Chapter Thirty-One: I Am Their Backer

"The rules of the sect are strict. Elder Lin, I ask for your understanding." As he spoke, Zhang Jialin's lips curled into a cruel smile. His fingers, which gripped Wang Yao's arm, slid down and seized his wrist, lifting it high.

The disciples' expressions changed dramatically, suddenly grasping the implication behind these words, their eyes filled with pity. How could one retract a cultivation technique once it had been practiced? If it were a breathing technique, it would ruin your spiritual foundation. But now, it was the Crushing Mountain Palm—naturally, the hand must be severed. Without a hand, there could be no palm technique.

More than a hundred outside disciples, including those who had just mocked Wang Yao, now wore indignant expressions. The death of a rabbit stirs the sorrow of a fox. Within the Eastern Mount Sect, they were the lowest of the low, not even true disciples by strict standards.

The reason was simple: they had no master. Though the sect was said to be divided into inner and outer gates, this 'outer gate' referred only to the mountain gate itself. Only by formally entering a mountain and gaining a master could one be considered to have crossed the threshold.

They were mere mortals, gathered here in search of immortality. Attending chaotic lectures on the Dao, they were ignored and uncared for, left to study and cultivate on their own, hoping to catch the eye of one of the mountains.

In short, the Eastern Mount Sect cared nothing for this group. The vast world never lacked seekers of the Dao; as one batch departed, another arrived, endlessly. The various peaks chose only the finest, and the inner gate in turn drew the top talents from the peaks to cultivate with all their resources, ensuring the foundation of the sect remained strong.

Layer upon layer of separation, cold and ruthless rules—the first lesson the Eastern Mount Sect imparted was this: The Dao is merciless! Only the most exceptional deserve to walk this path.

Like gold sifted from the waves, the gold would surface on its own—why exert effort to cultivate it? These disciples' task was to strive to become that grain of gold, to appear in the sight of the peaks.

To experience the deep bonds between master and disciple, or between senior and junior, one must first become a mountain disciple. Before that, even if someone like Zhang Jialin casually broke your arm, no one would stand up for you. That’s why he acted so wantonly!

"Why must the disputes between peaks be taken out on the disciples?" someone finally muttered angrily.

Even if Zhang Jialin was petty, he wouldn't target a cultivator who hadn't even entered the sect. Clearly, his aim was Elder Qingshan. Killing a chicken to warn the monkey! Yet the disciple had done nothing wrong—why should he be made an example?

Zhang Jialin cared nothing for their opinions. As long as the Eastern Mount Sect controlled the cultivation techniques, they held the key to the path of immortality. What did anger matter? Who would willingly leave?

He merely smiled at the Taoist in the green robe, then squeezed down hard. If Wang Yao was crippled, a master who couldn’t even protect his own disciple had no qualifications to take disciples. Everything would be finished.

A dull thud echoed. The crowd erupted in cries of shock.

Lin Ze’s eyes were lowered, quietly watching the severed arm on the ground. He reached out, recalled a strand of sword energy filled with icy chill, and tucked it into his sleeve.

Wang Yao gasped, hurriedly pulling his arm back, staring fearfully at the steward before him.

The steward’s face twisted, veins bulging on his brow, until he finally let out a miserable howl: "Ah!!!"

Zhang Jialin never expected the green-robed Taoist to be far more ruthless than he. Without so much as blinking, he unleashed a fierce sword energy, instantly transforming the surroundings into an icy abyss, severing his own arm at the root.

Both were at the early Foundation Establishment stage, yet he had no chance to react.

"Scoundrel...how dare you!" Zhang Jialin staggered backward, torn between laughter and tears, his expression ferocious like a beast ready to devour.

He dared lay hands on Wang Yao because Wang Yao had no mountain. But as the steward of Huayang Peak, with countless perfected Foundation Establishment cultivators above him and even Golden Core elders to back him, how could a mere rogue cultivator have such audacity!

Lin Ze put away his sword energy, then looked up.

Just when everyone expected him to argue, the Taoist said calmly, "If you’re not satisfied, you may continue."

No explanation was needed.

He would fight until the other was content.

The green robe fluttered as the Taoist stood there, waiting for Zhang Jialin to realize that no matter how fierce his glare or how savage his expression, it could not move the other in the slightest. At last, despair crept into his heart.

Resentment surged in his chest, but he was helpless.

Retaliate? That flash of white light was beyond his ability to counter.

To rely on status was laughable. The other was a bona fide elder, already having acted—would he fear the power of Huayang Peak?

Finally, clutching his wound, now sealed with frost, Zhang Jialin roared, "Just wait, I'll report you to the Southern Hall!"

Lin Ze sighed softly, seeming bored, and instructed casually, "Bring the chair."

"Elder Lin...Master..." Wang Yao stammered anxiously, his breath quickening, his voice trembling. As an ordinary disciple, he had never witnessed such a scene in all his years in the sect; his heart felt as if it would leap from his chest.

Lin Ze glanced at him, then turned to ascend the mountain.

His intention was simple.

The character for 'immortal' has a mountain on its right.

These disciples provided him with the character cards needed for simulation; in return, he did not mind becoming their mountain.

A solid backing.

Even if Wang Yao was of no use to him for now, it did not matter.

Within a sixty-year-old body was the soul of a twenty-five-year-old.

If youth is not spirited, what is it?

As for revenge? The former Elder of Qingshan had already made enough enemies; Huayang Peak was just one more.

When their figures vanished at the end of the mountain path, the crowd realized they had been holding their breath, their faces flushed. They hurriedly drew deep breaths, then looked around to find the others fared no better.

Envy overflowed from their eyes.

What mountain gate could compare to a vengeful elder for a sense of security?

Though Qingshan was small, as long as you entered, you would be protected.

No need for words.

If you’re dissatisfied, come fight.

Fight until you yield.

"Actually...I'm not much worse than Wang Yao," a disciple said with an awkward smile.

The others glanced at him, each with their own thoughts.

While Elder Lin inspired admiration, his temperament was not necessarily a virtue.

For instance—

They instinctively looked behind.

Under the great tree, the gray-robed elder’s face was dark as water.

His fists clenched.

A powerful aura spread, making even breathing difficult for the crowd.

If a perfected Foundation Establishment cultivator were to lose his temper, the little Qingshan could not bear the consequences.

Fortunately, he did not linger, but swept his sleeve and departed abruptly.