Chapter Thirty-Seven: Flying Rock Manor

The fat man's spiked club surged through the crowd like a giant shark. At level thirty-five, he had nearly a hundred points of strength, and truth be told, even second-stage players would find it hard to withstand him. Yet, there was an inherent flaw to his ferocious, all-offense approach—a familiar old adage: resilience endures, brute force shatters. After a while, he would inevitably feel his strength waning.

However, Xiao Lingling cleverly compensated for this weakness. She followed a nimble path, her pair of matching swords gliding around the fat man. Though she contributed little offensively, her defense was impeccable—many machete strikes were intercepted by her, allowing the fat man's spiked club to launch another round of counterattacks.

For a moment, chaos reigned outside the stall—chickens scattered, dogs fled, sand and stones flew. Zhang He watched in silent amazement; the husband and wife together held off an assault by two or three dozen attackers, though given the lackluster strength of these system-generated NPC bandits, it was hardly a surprise. One had to wonder why Feiyan Fortress kept such a band of useless fools.

Of course, the pair were not perfectly synchronized, and whenever a gap appeared, Zhang He at the table would flick a copper coin, instantly closing the breach, and the fat man and Xiao Lingling would resume their relentless pursuit and pummeling.

Within just ten minutes, the bandits withdrew in disgrace, retreating back into the valley.

The fat man, drenched in sweat, slumped back into his chair, grumbling, "A bunch of little thieves who haven't even grown their first whiskers, daring to rob and pillage—courting death, that's what."

Xiao Lingling sheathed her swords, retorting coldly, "If it weren’t for me, you’d have been chopped to mincemeat already."

The fat man protested, "I haven’t even used my ultimate skill yet! If I did, dozens wouldn’t be enough for me!"

Xiao Lingling sneered, "Have you improved? Your so-called stick technique is good for duels, but in a brawl? Forget it!"

As the two began bickering again, Zhang He couldn't help but laugh silently. Just then, Feng Youcai, trembling, brought over two jugs of wine. "Sirs… Your great kindness… I… I'm eternally grateful… These two jugs, I… I give them to you…"

He was evidently still shaken, his words quivering.

The fat man, feeling magnanimous, declared, "It's a small matter, not worth mentioning. We are people of the martial world—never bogged down by petty concerns. Boss, charge us as usual!"

He was still pondering whether their heroic act might earn some chivalry points, when Feng Youcai set the jugs down. His trembling hand suddenly darted out, lightning-fast, to tap Zhang He's shoulder.

No one could have expected this move—not even the ever-vigilant Zhang He. The timid noodle stall owner, it turned out, was hiding deep skills, his strike both swift and steady.

Zhang He immediately felt his upper body go numb. Feng Youcai, having succeeded, swiftly tapped Zhang He's chest twice more.

The fat man and Xiao Lingling hadn't even reacted when Feng Youcai transformed his fingers into a palm, swiping across the table. The two wine jugs shattered into countless fragments, spraying droplets onto the fat man, obscuring his vision and leaving him unable to see what was happening. Xiao Lingling, too, was immobilized in her chair.

Zhang He's heart sank. He hadn't expected Feng Youcai to be a master of pressure point strikes and palm techniques; not only were his moves unexpected, the transitions between finger and palm were seamless, clearly the result of considerable martial skill.

Soon, the fat man was struck as well, left motionless in his chair.

In "Dynasty," martial arts involving pressure points existed, though not in the literal sense; instead, when one’s acupoints were struck, their attributes would plummet, rendering them unable to act. The deeper the skill of the attacker, the longer this effect lasted.

Zhang He noticed his agility had dropped from twenty-four to four, and his strength from fifty to twelve. He could still move, albeit slowly, but could no longer wield weapons—he could barely lift his hands.

"Boss, impressive skills. I didn't realize you were a master of pressure points," Zhang He said calmly. "Actually, I should have suspected—you’re not really a noodle stall owner."

At this moment, Feng Youcai's demeanor was wholly changed; his chest was broad, his eyes steady and cold. He asked curiously, "How did you know?"

Zhang He replied, "Because of these two jugs of wine."

Feng Youcai asked, "What’s wrong with them?"

Zhang He explained, "Look at these tables and chairs—they’ve been stained and yellowed by years of oil and smoke, proving this stall has operated for many years. A veteran noodle and wine seller, scooping from a wine vat, wouldn’t tremble and spill drops as you did. If you sold wine that way, you’d lose your stock. So, you’re not a true stall owner; selling noodles isn’t your forte."

Feng Youcai’s eyes shone with surprise, but his face hardened. "Anything else?"

