Chapter 29
Yonglan City—this was the name of the second sky city they visited—was drastically different from the dazzling Tianzhu.
Here, the clouds supporting the city's foundation appeared thinner, more fragile, like an old blanket washed too many times until it was nearly translucent.
The buildings of black stone that towered along the main road were not adorned with lanterns or intricate carvings, but with worn-out banners bearing political slogans about "food conservation" and "cultivation stability."
Ling Xu and Huan Zheng—now disguised under new identities, Liu Xin and Zhao Wei, after their bitter experience in Tianzhu where their false identities had nearly been exposed by sect spies—stood in a corner of a back alley near the city hall, listening to the whispers of merchants lining up for their daily ration of spirit rice.
"Listen, my dear," said an old merchant to his companion, his voice hoarse like someone who hadn't drunk clean water in far too long.
"They say anyone who can solve this city's food problem will receive a reward of tens of millions of Star crystals. Tens of millions! That's enough to advance two or even three cultivation levels!"
Ling Xu, disguised as a lowly servant in a tattered gray robe with a hood covering most of his face, turned toward Huan Zheng, who stood beside him in his usual lazy posture—now with the addition of a fake mustache that made him look like an old man on the verge of retirement—and whispered.
"I'm not interested in politics, Zhao Wei. But tens of millions of crystals… that's not something I can ignore."
Huan Zheng—now Zhao Wei—yawned widely, then scratched his stomach in a lazy motion that had become his trademark.
"I'm not interested either, Liu Xin. But my stomach is growling, and that reward could buy ten thousand bowls of Spirit Poultry Essence Noodles."
The political issue faced by Yonglan City turned out to be more complicated than mere food shortages.
The main topic was how to harvest more high-quality food materials that could be consumed by Star Foundation cultivators—from Lower Star to Supernatural Star—without burdening the city's already thinning budget, as thin as a wallet after the Grand Harvest Full Moon.
For three consecutive days, Ling Xu and Huan Zheng infiltrated the council chamber as servants who refilled teapots and cleaned the floors.
It was menial work that kept them from suspicion, yet granted them full access to every discussion, every debate, every heated argument between two political factions that clashed with words as sharp as blades.
"We must import from ground cities!" shouted a politician in green robes, his voice booming as his hand slammed the teak table, making the teacups tremble like people shivering from cold.
"It's cheaper, and the quality—"
"Impossible!" interrupted his opponent, an elderly woman with neatly tied white hair and eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"Ground cities can no longer be trusted after the Cancer Plague spread from the sea cities! We must be self-sufficient, we must cultivate our own land!"
Ling Xu, who was pouring tea for a council member who paid him no attention, whispered something into the ear of the green-robed politician.
Not with sound, but with an extremely subtle vibration of Qi—soft, quiet, and cunning, like wind whispering through dry leaves.
"Tell them," Ling Xu whispered, "that instead of importing from ground cities, you can utilize the unused land beneath the city—land long abandoned because it was thought infertile, when in fact it only requires simple treatment with inexpensive herbal mixtures."
The politician blinked, then nodded as if it were his own idea, immediately raising the topic during the session with great enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Huan Zheng, who was sweeping the floor, smiled faintly—because he knew Ling Xu had just planted the first seed of their cunning plan.
Days passed, and each new session brought new challenges.
The politicians of Yonglan were indeed skilled debaters, but they all shared one weakness: greed.
Whenever someone proposed an idea that benefited their personal pockets, they would support it without hesitation—even if the idea was actually harmful to the city in the long run.
Huan Zheng, with his experience as a former Wheel of Cultivation who had witnessed thousands of political intrigues across kingdoms and universes, exploited that weakness perfectly.
He whispered ideas that seemed to benefit each faction individually, but in truth guided them all toward a single solution: a vertical farming system beneath the city, utilizing geothermal energy from the earth's core that had long gone to waste.
"Tell the left faction," Huan Zheng whispered to another servant he had bribed with a few Lintang coins, "that vertical farming will create thousands of jobs for the common people."
Then, during another session, he whispered to a politician from the right faction.
"Tell them this system will reduce dependence on imports, allowing the city's budget to be allocated to projects more beneficial to you."
Behind the damp, dark curtains of the council chamber, Ling Xu and Huan Zheng stood squeezed among piles of old documents and empty tea jars.
Their eyes peered through a narrow gap toward the main stage, where politicians from Yonglan's three largest sects—Silent Deep Dragon Sect, Emerald Sword Sect, and Radiant Dawn Sect—began revealing their true colors after days of pretending neutrality.
"They want to turn this food crisis into a business field," Huan Zheng whispered, his voice nearly drowned by the sound of fabric scraping and dust drifting through the air.
His lazy eyes suddenly narrowed sharply toward a golden-robed elder delivering an impassioned speech about "the importance of harmony between sects and the mortal world."
But for those who truly understood the hidden language of the cultivation world, the meaning behind those words was crystal clear.
It was not about harmony, but domination—that they would control the flow of resources, determine price fluctuations like manipulating Qi, and reap the greatest profits.
Meanwhile, in their eyes, mortal rulers were nothing more than fragile puppets sitting on wooden thrones, moving according to invisible strings.
Ling Xu nodded slightly, his fingers hidden within the sleeves of his gray robe tightening around a small pouch containing sleeping poison.
Not to kill, but to "assist" certain hesitant politicians so they would more easily accept the whispers he would plant in the next session.
"Then we will not confront them directly," he said, his dim eyes gleaming with a cold spark of cunning.
"We will simply ensure that even if they become the executors, they cannot move without supervision that will render them powerless."
The final session began under heavy tension.
The air in the room felt like heated iron repeatedly hammered, and every word spoken by the politicians struck like a hammer blow, leaving marks upon the teak table already scarred by anger and frustration.
The three sects boldly proposed that they be granted full control over food distribution for Lintang Foundation cultivators, claiming that "we understand cultivators' needs best."
In truth, they only sought to manipulate prices between sects, increase profit margins, and extract as much wealth as possible from the already starving common people.
But Ling Xu and Huan Zheng had prepared their move carefully.
Not through direct confrontation—which would attract too much attention—but by splitting the votes of politicians outside those three sects.
They whispered to them one by one, reminding them that if the three sects were given full control, nothing would remain for the people except crumbs falling from the nobles' table.
To be continued…