Chapter Thirty-Four: The Thoughts of Master and Disciple

[Simulation ended]
[Reward calculation: Low-grade Sword Pellet of the Eastern Yue Sect]

Lin Ze pinched the smooth pellet between two fingers and examined it closely.

He had actually seen this item before. When he simulated Su Bailu, she had once taken out one to give to the Daoist for self-defense.

It could unleash a full-power strike at the early Foundation Establishment level. For a Qi Refinement cultivator, it was an excellent protective artifact—but for Lin Ze now, it was rather superfluous.

After witnessing Lin Ze easily defeat Zhang Jialin, Wang Yao’s trust had risen to eight points. Not particularly high, but during his three years in the simulator, Wang Yao had never encountered anything better, so there was no way he could have received a higher-grade reward—continuing to simulate Wang Yao would still only yield the Sword Pellet.

Which was more valuable, the Sword Pellet or the Foundation Establishment Pill? Lin Ze did lack a bit of common sense about the cultivation world, but one was given as a prize for first place in the grand competition by an inner sect elder, while the other was a reward for those merely in the top two hundred or so. Even without thinking too hard, the difference was clear.

Still, after pondering for a moment, he took out Wang Yao’s character card once again.

...

For cultivators, the main theme of life was the monotonous practice of breathing techniques.

The next day.

Xiao Bao had already sat by the well for four hours. For him, since his master had brought him to the Immortal Sect, he absolutely could not let down his master’s expectations.

Though young, he was earnestly trying to get used to the boredom of seated meditation.

Wang Yao had just finished practicing his palm technique and went down the mountain to exchange for some fresh vegetables and meat, which he stored in the kitchen before turning toward the bamboo chair.

“Master, no disciples came today to seek your guidance.”

Lin Ze lazily opened his eyes and hummed softly in response.

He wasn’t surprised at all.

Although he seemed to have made a name for himself two days ago, Zhang Jialin was merely a newly appointed deacon. There were many more experienced deacons on Huayang Peak, and even Golden Core elders presided there.

It was only natural that the disciples would want to wait and observe for a few days.

“By the way, you don’t need to prepare my dinner today,” he said, pushing himself up from the bamboo chair and stretching.

“Are you going down the mountain, Master?” Wang Yao paused, turning to head inside and change out of his sweat-soaked shirt, ready to accompany his master. Whatever the errand, at the very least, he could lend a hand.

“No need,” Lin Ze waved him off. “Just going out to take care of something, I’ll be back soon.”

“Then I’ll make chicken soup tonight, it’ll be ready just as you return,” Wang Yao glanced at the setting sun behind the mountains, silently calculating the time.

“Whatever you like,” Lin Ze replied with a hint of resignation. The boy’s cultivation talent was ordinary, but his skill in the kitchen was outstanding.

But there was indeed business to attend to today, and whether or not he could have chicken soup would depend on how things turned out.

He had wasted a full twenty simulation attempts for this.

He ambled down the mountain. Fortunately, not many in the sect recognized him—at most, one or two hundred had gathered to watch the spectacle the other day, which was nothing in the bustling outer sect.

If anyone recognized him, they would no doubt be puzzled.

Elder Qingshan... why is he heading toward Huayang Peak?

Lin Ze timed it precisely. By the time he reached the entrance to the small path at the foot of Huayang Peak’s rear slope, dusk was already falling.

He certainly wasn’t there to repay any debt.

Rather, during his previous simulation as Wang Yao, he had accidentally discovered something else.

Yang Mu had failed to reach the cliff in time and claim the opportunity that was meant for him. Instead, due to Lin Ze’s interference, he had remained on Huayang Peak for months, bullied by Zhao Jing, and ultimately ended up grounded.

Lin Ze had come this time to restore everything to its original course.

That innate technique, capable of reshaping one’s cultivation foundation, was no ordinary treasure—he was determined to get it. Even if he had to drag Yang Mu up to the cliff himself, he would do so tonight.

...

Two hours had passed since the evening meal bell.

Zhao Jing sat upright on a bench, a scroll of ancient text in one hand, tirelessly repeating the intricacies of a particular fist technique.

At first glance, he seemed the very image of a rare and exemplary teacher among the peaks.

Yang Mu stood in the courtyard, listening intently.

Even though he knew full well that what Zhao Jing was teaching was nothing more than mundane martial arts of uncertain origin, and even the most basic breathing technique had been tampered with, his face betrayed no emotion.

What of it?

Who would ever believe that Zhao Jing, a famed cultivator at the peak of Foundation Establishment, would go to such lengths to gather useless martial arts for his disciple, even altering the most fundamental techniques?

What good could it possibly do him to treat his disciple this way?

Though rumors circulated outside that Yang Mu’s slow progress was due to his poor aptitude and unruly temperament, from Zhao Jing’s perspective, having such a disciple would be a blow to his own reputation as well.

Every action needs a motive.

Zhao Jing had no such motive, yet he did it all the same.

Yang Mu could only assume his master was taking revenge on him, though try as he might, he could not recall how he could have offended him.

“Enough, it will all be decided tonight,” he muttered, lowering his head and recalling the cryptic advice Elder Lin from Qingshan had given him a few days prior.

Tonight, at the hour of the Ox, at the cliff behind Huayang Peak, practice a set of Tiger Claw Fist.

After pondering it for two days, he still couldn’t fathom the reason, but an elder wouldn’t toy with him for no reason.

Yang Mu was momentarily distracted and failed to notice Zhao Jing quietly set aside the ancient scroll in his hand.

A cold glint flashed across Zhao Jing’s square, thick-browed face.

Two days earlier, a disciple had reported that the lazy Yang Mu had secretly visited Elder Lin on Little Qingshan for guidance. Since that day, Yang Mu had seemed preoccupied.

Though the boy thought himself clever, nothing could escape Zhao Jing’s sharp eyes.

Interesting.

He had never intended to bother with Little Qingshan. Unlike other deacons, after a century of cultivation, he had taken only one disciple, requiring only two small courtyards. The new cultivation ground held little appeal for him.

No matter how crowded Huayang Peak got, Zhao Jing would never lack resources.

But now, for that itinerant cultivator to dare meddle in his affairs—did his disciple really need the guidance of a mere outsider?

Overreaching!

Besides, Zhao Jing worried that Lin Ze might have discovered something. It mattered little if no one else would believe it, but best to drive him out of the sect as soon as possible.

“Does he think being an elder proves anything? The outer sect is far deeper than he imagines. To wade in so casually—is he not afraid of drowning?”

Zhao Jing sneered inwardly.

In the world of cultivation, status was never built on such empty titles. Only those with greater strength, more resources, and broader connections truly mattered.

Among the hundred peaks, Huayang ranked in the top thirty.

As one of the most senior deacons of Huayang Peak, second only to the Golden Core elders, how could he not surpass that nobody from Little Qingshan by a hundredfold?

Let alone the new itinerant cultivator—even if the former elder Zhang Dahai were to rise from the grave, he would not dare underestimate Zhao Jing.