I'm Just an Innkeeper, Why Are You All Kneeling?

Dawn in Qingshui Town was usually a tranquil affair, marked by the gentle rising of the sun, the soft chirping of sparrows, and the smell of fresh tea brewing. Crimson, however, did not do tranquil. Crimson did tactical positioning.

For the past four hours, while the rest of the town slumbered, the newly ascended Saint had been perched atop a ceramic-tiled roof overlooking the western district market. His black robes blended seamlessly with the pre-dawn shadows, and his red eyes locked onto a single, highly specific target down below: Elder Wu.

Elder Wu was a mid-stage Golden Core cultivator hailing from a visiting regional faction, the Black Iron Crest Clan. He was a man accustomed to luxury, walking with an arrogant strut and carrying an expensive jade-shafted calligraphy brush tucked neatly into his silk belt. Crucially, Crimson’s overnight forensic analysis of the ink-spatter viscosity, paper-pulp density, and downstroke pressure profile had pointed directly to Elder Wu as the prime suspect in the heinous crime of the One-Star Review.

Down in the deserted alleyway behind the spice market, Elder Wu hummed a cheerful tune to himself. He was out early to purchase some rare medicinal herbs, completely unaware that he was about to become the focal point of a counter-intelligence operation led by an enraged immortal assassin.

Crimson slipped off the roof. He didn’t drop; he manipulated the local spatial fabric, erasing the sound of his descent entirely. One second he was surveying the horizon, and the next, he materialized directly in front of Elder Wu, blocking the narrow alleyway with the silent finality of a tomb door.

Elder Wu stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked, nearly dropping his basket of herbs.

”What the—” Wu started, attempting to throw up a protective qi barrier.

He didn’t even get the second syllable out.

Crimson released a microscopic fraction of his Saint-realm pressure. It wasn’t enough to kill the man—the Owner had explicitly forbidden unnecessary casualties—but it was more than enough to make reality itself feel like it had turned into solid lead. The temperature in the alleyway plunged instantly below freezing. The stone walls cracked under the atmospheric strain, and the space around Crimson warped, shimmering with a blood-red haze.

Elder Wu’s spiritual shield didn’t just shatter; it folded inward and ceased to exist. His knees buckled, his breath caught in his throat, and he slammed backward against the damp brick wall, his eyes bulging wide with primal, soul-ripping terror.

A Saint! Elder Wu’s brain screamed, his Golden Core spinning wildly out of control in sheer panic. An apex predator from the upper realms! I’ve been ambushed by a shadow executioner!

Crimson stepped forward, his boots making a soft, metallic scrape against the cobblestones. He reached into his dark robes, pulled out the crumpled piece of parchment bearing the infamous 1/5 star review, and held it up right before the elder’s terrified, sweat-soaked face.

”Recognize this?” Crimson’s voice was a low, hollow rumble that vibrated directly inside Elder Wu’s skull.

Elder Wu stared at the paper. His mind was racing at a million miles per hour, trying to parse what mortal or immortal law he had broken to warrant a Saint-level executioner cornering him in a back alley at dawn. Did he skip a tax payment? Did he look at the wrong person?

”I—I don’t know what that is!” Elder Wu stammered, tears springing to his eyes as the pressure on his chest intensified. ”Please, honored senior! Whatever I did, I confess! I confess to everything!”

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Crimson narrowed his red eyes. ”You confess?”

”Yes! Yes, I confess!” Elder Wu sobbed, completely abandoning all dignity, clan pride, and martial discipline in the face of imminent vaporization. ”I stole three spirit chickens from the village elder when I was six years old! I cheated on my Foundation Establishment qualifying exam by smuggling a cheat-sheet inside my sleeve! I forged my uncle’s signature to inherit a jade ring, and I regularly badmout the Sect Master behind his back at the local tavern!”

Crimson stared at him, momentarily thrown off balance by the sheer volume of unrelated criminal activity being unloaded upon him.

