In the blink of an eye, several days passed.
The city moved as it always did, yet everything felt fuller, louder, more alive than before.
Despite living in seclusion most of the time, Liam noticed the changes right away the moment it kicked off
Hawkers lined the streets, voices rising one after another as they called out their goods, competing for attention from the passerby.
Farmers who had settled near the outer ring of the city tended to their small plots near the main street, their tools moving under the sun, while mortals carried on with their routines, fetching water, trading goods, handling the simple matters of daily life.
But beneath that familiarity, there was a clear change.
The city was booming, explosively booming. The townfolk noticed the changes, and they attributed these changes to one factor, and it was the Purple Cloud Pavilion's presence.
The flow of people had increased far beyond what it once was.
Travelers, independent cultivators, merchants, faces both new and unfamiliar filled the streets.
Even the main road, once considered spacious enough to handle any crowd, now felt slightly cramped under the constant movement of bodies and goods.
The news spread fast, the existence of Liam's public face as a Nascent Soul Ancestor attracted many independent Cultivators here.
Why?
It was for the sake of safety. And with Cultivators moving, mortals would pay hefty sum to follow. Thus triggering a chain reaction that increased the population numbers.
Yet despite the growing traffic, order remained intact.
Under Ilya's careful management, the city was slowly shaped into her and Liam's ideal city. As such, she needed to maintain orders in order to go for their goal.
From time to time, tall cloaked figures could be seen moving through the streets.
Their presence alone was enough to quiet disputes before they even began.
The emblem of the Purple Cloud Pavilion rested on their robes, and their towering frames made them impossible to ignore.
Who wouldn't?
Easily 2 meters tall, rough looking face, and the eyes that seemed to tell that he can kill you in 1000 different ways. Most would definitely notice.
To mortals, they looked like walking giants.
To cultivators.
Their aura pressed down like a mountain. Like a bulb of light, but in a group.
Near one of the busier stalls, a pair of young cultivator couple stood side by side, casually browsing through items laid out on a wooden table.
The stall owner spoke quickly, trying to highlight the value of each object, but the two paid him only partial attention as they examined things at their own pace.
The man picked up a small jade talisman, turning it between his fingers. "This one's decent," he said, glancing at the woman beside him. "At least the carving isn't sloppy."
The woman leaned in slightly, her eyes scanning it before she nodded. "It'll hold for basic use. Don't expect more than that."
"Should we get something for our kid?"
"Up to you."
Their conversation was relaxed, almost routine, until something changed behind them from the end of the street.
The man's hand paused mid-air, his pupils dilated, and he turned his gaze.
"…Wait."
The woman followed his gaze.
From the far end of the street, a cloaked figure approached slowly, its height immediately setting it apart from everyone else around it.
The mask covering its face reflected faint light.
As it drew closer, the pressure became clearer.
The man instinctively lowered his voice. "That's… one of the Seniors isn't?"
The woman didn't respond immediately. Her posture straightened slightly, her earlier casual demeanor disappeared.
"…A foundation Building senior" she murmured under her breath. "And I can't tell this Senior's exact realm, but it's probably not in the early stage."
The figure passed by them without a glance, its steps slow, as the crowd parted naturally to make way.
Neither of them moved.
Only after it was several meters away did the man let out a quiet breath.
"…No wonder the city's this stable."
The woman gave a faint nod, her eyes still lingering in that direction. "With guards like that, who would dare cause trouble?"
He chuckled softly. "Purple Cloud Pavilion really went all out."
"Not just strength," she added, crossing her arms slightly. "Discipline too. They don't even bother looking at people unless necessary."
The man placed the talisman back onto the stall. "Friend, I will take this one"
Not far from there, tucked into a shaded corner between two narrow alleys, a few hooded figures stood close together.
Their presence was hidden, deliberately so, blending into the background as if they didn't belong to the bustling street at all.
Hell, they shouldn't even be there. A group of brave magic path Cultivators.
One of them shifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward the main road.
"…Another one passed."
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Another figure clicked his tongue quietly. "Keep your head down."
They all remained still as a cloaked guard moved past the street nearby, its presence heavy even at a distance.
The puppet was ordered to exude it's aura whenever it went by Ilya. It was for more of a show rather than control, but it worked both ways anyway.
Only after it was gone did one of them exhale.
"…These people are ridiculous."
"Foundation Building Seniors as patrol guards," another muttered, adjusting his cloak. "What kind of backing does that Pavilion even have?"
The first one glanced around briefly before speaking again. "Doesn't matter. As long as we don't act here, they won't touch us."
A third figure let out a dry chuckle. "Strange rules for a righteous force."
"Not strange," came the quiet reply. "Practical. The Pavilion isn't really a righteous force, it's a business force. So I doubt they would make things hard for us as long as we don't touch their interests."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then.
"We keep it clean inside the city," one of them said firmly. "Whatever we do… we do it outside."
No one argued.
Their gazes drifted once more toward the direction the guard had gone, a trace of wariness still present.
Because in this city, there was a line.
And crossing it wasn't worth the risk.
Then, the perspective shifted elsewhere.
Near the building that led into the black market, the atmosphere changed almost immediately.
The crowd here was quieter, movements more restrained, conversations kept low and guarded.
Almost everyone wore cloaks or masks, concealing their identities as if it were second nature.
It wasn't just a habit.
It was understood as a requirement here in order to survive. Well, from time to time, you would see fresh faces that just entered the cultivation world without a mask here.
And these unfortunate fools would usually be robbed.
Even the area surrounding the entrance had its own set of unspoken rules, and anyone who lingered here for long would naturally learn to follow them.
Figures moved in and out, yet few walked openly along the main path.
Most kept to the edges, slipping between shadows or taking detours through narrow side passages.
The reason wasn't hard to guess.
Ever since the battle between Lucien and Hero, nearly half of the black market had been reduced to ruin.
The damage hadn't been fully repaired yet, and the scars of that clash were still visible, collapsed structures, fractured ground, and faint traces of lingering energy.
Since most Cultivators living in the city were mostly Qi refining realm monks, such an energy was extremely deadly for them.
But in a way, it was a good place to come and comprehend the leftover sword intent. It was left behind by Lucien unintentionally.