About two hours later, the sound of Mori's hooves alerted the two guards atop the city wall. Above the gate, they exchanged a glance, then grabbed their bows and aimed down at the approaching cart.
"Halt! Who are you?" one shouted. "Don't you know the city is closed at night?"
Wuji parted the curtains and stepped down. His gaze swept over the ten-meter wall and gate, the battlements fading into darkness, broken only by the spaced torches flickering along the stone.
"Calm yourselves," he said, raising his hands. "I wasn't aware."
The guards narrowed their eyes, then shared a knowing smile. "If you didn't know," the one on the right said, "you'll have to wait outside. Till morning—about six hours."
"Or—" the guard on the left began, but the other nudged him sharply with an elbow.
Wuji watched the act unfold. "Perhaps we could speak privately," he suggested, a faint smile on his lips.
The guards grinned. "Smart people make things easier," the left one remarked. He glanced toward two others watching from the side, but no one else was close enough to hear.
As the guard descended the wall, Wuji returned to the back of the cart. He opened the coffin lid, willed the Interment Space to appear, and retrieved five gold coins.
After tucking them into his sleeve, and returning the spirit stones to the inner space, he called forth a pouch from one of the bandits' corpses.
He grabbed it, and the coins clinked softly as he dropped them into the pouch. The sound was deliberate and explicit in the still night, and, as he anticipated, the four guards' smiles widened at the sound.
Wuji estimated that the pouch held about 300 gold coins, based on its weight. A quarter might be silver, but it didn't matter. Worldly wealth was no longer a valid concern, even in his mortal state. For now, he turned and walked back toward the front of the cart.
His gaze settled on a small door to the left of the main gate, where he felt the guard's eyes on him.
"Hey, old man. Over here," the guard whispered, glancing behind him before locking eyes with Wuji. With the pouch deliberately visible and the coins clinking loud enough to be heard, Wuji approached.
When he reached the small door, the guard didn't waste time. "Hand it over. Quickly, before others come, and I'll let you in."
Wuji didn't comply. He stared through the rectangular opening, he was no fool. "Open the gate first. I don't trust you that easily."
"Tch. Don't get clever, old man. Give me the coins now, or when the others arrive, they'll have you arrested," the guard insisted.
Wuji stayed silent. He knew if he handed over the coins and the guard reneged, the only way to get them back would be to kill him—and that wasn't part of his plan.
He couldn't risk drawing attention; there might be sect disciples, loose cultivators, or even a demonic cultivator nearby. Staying low-key was key to staying safe, but caution didn't mean he'd let himself be walked over.
He watched the guard's eyes—agitated, nervous. Corruption was a razor's edge, especially if the ones above were just as greedy.
"How about this?" Wuji offered calmly. "I'll give you ten gold coins. But—" He paused deliberately. The guard's eyes widened. He'd expected silver, not gold. Wuji's estimation of him shifted instantly, not toward fear, but toward greed.
Wuji noted the reaction. He hadn't meant to bait him, but it had worked.
As they conversed, a new concern arose in his mind: entering the city might be too risky. He needed supplies—food, water, and especially coffins—but having them delivered outside the city would attract less attention.
Theses guards, with their limited authority, were the perfect tool to make it happen.
"But what?" the guard pressed, his breathing heavier now. Ten gold coins were three months' pay, and this old man seemed both wealthy and ludicrous.
"I want you and the others—if there are others- to do something for me," Wuji said flatly.
"What is it?" the guard asked hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder again.
"Does this city have coffin shops?" Wuji asked.
"Yes, obviously. Why?" the guard replied.
"How many coffins can I get?"
"Hundreds, thousands, I suppose. Is that what you want—coffins?" The guard's tone was puzzled.
"Yes. What I need you and the others to do is buy twenty adult-sized coffins—the best quality—along with ritual materials, food from the best restaurants," he paused, feeling the soreness in his own body, "and a large, comfortable bed."
The guard's face flickered with confusion for a moment, but he steadied himself. It didn't matter what was being bought; his focus was on the coins.
Wuji opened the pouch and took out forty gold coins. "For the four of you," he said, placing them in the guard's palm through the rectangular opening.
The guard immediately bit one of the coins, his smile widening as he confirmed it was real. "Alright. When do we bring everything?"
"Tomorrow night, at this same time. I'll wait outside until then." Wuji handed him fifty more gold coins. "This is for the goods." He turned back toward the cart. "The stealthier you are, and the better the quality, the more you'll earn. Even another hundred is no problem for me."
Hearing that, the guard felt a sharp pang of greed and regret. He'd briefly considered reneging, but Wuji knew how to keep men like him hooked. Feed them a taste, promise a feast, and they'll chase the reward to the end.
Wuji walked to the cart, climbed up, and guided it along the wall until its silhouette was swallowed by the night.
