Chapter Twenty: A Single Thought, Hell

At the southern stretch of the Dongyue Mountains, verdant peaks stood tall and proud. At the foot of one such mountain, a bamboo chair had appeared at some unknown hour. Reclining upon it was a Daoist in a blue robe, eyes closed and breathing slow and deep, as though in peaceful slumber.

A crowd of disciples, fresh from their lessons, had gathered at a distance, book satchels in hand, pointing and whispering among themselves.

"Is that the new Elder of Green Mountain?"

"I heard his surname is Lin."

"Is it true he can answer any question? Why don't you try? It won't cost you more than a few spirit stones."

"Get lost! Why don't you go?"

They joked and teased, but not one dared approach.

There were many reasons for their hesitation. Their understanding of the various peaks extended only as far as the stewards they saw in class and tales passed down by senior brothers and sisters—this peak's disciples were famed for their swordsmanship, that peak’s for their fierce fists, and some elders were said to possess unfathomable cultivation, while the senior sisters were gentle and lovely. Green Mountain had not sent anyone to teach in years, and none of its disciples had ever shown remarkable strength. The previous elder, Zhang Dahai, had not left the mountain in decades, and was long forgotten by these outer sect cultivators.

Upon hearing of this new elder, some idle curiosity led a few to peruse the roster of the peaks, finding Green Mountain listed at the very bottom. The only disciple recorded was one named Xiao Bao, a complete unknown, with not even the mountain’s main cultivation techniques noted—a glaring omission among the many peaks.

Even so, there were always desperate disciples seeking any hope. But what truly held them back were the rumors circulating among the disciples: Green Mountain had nearly been claimed as a backup cultivation site by another sect, until Elder Lin abruptly appeared yesterday and dashed those hopes.

Anyone with sense could see the truth—a trap for the unwary, a pitfall for fools. To offend the stewards of other peaks would only bring trouble in class, assuming one was even worth their notice. Did they still wish to cultivate in peace?

...

A gray-robed old man stood at a distant mountain path, watching the foot of Green Mountain with a mocking sneer.

Recruit disciples? Dream on.

Even if Sword Immortal Qin came in person, he could not stop others from eyeing Green Mountain, let alone someone only rumored to be connected with Qin Hongxiu.

A prime cultivation land, left empty for over a decade. Zhang Dahai had contributed greatly to the sect, but with his life nearing its end, he had to focus all his efforts on reaching the Golden Core stage, so the Southern Hall barely let him remain. Now, with Elder Zhang failing to condense his core and passing away, a mere wandering cultivator dares to take his place. Did the other peaks look like easy prey?

Huayang Peak was already overcrowded, its spiritual veins nearly exhausted. Why should you have an entire mountain to yourself?

Steward Fang folded his arms and sneered. At most, he’d tolerate this farce for two or three more months—after the next outer sect tournament, if Green Mountain could not produce a single disciple, someone would naturally come to strip him of his elder’s title.

“Hm?”

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed toward the west.

A young man was strolling toward Green Mountain, hands cradling the back of his head, a blade of grass in his mouth, looking utterly lazy. Two other disciples in short jackets trailed not far behind.

"Yang Mu?" Steward Fang recognized the youth at a glance.

"What mischief is this brat planning now?"

It wasn’t that the old man had a good memory—Yang Mu was a disciple of Huayang Peak, and thanks to his Golden Core stage uncle, had entered the sect directly under the tutelage of a steward even more senior than Fang. His status was second only to the personal disciples of the elders, and once he reached the Foundation Establishment stage, he would be sent to the inner sect.

Unfortunately, the boy was unruly and of poor aptitude. After seven or eight years at Dongyue Sect, he was still stuck at the middle stage of Qi Refining, without a single notable skill. For an ordinary disciple, such progress might suffice, but for one with a half-step Golden Core master’s guidance, his slow advancement was a source of bitter disappointment.

A hopeless case.

At that moment, Steward Fang frowned as he saw Yang Mu heading straight for the foot of Green Mountain.

...

...

"Hey, wake up."

Standing before the bamboo chair, Yang Mu spat out the grass from his mouth and called out boisterously.

"Can’t you behave yourself!"

Wang Yao, who had been hesitating in the distance, was startled by the scene. He hurried over and bowed respectfully to the dozing Daoist on the chair. "Disciple greets Elder of Green Mountain."

"Oh? I thought you wouldn’t dare come," Yang Mu rolled his eyes, then gazed around at the other disciples with a swaggering air.

"What are you looking at? Looking for a beating?"

At this, a hot-tempered cultivator began to roll up his sleeves, only to be pulled back by a companion who whispered in his ear. Upon learning the youth’s identity, the cultivator’s eyes filled with disdain and he looked away with a snort.

Yang Mu, far from ashamed, waved his fists even more brazenly.

"Your mother—" the cultivator gritted his teeth.

"Your mother!" Yang Mu shot back without hesitation.

"I—" the cultivator took a deep breath.

"I’ll pry open your mother’s coffin!" the youth spat on the ground.

The cultivator’s face flushed red. He dared not fight, nor could he outdo him with words, and could only leave in frustration.

"Tch." Yang Mu arrogantly withdrew his gaze, only to turn and meet a pair of clear, tranquil eyes. The Daoist on the bamboo chair was looking at him calmly.

"What are you staring at? You want—"

His voice cut off abruptly as he saw the Daoist slowly raise his hand. A chill ran down his spine, his whole body turning cold, and he instinctively took two steps back.

Lin Ze retracted the icy sword aura hidden in his sleeve and said coolly, "If you have something to say, speak. If not, leave."

He was not in a good mood.

He had just used the simulator to project Xiao Bao’s future once more. After three years, aside from steadily increasing cultivation, the boy still showed no intention of venturing out for treasures, despite possessing a legendary character card—a resource utterly wasted.

The sense of frustration was suffocating.

Wang Yao, seeing Yang Mu cowed, was struck by surprise. Among all the stewards in class, none had ever managed to suppress Yang Mu. Even when he snored through lectures, they could only sigh and pretend not to see.

He stood stunned for a moment, then recalled his purpose in coming.

"Elder, this disciple has—" Wang Yao opened his satchel, reaching for the paper with his cultivation question, but then paused as a chorus of voices reached his ears.

"Who is that? He actually dared approach Elder Lin for guidance?"

"I think his surname is Wang."

"Doesn’t he know our new elder is only at the early Foundation Establishment stage?"

Laughter followed.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Wang Yao’s eyes. He drew his hand back from the satchel. Having waited so many years, what harm would another two months do? The Mountain-Crushing Palm was a unique technique of Huayang Peak; even if this elder was highly skilled, he probably wouldn’t be able to help.

He felt his confidence waver.