”Those are...” Crimson blinked, his lethal interrogation script momentarily derailed. ”Those are civil infractions and childhood misdemeanors. I am not here for your poultry history.”

”Then what is it?!” Wu wailed, pressing his back harder against the crumbling bricks as if he could phase through the masonry. ”Is it the review? Is it about the review?!”

”Precisely,” Crimson snapped back, his cold fury returning in an instant. He pressed the parchment closer to Wu’s nose. ”You stood in the teahouse. You held a writing instrument. You deliberately, maliciously, and with calculated intent inscribed a single, wretched star into the service category. You dared to mock the sanctuary of the Owner. Why?”

Elder Wu stared at the paper, his panic shifting into utter, profound confusion. He squinted at the ink mark, sniffing through his tears.

”Wait... that’s a one?” Wu squeaked.

”Do not insult my forensic intelligence!” Crimson hissed. ”The stroke angle clearly indicates a hostile, dissatisfied mindset!”

”No, no, no, honored senior, you don’t understand!” Elder Wu cried out, flailing his hands defensively. ”I didn’t write a one-star review! I wouldn’t dare! That teahouse is run by an unfathomable hidden expert! I wrote a five-star review for the bakery department!”

Crimson paused. His hand froze inches from the elder’s collar. ”Explain.”

”The bread!” Wu blurted out frantically. ”The rock-hard bread! Everyone in town says it’s impossible to chew, but I actually managed to gnaw through a whole baguette using my inner qi compression technique! I was so impressed by its structural integrity that I wrote a glowing, five-star review for the baker! I swear on my ancestors, I never touched the service category!”

Crimson stood in silence for three long seconds. The blood-red haze around him flickered uncertainly.

”You claim innocence,” Crimson said slowly, his voice dropping dangerously. ”You claim you rated the bakery, not the service.”

”Check my soul!” Wu shrieked, throwing his head back and exposing his neck. ”Use a soul-search technique! Look into my memories! If I am lying, scatter my soul to the winds!”

Crimson didn’t hesitate. A Saint’s mental arts were absolute. He extended two fingers, pressing them lightly against Elder Wu’s forehead. A faint ripple of spiritual light washed over the elder’s face as Crimson dove past the superficial layers of consciousness, plunging directly into the man’s recent memory stream.

Images flashed past Crimson’s inner eye: Elder Wu walking into the teahouse yesterday, Elder Wu struggling to bite into Sect Master Lu’s steel-grade baguette, Elder Wu crying tears of joy because he didn’t break his teeth, and finally, Elder Wu standing by the wooden feedback box.

Crimson watched the memory replay in crisp detail.

Elder Wu pulled out his calligraphy brush, wrote a neat, glowing 5 on a slip of parchment, and dropped it into the slot. He was entirely innocent of the 1-star service review.

Crimson exhaled a slow, cold breath, preparing to withdraw his fingers and let the pathetic cultivator scurry away.

But then, just a fraction of a second before Elder Wu dropped his paper into the box, a slight movement in the memory caught Crimson’s peripheral attention.

Crimson froze. He rewound the memory file inside his mind, slowing it down to a crawl, zooming in on the space right beside the feedback box.

In the memory, just as Elder Wu was stepping up to the box, another figure had stepped away from it. It was a fleeting, blurry glimpse captured by Wu’s peripheral vision—a brief outline of someone who had just slipped their own parchment into the slot and scurried off into the crowd with suspicious haste.

Crimson meticulously adjusted the focal clarity of the memory, extracting the residual spiritual imprint and visual silhouette left behind by the mysterious patron.

The image sharpened.

Crimson’s eyes snapped open in the real world. He withdrew his fingers from Elder Wu’s forehead so fast the air popped.

Elder Wu collapsed onto the dirt alley floor like a deflated sack of rice, gasping for breath and clutching his chest as the Saint-realm pressure abruptly vanished.

Crimson ignored the groaning elder entirely. He stood frozen in the center of the alleyway, staring blankly at the brick wall, his mind reeling as the identity of the true culprit locked into place based on the silhouette he had just extracted from the memory.