Chapter 139: Evading Peril

In the land of Yong Lu, Qian Ye returned once more from the new world to the city of Blue Ripples.

Standing upon a balcony of the Grand Duke's mansion, Qian Ye sensed an unfamiliar aura enveloping the familiar metropolis.

Farther away—on the periphery of the city and beyond its gates—lay sprawling districts once cluttered with hovels, overflowing with filth and waste. But now they had been utterly transformed, their slums razed and replaced by clusters of buildings, each with distinctive architectural styles.

One glance across these orderly districts revealed clearly the魔裔 quarters, the blood族 enclaves, the domains of werewolves from different lineages—regions devoted to wolves from Emerald Sea, Crimson Canyon, and Zephyr territories. Each branch maintained its own preferences and unique aesthetics. Other werewolf sects, from different continents in the Evernight realms, expressed different tastes yet.

The Human quarters followed suit: at a glance one could identify the architecture of the Empire, Zheng Province, and those of neutral grounds.

Rows of neatly segmented blocks, divided cleanly by wide roads, gave the new quarters a clean and methodological sense of symmetry. By contrast, the old quarters where the werewolf chieftains and shamans once dwelled—those grand residences of tribal elites—suddenly resembled derelict backwaters in comparison.

Those once-proud chieftains now seethed at the changes, unaccustomed to playing the second fiddle. Though the wolves of Yunlu remained seen by many as crude and primitive, never had these chieftains been at loss for riches. Years amassed without trade had hoarded resources of unimaginable magnitude—their riches dormant, waiting patiently like slumbering beasts to be spent. Once trade routes were reopened, they began pouring gold with reckless abandon.

Seeing those foreign architects raise gleaming edifices, eyes gleamed among the old elite in turn. They swiftly called in the talents of Empire craftsmen or brought Evernight artisans into their ranks, initiating renovations of every ancestral home, grand hall, and noble enclave into projects of architectural rebirth.

In the span of months, Blue Ripples' aristocratic district had itself become a construction site—scattered with scaffolds, echoing with hammers of craftsmen in ceaseless activity. Though unfinished, Qian Ye could already discern the chaotic diversity taking form, each residence adopting distinct architectural languages without cohesion. These upcoming noble mansions would pale indeed beside the harmoniously unified urban renewal of the former slums.

All this order was actually conceived through the handiwork of Song Hui, a woman with little interest in Empire doctrines on landscape harmony or the ancient tenets dictating alignment and natural vistas. Instead, her planning had been brutally pragmatic, a few firm, geometric slashes across parchment turning a blank city plan into neat parcels and districts. If she made one noble exception, it was only her steadfast command that roadways be broad, spacious avenues without compromise.

By happenstance, the shamans overseeing these building projects barely fathomed any architecture more complex than straight lines—therefore her simple modular approach fit like a divine inspiration. With total devotion executed without question nor embellishment, they produced the newly reborn splendor of Blue Ripples before all eyes.

Beyond dwellings, great swaths of land were set aside for commerce—new market districts arose, with stores opening seemingly overnight. The teeming crowds in each street and market spoke a universal truth: here in commerce flowed riches, unbounded and ceaseless.

Naturally, these mundane civic improvements drew little interest from Qian Ye. Turning now to retire, he noticed a familiar shape flicker at the very edge of his vision, prompting an instinctive pause of curiosity. In a blink, in mere steps through the ether, he willed himself soundlessly, invisibly to the figure's exact location—a mastery so profound it was like vanishing between heartbeats, then simply... being present.

Before him: a ragged figure, disheveled growths spearing across jawline, clothing tattered yet dignified—a haggling silhouette no more, but one unmistakable.

William.

The man raised weary eyes, showing neither fear nor awe, only sighing resignedly as he greeted him: “You come at the perfect time; I was just looking for—buy me some drink. I’ve had... a difficult week.”

“Shall we take it to my house, or here among strangers?”

William waved his hand. “The bar, definitely—it’s far too quiet there. I need noise when I drink.”

With no objection raised, they set off into the bustling new city. As an enclave where the races intermingled freely, no matter whether citizens of High Lords or denizens of the Eternal Night, the demand for spirits united all equally. Thus it wasn’t long before both found themselves immersed in Blue Ripple’s vibrant nightlife: bars and taverns blooming like spring petals after a passing rain.

Qian Ye tempered his presence with subtle skill—his aura wrapped gently away from the public gaze, a veil against the notice of lesser beings. Meanwhile William, wrapped in gloom and the scent of unwashed struggle, appeared to outsiders as but two unremarkable drunks searching their way toward oblivion.

Slipping into the noise and smoke and clatter of tankards, the odd couple took a remote corner table.

William inhaled instinctively before he’d even sat, nose flaring with appreciation. “Wait... even Lagrange?” He squinted, surprised. “And is that... could it be... some trace of sherry? Or was that Saint Laurent?!”

His voice rose, awed at their apparent fortune as he listed several world-renowned wines, eyes gleaming at the thought.

