bartenders moved with practiced efficiency, ducking behind the solid wooden bar that would provide some protection if violence erupted.
Wudi Egun and his companions found themselves frozen in place, unwilling participants in a confrontation that could turn deadly at any moment. They exchanged quick glances, silently assessing the situation and their limited options should the worst occur.
What made the confrontation particularly alarming was the palpable aura of power that emanated from the middle-aged man as his anger grew.
Golden light began to shimmer around his form—the unmistakable manifestation of a cultivator's Qi being prepared for combat. The pressure of his spiritual energy filled the room, causing the flames of nearby lamps to flicker and dance.
"A Core Formation cultivator," Liang Chen whispered, his assessment confirming what they all sensed. "This could get ugly."
In the cultivation world, those who had successfully formed their Golden Core represented a significant threat—capable of feats far beyond ordinary mortals and even those at lower cultivation levels. Such individuals typically commanded respect even in major cities, their power making them valuable allies or dangerous enemies.
For such a person to openly threaten someone in the City of Sin suggested either extraordinary courage or a fundamental misunderstanding of the local power dynamics. Based on the complete lack of concern on Zhao Yunli's face, it appeared to be the latter.
"You overestimate your position," the young innkeeper said, his tone one of bored contempt rather than fear. "And you underestimate mine."
Without rising from his seat or showing any sign of exertion, he brought his hands together in a single, sharp clap that echoed through the suddenly silent room.
The response was immediate and terrifying in its efficiency.
Two figures materialized behind Zhao Yunli as if conjured from the shadows themselves. They wore form-fitting black garments that covered them completely, even their faces obscured behind masks that revealed only their eyes—cold, dead eyes that held no emotion whatsoever.
No weapons were visible in their hands, yet something about their posture suggested they were armed in ways that might not be immediately apparent.
"Kill this ignorant dog," Zhao Yunli ordered, his tone as casual as if he were requesting another cup of wine. "And remove the mess from my sight. It's disturbing my guests."