Chapter 42: The Phoenix Martial Banquet Secrets

 

“Know the past five hundred years, foresee the next five hundred! Divine fortunes and omens—none but Bai the Half-Immortal!”

At a busy street corner where voices overlapped and footsteps never ceased, a tattered banner fluttered unevenly in the wind. The faded cloth bore bold yet slightly crooked characters proclaiming “Bai the Half-Immortal.” Beneath it stood a figure wearing a crooked hat and an obviously fake mustache, waving a palm-leaf fan with exaggerated enthusiasm while calling out to passing pedestrians.

Beside the fortune-teller stood a quiet young boy dressed in plain clothing. He held a battered iron bowl carefully with both hands, his posture obedient and calm, as though he had been standing there for years. The pair were none other than Bai Shuo and Fan Yue.

After leaving Piaomiao, the two had enjoyed several carefree days wandering from place to place, indulging in food and amusement without restraint. Yet such freedom lasted only briefly.

Bai Shuo had never truly lived as an immortal, nor had she ventured beyond Piaomiao before. She had not realized that within the Immortal Realm—even in bustling immortal cities—everything required spirit pearls: food, lodging, and even a place to rest one’s feet.

As a half-immortal who had yet to fully step onto the path of cultivation, she was, in many ways, no different from a mortal blessed with a slightly longer lifespan. Sleeping outdoors and hunting for survival every day was hardly realistic. Even if she could endure such hardship herself, she could not bear to see her precious little disciple suffer the same.

After nearly half a month of relying on the kindness of strangers, Bai Shuo finally devised a plan to earn spirit pearls.

When leaving Piaomiao, she had raided the medicine hut and taken two old tortoise shells that the elderly turtle had hidden beneath a wooden bed. Originally intended for medicinal use, the shells unexpectedly proved suitable for divination. Since Nanhai City was the largest city in the Immortal Realm—and since Bai Shuo naturally gravitated toward lively places—she brought Fan Yue there, rented a small courtyard, and set up a fortune-telling stall.

Ironically, fortune-telling was not a popular profession among immortals.

Aside from divine beasts and ancient spiritual entities, mortals who attempted to divine fate would inevitably sacrifice portions of their lifespan. In a realm where everyone sought longevity, no one willingly traded life for uncertain predictions. As a result, nearly every fortune stall in the Immortal Realm was assumed to be fraudulent.

Unaware of this reality, Bai Shuo spent several days without a single customer and nearly starved.

Then one day, everything changed.

When Fan Yue arrived carrying food for her, a hesitant female half-immortal sat down at the stall, fan in hand, yet her gaze remained fixed entirely on Fan Yue. From that moment onward, Bai Shuo had her little disciple stand beside the stall holding the iron bowl like a living signboard.

Business immediately improved.

Soon, Bai the Half-Immortal’s stall became the liveliest attraction in Nanhai City—but for all the wrong reasons. Every visitor was a young lady. Every gaze was directed at the handsome boy. Every question concerned marriage fortunes.

The tortoise shells, of course, could not predict romance. But the customers weren’t interested in accuracy anyway—they were far more interested in taking the beautiful and obedient young disciple home.

Fortunately, Bai Shuo took her disciple’s reputation very seriously. No matter how much spirit pearls were offered, the rule remained firm: looking was allowed, touching was not.

Under these strict principles, daily earnings remained modest—three to five spirit pearls, just enough to survive.

After calling out for some time, Bai Shuo noticed the sun dipping toward the horizon and knew the day’s business had ended.

She snatched the three spirit pearls from the battered bowl, tucked them into her Qiankun Bag, and jerked her chin toward Fan Yue.

“Good disciple, time to pack up.”

Fan Yue immediately tied the bowl at his waist, folded the stall cloth efficiently, and slung everything over his shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

With a light snap of her fingers, Bai Shuo turned and walked away, her disciple following quietly behind.

“Oh, Daoist Bai, heading back so early today?” neighboring vendors called out.

“Yep. It’s cold today—the ladies are all at home. No business. I’ll come earlier tomorrow.”

Bai Shuo smiled warmly at them. Among the demi-immortals scraping by in the streets, this cheerful master-disciple pair was widely liked.

As Bai Shuo strolled leisurely through the streets with Fan Yue, a fragment of conversation drifting from a roadside tea shed caught her attention.

“Hey, have you heard? This year's 'Phoenix Martial Banquet' has come up with something new.”

Her footsteps slowed.

Counting the days, Chong Zhao should have already reached Phoenix Island. How was he doing?

“What's new about it? Isn't it just a competition between disciples of the immortal sects and the Yao Realm? The strongest wins, as always.”

“Ah, that's ancient history now. I heard this year's rising talents from the Three Realms are as numerous as fish in a river. Over a hundred disciples from both the immortal and Yao races have entered Phoenix Island.”

“That many?! Good heavens, how long will the competition take then?”

“Exactly! If they have to compete one by one, who knows how many years it'll drag on. They can't possibly make the big shots of the Three Realms sit on the stage just watching, can they?”

“True. So... how will this year's Phoenix Martial Banquet be held?”

The storyteller cleared his throat dramatically.

“Immortal Lord Zhen Yu has declared that past banquets relied solely on martial prowess, which was too simplistic. Since this is a contest between the elites of both realms, why not incorporate character, wisdom, and adaptability to ensure fairness?”

