Chapter Forty-One: Not Buying It

Under Lin Ze’s calm gaze, Zhao Jinian, though reluctant, could find nothing more to say and could only quietly take his place at the end of the line. Well, even if he couldn’t be the first disciple to visit Green Hill, he could at least show his attitude. Old men like him, sentimental as they are, aren’t that hard to deal with.

Sorting out his thoughts, Zhao Jinian forced a smile back onto his face and stood quietly, assuming the posture of an attentive listener, all the while pondering what question he ought to ask. It couldn’t be too difficult and embarrass the other party, nor could it be too simple—anything everyone could answer would only make the old man displeased, thinking he was being underestimated. The question had to be just right, a balance difficult to achieve.

For now, he would watch and see what skills this master possessed. If it was still the same as back in Xiao Village—just the Eastern Peak Breathing Method and a few mediocre techniques—it would be easy enough to handle.

He pricked up his ears, listening carefully to the exchanges ahead. Soon, his expression shifted slightly. Counting the two who had already left, this was now the fourth person receiving guidance.

The Lesser Yang Fist Manual—Taiyang Mountain’s introductory fist technique.

The Sudden Rain Sword Technique—the foundational sword art of Five Immortals Peak.

The Howling Ape Inner Force—the unique internal strength method of Upright Mountain.

…

Though these were all basic techniques, they spanned several different cultivation paths, each the signature method of its respective peak. Yet, the Daoist could immediately point out the flaws in each disciple’s practice, almost at a glance. That was peculiar.

You might say his cultivation was astonishing, but these techniques were hardly profound enough to prove anything. Nonetheless, having a grasp of so many different sects was no ordinary feat—especially for someone like Lin Ze.

Zhao Jinian himself was an early-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator, but he knew he lacked such broad knowledge.

But… what use was it? Cultivation was, after all, a struggle against fate itself, and with a limited lifespan, a cultivator’s greatest folly was to dabble in too many arts. From the myriad streams, one must draw but a single ladle to ask of the Great Way; otherwise, why would the Eastern Peak Sect divide its outer court into a hundred peaks? Only those with no hope of breaking through would try to learn a bit of everything, foolishly hoping for a way forward.

“Forget it. I’m not really here for guidance, anyway.”

Unable to figure it out, Zhao Jinian simply settled in to wait. No matter what, Lin Ze and Qin Hongxiu were connected. If not for the sake of that sword immortal, he wouldn’t bother playing along with Lin Ze’s little game.

To put it bluntly, if it came to real combat, the old man might not last the time it took to burn one stick of incense in Zhao Jinian’s hands. What right did he have to lecture him?

At last, the final disciple left Green Hill, beaming with joy.

Lin Ze took up his cup of tea to moisten his throat. All in all, today was a loss—five opportunities had only exchanged for a handful of odds and ends and two barely usable low-grade skill cards. But in the long run, when these people realized the value of his advice, word of mouth would draw more disciples here.

He deleted the five extra ordinary character cards from his panel, only to see a prompt:

[Simulation attempts for today have been exhausted.]

Lin Ze looked up at the last disciple. The rule was ten people per day, but he’d already used a few attempts this morning, unable to resist simulating the three skill cards from the Twin Moons Grotto. He really hadn’t expected so many to come in a single day—now, it was a bit embarrassing.

Zhao Jinian could hardly guess at the Daoist’s thoughts. Seeing the other man silently watching him, he felt secretly pleased.

See? The difference is clear.

He wasn’t afraid of being treated coldly—so long as the man still cared about this disciple, Zhao Jinian was confident he could keep Lin Ze firmly in the palm of his hand.

He gently set the gourd in his hand down, looked sincerely at the Daoist, and prepared to pose the question he’d worked so hard to devise—a question sure to let the other man shine.

At this, Lin Ze’s sense of helplessness only deepened. So he’d come, and even brought a gift.

After a moment’s silence, Lin Ze finally spoke, “Come back tomorrow.”

A day’s delay would do; once his attempts refreshed, he could reserve a spot for him.

Upon hearing this, the smile on Zhao Jinian’s face gradually froze. What did that mean? Was it just because on the old man’s sixtieth birthday he’d found it troublesome and hadn’t bothered to come? He was a Foundation Establishment cultivator, after all, with two hundred years of lifespan ahead—what was the rush to celebrate a birthday? Wasn’t that a bit petty? Or was it that Su Bailu had been gossiping behind his back?

That made sense—the wretch surely wanted to seize Qin the Sword Immortal’s fortune as well.

A cold light flashed in Zhao Jinian’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it and put on a look of aggrieved indignation. “Master, are you blaming your disciple? Truly, I am heartbroken!”

At these words, Xiao Bao, who had been quietly practicing his breathing, slowly opened his eyes and glanced over in curiosity.

Wang Yao, pouring hot water into his teacup, paused briefly.

Disciple?

This senior was wearing the robes of Huayang Peak.

No one noticed that Lin Ze’s gaze had grown a shade colder.

Zhao Jinian clenched his fists tightly. From his understanding of the old man, neither apologies nor explanations would be as effective as shifting the blame onto the master, making him feel guilty.

Back in Xiao Village, the old master, hampered by his meager cultivation, had always felt deeply apologetic toward his disciples, thinking he had wasted their fine talents. Grasping this, Zhao Jinian knew he was invincible.

“After I left the village, others mocked me as a country bumpkin. You know, I was the son of a prominent family in town—when had I ever suffered such humiliation?” Zhao Jinian’s face was full of resentment. “But I never once regretted staying with you in Xiao Village. It was hard, but I didn’t mind. I only wanted to make something of myself, to bring you to the Eastern Peak Sect to enjoy a life of ease. For nearly twenty years, I’ve trained diligently, never daring to slacken.”

He looked at Lin Ze with grievance. “Are you cold to me now because you blame your disciple for working too hard?”

The more Xiao Bao listened, the more wrong it all sounded. His eyes grew wide, but he was too flustered to counter, his face flushed red. Wang Yao, meanwhile, was utterly confused. Was this senior saying he was their master’s disciple too? Yet the tone sounded so odd.

At this moment, a faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of Lin Ze’s lips.

So this was Zhao Jinian?

It was only after Su Bailu’s reminder that he’d remembered the old master had such a disciple. Now, finally, the real person stood before him.

Tsk, he certainly knew how to sow discord. Offering birthday congratulations was “disturbing your cultivation”, and a little indifference was enough to make him aggrieved. If the old master of the past had heard such words, he would have been beside himself with guilt, perhaps even comforting the other in turn.

After all, Old Master Lin, right up to the moment his spirit dissipated, worried about whether these disciples of his had come to harm.

In that sense, Zhao Jinian really did know him well.

Unfortunately, the man seated here now was Lin Ze.

He wasn’t buying it.