Cangzhu sat at the edge of the Central Plains like a great gatekeeper. Every day, scores of travelers poured through its walls—merchants seeking new markets, scholars chasing rumors of lost sects, and ordinary folk hoping for a fresh start and most importantly, cultivators mostly inexperienced ones who are out to gain experience. Almost all of them, having never set foot in these lands, stopped at places like the Old Willow Teahouse to gather tidbits of news.
But the teahouse had its predators. Three smooth-talking ruffians—known to regulars as "the swallows"—made it their business to sniff out anyone with coin to spare. They'd pretend to help, drop a hint of juicy gossip, and then gently press their price for "protection." Qiao Zhi had recognized their routine the moment she'd slipped inside.
"Alright," Qiao Zhi said simply. She didn't want to create more of a scene here.
