605: Chapter 605 Freedom of Southeast Asia

The scene was gruesome, but the passersby nearby merely walked around it, not even glancing at it for more than a second.

The flow of people on the street remained the same, spirit boats continued to shuttle through the sky, and the stage in the distance continued its performance.

It was as if the death of a person was no more worth fussing over than the wind blowing away a leaf.

Those masked figures moved extremely quickly; in just over ten breaths, they had swept the shop clean of Spirit Stones, Medicinal Pills, and spiritual materials.

The leader weighed the Storage Pouch in their hand, waved a hand, and the seven or eight individuals filed out, disappearing at the end of the street in the blink of an eye.

From beginning to end, no one intervened.

The osmanthus cake in Qin Han's mouth stopped in mid-air, and he was stunned.

"Father..." he whispered, "Someone was killed, and no one is doing anything..."

"Does anyone intervene when you kill people?" You smiled and patted his forehead.

Qin Han widened his eyes, nodding as if he half-understood.

You watched the pool of blood slowly trickle from the shop's entrance onto the street, winding along the cracks in the stone slabs, flowing to the edge of the Spirit River, where it was finally diluted by the river water, turning into a faint wisp of red that dissipated into the current.

An old man selling candied haws pushed his cart past, shouting his wares. On the distant stage, a song ended, and the cheers rose and fell.

You set down your teacup, with only one thought in your mind—

Nanyang City is truly a wonderful place of freedom.

Boundlessly free.

Time passed bit by bit, and you sat at Yaochi Pavilion until nightfall.

As the lights were lit, the glow from both banks of the Spirit River was reflected on the water, red and green, several times livelier than during the day.

The sounds of strings and flutes from the pleasure boats became more lingering, and the sounds of gambling games in the taverns along the shore were incessant.

In just these few short hours, you had seen no fewer than five instances of murder for treasure or duels resulting in death. It happened almost every hour—it was like the daily routine of this city.

Someone was dueling in the street, spiritual light exploding, Sword Qi cutting across, and with one strike, they shattered the sign of an inn. Wood chips flew, and fragments fell to the ground. The two of them clapped their hands, as if nothing had happened, and walked away.

No one stopped them, no one intervened.

The people on the street were unfazed; those who should be drinking tea continued to do so, and those who should be walking continued on their way. Even the innkeeper didn't come out to take a look.

This is Nanyang City.

What does dying for a few people amount to?

These things happen every day.

Here, you don't need a reason to kill.

You kill if you want to.

You kill and then leave.

Freedom.

Follow your heart.

Of course, those who died were all bottom-tier Loose Cultivators without any backing.

Qin Han lay on the windowsill, watching the lanterns on the river, and whispered: "Father, it's so lively here at night."

"Mm."

"But..."

"But what?"

Qin Han thought for a long time, not knowing how to express it, and finally blurted out: "But that old grandpa's candied haws look like they taste very good."

You didn't reply.

The wind blew over, carrying the fishy smell of the river water, along with a faint trace of the scent of blood.

On the street, those pools of blood had been trampled mostly away, leaving only dark red traces in the cracks of the stone slabs.

Tomorrow morning, new shelves will be placed at the entrance of the shop, and a new clerk will stand at the door soliciting business.

No one will remember the name of that clerk who died.

You stood up and tossed a Mid-Grade Spirit Stone on the table.

"Let's go."

"Father, where are we going?"

"Back."

Qin Han jumped onto your shoulder, whispering: "Oh... will we come out again tomorrow?"

You didn't answer.

A clerk saw you stand up, walked over with a smile, picked up that Mid-Grade Spirit Stone, weighed it in his hand, and then looked at you:

"One Spirit Stone? Are you trying to brush off a beggar?"

You looked at him with a smile: "Oh? For a pot of tea and a plate of snacks, is one Mid-Grade Spirit Stone not enough?"

"Do you know what this spirit tea is brewed with? Do you know how much it costs to make pastries with creation divine nectar?" The clerk's tone was full of disdain.

He glanced at you; you were dressed plainly and weren't wearing an identity waist tag, looking just like a small Loose Cultivator, "Country bumpkin, never eaten anything good before, right?"

"Then how many Spirit Stones do you want?"

"Ten thousand." The clerk raised his head, his chin held high.

"How much?" You were stunned for a moment.

Ten thousand Spirit Stones—even a Golden Core Cultivator might not be willing to spend that much on a meal.

You understood—he saw that you were dressed plainly and was treating you like a fat lamb from out of town to be slaughtered.

You glanced at the clerk—Foundation Establishment cultivation.

You couldn't be bothered to argue with him, and said casually: "Call your manager."

The clerk grinned: "Just because of you? You want to see our manager?"

You couldn't be bothered with nonsense, and waved your hand—

Bang!

The clerk was sent flying by an invisible, immense force, slammed hard into the ceiling beam, and then slowly slid down.

An invisible force rampaged inside his body. His head tilted to the side, blood bubbled from the corners of his mouth, his legs kicked twice, and then he breathed his last.

The other guests were stunned, one by one with their mouths agape and eyes wide, staring over.

"Someone died?"

"This person actually dared to make a move in Yaochi Pavilion; he must not want to live anymore."

"Shh—keep your voice down, be careful not to get caught in the crossfire."

The other few clerks immediately walked over and surrounded you, but no one dared to say another word.

A luxuriously dressed female cultivator walked out from the backyard, looking at you with a cold gaze. Her Divine Sense swept over you repeatedly, yet she couldn't see through your cultivation level.

You were dressed plainly, and she estimated that you were likely a Golden Core Loose Cultivator, or at most, Nascent Soul.

You looked over—she was a delicate and pretty female cultivator, young, and at the Late Nascent Soul Stage.

Such a young Late Nascent Soul Stage cultivator must be a Genius Disciple of some large Family.

But that made sense.

You chose this Yaochi Pavilion precisely because you saw how luxurious and imposing it was; it was the best teahouse in the vicinity.

Without status and backing, one couldn't open it.

The female cultivator walked over with a cold face and spoke indifferently: "You are the first person to kill in my Yaochi Pavilion."

"I didn't expect him to die so easily either," you said in a casual tone.

She narrowed her eyes, looking you up and down: "Compensate with one hundred thousand Spirit Stones, then get lost."

"Heh." You shook your head, "No wonder the clerks below are like that; it turns out it's a case of 'what the superior does, the subordinate follows'."

The corners of her mouth curled up slightly: "It seems you don't intend to pay compensation? Do you know that the consequences are not something you can bear?"

"What consequences?" Your tone was flat.

"Offend our Sima Immortal Clan, and not to mention on this Nanyang Star, even in the entire Celestial Palace territory, you won't be able to survive." Her tone was contemptuous.

"Oh? Sima Immortal Clan? No wonder you're so rampant." You smiled.

The Sima Immortal Clan are the most loyal dogs of the Celestial Palace, and among them, Patriarch Sima Gongzhi is one of the twenty-eight Body Integration Elders of the Celestial Palace.

With this status and position, walking sideways within the Celestial Palace's sphere of influence is indeed no problem.

No wonder even a tiny Foundation Establishment clerk dared to open his mouth and extort ten thousand Spirit Stones.

Seeing you smile, she was instead somewhat curious and asked tentatively: "You aren't afraid?"

"Afraid?" You smiled, "Of course I'm afraid. I'm afraid that if you die, your Elders will come to bother me, and in the end, your Old Ancestor will come to bother me!"

Her expression turned cold, and her voice was icy: "Fine, since you are courting death yourself, don't blame this Young Miss for being impolite."