Chapter 170: Probably Couldnt Even Protect Himself

Su Junhan looked at the brightly hanging lantern and said, “Even you, Ink Dragon, follow the customs of the Mortal World?”

“The villagers below the mountain gave it to me,” Moyuan replied.

“Gave it?”

“Mhm.”

Moyuan gazed at the lantern. “They gave it because they respect me. Red, beautiful, warm—it feels nice just looking at it.”

Upon hearing this, Su Junhan paused. “Why would you need respect from a mere Mortal?”

“They’re just things you wouldn’t understand,” Moyuan murmured as he kept his eyes on the lantern.

Su Junhan was taken aback once more.

He suddenly felt that this Ink Dragon was acting unusually serious.

He found it puzzling. This lantern wasn’t any sort of Magical Artifact, just a gift from an ordinary Mortal. What was so special about it?

Moyuan didn’t bother to explain further. Only the one who received the Lantern could truly grasp its meaning.

From then on, Su Junhan settled at the Flowing Cloud Temple.

Moyuan, who usually wandered the Taoist Temple bored and spent most of his time napping, now had someone to chat with. He often exchanged a few words with Su Junhan.

But with the Dragon and the Fox, every chat could spiral into a quarrel.

“I heard the Yuanshan Fox Clan fought its way down a bloody path under the Fox Sovereign. How is it that you appear so refined and cultured? Are you truly a Fox Sovereign?”

“Even the fiercest carnivores crave greens sometimes.”

“Too much meat fattens anyone. You show barely a trace of Baleful Aura.”

Su Junhan shot back, “Appearances can be deceiving. What about you? A True Dragon, yet blessed with the most talkative tongue I’ve ever encountered.”

Just days into their stay, Su Junhan had noticed how unusually chatty Moyuan truly was.

“Talkative? Ha! I’d call it ‘free-spirited.'”

“More like nonsense.”

Moyuan scoffed, visibly annoyed. “Always itching for a fight with me?”

Staring back at him calmly, Su Junhan teased, “Losing your temper?”

“…”

Moyuan sat down, exhaling heavily. “We really aren’t so different, you and I.”

Su Junhan shook his head. “The difference is speaking appropriately. The Ink Dragon talks endlessly; I simply reply.”

“So you’re claiming it’s forced?”

“Exactly!”

Moyuan gaped at him speechlessly. Finally, he blurted, “You should feel ashamed!”

Even simple conversation proved impossible between them.

Every day, this Dragon and Fox bickered incessantly.

Sometimes arguments started right at dawn and continued relentlessly over minor disagreements, dragging on till dusk.

Moyuan was the more easily provoked. Words never flustered Su Junhan, but often riled Moyuan, leading to many embarrassing outbursts.

When their quarrels grew especially fierce, passersby at the foot of the mountain heard the commotion drifting down. Arguments continued even late into the night.

Eventually, birds fled the mountainside altogether.

Their ceaseless bickering defined the passing seasons.

…

Twenty-fourth day of the fifth month, Xinglong Fifth Year.

When Chen Changsheng awoke again, he surveyed his surroundings.

“This isn’t Yunfu Mountain?”

He frowned. The place where he found himself was neither Yunfu Mountain nor the Desolate Sea.

Instead, a vast expanse of desert stretched endlessly before him.

Chen Changsheng lifted a hand in quick calculation.

“This was once part of Great Jing…”

Long ago, the desert belonged to Great Jing.

But later, the Northern Desert and Beixiang divided the land, and the desert fell under Northern Desert rule. Later, the Northern Desert changed its name to Xiao.

Now, returning to stand on this desert, all felt alienatingly unfamiliar—a land belonging to a foreign state.

“Could it be the Sutra of Rebirth?”

He should have awoken over the Desolate Sea beyond Yunfu Mountain, yet somehow arrived in this unrelated place.

“Even the Mayfly Curse can falter…”

Chen Changsheng gave a faint, wry smile but dismissed any concern. His gaze fell upon the horizon, and then he set off southward.

Ximing was originally part of Great Jing’s western territory, later given to the Northern Desert. When Western Xiao established its kingdom, the new capital in this western land became known as Ximing.

Compared to the Southern Region, Ximing was relatively barren, with precious little fertile land suitable for cultivation.

The Northern Desert Tribes were originally nomadic. Recently, driven by royal encouragement, many had migrated southward, gradually developing agriculture alongside their pastoral traditions.

Prince Xiao was indeed sharp-witted. Over five years, he revitalized farming, fostered trade, built upon the administrative systems left by Great Jing, and fused the spiritual mandate of the Human Emperor with arcane practices. Using the name of the ‘Primordial Shaman Ancestor’ to legitimize rulers, he united popular support.

Together, his people flourished, transforming the once-barren Western lands into something stable and thriving.

“This city, Ximing City, resembles Chang’an, perhaps some seventy or eighty percent…”

As Chen Changsheng examined the capital, thoughts drifted to legends of the thriving ancient Chang’an city—a place that, like Ximing, occupied a similar geography. But the real Chang’an? Impossible that he could have seen it.

“Might be worth exploring inside.”

He started toward Ximing City.

Unexpectedly, a carriage passed him by before abruptly stopping.

“Hoooooh…”

Then the carriage’s curtain lifted back, revealing a man whose features weren’t of Western Xiao’s people.

“Sir, are you heading into the city?”

Chen Changsheng halted. “Indeed, I am. May I ask why you’ve stopped me?”

The man emerged from the carriage.

He wore simple black robes draped loosely. Unbound shoulder-length hair framed a face that placed him in his thirties.

“I am Long Zhongyuan, originally from the western marches. Seeing your features—you must clearly be Jing people. But walking into that city unprotected? Have you no fear of harassment by the Xiao?”

Chen Changsheng paused. “Harassment?”

Long Zhongyuan realized instantly. Chen’s confusion spoke volumes.

“Suggests this is your first visit to Ximing City?”

Chen Changsheng nodded. “First time.”

Long Zhongyuan sighed softly. “Then no wonder. This Western Xiao… Jing people suffer here daily. The least is robbery; worse, vicious beatings. With no connections, survival within these walls is near impossible.”

Chen Changsheng hesitated. “But it’s the capital. No one stops this?”

“The Northern Desert Tribes are born warriors—fierce and brutal. The Emperor attempted reforms… but they failed utterly. If you must enter, cover your face with dust to look humble—maybe you’ll slip through unnoticed.”

Chen Changsheng fell silent.

Then Long Zhongyuan spoke again: “Sir… unless absolutely necessary, don’t enter. That’s my advice.”

Chen Changsheng regained composure, clasping his hands respectfully. “I thank you for the warning.”

Long Zhongyuan nodded and climbed back into his carriage.

As the horses prepared to move, Long Zhongyuan hesitated. He lifted the curtain again.

He looked as if deep down, he wanted to speak; yet all that emerged was: “Should hardship find you inside… come to Longzheng Shanghang. Find me there.”

The curtain fell. Watching the carriage retreat toward the city gates, Chen Changsheng understood. He glimpsed the man’s impulse to help, constrained by hesitation until only advice remained.

As the carriage vanished into the distance, Chen Changsheng murmured softly to himself:

“Probably because he could barely protect himself…”