Zhang He smiled, "That gang of bandits was merely probing us, aiming to lower our guard against you, while you watched everything closely. If I'm not mistaken, you’re actually a member of Feiyan Fortress."

Feng Youcai laughed, "Sharp eyes indeed. But what you say is now irrelevant."

The fat man, furious at being tricked, had his rage meter shoot up ten thousand points. "Damn it, if you've got guts, fight me one-on-one—"

He didn’t finish, for only his lips moved, the sound never came. Clearly, the system had muted him—players were forbidden from cursing at NPCs, and NPCs would not maliciously kill players unless it was for a quest.

Thus, Zhang He wasn’t worried. "What does Boss Feng intend?"

Feng Youcai gazed into the distance, saying quietly, "You know too much. I can’t take that risk, so you’ll have to come with me. If you cooperate, I guarantee your lives will be safe."

Xiao Lingling evidently realized the three of them had triggered some quest. Going along might bring unexpected rewards.

As the sun set, dusk gradually enveloped the great canyon. The three followed Feng Youcai, winding through the valley, climbing slopes, crossing ridges, losing count of how many woods and paths they traversed.

Along the way, Zhang He silently monitored his attributes. Feng Youcai’s skill was not weak—his agility and strength recovered only sluggishly, gaining barely a point every half hour. It wasn’t so much that Feng Youcai was exceptionally skilled, but that Zhang He himself was comparatively weak. Even if fully restored, he likely wouldn’t be a match for Feng Youcai.

Feng Youcai led the way in silence, while the ever-worried Qiao Gu followed anxiously behind.

Despite their mental preparations for the Feiyan Fortress, the infamous alliance of seventy-two brigand strongholds, the sight of the real Feiyan Fortress left Zhang He and his companions stunned.

Zhang He had never encountered genuine brigands in "Dynasty," but in his mind, the bandit stronghold should be a fort with walls and fences, perched on steep cliffs, guards every few steps, bandits everywhere, and strict defenses.

Yet, the scene before them was nothing of the sort. It was neither a fortress nor a camp, but an ancient manor. The entrance was deserted, and its location atop the barren canyon made it seem even more dilapidated, utterly unlike the imposing Tang Family Fortress.

Above the gate, a plaque bore the inscription "Feiyan Manor," with a couplet in golden characters on either side: "Swallows cross a thousand mountains, longing for eternal days; dragons traverse ten thousand waters, gazing upon distant beauty."

The calligraphy was bold and graceful, clearly the work of a renowned hand—grand yet spirited, though with a faint air of melancholy, as if the sword and zither were destined to be apart. The ornate gold lettering hinted at the manor's former glory.

"So this is Feiyan Fortress?" The fat man, finally released from his mute status, couldn’t help but gape.

Feng Youcai replied, "Where do you think Feiyan Fortress should be, then?"

The three followed him through the gates, but Qiao Gu had vanished somewhere along the way.

Inside, the manor was far from luxurious, filled only with aged, antique furnishings. The main hall’s plaque read "Assembly Hall," and as they saw these words, a voice rang from the inner chamber, "Lift the curtain—the lady is coming out."

Indeed, the door curtain was drawn aside, and two elegantly dressed women carrying palace lanterns led the way. Behind them, a woman with a dragon-head cane walked slowly forward.

She was clearly elderly, her hair streaked with white, deep wrinkles on her face, yet beneath the stern countenance, one could still discern traces of youthful beauty.

Seeing her, the three were truly astonished, for Feng Youcai bowed deeply and greeted, "Mother."

Feng Youcai was no longer young himself; if this woman was his mother, she must be in her seventies or eighties. Could she be the true mistress of Feiyan Fortress?

Madam Feng took her seat on the dragon-head chair atop the dais and asked slowly, "Who are these three?"

Feng Youcai replied respectfully, "Mother, these three passed through Feiyan Valley. I suspect they are spies from the Six Gates, disguised as commoners."

The three were speechless. When had they become agents of the Six Gates, and spies at that?

The fat man, anxious, blurted, "We’re not!"

"Silence!" Feng Youcai glared at him. "Who gave you permission to speak?"

The fat man was about to curse, but Xiao Lingling signaled him to hold back. After all, none of those they’d seen so far were players—this was likely a peculiar quest, best approached with caution.

Madam Feng’s face darkened. "How bold, to cause trouble in my Feiyan Manor. Seize them at once, throw them in the dungeon, and await the master’s judgment."

The fat man panicked—what kind of absurdity was this? Since when did non-imperial NPCs arrest players?

At that moment, the one-eyed dragon and others from the noodle stall entered, and in no time, Zhang He and his companions were bound hand and foot.

"Japan’s all about RNB lately. I’ve only got one thing to say—" The poor fat man was cut off again, as the system muted him once more.

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