Qian Ye held little appreciation for fine liquor; all wine seemed much alike to him. Seeing the man's excitement though, he merely raised his hand toward the server who swiftly approached.

“What he just mentioned—all those wines—do you have such selections here?”

Pride swelled upon the server’s chest, and he answered proudly: “Indeed, sirs. Our name is but humble on the surface—a family-style drinkery—but underneath we partner directly with the renown establishment of Evernight's own famed "Nightglass Taverns." From three continents—four hundred and some locations worldwide—we’ve only this week broken ground in Yu Lu province. So, yes. Any renowned vintage, rare brew—nearly all exist within our cellar.”

“Well, I'll try each with a couple bottles.”

“Three,” William chimed quickly.

The waiter hesitated and cautiously added, “Sirs… a collection such as that would be priced exquisitely.”

Without pause, William turned sharply. Slapping a hard hand onto Qian Ye’s shoulder, he spoke as if stating undeniable cosmic facts: “This one right here—you don’t want to know how rich he’s grown. Money? No problem. For us, never is.”

Qian Ye managed a helpless smirk—his pockets at the moment held no golden coins. While he possessed untouchable treasures deep in Andua Chamber’s hidden space, none of which were the type a simple bartender was trained to recognize.

Thinking briefly through their predicament, a thought struck. He reached inward toward an idea—his mind touching against two sealed cases deep in hidden confines... and returned to the mortal plane clutching in palm... a deep crimson ampoule. Without flourish he extended it.

The steward took it with reverential care, examining quickly and letting go a sharp cry of amazement.

“Sakura tree Essence—a sanctioned-grade serum issued by the military arm themselves, no forgeries! You are more than covered—this more-than-pays!”

Only mere minutes later their tabletop groaned under bottles—great bottles, rare and celebrated from ends of empires: Lagrange vintages lined up beside Saint Laurent's Reserve and more.

William wasted no time—he unsealed the first vintage with flourish; with a brief sniff; he tipped the first golden dram into parched waiting.

As it slid into waiting maw, he sighed deeply.

“What magnificence…”

As if drowning some inner sadness, the warrior threw back an enormous quantity within that first moment, letting a half-empty bottle crash down in empty triumph:

“A miracle to even taste a bottle—so refined, so rich. Never could I have imagined we might still drink this in such ruins!”

“As it is…” Qian Ye said honestly with a wry expression, "even less had I foreseen something like this. When it comes to luxury offerings, it seems this city now rivals even some of the grander market capitals. Perhaps... I was unaware just how far our Blue Ripples had come.”

“To the depths,” offered William.

Raising an equally full cup and clinked his glass once—wordlessly, he continued.

They drank.

Bottle caps opened, flowed, and were replaced in kind by the ever-present bar hands, bottle upon bottle.

Even William, with all his towering physical and battle-scarred fortitude, still carried within him human variation: some men carried the drink more capably, while others wilt when overwhelmed.

Now, under the weight of countless cups consumed while holding off any attempt to bolster himself through energy techniques—at length fatigue began taking hold: pupils softened their sharpness, words slowed into hazy comfort and silence fell heavy between toasts longer… far longer…

And though Qian Ye began with merely passing light-headedness—by now that remained ever present, a subtle veil cloaking his balance, unchanging in its quiet insistence no matter whether more liquor flowed or was held aside.

William… had his burdens. It was clear by how he fought his own wits—to drink until all thinking dissolved.

By the ninth cup or tenth—

“What I want you to listen!” the inebriated werewolf growled suddenly, eyes flashing with a rare intensity beneath his haze.

“This damned, cursed place—if you show even an iota of weakness—it's like a feeding ground for hyenas! The world here… it spits on you, Qian Ye. It eats you alive if you lack the claws!”

Another drink vanished.

“Other men? Sympathy for weaklings and all that, maybe. You know better: for them maybe even mercy! I am different.”

His fingers tapped on the wooden table—frustrating rhythm.

“I mean, sure, soul awakening—twice. Big deal! That just means I developed strength a little beyond others… why? What gives? Am I cursed to drink in peace with ghosts of old friends without hearing that tone in my ear again?”

Qian Ye blinked hard, sobering more fully.

William had just casually described a miracle twice over? That very notion, to the trained observer, defied known understanding.

“I'm... going to regret this, aren’t I? What exactly did your tongue say?"

"Soul Opening ritual."

Even in this city he governed, with its wolf-armed multitudes of nearly eight million, such matters had become well known territory.

The werewolf's rite called "Essence Awakened Rite".

By undergoing sacred ancestral challenges before an altar of forebears, they earned not just strength, but a gift—an infusion from the bloodline spirits.

Only those chosen as gifted even from their generation's most elite received the honor and peril involved.

Even these most promising werewolf youths rarely found success... less than even one out of ten passed.

Yet should the werewolf pass…

They walked away from the ordeal carrying divine ancestral augmentation—a boon often so immense that warriors might even find themselves advancing two levels of combat potential in mere ceremonies, all without reliance upon mortal aids and their inherent impurities or toxicities.

