What had happened?
Wang Chen had just returned to Dongwu Stockade, and he could hardly believe his eyes.
This Rogue Cultivator stronghold stood in a remote location, occupying a very small spirit vein—the kind that sects and great factions could not be bothered with.
More than ten thousand permanent residents lived inside and outside the stockade, with cultivators accounting for over thirty percent.
Among the many strongholds of the Outer Region, Dongwu Stockade was far from the largest, but it was not particularly small either.
The most extraordinary thing about Dongwu Stockade was that its ruler was a Purple Mansion superior!
Of course, it was not the only one.
Wang Chen had carefully weighed his options when he chose Dongwu Stockade as a place for secluded cultivation.
He had felt that this place suited him well.
But he had never imagined that after being gone for barely half a month, Dongwu Stockade would undergo such enormous changes.
Countless stone houses and wooden huts of varying heights had sprung up outside the stockade. With no real planning, they looked like a chaotic mess, leaving only a single road through the middle leading in and out of the gates.
Rogue Cultivators, Martial Artists, and ordinary people who had appeared from who knew where had become Dongwu Stockade's new residents.
A great many of them were displaced refugees.
As Wang Chen walked along, his ears filled with all manner of clamor, weeping, cries, and pleas for help.
This Rogue Cultivator stronghold had actually turned into a refugee camp!
"Immortal Master Sir, please have mercy and give us something to eat."
One pair of withered hands after another reached toward him, while hopeful, pleading looks filled one pair of eyes after another.
They begged for a little compassion and a little food.
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