Volume One, Chapter One: Those Who Wrong Me, Seek a Beating!

Qingyang Sword Manor, Affairs Pavilion.

At the entrance.

Ye Chen, clad in a worn gray robe, paused briefly outside the door, then strode in resolutely, heading swiftly toward the third floor. He dared not linger, fearful of being seen. Yet, along the way, he could not escape the eyes of others—there were glances of pity, surprise, and disdain.

Only when Ye Chen arrived before a counter was the silence shattered. Behind the counter stood hundreds of compartments divided into three sections, resembling a vast apothecary.

“Get out!”

“Ye Chen, what are you doing here?”

Ye Chen found these words amusing and retorted, “Why am I here? I’ve come to collect my allotted portion as an ordinary disciple.”

“Hah!” The disciple behind the counter, dressed in azure, laughed openly, then spoke harshly, “Do you think you’re worthy of it now?”

Ye Chen frowned. Here it was again—how many times had this happened? Ever since he became an ordinary disciple, each time he came for his share, Jiang Yun, the disciple behind the counter, would never give it readily. Always, he would humiliate Ye Chen before handing it over, and naturally, would also deduct some for himself. Today was no different.

Anger surged within Ye Chen. He had endured this every time, valuing his time too much to waste words here. If he could break through to the Early Pulse Opening stage within a year, he could reclaim his place as an elite disciple of Qingyang Sword Manor. Then, step by step, he would win back everything he had lost—core disciple, personal disciple, even Sword Child. He vowed to seize it all.

Once, within only two years of entering the sect, he was poised to earn the Sword Child title in the third year’s selection. But in his second year, his cultivation abruptly regressed—not just a little, but rapidly, as if something had drained him. Though he acted quickly, spending countless spiritual herbs to barely maintain his late Body Refinement stage, he could not advance further.

Later, he discovered it was Jiang Wu, his fellow Sword Child candidate, who had schemed against him. What exactly Jiang Wu did, Ye Chen still didn’t know. But now, his cultivation had finally stabilized.

“Jiang Wu, just watch. Everything that is mine, I will reclaim.”

The Sword Child title could be challenged for, but since Jiang Wu was chosen as Sword Child in the third year, two years had passed and he still held the position firmly, proving his strength. Although Ye Chen was resolved to challenge Jiang Wu, time was running out—his cultivation remained stalled at the late Body Refinement stage. If, by the end of this year—indeed, by the end of this month—he was still so, he would be expelled from the sect.

After that, forget about furthering his cultivation—the consequences would be unbearable.

The more Ye Chen brooded, the more his resentment grew uncontrollable; his expression darkened, a ruthless glint flashed in his eyes.

In the next instant, Ye Chen acted decisively. He strode forward, his fingers like eagle claws, seizing Jiang Yun’s collar through the counter, issuing a threatening command: “Jiang Yun, this time I won’t waste words. Give me what I am owed!”

Jiang Yun, his throat gripped tightly, turned pale, clearly taken by surprise. He never expected Ye Chen to do this openly before so many. This scene was witnessed by all present.

---

The onlookers, stunned momentarily by Ye Chen’s actions, soon stepped forward to scold him.

“Ye Chen, what are you doing?”

“Exactly, let go at once!”

“Do you dare touch him?”

Their faces were full of disdain, averting their eyes, certain Ye Chen wouldn’t dare go further.

Jiang Yun was the deputy steward of the Affairs Pavilion, an elite disciple of the Upper Dao Sect, and had adopted a seat master from Bamboo Peak as his godfather. He was notorious for bullying ordinary and registered disciples, yet no one dared speak against him. Even elite disciples stronger than him had suffered, but could only swallow their anger.

Now, Ye Chen—a mere ordinary disciple, a so-called waste—dared act so brazenly. It was courting disaster.

“A useless waste dares cause trouble in the Affairs Pavilion—he must want to die!”

“Let go, then kneel and apologize.”

“Yes, kneel to Jiang Yun three times as you would to a father, and this matter ends. Otherwise, you’ll regret it!”

Such voices rose endlessly.

Ye Chen ignored their vile words. Jiang Yun, meanwhile, grew emboldened by the support of the crowd, forgetting he was still in Ye Chen’s grasp, even mocking him.

“Let go of me, brat!” Jiang Yun sneered.

Ye Chen’s gaze bore into Jiang Yun, a flicker of murderous intent flashing in his eyes. He repeated, resolutely, “Will you give it or not?”

Just then, light footsteps sounded behind Ye Chen. His keen ear caught it; glancing sideways, he saw the newcomer and relaxed—it was Jiang Yun’s companion, Qin Feng.

