Chapter Seventy-Three: A Fierce Confrontation

Wang Yao had no idea that so much had happened in the small courtyard after his departure. At this moment, he felt as if his internal organs were turning over and over; everything before his eyes was drifting and unfocused. Though he had seen through it all, the pain was unavoidable. Even if it was nothing but conjecture, it was something he had cared about for many years.

Staggering away from Dongli Peak, he crouched by the roadside, rubbed his flushed cheeks vigorously, and finally vomited with a loud retch.

By a clump of shrubs in the distance, four pairs of eyes turned in his direction. Xiao Bao and the little fox blinked; Yang Mu frowned tightly, and Su Bailu sighed helplessly. She hadn’t wanted to come, but her two junior brothers were too persistent. Now, seeing the young man in such a state, she felt all the more troubled.

It seemed things weren’t going smoothly, and the other party probably didn’t want their business known to outsiders.

“Let’s bring Brother Yao back,” Xiao Bao suggested, not overthinking things, just finding Wang Yao’s condition pitiable. But Yang Mu yanked him back, eyes bright with excitement. “Let’s watch a while longer!”

Meanwhile, Wang Yao’s stomach cramped and twisted, his mouth filled with bitterness. Only when his belly was utterly empty and he could vomit nothing more did he try to force himself upright—only to hear, beside him, a voice laced with disdain:

“Ugh—”

Before he could even look up, a handkerchief was thrust before his face.

A short-haired girl rolled her eyes, fanning the air before her nose with a small hand, and said in disgust, “If you can’t hold your liquor, drink less. How foolish can you be?”

Wang Yao forced a bitter smile without retort. He glanced at the handkerchief—plain white, unadorned, but spotlessly clean and faintly fragrant.

“Thank you.”

After wiping his mouth, Du Juan tossed a cloth pouch over to him. “Be careful next time. Lose it again, and no one will return it to you.”

Seeing the pouch, Wang Yao’s expression turned to surprise, and he instinctively reached for his waist. Observing his reaction, Du Juan’s lips curved into a small smile. “Hmph, not as stupid as you look.”

If Wang had truly intended to leave his Foundation Establishment Pill behind in the courtyard, she would have thought less of him. As it was, he was far better than Liu Xin.

Du Juan wasn’t one for gossip and certainly wouldn’t air her senior sister’s affairs in front of outsiders. She had come simply to return an item—nothing more.

She lifted her chin slightly and, with a light step, turned back toward Dongli Peak.

Wang Yao remained crouched, a handkerchief in one hand and the cloth pouch in the other. He tried to thank her, but she was already out of sight. After a moment’s silence, just as he was about to leave, he saw the young girl from before backing her way toward him, nearly stumbling.

“Liu Xin, what do you think you’re doing!” Du Juan stood her ground, flustered and annoyed.

The burly cultivator belched, his face full of menace, and slowly extended his hand. “Where is it?”

His gaze passed over the short-haired girl and finally noticed Wang Yao, his expression turning sour. Liu Xin had hoped to intercept Du Juan, but she had already returned the pill to its rightful owner. His tone faltered.

Taking advantage of his drunken bravado, he snapped, “Wang, you have the nerve to take back what you gave away?”

Du Juan was so exasperated she laughed. “Shameless! Something someone dropped—you pick it up and think it’s yours now?”

Liu Xin’s face flushed with anger at her words, his mood growing worse. It was one thing for Chen Yuan to defy him, but now even this girl dared to talk back. Did they really think he had no temper?

He pushed the girl aside and strode forward, seizing Wang Yao by the collar. “Hand it over!”

The reek of alcohol assailed Wang Yao’s senses. He was sure the man was drunk—otherwise, he’d never dare such a foolish thing as robbing a fellow disciple within the sect. There was no need for Wang Yao to lift a finger; a simple report to the South Hall stewards would see Liu Xin punished with at least several dozen strikes for breaking the disciple code.

If either of them were sober, this could never have happened.

As Liu Xin jerked him up from the ground, Wang Yao closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and a faint smile played on his lips.

“Too bad I’m drunk too,” he thought.

He had spent many years in the sect, always mild-mannered, rarely even quarreling, let alone fighting. Now he could have scared Liu Xin off with a single sharp word, but he didn’t want to speak. He let the man clutch him as he liked.

Even a clay Bodhisattva has a temper.

He hadn’t forgotten Liu Xin’s earlier insults to Little Green Mountain but had held back for fear of causing trouble for his master. The consequences of a fight between disciples were serious, but if both were drunk... surely the South Hall would understand. No one takes a drunk too seriously.

With that, Wang Yao opened his eyes, his fingers quietly fastening onto Liu Xin’s wrist.

Suddenly, he exerted force.

Pale astral energy surged forth.

Startled, Liu Xin sobered slightly and tried to retreat, but found his wrist caught in a vise. Before he could speak, a plain hand appeared in his vision.

Bang!

It was as though a hammer had struck his chest. He flew backward like a rag doll, twisting in midair, and managed to use a lightness technique, tapping the air three or four times with his toes before landing unsteadily.

He looked up, his brutish features twisting in rage.

“Hey, don’t fight!” Du Juan, pushed aside, had just climbed to her feet and was about to scold Liu Xin when she saw the scene unfold. Alarmed, she hurried to intervene.

“Out of the way!” Liu Xin roared, spiritual energy coursing through him as he charged forward like a wild bull.

With his cultivation at the peak of Qi Refinement, he formed a hand seal, summoning a golden glow to his body, radiating a menacing aura.

Du Juan stood frozen; as a mere mid-stage Qi Refinement disciple, she was powerless against such a gap in strength. She could only instinctively turn to evade.

A hand reached out of nowhere, gently grasped her shoulder, and tossed her softly to the side.

She stared blankly for a moment, then heard a gentle voice at her ear: “Stay over there.”

Startled, she looked up to see only the slender figure ahead of her, walking steadily forward.

With one step, his breath calmed and his mind focused. With two, his energy gathered. By the third, Wang Yao seemed to merge completely with the space around him.

He looked calmly at Liu Xin charging toward him, then extended his palm at just the right moment, pressing it firmly to the man’s forehead.

Fierce mountain-crushing force gathered in his fingers and tangled with the golden light, then ruthlessly tore it apart.

“Late-stage Qi Refinement?” Liu Xin, feeling his protective glow shatter, was not alarmed. Instead, a vicious grin spread over his lips.

With such paltry skill, how dare he strike at me?

Though he was the weakest among his brothers, he had become the elder’s disciple only thanks to his mother, and still, he was personally taught. He practiced superior techniques, far beyond what ordinary disciples could manage.

Not to mention the overwhelming difference in cultivation.