Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Forty-Three: The Foreshadowing of Ruzhou City

Recently, Ru Zhou City has been anything but peaceful.

Or rather, all of Wen Yuan Divine Continent finds itself shrouded in fear.

The Lin clan’s expansion has never ceased, their legion banners already planted across the central north, coloring the map all the way to the borders of Wen Yuan. The tide of war surges like wildfire; the Northern Emperor’s domain seems on the verge of collapse.

Ru Zhou City, Council Chamber.

“The Lin clan’s forces are scarcely a hundred miles from here. If they truly set their sights on the Northern Emperor, in the time it takes to speak, Ru Zhou will fall,” Wei Shaoqing, seated at the head of the table, spoke with concern in his words, though his tone was relaxed, seemingly indifferent to the city’s fate.

Seeing Wei Shaoqing’s nonchalance, Ying Mao, the most hot-tempered among the Ten Elders, could no longer sit still. He slammed the table and cursed, “How has the Northern Emperor treated your Wei clan all these years? Now, with enemies at our gates, as the leader of the Ten Elders, you sow disorder in our ranks and dare to act so carelessly! If you cannot bear this responsibility, there are plenty who can replace you!”

Wei Shaoqing snorted coldly, silencing the chamber. He didn’t bother to look at Ying Mao, but addressed everyone calmly, “So, it seems some of you wish for this old man to step down? But truly, your greed is unsightly. With Lin’s army sharpening their blades, you still dare to fight amongst yourselves!”

The hall quieted, even the furious Ying Mao only glared in silence, the room awaiting its master’s words. Wei Shaoqing, pleased with their submission, was about to speak when a sudden voice interrupted, “This is indeed a moment of crisis. How can we entrust our lives to an old man who attained his position only by seniority?”

Wei Shaoqing narrowed his eyes, following the voice—sure enough, it was Gan Yulin of the Gan family.

As the youngest representative in Ru Zhou’s council, Gan Yulin lounged in his chair with a reckless air, unsure if it was arrogance or youthful vigor.

“Gan Yulin, you’re too disrespectful. In matters this grave, it’s not our place to speak; Wei Shaoqing alone decides,” Ying Mao said, his words laced with sarcasm, shifting the focus to Wei Shaoqing.

Gan Yulin only laughed without responding. Before the meeting, most of the Seven Clans and Ten Elders had already colluded, waiting to see how Wei Shaoqing would fare.

Wei Shaoqing, unperturbed, smiled even wider, straightened his stooped back, took a leisurely sip of tea, and finally spoke, “I have indeed meddled too much these past years. Since you both push me so, I, Wei Shaoqing, willingly relinquish the title of Ten Elder, and from today, the Wei clan withdraws from the Seven Clans. Is this satisfactory?”

“Excellent! A gentleman’s word is as good as four horses!” Ying Mao exclaimed, as if he truly believed Wei Shaoqing had been cowed. “So the old man does lose his nerve. Heh.” Ying Mao glanced at Wei Shaoqing with disdain, his face flushed with triumph, as if he already occupied Ru Zhou’s seat of power.

Wei Shaoqing ignored him, but cast a meaningful look at Gan Yulin, saying, “My words still carry weight. By the Northern Emperor’s rules, I may nominate a successor. Young Yulin, you are spirited and bold—surely the most qualified to lead Ru Zhou’s nobles against the enemy. Enough said. My Wei clan no longer holds the right to discuss affairs. We take our leave; the rest is yours to handle.” With that, he and his clan departed in haste, as if unwilling to linger a moment longer.

Gan Yulin cursed the old fox’s shamelessness, then looked at Ying Mao’s displeased face and smiled wryly, pondering how to calm the fool.

...

At the Wei estate, clan members looked at Wei Shaoqing in confusion, unsure of his intent. Wei Shaoqing offered no explanation, merely instructing everyone to rest, saying nothing further.

Soon, only Wei Ziqing remained in the grand hall, unmoving, as if waiting for something. Wei Shaoqing, eyes half-closed in his chair, ignored him; before long, he began snoring thunderously, prompting Wei Ziqing to rub his ear and mutter, “Grandfather, stop pretending. No one snores that loudly, especially with qi mixed in. It’s too obvious.”

Wei Shaoqing opened his eyes, approval clear in his gaze. “Not bad, much better than those fools. If you have questions, ask freely.” Wei Ziqing saluted, his demeanor transformed since his punishment that day—now courteous, gentle, and refined.

“Grandson suspects you purposely ceded your position to Gan Yulin to let Ying Mao stir up trouble, so those dogs would bite each other, ensuring our Wei clan remains untouched. Is that right? But if so, one thing puzzles me: Lin’s army advances fiercely. If we fall to internal strife before battle, do you intend to change allegiances?”