The guard returned to the top of the wall and told the other three, who immediately exchanged greedy glances.
"A lone old man with deep pockets and a strange request. What could be better?" one murmured.
They could rob him and frame him as a criminal afterward. Who in their right mind asked for twenty coffins and ritual materials? "He must be a criminal," another reasoned.
"He's not burying wild beasts, that's for sure." With that flimsy moral cover, they felt justified, even righteous. They chose one among them to arrange the details.
Minutes later, Wuji moved along the wall and paused below another guardpost. The guard above aimed a bow down at him. Wuji calmly explained he was waiting for the gates to open and tossed the man two gold coins, asking not to be disturbed. The guard accepted with a sharp, greedy nod.
Just as Wuji was about to enter the coffin to sleep, his Eye of the End caught glowing numbers in the sky, barely ten meters above him, any higher and they'd have been out of sight.
[Lifespan: 120 / 200]
A man on a flying sword glanced down, sensing a gaze. Wuji swiftly turned his eyes toward the moon, his expression perfectly neutral. The cultivator stared for a moment, then flew into the city, unconcerned, confident in his orphan stealth spell, even though such spells were far from flawless. It didn't matter if it was perfect or not; no illusion-based arts could hide from his eyes.
As the man vanished, Wuji let out a slow, relieved breath, his shoulders sagging. He was grateful for the Eye of the End, and for his own paranoia. Accidentally meeting the gaze of a hidden cultivator could have been disastrous; wounding a cultivator's pride was dangerous when one was weak.
And what's more, carrying the coffin into the city would have been like painting a target on his back, a declaration that he possessed something that could evade spiritual scans. Attracting that kind of attention was the last thing he needed.
After calming himself, he entered the cart and lay down beside the coffin. He could have hidden inside it, but an empty horse cart might draw unwanted questions.
Appearing on a cultivator's spiritual scan as an old man resting in a cart was the safer choice, even if his body still carried a faint death aura. That wasn't unusual enough to raise suspicion.
His eyes slowly closed as sleep took him. The horse quietly munched grass by the wall, and time drifted by.
Hours later, the sound of people gathering near the gate woke him. He climbed out and looked up to see a new guard on duty. Wuji tossed him three gold coins, enough to buy his silence for the day. Then he returned to the cart and slept again.
As the day wore on, a few curious onlookers approached, but the guards he'd bribed kept them away.
Meanwhile, the other two guards moved through the bustling city, arranging for coffins and supplies. They didn't take delivery immediately, promising to collect everything after dark.
One of them lingered in the slums, gathering a group of rough-looking men, gangs, and each trained, preparing not just for a delivery, but for a robbery.
When night fell again, Wuji woke. His body was stiff and sore, his stomach empty, but his mind felt sharp from the long rest. He opened the coffin lid, retrieved some bread and water from the Interment Space, and ate quietly.
From the sounds drifting from the city: the music, the laughter, and the banters, it was still early in the evening. He would wait until the appointed hour.
Five hours later, at midnight, he drove the cart back toward the gate to make his presence known. One of the guards on the wall guided him along the western side of the city, the horse moving slowly beside the towering stone.
After a long stretch, he turned the horse right, then continued straight until he reached a section of the wall under repair, a ragged hole gaped in the stone.
The area was quiet, the rhythmic clopping of hooves echoing in the stillness. Wuji stopped a few paces from the hole and stepped down. Looking up, he saw no guard along the battlements. The watchtowers stood dark.
Moments later, heavy footsteps sounded from within the hole. Several figures emerged, carrying coffins between them. Wuji's eyes narrowed as he studied their movements—the disciplined grip, the controlled steps, the steady breathing.
These weren't laborers. They were trained, likely their fellow city guards or hired muscle, perhaps even gang members. But at the end of the day, it didn't matter who they were; what mattered was the hostility thickening the air.
Perhaps it was Mei Xu's combat awareness sharpening his senses, but he didn't need her memories to recognize a trap, well though this one was of his own making.
"Predictable," he thought as he quietly willed the husk in the cart, hidden behind the curtains, to awaken, allotting it one year of lifespan. Only five years and nine months remained in reserve.
The two guards he'd bribed stepped into view at the threshold of the hole. Their expressions confirmed his suspicion. Wuji narrowed his Eye of the End, scanning for hidden cultivators.
He found none in the sky or along the wall, but then he saw [Lifespan: 30/120] a Qi Cycle Realm cultivator, concealed beside the left edge of the opening's shadow.
"So they had brought a cultivator after all." Yet Wuji felt a flicker of relief. If this was their trump card, they had sorely underestimated him.
The air hung tense until one of the guards broke the silence. "Twenty coffins," he announced, motioning toward the left side of the hole. "The bed's here too. We brought the food."