Qin Feng, seeing Jiang Yun seized, panicked briefly, then met Jiang Yun’s gaze before stepping forward to rebuke, “Ye Chen, what are you doing? Let go!”

Ye Chen said nothing, only shot a fierce look. Their eyes met; Qin Feng felt a jolt, a surge of heat within, and an inexplicable fear. He withdrew, silent.

The others only muttered, unwilling to intervene.

Jiang Yun’s face grew paler, his breathing weaker. If Ye Chen persisted, he would die.

Time ticked by; the onlookers dared not help Jiang Yun. Not stupid, Jiang Yun relented. He raised a trembling hand toward Ye Chen and croaked, “Ye Chen, I’ll give it to you!”

His tone was meek.

Ye Chen paused, unimpressed. “Hah, have someone else bring it.”

“Fine, fine!” Before Jiang Yun could finish, his eyes sharpened, swiftly locking onto Qin Feng in the crowd. He nodded subtly, giving a signal; Qin Feng understood, turned and went to the depths of the counter, retrieving a shabby, nearly empty allotment pouch.

“Take it,” Qin Feng said calmly, flicking his wrist so the pouch flew to Ye Chen.

Ye Chen did not move, simply raised an empty hand and caught the pouch firmly.

At the same instant, his other hand, like an iron clamp, thrust forward, aiming at Jiang Yun.

Jiang Yun never expected Ye Chen to strike suddenly; he was swept back like driftwood caught in a raging wave, powerless to resist.

---

Behind the counter, the space was cramped. Jiang Yun crashed heavily against the medicine cabinet, producing a dull thud.

A crack appeared at the corner of his mouth, blood blooming silently like dawn.

But this was only the beginning.

The wooden boxes atop the cabinet, as if drawn by invisible force, toppled one after another, raining down mercilessly upon Jiang Yun.

Though he reacted quickly, in such a confined space there was nowhere to hide. Box after box struck him, each blow both blunt and sharp.

At first, Jiang Yun tried to use his true energy to repel the blows, but his reason quickly stopped him. He knew that if he unleashed his power, the boxes would be flung away by force, and the precious, fragile herbs inside would scatter, suffering irreparable loss.

Such consequences were intolerable; he could not let these medicines be ruined by his negligence.

Thus, he could only endure the impacts with his own flesh, each box falling like a boulder upon his heart, wracking him with pain.

His robes were torn in the chaos, sashes snapped and fluttered away. His hair was disheveled, strands mixed with sweat plastered to a face dirtied by blood and dust, rendering him utterly pitiable.

The disciples who had gathered around let out faint snickers, like leaves in the cold wind—light yet piercing. Soon, realizing the impropriety of their laughter, they covered their mouths, their eyes reflecting a complicated emotion.

Yet, their awe did not last. As initial shock faded, gossip rekindled in their hearts. They lowered their hands, exchanged knowing glances, and began whispering to their friends—quiet voices betraying excitement and curiosity.

“Wasn’t Jiang Yun always so arrogant? Today, we see he fears death like anyone else!” one disciple murmured, mocking and dismissive, as if Jiang Yun’s defeat was a jest.

“Exactly, I thought he’d hold out to the end.”

“No chance. Since becoming steward of the Affairs Pavilion, Jiang Yun has cherished his life.”

Their laughter was brief, for a piercing gaze swept over them. They looked up to see Jiang Yun, barely able to support himself, slumped over the counter, eyes blazing with murderous intent as he glared at them.

Seeing this, they hastily left the third floor.

Jiang Yun, left behind, was seized by unprecedented fury and humiliation. He gathered all the ridicule, contempt, and derision poured upon him, channeling it like a torrent toward Ye Chen. His eyes reddened, burning with hatred and resolve as he stared at Ye Chen, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, veins bulging like dragons—manifesting his inner turmoil and unwillingness to yield.

“Ye Chen, you’re courting death!”

To think, as deputy steward of the Affairs Pavilion and a cultivator at the Early Pulse Opening stage, he was humiliated by Ye Chen. The thought enraged him, especially recalling that he and Ye Chen had entered the sect together.

Yet their paths diverged completely. Ye Chen became a genius, and Jiang Yun had cultivated smoothly at first, earning elite disciple status. But after half a year, his progress stalled. Quickly seeking alternatives, he joined the Affairs Pavilion. In just half a year, he became steward of disciple allotments. Even when Ye Chen was a genius, a Sword Child, he need not heed him.

Now, Ye Chen had shamed him before everyone. Jiang Yun could not swallow this insult.

“Ye Chen, you’re courting death. I’ll exchange your life for what I want.”

With this thought, Jiang Yun abruptly turned to Qin Feng.

“Qin Feng!”