Wei Shaoqing could no longer sit still. He studied the young man who, months ago, was one of Ru Zhou’s notorious wastrels, and exclaimed, “Truly, three days apart and a man changes! I never thought my Wei clan would produce such talent. You’re correct, but your vision is still young. Ying Mao is no mere brute; I’ve dealt with him for over a decade. He’s as shrewd as I am, only he masks it deeply. Knowing he can’t seize leadership, he feigns a troublemaker’s role to extract benefits from the Gan clan. The real target is Gan Yulin; youthful pride won’t tolerate a ‘greedy wolf.’ Besides, he looks down on Ying Mao, treats him like a hyena. Such superficiality will see him devoured, bones and all. As for changing allegiances, there’s no rush. Opportunism is the secret by which our noble families have endured for centuries—best to wait and see.”

Wei Zifu nodded and took his leave, leaving Wei Shaoqing alone, humming a tune.

He wondered whether Ru Zhou could function without the Wei clan.

...

The next morning, the news of Wei Shaoqing’s resignation and the Wei clan’s withdrawal from the Seven Clans swept through Ru Zhou, igniting a storm. Hidden among the crowd, Lin Changtian frowned—not that he cared about politics, but the commotion meant he’d be late returning home, delaying the meal for Chen Yixiao, Wei Mou, and Liu Qingshan.

Seeing the crowd growing ever more chaotic, Lin Changtian sighed. The people of Ru Zhou’s love for spectacle truly caused trouble. Noticing no one paid him any mind, he summoned his qi, moving like a shadow—within a few breaths he leapt onto a high rooftop, traversing the empty air toward his courtyard.

“I’m home!” Lin Changtian pushed the door open, but no one responded; Chen Yixiao and Wei Mou were engrossed in Liu Qingshan’s tall tales.

Over the past months, Lin Changtian’s feelings about two matters had grown complicated. First, Chen Yixiao’s scars had faded, and their relationship had grown closer—almost like true siblings; second, Liu Qingshan’s behavior had become a headache. Since his last grand discussion, his ‘true nature’ was revealed: an old man competing with children for snacks, spouting wild stories daily—like ancient sword immortals ascending thirty thousand miles to cleave chaos and shape the world; or Yu, excluded from the Five Emperors, scheming a millennia-long plot. The more he spoke, the more absurd it became. Lin Changtian could bear it no longer, strode forward, scooped up Chen Yixiao, pulled Wei Mou aside, and scolded Liu Qingshan, “Show some virtue! Don’t corrupt the young. Yu has been gone for ages! Besides, the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors are debated endlessly. If you claim a millennia-long plot, you might as well say I’m a reincarnated immortal!”

Liu Qingshan coughed, stroked his beard, and smiled mysteriously. “Young man, don’t doubt it. My ancestors passed this down by word of mouth for generations.” Lin Changtian glanced at him, replying, “Aren’t you worried the message got garbled? Everyone’s so old.” “Ah? It shouldn’t be. Such matters are serious—absolutely not!” Liu Qingshan’s tone was resolute, full of confidence in his forebears.

“Oh? Then let me ask you: is eating important?” “Naturally, it’s one of life’s greatest matters.” “So, this morning, what did you ask me to buy?” Lin Changtian blinked innocently.

“Potatoes,” Liu Qingshan touched his bald head, puzzled.

“Heh! See? Even such a great matter, I misheard and bought eggplants instead! And you claim your ancestors, old as they were, passed things down by word of mouth—reliable, is it?” Hearing this, Liu Qingshan pondered, as if recalling ancestral details, but Chen Yixiao and Wei Mou’s stifled laughter soon reminded him, and his face turned scarlet as he chased Lin Changtian around the courtyard. “You dare tease me! Running lively, aren’t you? Lin Changtian, you never asked Yu Baili who chased him all over the North for a beating!”

After some ‘friendly exchanges,’ by noon, a bruised and battered Lin Changtian was kicked into the kitchen to prepare food for the three ‘hungry masters.’

During the meal, Lin Changtian shared the news of Wei Shaoqing’s resignation and the Wei clan’s withdrawal. Wei Mou remained unmoved—Liu Qingshan had predicted such a possibility months ago—but this time, Liu Qingshan furrowed his brow, pondering for a long while before uttering a word.

Lin Changtian left him to his thoughts, busy serving Chen Yixiao and Wei Mou. After so much time together, these two, close in age, had grown utterly reliant on Lin Changtian; only within this little courtyard did they drop their guard and reveal their true selves—testament to Lin Changtian’s skill.

After all, just a few months ago, he would never have set foot in a kitchen.