Chapter Twenty-Seven: Secretly Learning the Technique

Zhang Jialin looked toward the female cultivator at the door, his face wreathed in smiles as he hurriedly pushed aside the bothersome fellow blocking his path. With gentle words, he said, “Junior Sister, sorry to have kept you waiting. Let’s return to Huayang Peak now.”

The female cultivator couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as she watched the short-coated disciple topple to the ground in a comical fashion.

Lin Ze instinctively reached out to help Wang Yao, but his hand passed straight through the other’s body. Glancing at the scattered papers on the floor, he saw the young man curled up like a boiled shrimp, convulsing. The push from a Foundation Establishment cultivator was hardly something a Qi Refining disciple could easily withstand, especially since Zhang Jialin had deliberately used extra force to vent his frustration.

Lin Ze silently withdrew his hand and cast a brief glance at the pair outside the door. Perhaps it was just coincidence. Yet after only two days since joining the sect, Huayang Peak had already left Lin Ze with a terrible impression—whether it was the previous Zhao Jing or the present steward Zhang.

Wang Yao, unable to cry out in pain, forced himself to his feet and, seeing the pair hadn’t gone far, limped after them in haste. “Steward Zhang, please wait for me.”

Zhang Jialin paused, looking at the meek and submissive face before him, and for reasons unknown, felt an even greater sense of annoyance. He snapped coldly, “You again? Wasn’t it you last time? Are you brainless or what?”

“Don’t be so fierce,” the female cultivator chided, casting him a reproachful look before turning to Wang Yao with a gentle, water-soft smile. “Junior Brother, we have other matters to attend to. If you have any questions, please ask next time, alright?”

“I… I…” In his anxiety, Wang Yao pulled at his injury and was unable to utter a word.

“Enough,” the female cultivator, sensing his thoughts, generously took out a bottle of healing pills from her storage pouch at her waist. “Let me apologize on behalf of Senior Brother Zhang.”

Zhang Jialin curled his lip, feeling it was a bit wasteful, but his gaze toward the female cultivator held a hint of admiration.

“Lucky you,” he muttered, and the two linked arms as they departed.

As a steward of the mountain gate, her kindness toward ordinary disciples was already rare; Wang Yao ought to feel honored.

Yet clutching the bottle of healing pills, Wang Yao found himself unable to smile. Laughter drifted to his ears, growing ever more distant, and he suddenly felt a wetness at the corner of his eye. He wiped it away, staring in a daze at the tears on his hand.

He stood there for a long time. Then, in a sudden burst of emotion, Wang Yao flung the bottle of pills away.

His breakdown happened in an instant.

All the pressure buried deep in his heart surged forth like turbulent waves. He squatted on the ground, clutching his head, and cried aloud, so hoarse and desperate that many cultivators nearby turned to look.

“Isn’t that Wang Yao?”

“He always seemed so quiet—why’s he acting like a lunatic?”

“Oh, you didn’t see it. Just now, Steward Zhang Jialin pushed him. Maybe he’s thinking of how to extort compensation.”

Wang Yao ignored the pointing and whispering. He cried until his voice was raw, then staggered to his feet with a strange, half-smiling, half-weeping expression, as if his soul had left him, and walked out.

Next time—always next time.

With less than half a month left before the outer sect’s grand competition, how many “next times” could he wait for?

Suddenly, a figure bumped into him head-on.

“Don’t you watch where you’re going?” Yang Mu glared at him angrily.

Normally, Wang Yao would have begun apologizing at once, but today he felt nothing, only staring blankly at the other.

“I don’t feel like beating anyone today. Watch yourself next time!” Seeing his dazed state, Yang Mu rolled his eyes and walked away.

Once Yang Mu’s figure faded from sight, Wang Yao looked down to find a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Carefully unfolding it, he discovered a hastily drawn map and a line of blurry characters beneath.

“After supper, a steward will explain the Mountain-Shattering Palm. It’ll last about an hour. Come or don’t—up to you.”

Wang Yao’s expression shifted dramatically; he immediately hid the paper in his sleeve.

His breath quickened.

His feelings churned.

Was Yang Mu telling him to go to Huayang Peak and secretly learn the technique? If caught by a steward, it would be a crime worthy of expulsion from the sect! And Yang Mu, by his usual behavior, was hardly someone to trust.

Distracted, Wang Yao wandered back to his lodgings.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, he forgot all about his daily chores at the southern hall, staring silently at the crumpled note in his hand.

Lin Ze sat by his side and also saw the contents.

To be fair, Yang Mu wasn’t good at much else, but he had a knack for gathering such information. He spent all his days scheming about how to secretly learn techniques behind Zhao Jing’s back, and with his status as a mountain gate disciple, he could roam Huayang Peak freely. Over the years, the stone cave had accumulated dozens of such hidden notes.

Wang Yao was unable to practice; Yang Mu was watched by Zhao Jing and dared not try. With Yang Mu’s cold exterior and warm heart, Lin Ze didn’t doubt the authenticity of the information. The risk, however, was real—otherwise, Yang Mu wouldn’t have staged a confrontation just to slip Wang Yao the note.

Just then, the supper bell rang.

Many disciples took their meal trays and headed outside. Mountain gate disciples had their own dining hall; newcomers like them could only eat from the communal pot.

The hesitation in Wang Yao’s eyes faded with the shrill bell. Gritting his teeth, he rose and ran in the direction of Huayang Peak.

Following the map on the note, he found a narrow path leading to the back of Huayang Peak.

After struggling up to the summit, he saw a figure standing beneath a tree—Yang Mu, expressionless, looked at him and spoke quietly: “Behind the small courtyard is a large green stone. If you lie on it, you’ll have a clear view. But after an hour, patrolling disciples will pass by. Make sure you’re gone before then.”

With that, Yang Mu quickly vanished into the woods.

Wang Yao gratefully withdrew his gaze, memorized the contents of the note, and then decisively stuffed it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing it. If he was caught, he couldn’t let the patrolling disciples find the evidence.

After all this, he cautiously ran around to the back of the courtyard, found the large green stone Yang Mu mentioned, and quietly lay upon it.

This was the courtyard of a steward.

It seemed his disciple wished to study the technique, giving Wang Yao this opportunity.

Supper ended quickly, and a burly cultivator knocked at the courtyard gate.

The steward wasted no time and began the explanation of the Mountain-Shattering Palm.

“This palm is fierce and unmatched. When channeling your spiritual energy, you must not hesitate—even slightly. Don’t concern yourself with prolonging your strength.”

“Swift, precise, ruthless—none can be lacking.”

“When you strike, it must be like thunder, the spiritual energy detonating in your palm to create the power to shatter mountains.”

Hearing this, the disciple nodded, seemingly enlightened, but still asked in puzzlement, “But master, it seems… the power of this technique is somewhat lacking.”

Wang Yao clenched his fists in excitement.