Chapter Forty-Three: Teaching the Disciple

Zhao Jinian returned to Huayang Peak with a somber expression. He had barely taken a few steps when someone blocked his path. Looking up, he saw two stewards standing before him.

The grey-robed elder fixed him with a cold gaze. “Where have you been?”

Behind him, Zhang Jialin, whose arm had been severed, stared with a chilling look.

“Disciple greets Steward Fang and Steward Zhang!” Zhao Jinian suppressed his anger, clasped his hands in respect, and explained, “I simply went out for a stroll.”

“A stroll?” Zhang Jialin’s lips curled into a sneer. “How did your stroll take you all the way to Little Azure Mountain?”

Zhao Jinian’s brow furrowed at the words.

He could tolerate Steward Fang, but the only reason he addressed Zhang by his title was out of courtesy—he shouldn’t push his luck.

He was about to dismiss the matter casually when his gaze caught the empty sleeve of the other man, causing his expression to shift.

Steward Fang snorted lightly. “You see it yourself—this is the handiwork of Little Azure Mountain. Under such circumstances, you still dared to go there. Don’t blame me for being suspicious.”

Zhao Jinian stared in astonishment.

Little Azure Mountain.

Zhang Jialin’s cultivation was similar to his own—who could have severed his arm? Could it have been Lin Ze... but where would he have gained such strength?

His thoughts quickly turned to Qin Hongxiu, and a strong jealousy welled up inside him. No wonder the old man dared to ignore him; surely he had received many benefits from the Sword Immortal.

His mind grew tangled, finally twisting into a sinister smile. If they wanted the spoils for themselves, Zhao would not hesitate to turn hostile.

With that resolve, he lowered his gaze to conceal the malice beneath. “Steward Fang, perhaps you have misunderstood me. I went to Little Azure Mountain today... for Junior Brother Yang.”

His last words were almost whispered, but they caused the grey-robed elder’s expression to change abruptly. “You mean Yang Mu? How could he be there?”

“Exactly so!” Zhao Jinian raised his head, forcing a helpless smile.

“Alas, my cultivation is limited. I was unable to bring Junior Brother Yang back—how shameful.”

“Who else have you told about this?” Steward Fang’s eyes narrowed.

“You are the first.”

“Then keep your mouth shut.” The elder tossed out a warning and turned to ascend the mountain.

He knew better than anyone what had transpired last night, for Zhao Jing’s last retreat was into his own courtyard.

To have forced Senior Brother Zhao into such a state—he had assumed it was the demon-slaying grand cultivator who had visited East Mountain Sect last night, but now it seemed otherwise.

Yang Mu himself was unimportant, just a mid-stage Qi practitioner, and such people were easily replaced. What mattered was how he had left Huayang Peak and why.

Steward Fang now hoped that Yang Mu’s uncle was the one who had come last night. If the truth could be buried, then nothing need be said. Senior Brother Zhao losing to a Golden Core True Immortal was no disgrace, and the loss of a single disciple would pass without much notice.

But if it was Little Azure Mountain, the trouble would multiply.

Though Steward Fang did not believe Lin Ze could have accomplished such a feat, others would not think so—Little Azure Mountain only had one Foundation Establishment disciple. Who else could it be?

A new elder, freshly entered the sect, able to duel a perfected Foundation Establishment master—at the very least, it proved he was no mediocrity.

Yang Mu’s abandonment of Huayang Peak in favor of Little Azure Mountain would inevitably affect the reputation of the sect. If word got out, it would be a disgrace for Huayang Peak and a boost for Azure Mountain.

...

...

At the edge of the cliff, four figures sat directly on the ground.

Lin Ze disliked formalities, idly rubbing Xiao Bao’s bald head as he glanced at the newly added skill cards on his panel.

Having accepted disciples, he was determined to nurture them well.

Yang Mu was the simplest—he needed little guidance.

“Don’t waste what’s in your head,” Lin Ze said, glancing at him and tossing over three jade slips.

Yang Mu looked up in surprise—his master even knew about this.

That woman had placed a tiny light into his brow, which was in fact a profound breathing technique. Yet he had never used it, his youthful pride holding him back.

“Master, I...” Yang Mu hesitated. He actually only wanted a complete East Mountain breathing technique.

“I’m merely passing it on; whether you practice it is up to you.” Lin Ze’s gaze grew meaningful. “But you’d best learn to distinguish between dignity and mere pride.”

The former must never be trampled, the latter can be set aside for now.

“Go.”

Yang Mu was silent for a moment, then nodded lightly, taking the jade slips and walking toward the spirit spring.

Xiao Bao did not understand, but Wang Yao saw clearly.

Only mid-grade or higher techniques were worthy of jade slips, and his master had given out three at once—what fortune for his junior brother!

“Are you envious?”

Lin Ze shook his head, looking at Wang Yao earnestly.

The young man nodded honestly.

“Envy is useless,” Lin Ze said lazily.

Wang Yao was to be the signature disciple of Azure Mountain, so naturally he would not practice any technique from outside East Mountain Sect.

Though it’s not about scarcity but inequality, Lin Ze never intended to hide anything. Those who stayed would receive new gifts in time; those who left, could do so amicably—no force.

“The Cycle of Seasons Palm, Lesser Yang Boxing Classic, Ape’s Cry Internal Qi—choose one.”

“Master, which do you think suits me best?” Wang Yao immediately forgot about the jade slips. It wasn’t that he couldn’t distinguish quality—these basic techniques were far inferior—but he cherished the present above all.

Such a character would rarely achieve greatness, but neither would he cause trouble. In the search for immortality, those who endure to the end are the true winners.

Lin Ze smiled helplessly.

In the blink of an eye, he had used up three simulation chances.

“A voice like an ape’s cry, an internal qi that flows unceasingly—it would nicely compensate for the gap when your Mountain-Crushing Palm runs out of force.”

In the simulation, Wang Yao had lost to Su Bailu for a simple reason.

It wasn’t that his palm lacked power, but the opponent knew to avoid the brunt, dodged the Mountain-Crushing force with a frosty sword intent, found a flaw, and broke strength with skill.

With this internal qi for protection, he’d have the chance to launch a second palm.

As the sun set behind the mountain,

Wang Yao memorized the main principles.

Lin Ze’s seemingly casual advice had in fact anticipated and resolved all the difficulties Wang Yao would encounter in cultivation.

“Go.”

“Thank you, Master.” The young man rose and hurried off.

Having finished, Lin Ze turned his gaze to Xiao Bao.

He still remembered, in Xiao Village, the Daoist’s gentle question: “If your fate is uncertain, would you follow me to cultivate?”

The boy had answered resolutely.

Since he had entrusted his life to him, Lin Ze felt much less hesitation.

For example, with Wang Yao—even if he gave him the Innate Technique, when Moon Immortal came looking, Lin Ze had no confidence he could protect him.

There were risks.

A master cannot truly act as a parent.

Besides, even a parent has no right to make choices for their child, and the Twin Moon Cave techniques could not be openly discussed.

Xiao Bao was different.

Lin Ze spoke calmly, “Stand up.”

The little fellow quickly stood straight, listening as his master recited an extremely obscure incantation, instinctively following along.

Clouds gathered, qi like a dragon.

When stars dotted the sky, he suddenly spat out a fist-sized ball of dazzling golden flame.

The Innate Technique.

Innate True Fire.

Already achieved in the early stage of Qi training.