Chapter Thirty: I’ve Come to Retrieve Something

Beneath the great tree, Steward Fang stood with a gloomy expression, his hands clasped behind his back. Only when the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind did he slowly turn and say coolly, “You’ve come?”

Zhang Jialin quickly concealed his impatience, forcing a smile. “Senior Brother Fang, what was so urgent that you needed to see me?”

Though both served as stewards of Huayang Peak, Fang’s cultivation and experience far exceeded Zhang’s, so proper respect was necessary.

Fang, seeing Zhang arrive late and noticing a female disciple in tow, snorted, deciding to show him some face. He frowned and waved his sleeve, saying, “See for yourself.”

“Junior Sister, wait for me here a moment,” Zhang Jialin said gently to the female cultivator, then stepped forward, following Fang’s gaze with some puzzlement.

“Isn’t that Little Azure Mountain? What’s happened?”

Fang, dressed in grey, lazily lifted his eyelids, unwilling to speak. If Huayang Peak could secure a foothold on Little Azure Mountain, the benefits wouldn’t belong to him alone. Why should he keep watch here while Zhang enjoyed the company of a female cultivator?

He had called Zhang over for a simple reason. The people he’d sent earlier seemed to have bungled things—Wang, that young disciple, had dared to ask Elder Qingshan for guidance in front of so many. Since Zhang Jialin had been the steward lecturing today, Fang summoned him to inquire: the peaks had already sent word quietly, so what had happened to embolden an ordinary disciple to act so boldly?

“Hm, he looks familiar.” Zhang Jialin thought for a moment—it seemed this was the disciple who ran over after class, but at the time his mind was filled with thoughts of his newly acquainted junior sister, so he’d casually dismissed Wang.

“Wait!” With his Foundation Establishment cultivation, Zhang released his spiritual sense; even dozens of yards away, he could clearly hear the words of the Daoist on the bamboo chair.

He saw the young man performing Huayang Peak’s Mountain-Crushing Palm, his expression growing darker.

“If you can’t resolve this, don’t blame me for letting things slip,” Steward Fang said, expressionless, hands behind his back.

The Mountain-Crushing Palm was not a rare technique—it was taught in lectures and happened to be Huayang Peak’s responsibility today. How had Wang been pushed to such extremes, forced to seek guidance from an unrelated Elder Qingshan? It could only mean Zhang Jialin was at fault.

He’d received his lecture stipend, yet dared to be so perfunctory!

Teaching and answering questions was a crucial way the sect recruited disciples. It could not be treated lightly. If word reached the elders, Zhang would at least suffer a hundred lashes of the spirit whip—wounds that would take three months to heal.

“That’s hardly difficult,” Zhang Jialin muttered, leading his bewildered junior sister toward the base of Azure Mountain.

That so-called Elder of Little Azure Mountain was nothing but a name—who could he possibly intimidate?

...

“Steward Zhang!” The disciples watched the pair head toward the mountain’s base, exchanging uncertain glances.

Huayang Peak’s Six Harmonies Step? How could Elder Lin mention such a thing?

On the other side, the tall companion and the young disciple stood dumbfounded, watching Wang Yao gleefully carrying his chair up the mountain, as if he’d just found a spirit stone.

They finally realized that Wang’s recent bow had been an attempt to join Little Azure Mountain!

Huayang Peak’s disciples’ faces darkened instantly. Not only had they failed to accomplish their task, but Little Azure Mountain had just accepted a disciple. They’d surely face Steward Fang’s wrath!

But the man was an elder; what could a mere Qi Refining disciple do?

Just then, a cold voice sounded behind them.

“Out of the way.”

“St-Steward Zhang.” The disciple, though scolded, was not angered. Seeing who had arrived, he felt an inward surge of joy.

He couldn’t do it himself, but surely Steward Zhang Jialin could!

That Daoist might be an elder, but had only recently joined the sect, inheriting Little Azure Mountain by luck. In terms of cultivation, he was barely at early Foundation Establishment. Steward Zhang’s cultivation was no less than his, and he had Huayang Peak backing him.

Even an elder would have to show respect.

Relieved, the disciple quickly withdrew to a distance.

“Elder Qingshan, please wait,” Zhang Jialin strode ahead, voice booming. When the Daoist turned, Zhang cupped his hands in salute, “Junior Zhang Jialin of Huayang Peak greets Elder Lin.”

He did not address himself as steward, but as junior, his posture exceedingly humble.

Wang Yao’s face changed abruptly.

Lin Ze glanced at him, asking knowingly, “You know him?”

“That’s Steward Zhang. I’ve attended his lectures,” Wang replied simply, not mentioning any grievances.

In truth, he hadn’t felt wronged. Compared to the simulator, where there was still a stick of incense’s time before class ended, this time Wang had only dared approach after class. The time had passed; if the steward was willing to answer, it was kindness. If not, it was understandable.

Lin Ze saw his thoughts and smiled faintly.

Such a gentle nature would surely lead to more bullying in the future.

“Let’s go.” Retracting his gaze, he continued up the mountain.

To be honest, Lin Ze had little regard for Zhang Jialin and couldn’t be bothered to engage.

Seeing the two glance at him and then ignore him, Zhang’s smile stiffened slightly, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Interesting—since becoming an elder, his cultivation hadn’t improved much, but his airs certainly had. Outside Dongyue Sect, they were both early Foundation Establishment cultivators—what was there to boast about?

His gaze shifted to Wang Yao.

Never mind; he hadn’t come to challenge Elder Qingshan. If he wanted to undermine the authority the elder had just gained among the outer disciples, he’d have to start with Wang.

With this in mind, he dropped his smile and called out, “Wang Yao, stop.”

The young man turned, surprised.

He hadn’t expected the steward to know his name so readily.

Lin Ze raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the mountain’s base.

Zhang Jialin smiled slowly. “No need to be nervous; I just want something back from you.”

He walked up to Wang, stopping in front, then glanced around. All the disciples were watching curiously—he nodded in satisfaction.

Returning his gaze to the two, he said, “I doubt I have anything Steward Zhang would want,” Wang replied, spreading his hands in confusion. He’d spent years in the sect, always doing odd jobs due to his lack of any notable technique—barely managing to support his cultivation, unable even to afford a storage pouch.

Zhang Jialin shook his head, grabbed Wang’s arm, raising it, his gaze fixed on the Daoist’s eyes, lips curling slightly. “You are an elder—techniques from any peak are yours to take, but as a junior, I must ask this disciple: where did you learn the Six Harmonies Step?”

“Don’t misunderstand; in the past year, all lecture stewards for Huayang Peak have been myself, and I don’t recall teaching this technique.”

Faced with this accusation, Wang Yao, surprisingly, did not lower his head as usual.

He summoned his courage and replied, “I didn’t learn it from the lecture hall.”

Lin Ze’s expression remained calm, his gaze growing deeper.

He had already guessed Zhang’s intention.

As expected, upon hearing this, Zhang Jialin shook his head with a chilling edge to his voice. “It’s Huayang Peak’s honor that you, Elder, can use the Mountain-Crushing Palm, but as an outer disciple, taking without asking is theft.”

“For Elder Lin’s sake, I’ll waive punishment, but I must reclaim this technique.”