In many cases their rewards were purely physical boons, in select cases their gifts opened gates toward greater reserves of energy flow, and—rarest of all—there were ancient records where even the gift of prophecy awakened amidst blood-drenched ritual flames.

Because this phenomenon, "Soul Opening" stood as the secret behind the endurance of ancestral wolves—through which even primitive tribes birthed powerful war-kings from among dust and fangs alike, upholding their standing among the Great Peoples, the great Four Tribes—the Everlasting Wolf Kin.

While he'd heard of rare prodigies earning the chance of multiple openings in legend, those always spoken as rare miracles: rare individuals who earned it once in a generation's time—if one.

Yet here William—drunken wolf before him, speaking of "two" such events—as casual an event as eating morning bread or brewing one's morning tea!

“So... exactly... where exactly would you place your standing in the order of things now...?”

He hesitated as words failed his understanding, trying not to sound inquisitive—or perhaps wary.

The man's exterior suggested destitution or failure only. What lay concealed might prove something altogether fearsome.

At this question, William chuckled—a low and mirthless laugh—tilting his bottle in a toast, eyes half-mooned.

“Earldom.”

“What… what are you talking of?"

"You’ve heard—Duke, even. And where did that lead?"

Another toast with his bottle, down it tumbled in a single draught before he burped a sigh like an empty desert wind.

Qian Ye's brows lifted at this. William… Duke-class strength? That already surpassed Qian Ye himself.

“What's so dejected in achieving such strength?” Qian Ye replied, his irritation showing clearly. “If you ask me: what more in this world could challenge a Duke? Unless—could it be Wolf Lords are not enough for satisfaction anymore?”

William fixed Qian Ye’s eyes, his gaze filled with black fury. “Wolf Lords... Even if we speak of those Lords who soar above mountains, their dominance in age at their physical peak, how long do mere wolves last before the higher hands decide their time?”

“Then we speak of sacred mountains?”

William merely responded with a slight but grim nod, returning once more to the bottle.

The old狼祖 approached end of days; his weakness forgivable. At peak youth and might stood the狼尊 atop his peak… yet they too were bowing.

Only a power able to command even a至尊 could do that.

Perhaps it meant the presence of multiple至尊 at the holy Wolfmount, forcing all to their knees, forcing submission. And in the midst… this defiant soul before me.

William looked at Qian Ye as though weighing his thoughts, then smirked: “Qian Ye... tell me—what do you believe is the actual reason I searched for you all the way?”

Qian Ye leaned further back, folding his elbows atop the worn pub table.

“Well… It certainly isn't here for competition in drinking contests, I’d wager. That... is not the sort you enjoy.”

For a second, the warrior’s expression threatened to twist upward—but then... thoughtfulness took him back again. The thought rose—and was just quietly swallowed away like foam before breaking wave. He still kept *some sense* left to recall Qiant’s absurd tolerance for spirits, and knew he couldn’t hope for equality.

And yet, the brief moment’s defusion had lightened his heart just a little.

Still sipping his bitter brew with a tired air, the werewolf muttered: “Truth be told… why else would someone in such danger come to you...”

“To run… To escape.”

He said those two heavy syllabics in finality, and silence followed in their gravity.

To escape?

William's expression turned bitter. “You've known I've achieved this—two Awakenings, the likes of which hasn’t come for a whole thousand generations. The狼尊 heard whispers, and fearing my discovery, sent me far to exile. In foreign grounds… to remain unaccounted-for. Because within the new land—those masters… won’t let a free will walk for long once seen. Once drafted in service—what's freedom then?”

Qian Ye had gleaned through reports a sense of how things operated now in the new world. He asked carefully now though: “Are you speaking of sacrificial soldiers? Used as—”

“Me? Used?” William scoffed. “Who else could they choose better than the lone prodigy among wolves? They'd likely deploy no less a general than Blue Sun himself.”

It was difficult to dispute. Were such an opportunity to manifest—a noble prize awaited Empire strategists like rare gems: William carried even higher strategic significance than that of a certain vampire named Hero. Killing him was not something Qian might ever imagine the Empire would refrain from.

Yet, Qian Ye couldn’t reconcile that belief with his instincts.

For as far back as memory reached: never had he managed a way for himself to see William truly as an enemy. The man, back when his strength still languished… had on so many occasions protected Qiant, be it intentionally or incidentally, from looming death without hesitation.

Not just that, among his rank—one of nobility among the Nights—William had never once targeted those of dawn's faction. Neither had he sought outright war with the peoples of day.

He'd walked a solitary road, always… choosing neither the side of dawn or ever-night, yet forging in the space between—an isolated wanderer amid eternal oppositions.

“They truly went this far—risked severance with our whole people—merely to keep their claws from me?”

“They feared it… That exact consequence. Which explains why I was sent out into the wilderness,” William replied in a tone steeped darkly in cold sorrow as the final glass fell empty between them both, forgotten as ghosts upon worn tablecloth.