At sunset the following day, Wei Yuan entered King Ying’s residence.

King Ying’s residence was vast and covered even more ground than King Wei’s. However, Wei Yuan felt a desolate atmosphere washing over him as soon as he stepped through the gate.

An elderly gatekeeper led Wei Yuan toward the main hall. The entire residence was shrouded in deep darkness, with only a few lamps lit. In some places, the dim lighting was practically counter-productive, only serving to make the place seem darker.

Weeds had grown thickly in the cracks between the large lime bricks on the ground, and no one had bothered to clear them away. Wei Yuan saw hardly anyone in the vast residence. If not for the occasional figure hurrying past, he could be convinced to believe that the place was haunted.

Fortunately, the main hall was at least properly lit. The gatekeeper led Wei Yuan through the main hall and into a side courtyard. In a pavilion by a small lake, a table set with wine and food awaited them.

A man was already seated in the pavilion. Upon seeing him, Wei Yuan’s pupil instinctively contracted, and two tears trickled down his cheeks.

The man handed Wei Yuan a square of white cloth to wipe away his tears. He then said apologetically, “I sustained an injury in the north that has never fully healed. As a result, my physical body and mystic body aren’t quite in sync, and I can’t control my own power. That said, one generally shouldn’t be able to see the mystic energy I’m leaking unless they’re naturally perceptive.”

Wei Yuan responded, “Your mystic energy is incredible, King Ying. Your reputation is well-deserved!”

King Ying shook his head and said, “Cultivating this...