Chapter Twenty-Five: The True First Disciple of Green Mountain

The young disciple stared at Wang Yao with a complicated expression. He was not pondering the other’s question, but rather mulling over whether his own demeanor had been too gentle, emboldening even an outer sect disciple to behave so brazenly. Within the Eastern Yue Sect, hierarchies were strictly observed. Ordinarily, ordinary disciples would address the mountain gate disciples as ‘senior brother,’ sometimes even serving as errand boys. Yet this fool dared to question him? Who had given him such audacity?

A chill gathered in his eyes as he asked lightly, “Junior brother, do you harbor great resentment?” He strode forward, stopping before Wang Yao, and used his height to gaze down, a smile playing at his lips. “Forgive me, senior brother has always had a sharp tongue. How about this: I’ll give you a chance. Use your Dao sword to teach me how I should speak. What do you say?”

His words dripped with scorn. He could not afford to offend Yang Mu or Elder Lin, but who was this boy to him?

Wang Yao regarded him quietly. Had it been another hot-blooded young cultivator, pressed to this point, they would have raised their fists even knowing they would lose. After a moment, he exhaled softly and admitted calmly, “I have no Dao sword, and I cannot defeat you.”

At this, the young disciple’s lips curled in derision—at least this one had some self-awareness.

“But,” Wang Yao continued, composed and unyielding, “please point out which sect rule an outer disciple has broken by listening to an elder’s lecture. If you cannot say, then I ask you to step aside.”

What did the enmity between the various peaks and Azure Mountain have to do with him? He need only observe the sect rules; why should he live at the mercy of others’ whims? Did the Eastern Yue Sect require disciples who would bravely resist the demon tribes, or only those who would bow and scrape, currying favor like servants?

Wang Yao’s meaning was clear. He had never violated sect rules. True, he could not win a fight, but would the other dare to strike him?

He calmly circled past the disciple before him and walked toward the bamboo chair, kneeling formally on one knee. “Disciple Wang Yao requests Elder Qingshan’s guidance.”

The young disciple stood rooted, a surge of inexplicable anger welling up inside him. He had come on Steward Fang’s orders to fetch someone, been refused by Yang Mu, suppressed by the Daoist’s cultivation, and now even a common disciple dared ignore him. This was intolerable!

His grip tightened on his sword hilt, cold light flashing.

Drawing a deep breath, the disciple turned to Wang Yao—today, he would teach this boy the meaning of respect and hierarchy. Yet he met another pair of clear eyes. Reclining lazily on the bamboo chair, the green-robed Daoist propped his chin with one hand, regarding him with interest.

The disciple slowly returned his sword to its sheath, face dark and silent.

Seeing this, Lin Ze shook his head in disappointment. He had hoped to test the strength of the Four Seasons Palm, a technique he had practiced for days but never had a chance to use. Stretching, his gaze fell upon the youth kneeling before him.

The boy was perhaps seventeen or eighteen. In Lin Ze’s eyes, though he appeared calm, he could not conceal his impulsive nature. On one side, the slim hope of an elder resolving his doubts; on the other, certain reprisal. Not a worthwhile bargain—Lin Ze himself would not have made it. Yet, if one’s inner fire was ground down to nothing, what meaning remained in such a life?

“Speak,” Lin Ze said, nodding his chin.

“Thank you, Elder. I wish to ask about a lower-grade technique, the Step-Crushing Mountain Palm.” Wang Yao raised his head. Truthfully, he did not expect the elder to clarify this technique—the man’s earlier answer to Yang Mu had been vague at best. Whether Yang Mu truly benefited, none could say but him. The Step-Crushing Mountain Palm was different, though; the senior brother standing nearby was from Huayang Peak, and this was their signature art.

But it did not matter; he only wished to uphold his pride. If he continued to bow and scrape as before, he might as well go home and help his parents sell pastries.

Lin Ze placed two fingers on his wrist. The simulator did not require the wrist specifically—any physical contact sufficed, as long as the trust value was above three. Still, he felt that touching someone’s face or forehead was a bit too forward, especially with a man, which would make things awkward. So he had grown accustomed to this pulse-taking gesture for extracting data.

[Character card extracted successfully.]
[Disassembling...]
[Wang Yao: Ordinary Grade]
[Lower-grade skill card: Step-Crushing Mountain Palm]

Lin Ze had already cleared the pile of junk he’d dismantled from Yang Mu out of his skill slots; now there were only four cards, most from Su Bailu. The best among them was the mid-grade Dongyue Breathing Art. To expect superior techniques from these disciples was unrealistic.

He recalled the Inborn Art Yang Mu had obtained from the simulator—a truly rare find. If Yang Mu followed his instructions and seized that opportunity in due course, his trust value would likely increase significantly, and Lin Ze would have a chance to extract a technique superior even to the Dongyue Breathing Art.

“Never mind; it’s too soon to think about that.” Clearing his mind of these stray thoughts, Lin Ze studied the new character card. Its plain white border marked it as ordinary, its five attributes perfectly average, totaling twenty points—about the same as his own host card’s mere fourteen. With such talent, barring great fortune, one might at best reach the peak of Qi Refinement or, with luck, build a Dao Foundation, becoming the lowest of Foundation Establishment cultivators. Three years in the simulator would change nothing; even thirty years would see little difference. It seemed a waste to use a simulation chance on this.

Lin Ze hesitated. Each simulation opportunity was worth at least a Foundation Establishment Pill; even if he did not need one now, he could always trade it for spirit stones.

“Elder,” Wang Yao’s voice trembled, the courage that had supported him ebbing away with every silent moment. Once that final ember of resolve faded, all that would remain was fear of the retribution to come. If that spirit vanished, the man would be ruined.

After a long silence, Lin Ze’s eyes flashed with resignation, and he tossed the material in.

[Character card: Wang Yao]
[Skill card: Step-Crushing Mountain Palm]
[Simulation time: three years]
[Begin simulation]

Compared to Yang Mu’s grief and indignation, Lin Ze felt only blandness from this body. Each morning, Wang Yao attended classes dutifully, remaining until dismissal, then took on menial chores like cleaning the main hall, organizing study scrolls, tending the sect’s spiritual plants—tasks with no danger. After about two hours, he would drag his weary body back to the crowded dormitory for outer disciples.

He’d greet a few familiar faces, cook a pot of thin noodle soup and slurp it down, then find a quiet place alone, where at last a hint of a smile would appear on his face. He would take out the palm technique manual he had copied by hand, study the highlighted key points intently, and commit them to memory.

Channeling his spiritual energy, he would guide it along his meridians into his arms, practicing the palm technique ceaselessly. When his energy depleted, he would lean against a nearby rock and breathe to recover. Lin Ze silently observed him for half an hour, watching as he rose and resumed his training, until he could not stifle a yawn.