Chapter Twenty-One: A Thought Away from Paradise

Steward Fang narrowed his eyes, taking in the distant scene, and beckoned to those behind him. "Have you found out? Whose disciple are they?"

A young disciple, clutching a jade slip, wiped the sweat from his brow. "Reporting to the steward, those two don't seem to be from our Huayang Peak."

"Hmm?" The old man frowned. "If they're not disciples of Huayang Peak, why is Yang Mu mixed up with them?"

"Well..." The disciple's mouth twitched as he explained, "You know what Junior Brother Yang is like. None of us dare meddle in his affairs. Lately, he's been fond of attending lectures—maybe he made friends with some outer sect disciples?"

Steward Fang's expression darkened. After a moment of contemplation, he waved his hand. "Bring him back here."

That wretched brat could be as mischievous as he pleased, but to meddle in the affairs of Green Mountain—did he think he was above reproach?

"Me?" The disciple pointed at his own nose, swallowing nervously.

Never mind Yang Mu’s mouth—he’d curse anyone within earshot—but this was Elder Qingshan's territory. To interrupt his teaching so abruptly was out of line in every sense.

"What are you afraid of? Just speak plainly—who would dare give you trouble?" The old man shot him a glare.

Holding lectures was all well and good, but for an elder to teach recklessly—he shouldn’t be surprised if someone exposed his charade. Could that wandering Daoist even understand the profound techniques of Dongyue Sect? Was he fit to instruct others?

Hearing this, the young disciple nodded thoughtfully. "Understood, Steward."

He was just about to turn away when Steward Fang called him back. "Which mountain is hosting today's lecture?"

"Our Huayang Peak."

"Who is giving the lecture?"

"Steward Zhang Jialin."

"Ah." The old man tutted. This was odd indeed; Yang Mu ignored his own master but ran off to attend public lectures. Was he not only slow-witted but also lacking in sense?

"Never mind, off you go." After a moment's thought, he nodded for the disciple to leave.

...

"What are you dithering about? Are you going to ask or not?" Yang Mu stood with arms crossed, impatience in his gaze.

"I..." Wang Yao clutched the sheets of paper densely filled with questions, his breathing quick.

"Yang Mu, what exactly are you playing at?" his tall companion shot the youth a glare, biting his lip anxiously as he glanced around.

All around Green Mountain, more than a hundred disciples had gathered to watch the commotion, including some who had already been accepted into the sect proper. If any of them remembered their faces, trouble was sure to follow.

"Come on." Hardening his heart, he grabbed Wang Yao by the arm, dragging him away.

Why risk so much for something that could wait another couple of months?

"Tch, you look every inch the lackey—no wonder you’re bullied," Yang Mu sneered coldly, his tone full of mockery.

"Easy for you to say. Why don’t you try it yourself?" The tall companion didn’t notice Wang Yao’s face suddenly pale as he roared at the boy.

"Fine, I will. Do you think I'm as cowardly as you two?" Seemingly provoked, Yang Mu strode toward the Daoist reclined on the bamboo chair, eyes shut in repose.

Just then, a hand reached out and grabbed his collar.

They turned to see a senior disciple, sword in hand.

"Junior Brother Yang, stop making a scene," the young disciple said with a wry smile.

He made to drag Yang Mu away and, at the same time, barked at Wang Yao and his companion, "Get back and focus on cultivation! Daydreaming like this—do you want to join the sect or not?"

"We’ll go right away," the companion replied hastily, bowing as he tugged at Wang Yao’s arm—only to find he didn’t budge.

Glancing back, he saw Wang Yao staring at his own shoes, head bowed, lost in thought.

"Let go of me!" Yang Mu struggled violently, teeth gritted. But his cultivation was too shallow—a late-stage Qi Refiner was no match for his senior.

"I’ll study wherever I please—what’s it to you?"

"Don’t make trouble." The disciple’s face softened as he explained quietly, "That elder only joined the sect yesterday—he used to be a wandering cultivator. He’s nothing compared to your master."

He meant it kindly, but hearing this only enraged Yang Mu further. Snarling, he lunged and bit the disciple’s wrist.

"Ow—" The disciple sucked in a breath, instinctively raising a palm to strike. But remembering Yang Mu’s background, he restrained himself, sighing as he hauled the boy away.

At that moment, Lin Ze on the bamboo chair opened his eyes. Unhurriedly, he lifted his teacup and took a sip.

He glanced over and spoke softly, "Put him down."

He hadn't planned to concern himself with these brats. One was unruly, the other a hopeless mediocrity—if they left, so be it. He wasn't going to beg.

After all, he sought geniuses, not trash.

But only if they left of their own accord.

This disciple had intervened without so much as a greeting, trying to drag people off as if it were his own show. If he allowed this, who would ever dare come to Green Mountain for instruction again?

In short, this was intolerable.

Hearing the Daoist’s command, the young disciple halted, sighing.

He hadn’t wanted to make things ugly.

No matter how little respect people showed this Elder Lin, his status as an elder was a fact. From the beginning, the disciple had treated him as though he didn’t exist, intent only on taking Yang Mu. If the Daoist had any sense, he would not interfere.

Shaking his head, the disciple thought, "You brought this on yourself."

He turned and saluted, his posture impeccable. "Disciple of Huayang Peak greets Elder Qingshan."

Before Lin Ze could reply, the disciple straightened, raising his voice so that all could hear. "I have heard that before joining the sect, Elder wandered far and wide, surely gaining great experience. Though not a sect member, you’ve managed to form a foundation, and on your very first day at Dongyue Sect you hold a lecture—such passion is truly admirable! A venerable senior indeed!"

His words were full of praise, but the onlookers burst into laughter.

"Wandering far and wide, not a member of any sect"—that meant he was a wandering cultivator.

Forming a foundation at such an advanced age—clearly, his aptitude was poor.

To give a lecture on his first day in the sect—he was blatantly mocking Lin Ze for pretending to knowledge he did not possess.

No wonder the senior brothers of Huayang Peak were so well-versed in the art of veiled insults.

"But..." The young disciple’s tone shifted as he grinned at the Daoist. "Yang Mu is the personal disciple of Master Zhao of our peak. Please, you needn’t trouble yourself with him."

With that, he turned, satisfied, intending to leave.

If Elder Lin wasn’t a fool, he would know what was meant.

Suddenly, a sigh sounded from behind him.

Lin Ze set down his teacup, cleaned his ear with his pinky, and clicked his tongue. "So much pointless talk."

This was an immortal sect, not a debating contest.

If breaking through could be done by mouth, who would need fists?

Before he finished speaking, a mighty pressure belonging to a Foundation Establishment cultivator swept out, enveloping the disciple in an instant.

"When I tell you to put him down, you need only answer: will you or won’t you?"

"Do you understand?"

The Daoist’s soft question rang in his ears. Sweat broke out in a cold sheen on the young disciple’s forehead; even his legs began to tremble.