Mo Wan had successfully transford.
This should have been an entirely predictable event, yet given what had actually happened before, it felt all the more surprising.
In the courtyard, the six demon kings each had their own thoughts. Firstly, Mo Wan’s transformation clearly signaled to them that My lord had reached the Eighth Rank of martial artistry. Based on past experience, it ant they would next regain their own powers, one by one.
Secondly, My lord had clearly undergone so kind of change since his return this ti, a change that left all six demon kings sowhat puzzled.
They had no idea what My lord was truly thinking.
Or perhaps, in the past, while they might have outwardly acknowledged Zheng Fan as "My lord" in both word and deed, they had never genuinely accepted him as such in their hearts.
CREAK.
Zheng Fan, his hair still wet, pushed open the door and walked out. He didn’t walk far before reaching the courtyard.
"My lord, let dry your hair," Siniang imdiately offered, rising to get a towel and beginning to dry Zheng Fan’s hair.
Zheng Fan didn’t refuse, simply sitting down where Siniang had been.
Siniang then asked, "My lord, would you like so lanolin oil?"
Although Yinlang County was in the southern part of the Yan State, relative to the vast eastern regions, it was still firmly considered northern territory. Poets from the Qian State often described its three border counties as bitter, cold lands. Any official assigned to a post here would typically be given a farewell feast by friends and colleagues, one that felt more like a pre-emptive wake.
In winter, skin was prone to chapping. The Desert Barbarians used lanolin oil as a redy to prevent and treat this. Derived from sheep grease, it was considered quite a luxurious item, especially when enhanced with a few desert herbs—which, admittedly, weren’t particularly rare in the desert itself.
"Okay."
Siniang took out the lanolin oil, squeezed so onto her palms, rubbed them together, and then gently began to apply it to Zheng Fan’s face.
Although Siniang’s hands were constantly occupied with needlework, they weren’t rough at all—Zheng Fan could personally attest to this.
After she finished, Zheng Fan smiled and said, "I think I’m more used to urea cream or Dabao."
Zheng Fan recalled that as a child, his family used "urea cream," and later on, they started using Dabao.
"The profit margin on those is too thin, so we never bothered making them," Blind Bei replied.
"Hmm." Zheng Fan was just making a casual remark.
The others also sat down. Siniang stood behind Zheng Fan, massaging his temples.
Blind Bei took a cigarette from his iron box and offered it to Zheng Fan, who accepted it.
"My lord, there are so things we need to inform you about," Blind Bei began.
"Speak freely. We’re all family here," Zheng Fan replied, appearing very calm.
Yet, for so reason, Zheng Fan’s calmness felt sowhat unreal and unsettling to the six demon kings present.
It wasn’t that a rift had ford in their relationship—that wasn’t true at all. They still got along fine, but a sense of distance between them was undeniably deepening. The peak of their mutual suspicion and wariness had been back in Hutou City. But now, the issue was different. As My lord matured—a process greatly accelerated by the recent trip to the capital—Zheng Fan’s individual consciousness had slowly begun to awaken.
Blind Bei, despite his empty eye sockets, could accurately perceive these changes, drawing on his past experience as a psychologist.
The root cause, he felt, was that the My lord of the past had been more like an ancestral tablet—an object to be worshipped, knelt before, and respected as required. But an ancestral tablet was, after all, just an ancestral tablet; its existence was rely a focal point for their devotion, a kind of emotional anchor. Now, that ancestral tablet had seemingly co alive, transforming into a real person.
Perhaps Zheng Fan hadn’t intended for any of this. Rather, as he matured and integrated more deeply into this world, the "master-servant" dynamic between them was slowly beginning to "readjust" itself.
"My lord," Blind Bei began, "we discovered sothing not long ago. The recovery of our strength—the strength of the seven of us—seems to be significantly linked to My lord’s own power level."
"Oh?" Zheng Fan feigned slight surprise.
However, perhaps because his hair was still damp and he’d been out in the cold wind, or maybe because Siniang’s massage was so soothing, he felt a bit lightheaded. Consequently, his "Oh?" and the accompanying surprise didn’t co across as entirely convincing.
Too lazy to bother with a ’retake,’ as if a director had called ’cut.’
Zheng Fan just quietly continued, "Is that so."
Which of the demon kings present wasn’t shrewd? Even Fanli, despite his often startling pronouncents, was fundantally different from a truly simple-minded fellow like Mr. Chen.
They all understood that My lord’s reaction proved he had actually figured this out long ago. And it was precisely because he had figured it out that he had deliberately kept this fact hidden after his recent advancent.
"Yes," Blind Bei continued. "Each ti My lord’s power level increases by a stage, our strength also recovers by a corresponding stage. However, there seems to be an additional ritualistic step involved, almost like needing to get an application form stamped by the relevant departnt."
"So, it requires my approval?" Zheng Fan asked.
"Indeed, My lord."
Throughout this exchange, Blind Bei spoke for the other five.
"So that’s how it is." Zheng Fan nodded and added, "I’m at the Eighth Rank now."
Blind Bei remained silent, waiting for Zheng Fan to say more.
Even Siniang, who was massaging Zheng Fan’s temples, paused her fingers for a fraction of a second before quickly resuming with the sa pressure as before.
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