Conditions

The carriage interior was quite spacious, lavishly furnished, nearly comparable to what one would use to lounge about and enjoy oneself at home.

Directly ahead and along the left and right sides were soft couches of bright yellow with delicate patterns, each large enough for one person to lie upon.

Velvet blankets were stacked atop them, their surfaces sleek and glossy, spotless and free of dust.

The windows on both sides were half-covered, half-revealed. Besides the curtains, strings of smooth, rounded bead curtains hung down as well, their colors brilliantly varied.

As the carriage moved forward, the bead curtains struck one another, producing a clear, pleasing sound like water splashing against a spring.

At the very center of the carriage stood a square four-legged table, upon which quite a few items had been placed.

There was a copy of the Mingyang Chronicle, its pages still new. It was a biographical record Lü Yue had specially prepared for Meng Zhao to pass the time.

There was a plate of purple berries, washed clean and gleaming enticingly, with specks of crushed ice still scattered over them.

There was also a plate of pastries, exquisitely shaped and richly fragrant. Their creamy white color was enough to stir one's appetite, and they had been made by the manor's head chef.

These two items were for Meng Zhao to satisfy his cravings during the journey. Naturally, they also contained vital essence to replenish the expenditure from his training.

It was quite thoughtful, allowing him to improve his inner cultivation while indulging himself.

Such a supply of resources was beyond the reach of poor martial artists at the bottom of society.

There was a saying that all people were born equal. Perhaps there was some truth to it.

Yet the environment and background into which one was born could never possibly be equal.

Take Meng Zhao, for instance. The progress he had made in such a short time might take other martial artists countless drops of sweat, or even blood, to desperately catch up to.

Besides these things, there was also a blue-and-white incense burner patterned with ocean waves on the table. A faint, elegant fragrance drifted from the tiny holes carved into its lid, clearing the mind and soothing the spirit.

It likewise brought subtle benefits to Martial Dao Cultivation.

Meng Zhao had by now completely adapted to the identity of a young master from a powerful clan. He flipped through the Mingyang Chronicle with great interest, occasionally picking up a berry or pastry to taste, utterly absorbed in it for a time.

The Arhat Young Monk Skill, which had already advanced to the Proper Stillness (Minor Accomplishment) stage, tore apart the dense vital essence spreading through his body with even greater precision and efficiency, refining it into streams of pure inner force that were stored within his dantian.

Furthermore, the carriage had been specially designed. Even when the Black Scale Horses ran at full speed, they were both swift and steady, with scarcely any jolting or shaking, making Meng Zhao forget the passage of time.

After roughly half a quarter of an hour, the swiftly traveling carriage and the riders arranged in formation around it for protection suddenly came to a halt. From the very front of the convoy came a deep, resonant shout,

"Be on guard."

Scarface had called out those words. They carried immensely powerful inner force, like a thunderclap exploding beside their ears and reverberating again and again.

By the time the sound had fully faded, the Meng Mansion guards stationed around the carriage had drawn their sheathed blades with a series of swishes. They held them one-handed across their chests, the blades flashing with cold light beneath the sun, while their stern faces were filled with vigilance.

Heavy crossbows were also drawn, their bolts poisoned and glinting blue-green.

If anything unusual happened, those heavy crossbows would fire at once, delivering the enemy a first barrage like a raging storm.

Meng Zhao, too, was startled awake by the sudden development. A trace of surprise flickered through his slightly languid eyes. Subconsciously, he clasped the prayer beads at his side, and a cool aura flowed into him, calming his somewhat unsettled heart.

He pushed open half the carriage door, leaned forward, and asked,

"Ah Yue, what happened? Why have we suddenly stopped?"

Before Lü Yue could reply, Meng Zhao had already seen the scene ahead through his excellent eyesight.

The convoy appeared to have reached a forest of purple-leaved maples. As far as the eye could see, it resembled a rolling sea of violet. When the wind rose and fell, purple waves churned through it, beautiful beyond compare.

However, after Scarface shouted for vigilance, dozens, perhaps over a hundred people came pouring out of that purple maple forest and blocked their path. Gray dust flew up and scattered through the air, utterly ruining that ethereal beauty.

This group looked like bandits who had taken to the hills.

Yet compared to the fierce, bloodthirsty savagery ingrained in bandits' bones, they more closely resembled refugees driven into a corner.

Many held wooden clubs, pickaxes, even withered branches. Some were completely empty-handed.

Every one of them was sallow and gaunt, clad in ragged clothes. They seemed not to have eaten a full meal in a long time, and there were men, women, old people, and children among them.

With this level of combat strength, even if their numbers were multiplied fivefold, they likely could not pose any threat to the Meng Mansion guards.

Under the leadership of Scarface, a Postnatal Great Accomplishment Stage expert, these elite Meng Mansion riders could wipe out the entire group with a single charge without suffering so much as a scratch.

Meng Zhao had absolute confidence in that.

Yet conditions within the city were so good. The common people were prosperous and healthy, and all he had seen and heard spoke of peace and harmony.

Could there be refugees outside Nan'an Commandery City?

Not only were there refugees, there were many of them.

After all, this world suffered not only from natural and man-made disasters, but also from the threat of vicious beasts.

Meng Zhao understood this much.

But what was strange was that these refugees had brought their families along. With no means of livelihood, instead of seeking help from the authorities, they had the audacity to block his party's path. That was far too abnormal.

Were they trying to plunder supplies, or begging for pity and charity?

Refugees were not fools. They, too, feared death.

Even if they had all truly become bandits who preyed upon the innocent, they should not have blindly and mindlessly chosen his party as their target.

The vast gap in strength was obvious at a glance.

Moreover, the guards he had brought were exceptionally tough. One look was enough to tell they were not to be trifled with, nor were they good targets for begging.

Meng Zhao's gaze darkened, his brows knitting together. Rather than relaxing, he became even more vigilant.

With an expressionless face, he instructed Lü Yue,

"Ah Yue, this group's appearance is too strange. Do not act rashly; caution comes first.

Have Scarface give them some loose silver and send them away. Do not provoke a conflict.

If they still refuse to disperse, or even approach the convoy, launch a charge immediately. Show no mercy."

Meng Zhao was very careful, even more prudent. Having lived two lives, he treasured the weight of life greatly.

He feared that someone harboring ill intent might be hiding among these refugees, waiting for a suitable opportunity to suddenly rise up and strike.

Although all the men he had brought were elites, if they were caught off guard, the losses would truly be difficult to predict.

The best solution was to send these people away while keeping them at a great distance.

Having served under Lü Zhong's guidance for so many years, Lü Yue was no incompetent. He naturally saw the suspicious signs, and his expression became grave as well.

He flicked the long whip in his hand. Like a long snake striking through the air, it lashed out with tremendous force and cracked sharply, sending the signal.

However, that lash also made the two Black Scale Horses before the carriage somewhat uneasy. Their powerful bodies shifted, while their iron-like hooves alternately struck the ground with a clopping sound.

At this moment, two black-clad burly men with tense expressions swiftly rode forward. Since the situation had erupted so suddenly and urgently, they had no time to salute Meng Zhao. They merely leaned forward on horseback and awaited Lü Yue's orders.

If Lü Zhong was the chief steward of the second branch, then Lü Yue was the junior steward. In the eyes of the second branch's people, he was still quite dependable and authoritative.

Once Lü Yue had arranged matters according to Meng Zhao's wishes,

the two burly men galloped off in opposite directions, delivering the orders to Scarface and Wang Tao.

Scarface was at the front and Wang Tao at the rear, with experts watching over both the head and tail of the convoy. This formation had been arranged beforehand.

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