Chương 39: The Fross Estate

Rowan The Fross Family's estate wasn't as large as the Helsing Compound, but it was far better maintained. A great garden stretched out before a bluestone manor. The Fross Family standard waved in the evening breeze - a mountain piercing the clouds. Rowan really didn't wish to enter but he bit his tongue and followed Florimond inside the manor. Even though the Fross Family wasn't one of the four major houses of Righteous Mountain City, they were the richest.

Their silver mines stretched between the city and Deepwhale Pier. Even before Rowan's feud with Barrett, he'd known a lot about them. Everyone did. Their reclusive family head, Guerlain Fross, who had become a recluse after a family tragedy, and the old scandal that resulted in the shameful birth of his half-brother, Baudelain. Because of Baudelain's status, he hadn't been allowed to become a disciple of the sect, something that Rowan was sure Elder Patino deeply regretted.

But Baudelain's tale was inspirational for a reason. Despite the stigma, Baudelain, the black sheep of the family, had reached the peak of Qi Condensation, been legitimized, and now ran the family affairs in all but name. He was a shining example of hard work and talent prevailing over all rocks on the road.

"Why is Fross holding the party?" whispered Rowan.

"He knows I have a feud with his nephew." As though Baudelain Fross had heard the question, the doors to the grand parlor opened and he stepped into the room with Barrett. The Fross elder wore a welcoming smile, the low lighting gleaming on his silver hair, but Rowan could see that his fingers were curled tightly around his nephew's nape, holding him in place. Barrett looked like a furious housecat being held above a barrel of water.

"Is your uncle aware of that?" Florimond returned. Uncle Bael, it seemed, had also entered the parlor with Baudelain. The man was happier than Rowan had ever seen him. Baudelain made his way to the center of the room, guests parting. He cleared his throat to get the room's attention. A hush instantly fell over the party.

"Thank you everyone for coming to celebrate young Rowan Helsing's heroism," said Baudelain, his voice amplified.

"Through a coincidence, I happened to be at the Dao Court Building when they received an urgent message about trouble in Highwater. We weren't quick enough. By the time we had arrived, Rowan had already slain the demonic cultivator known as Daoist Apex." By now, the entire party was listening in rapt silence, eager for a firsthand account of what had happened. Baudelain took a deep breath. His face hardened.

"Daoist Apex was the worst sort. The kind even the bravest men dread to face. A child-eater. His lair was a gruesome scene that turned even my stomach. This vile person had been feasting for many years, manipulating mortals into keeping his secret." The man shook his head in disgust.

"I wished to host this party to make an announcement. The Fross Family will be starting a charity for orphans in Rowan's name called the Rowan Helsing Charitable Fund. Paid and supported in full by the Fross Family." The news stunned Rowan, who hadn't heard anything about this. The whispers grew to such a volume that Baudelain tapped the side of a glass with a fork to quiet everyone down.

"In these trying times, predators, demonic or not, often target the most vulnerable of us. It's my hope that if we can keep more children off the streets and out of unsanctioned care centers, less of them will become prey." Clapping filled the room. Not the excitement of people who truly cared, but the polite applause of nobles who knew what the expected social convention was and performed it. Rowan added his own applause.

If Baudelain really was going to support a charity for orphans, then Rowan didn't care what his intentions were, or what anyone else thought. It was a good thing. He even felt a bit flattered that they were creating it under his name. Baudelain stepped out of the center of the room.

"I hope everyone enjoys the party. If anyone is willing to donate to a good cause, my office is always open." Before the open space in the center of the party could close, Uncle Bael slid into the spotlight, starry-eyed and heroic.

"On the behalf of the Noble House of Helsing, I would like to thank everyone for attending." Baudelain Fross seemed rather taken aback. Perhaps the speech from Bael Helsing was not part of the schedule.

"I extend my thanks to Righteous Mountain Sect, as well as our gracious and humble host, an excellent businessman, a cultivator of great renown, and more importantly, my dear friend, the one and only Honorable Baudelain Fross." The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. A flash of chagrin passed over Baudelain Fross's eyes for just a moment, which was quickly overtaken by him smiling ruefully and shaking his head, as if to decline the compliments.

Elder Patino rolled his eyes hard enough that Rowan was surprised it didn't generate a wave of qi.

"For time immemorial, House Helsing has stood as a leading light, a shining example for how a cultivator should treat his mortal neighbor. This is reflected in a peace that is unique across not just the Kyrr Peninsula, but the entirety of the Twin Dragons Empire. When my brother was murdered by demonic cultivators, he left behind a young boy. My nephew, Rowan. While growing up he was no match for his cousins, he—" Barrett wrenched away from his uncle and stormed off.