“Character? Wisdom? How do you test those? Are they going to make those hundred-odd immortals and Yao lords debate the Dao of immortals and Yao on Phoenix Island? Whoever argues best wins?”

“Ridiculous! The leaders of the Three Realms aren't like us demi-immortals in the marketplace. They wouldn't arrange such a battle of words.”

“Then how will it work? Stop keeping us in suspense—spit it out already!”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up!”

“Do you know what the prize was for the champion of past Phoenix Martial Banquets?”

“I know! In previous banquets, both the Heavenly Palace and the Violet Palace would forge a top-tier spiritual artifact at the peak of the upper immortal level. If our Immortal Realm won, the artifact would be awarded to the top immortal lord, and the same for the Yao Race. I remember a century ago, the winner was our Immortal Realm's Qing Yi, the Upper Immortal from Great Marsh Mountain...”

“Right! Upper Immortal Qing Yi is only three hundred years old but has already reached mid-level upper immortal cultivation. He's a once-in-a-millennium prodigy for our immortal race. In the past, the spiritual artifacts for the Phoenix Martial Banquet were provided by the Heavenly Palace and the Violet Palace. But this year, the artifact was specially forged by the Phoenix Clan using the heart of a phoenix tree.”

“What?! The heart of a phoenix tree?! Really?”

Excitement rippled across the tea shed.

“Of course it's true! The Phoenix Clan's promise cannot be false! However, obtaining this Phoenix Tree Spiritual Artifact is no easy feat. Immortal Lord Jin Yao has divided it into three segments, concealing their Qi in the City of Outcasts. Within three days, whoever can gather all three segments, merge them into one, and have the artifact willingly acknowledge them as its master will be crowned this year's Martial Banquet champion.”

The conversation shifted toward the mysterious City of Outcasts—a place feared and avoided by both immortals and demons alike.

The city lay in the barren north, inhabited only by those born of mixed immortal and demon blood. Their conflicting energies made cultivation nearly impossible, leaving them rejected by both races.

Long ago, the Demon Emperor had attempted to eradicate them, but the Heavenly Emperor intervened, establishing the city and sealing it with divine power. Inside its boundaries, spiritual power would be suppressed.

It was the perfect testing ground.

Searching for artifact fragments within such a place would test not only strength, but wit and adaptability.

After listening for a while, Bai Shuo scanned the betting lists scattered across the tea tables.

Names like Bei Chen, Nan Wan, and Mu Jiu dominated the wagers.

But Chong Zhao’s name was nowhere to be found.

Only after leaving Piaomiao had Bai Shuo truly understood how far the sect had fallen. It had become little more than a minor sect, barely known outside its region.

A faint sigh escaped her.

She snapped her fingers lightly at Fan Yue and turned away.

The affairs of the Three Realms had nothing to do with a half-immortal barely earning enough to eat.

---

Shunfeng Pavilion

Instead of returning home, Bai Shuo turned into a narrow side street and walked to its very end. There stood a shabby shop without a signboard.

She entered confidently.

"Zhi Zhanggui, I’m back!"

After a long pause, a pair of slit-like eyes appeared behind the tall counter. A jade pipe rested in its mouth, and a thin mustache curled beneath it.

The shopkeeper was not human—but a paper figure.

"Ah, Daoist Bai, business must be booming today."

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere."

She pulled out her Qiankun Bag and counted carefully.

"The usual."

But the paper man did not move.

"Ah, Daoist Bai… bad timing. Our prices have gone up."

Bai Shuo froze.

"Up? Ten pearls for one portrait, and now you’re raising the price?!"

"Daoist Bai, you know the Wutong Martial Banquet has begun. Fairy and Demon Disciples from all over the Three Realms are scrambling for news about Yicheng and the habits of the Wutong Tree. My Shunfeng Pavilion is swamped. Your request requires me to send someone out specially—manpower is tight."

Bai Shuo clenched her teeth.

"How much?"

Three fingers rose slowly.

"Three more?"

"No. Three times."

"Three times?! Thirty pearls for one portrait—why don’t you just rob me?!"

"Tsk tsk, as the saying goes, you can force a gamble but not a sale. If you’d rather… you could always go to the Nine Heavens Palace, Daze, Kunlun, Yunxiao, Jingyou, or Lengquan yourself?"

Her aura visibly weakened with each name.

"What? Looking for a fight?"

"Who, me? I wouldn’t dare! Zhi Zhanggui, look at me—this measly business barely scrapes together a dozen pearls a month. Thirty pearls for one portrait is too much. Have a heart, lower it a bit?"

She dragged Fan Yue forward.

"Look at my little disciple here—standing on the streets all day, he’s practically turned into a bamboo pole. I’ve got to save some for his meals."

After a long pause:

"Fine. Seeing as you’ve got a family to feed… twenty-five pearls."

Bai Shuo instantly agreed.

"Deal! Hand it over."

Moments later, she grabbed the portrait—and fled.

"Shopkeeper Zhi, ten for now. I owe you fifteen—I'll make it up next month!"

Just as the paper man fumed, a glowing night pearl dropped onto the counter.

"Shunfeng Pavilion?"

"Y-yes, my lord! What information do you seek?"

"I seek a certain kind of person."

"What kind?"

"Fortune-tellers."

The paper man smiled slowly.

"Easy enough, my lord. As it happens, we do have one."