The flying boat had been descending for over an hour by the time the city of Reed Habor—the seat of the Yang Family—finally emerged from the haze below.
Yuming felt his legs ache. He and Yiling had left Zhenyuan three days ago.
The first day was delayed due to the incident with the cave. When Yuming and Yujin emerged, Yiling had been walking in circles and biting her fingernails. Needless to say, she didn't relax upon seeing the state the two were in.
After she calmed down, Yujin parted ways with them, and they set off towards the Yang Family to collect tribute. Yuming knew that the Yang Family was a distant Qi Condensation family, unimportant enough that children were handling their diplomatic relations as practical training.
As they descended, Yiling leaned over the rail, squinting. "Is that… smoke?"
It was. Dozens of thin columns rose from the sprawl below, merging into a gray cloud that hung over the wetlands. The city below rested half-submerged in marshland, its edges obscured by reed beds that stretched towards the distant horizon.
Details emerged as the boat dropped lower. The outer ring of the city was a mess of tilted structures. Most buildings were shacks built from hastily scavenged wood and woven reed. People hurried between the huts in slow lines, carrying bundles and hauling carts.
"More refugees," Yuming muttered.
Yiling's eyes widened. "There's so many."
The boat descended low enough that Yuming could see awestruck faces turned upward, with hollowed eyes and agape mouths. A child younger than Yuming waved to them. Yiling waved back.
As they moved inward, the architecture improved. Stilt houses rose higher, the walls were neatly cut wood. Proper railed bridges crossed the marshes.
Then the upper city appeared. There were no longer stilts, but sturdy stone foundations. The streets were made of cobblestone—well maintained to support the carriages that frequently passed.
And the people of the upper city—Yuming's eyes narrowed.
A man in flowing Taoist robes stood on a balcony, hands clasped behind his back in a cultivator's stance. But the robes were too loose. Another man walked past wearing a wooden sword with a silk grip at his belt—decorative but useless.
Yuming could have sworn he heard one mortal call another "Fellow Daoist."
"They're dressed like us," a confused Yiling observed.
"They're dressed how they think we dress," Yuming corrected.
Yiling frowned. "It's sad, though. They're trying so hard."
Yuming didn't answer. He was thinking about Willowbank—about his father, who'd never worn robes like these, who'd never even pretended. There's dignity in that, I suppose.
The Liu Family never governed much, mortals or cultivators. At most, they collected tribute. People in Yuming's hometown of Willowbank almost never saw cultivators.
But the Yang Family was different. They were the clear nobility of the large city. They were smart enough not to anoint themselves as kings, but they were truly rulers.
Yuming had read that in situations like these, the upper classes often emulated cultivators in fashion and speech. But he was slightly uncomfortable seeing this in person—even Yuming wasn't considered qualified to be called a "Fellow Daoist."
The boat turned towards the city's highest point, where a walled compound sat above the city. The walls were weathered, and at the compound's center stood a pavilion with a red-tiled roof.
Yuming inhaled sharply when he saw the gates—two massive copper gates, each at least three stories tall, covered in intricate carvings. Yuming noticed the faint glow of formations etched in the metal: ward inscriptions, dozens of them. But the glow was dim, and flickering, as if it was on its last breath.
The boat touched on a platform just outside the gates. Yuming stepped onto the solid ground, where a servant in gray robes approached, bowing deeply.
"Honored emissaries from the Immortal Family," he began, with a shaky voice, "The Yang Family awaits your arrival."
Yuming kept his face neutral and nodded. "Lead the way."
Yuming and Yiling were led into the interior of the pavilion.
The inside was simple. Old wood, low tables, the faint scent of burning incense in the corners.
An assembly was prepared for the two. A few dozen cultivators stood in neat rows, with their hands clasped and backs straight. There were a handful of young ones, but most of them were older. Their robes were clean—the real deal, not like what the mortals below were wearing—but worn at the edges.
At the front stood three figures, two men and a woman. One man was quite old, the other two looked middle aged.
Qi Condensation cultivators. All three could kill Yuming and Yiling with a heartfelt wave of the hand, but here, all three stood obediently.
The woman stepped forward and bowed. "Honored emissaries from the Immortal Family, I am Yang Qinru, the current head of the Yang Family."
Behind her, two cultivators carried forward a pair of golden chests, setting them down carefully.
Yuming and Yiling moved to examine the chests' contents.
The family was meant to pay an annual fee of twenty spirit stones, and it had been five years since the last visit, so Yuming and Yiling were expecting one hundred total. That was a massive amount of wealth, but the Liu Family wasn't concerned about transport. The last person who dared to rob a Liu tribute ship was found and tortured for days—and so was his family.
But spirit stones were truly in limited supply; the market didn't have the liquidity for most families to gain so many, even if they saved. Hence, the Liu Family accepted items of equal value instead of spirit stones.