"How well do you know Barrett Fross?" Rowan asked Florimond, who had beckoned over a waiter carrying a tray of finger foods. Uncle Bael continued to blather on in the background.

"He was in my class," said Florimond.

"Why? Hoping for some tips on trouncing him?"

"Well, yes."

"Hm. He wasn't always crazy, you know. When he was younger, he was actually a little white lotus. People in our class used to bully him into doing their homework for them, but he never seemed to realize they were taking advantage of him. He was just glad someone wanted something from him." Florimond shook his head.

"Unbelievable what he's become. Unbelievable, but completely expected."

"Expected?" Florimond lowered his voice.

"The Fross Family is known for their Vast Mountain Sealing Sutra. It's flawed. All practitioners end up suffering from varying degrees of madness and personality disorder. Some people, like Baudelain, you can barely tell they have it. Others, like Barrett, well, you know. It's a gamble. But it's such a powerful scripture that all Frosses are forced to learn it despite the risks." Rowan digested that.

"You sound like you pity him."

"I do."

"Then, what do you want me to do?" The waiter arrived with the tray. Florimond picked a pair of pastries, and stuck one in his mouth.

"Kill him, obviously."

"Junior brother, think. We're about to have at least ten sects arriving in Righteous Mountain for the conference. These events are always pure chaos. Politics and schemes going back decades and centuries. People will be trying to drag our sect into trouble. With a loose cannon like Barrett around, what do you think is going to happen?" Rowan didn't even have to picture it.

"Oh no." Florimond nodded. The small gold beads dripping from his headdress shook as his head moved.

"When you can see the foam in a mad dog's mouth, putting it down is not murder, but mercy." The inner disciple's eyes focused on something over Rowan's shoulder. He gave a paltry excuse and left. Rowan hoped he wasn't going off to harass Senior Sister Verrine. Every time he looked over to her, she was unsuccessfully ignoring a different man who'd come to try his luck. Uncle Bael continued to shmooze with the other important members of society. He hadn't come over to Rowan yet - thankfully so.

He sighed and went to the banquet lining the far wall, looking carefully at the selection of succulent cut fruits imported from exotic places, fluffy pastries in improbable shapes, and savory dumplings with too many folds to count, before eventually settling for a cup of rice wine.

"Oh, Rowan! What's the man of the hour doing here all by himself?" Senior Sister Nila came up next to him, reaching for her own cup of wine. The scar cutting across her face gleamed pink and shiny in the low lighting.

"Greetings, Senior Sister," said Rowan politely.

"Thank you again for sharing the branch of the Long Life Figs with me. It was instrumental in my cultivation."

"Oh?" She quirked a brow.

"Are you saying I too am responsible for your great victory? It seems my thinking's too small. I didn't even consider the possibility."

"The Grand Dao has room for everyone."

"I think I finally understand what those old Buddhists mean when they refer to 'the Great Vehicle.'" Senior Sister Nila laughed gleefully before sighing.

"No offense, but I can't stand parties like this. Everyone wants to talk about city politics, and who's making money, and who's got a gambling problem, and whose husband is sleeping with City Lord Rothlin's wife this time. I would much rather be talking about interesting things. Deep things. Things that really matter." Rowan cleared his throat.

"Like what?" he asked curiously. Over the next half an hour, he came to understand how Nila had become a core disciple. Nila threw back her cup of wine, barely missing Rowan's nose with her elbow.

"And, of course, as I was saying, the idiot becomes completely convinced that it's a different polarity. It was- Actually, give it a thought. What do you think the polarity was?" Rowan had learned several questions ago that these stories weren't just for entertainment - they were stories she was using to help him consider difficult problems of cultivation. The longer he thought, the more Nila drank. The more Nila drank, the more bottles of rice wine the waiters brought her.

"I think it had to have been a Lesser Yang polarity, with the way the stone reacted. But because it was a receiving reaction, he could have believed that it was Lesser Yin, and the mistake was not paying any attention to the temperature rising in the room."

"Exactly! That's the second one you've gotten completely right," she decided.

"Now this is a little tougher to predict, especially since you've only been taught these principles in a theoretical manner. What do you think happened to the formation? Obviously, I personally escaped with my life, but how bad was-""Pardon the interruption, Honored Disciple. Mister Helsing, can you spare me a moment of your time?" It was Baudelain Fross.