Yiling and Yuming got to counting.
One chest contained fifty spirit stones, neatly wrapped in extravagant garments. The chest also contained various herbs and talisman papers that Yuming and Yiling recognized. They spent a few minutes calculating and concluded that the chest's value was around forty-seven spirit stones.
Then, they moved towards the next chest.
In the corner of his eye, Yuming made out the trembling hand of an old cultivator near the front of the room.
The second chest was larger, and it was filled with one thing: spirit rice.
When Yuming casually carried spirit rice, most of it was often compressed into tight boxes, with a few loose caddies kept in a pouch. The Yang Family clearly didn't have the same compression technique, hence the rice filled a large chest.
Yiling counted. Around three thousand caddies.
Yiling gave a satisfied nod and stepped backwards, causing all Yang members to let out a sigh of relief. Yuming looked at the chest and thought to himself.
I don't know exactly what the Zhan Branch is planning. There are only two things I can do right now.
He scooped up a handful of the rice.
I can show my value, show I'm worth protecting, and try to find a backer.
He released his grip and let the rice sift through the cracks in his fingers.
I also should stay away from Zhenyuan for as long as I can—long enough to try to learn more. Demanding more tribute would work.
But I shouldn't antagonize the Yang Family in front of all of their members.
Yuming followed Yiling's lead, taking a step back and smiling pleasantly. The woman—Yang Qinru—looked delighted and clapped her hands, directing her attendants to move the chests back.
"Esteemed emissaries, it is getting late, do you plan on resting here for the night?"
Yiling shot Yuming an uncertain glance, but Yuming responded happily. "We would love to accompany your noble family."
The mood became more lively, and the dozens of cultivators dispersed. Yuming and Yiling put on mortal clothing and spent an hour exploring the city of Reed Harbor, before heading back towards the pavilion to converse with the Yang Family heads.
On a balcony, Yuming, Yiling, Yang Qinru, and the older man—Yang Guowei—sat drinking tea and making casual conversation. The atmosphere was harmonious as the sun dipped below the horizon.
After some talking, Yuming set down his tea cup, and his expression became serious. "Family Head, I should mention—the tribute appears short of the agreed amount."
The harmonious atmosphere immediately disappeared. Yiling shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying her best to maintain her smile. The old man's face instantly went pale.
Yang Qinru bit her lip, wiped sweat from her temple, and asked politely, "Esteemed emissary, can you explain where we fell short?"
"Of course." Yuming replied nonchalantly. "The value of the first chest came out to about ninety-seven spirit stones. That was all there. But the second chest…"
Yang Qinru felt her heart drop, as Yuming continued.
"The second chest has three thousand caddies of spirit rice. Given the most generous conversion rates, that could indeed be worth the remaining three spirit stones. But the harvests have been plentiful the past few years, the current conversion rate is closer to fifteen hundred caddies per spirit stone. You should know this."
Yuming took another sip of his tea. His voice remained even, matter-of-fact. He was just accounting.
"What's more, this spirit rice would all go towards our treasury. Spirit rice goes bad quickly—it often lasts only a few years—so for long term storage, I'm afraid even fifteen hundred caddies wouldn't equal the value of one spirit stone."
Yang Qinru set down her cup carefully. "Young Master, you're correct of course. The… the truth is, we've been troubled recently. The northern refugees, the strain on our resources—"
"We can provide additional compensation, if we just have another month," Yang Guowei interjected hurriedly.
Yang Qinru picked back up. "We simply don't have the liquidity—but the wealth is there. We just need a bit of time—"
Yuming raised a hand gently, cutting off the scrambling elders.
"Family Head," he began, leaning forward. "You mention being troubled—what exactly is troubling you? I'm assuming the refugees aren't all?"
Yang Qinru and Yang Guowei both stammered, showing looks of surprise.
"I noticed the wards on your gates are dimmed—they don't look healthy. Surely your troubles run deeper than just refugees?"
Now Yiling was surprised, giving Yuling a meaningful look.
Yang Guowei started stuttering, "Y- Young Master, we can surely provide the full pay—"
"Enough." Yang Qinru said, raising her hand. She sighed, "We have been encountering troubles these past years."
"Oh?"
Yang Qinru went on. "Most notably, we have a junior, Yang Chengjun, who attempted Qi Condensation recently.
Yang Chengjun? What an audacious name! Both Yiling and Yuming thought to themselves. It meant "he who inherits lordship."
"We invested heavily in Chengjun, who has a high-grade spirit root. He had all of the resources, a proper technique… but he failed—he collapsed mid-breakthrough."
"Do you know why he failed?"
Yang Qinru looked down. "He said he felt like he was reaching for something that wasn't there."