Chapter Fifty-Three: Negotiation

Hearing these words, Steward Fang's aged face quivered slightly, his eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to goad me?" He gently patted the boy's cheek, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his lips.

"Senior Guo guards the border of the Demon Sect, his cultivation profound and temperament bold, revered by our fellow cultivators. Yet you, his heartless nephew, use him as a shield for your mischief. Truly, it is pitiful."

Yang Mu's eyes twitched, his gaze sharp and cold. He had endured countless sneers over the past seven years, but only this remark could make his temper flare instantly.

"What, do you intend to raise a hand against your uncle?" Steward Fang glanced at him sideways, mocking, "Indeed, you're a clever child. At your age, I never understood how to borrow strength from another like a fox relying on a tiger."

"My cultivation is modest, so I don't dare speak of fighting or killing. Don't try to scare me with such talk." He deliberately drew out his words, his hand sweeping over the pouch at his waist, producing a sturdy iron rod forged from refined steel.

"But the sect has its rules. You cannot escape this punishment. If you cannot kneel when the time comes, I'll help you." At the sight of the rod, cold sweat broke out on Yang Mu's forehead.

That object was called the Disciplinary Staff; a strike could tear skin and flesh, or worse, break bones and sinew. With his level of cultivation, a beating would leave him bedridden for at least two months.

This old man was serious!

Seeing Yang Mu's uncertain expression, Steward Fang snorted softly and shook his head with a faint smile. "Don't worry, I won't discipline you here on Little Green Mountain. Family matters should be handled at one's own mountain gate."

He toyed with the Disciplinary Staff in his hand, withdrawing his aura of a cultivator at the peak of Foundation Establishment. "Provided you behave yourself and don't make things difficult for your uncle."

He had only planned to come to Green Mountain to check on things, never expecting to find only this boy here, ripe for manipulation.

Yang Mu stood expressionless, the cold, hard touch of the iron rod pressing against his back. He had no doubt it could easily shatter his kneecap.

His right leg trembled, but he couldn't step forward. It was as if he were a foolish, lumbering pig who had finally escaped the pen, only to be driven back by someone wielding a whip after a brief moment of freedom.

Steward Fang frowned, about to rebuke him, when a calm voice sounded beside his ear: "Go ahead and try."

He was instantly enraged and looked down.

Yang Mu's expression was odd—hey, why are you raising the rod? That wasn't me!

Both men looked up, and not far away stood a Daoist in a green robe, gazing at them serenely. He sized up the gray-clad elder and nodded lightly. "Don't mind me. Do as you please."

"…"

Recognizing the newcomer, Steward Fang was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Fang Yunying of Huayang Peak, greets Elder of Green Mountain."

He had thought he could easily bring Yang Mu back, not expecting the other to return so quickly. Age, it seems, makes people talkative and prone to mishaps.

Still, it didn't matter. This new Elder Lin of the sect surely had to show some respect to a senior steward of Huayang Peak.

Fang Yunying lifted his head confidently, preparing to exchange pleasantries, but saw the Daoist walking over with a child and a beautiful white fox at his side.

Lin Ze stopped next to him, pinched the iron rod between two fingers, and gently rested the other end on Yang Mu's shoulder.

The boy rolled his eyes.

The gray-clad elder's smile faltered slightly.

"Go on," Lin Ze said, his lips curving.

Seeing this, Fang Yunying's breathing grew rapid, his chest heaving. What did this mean—was he being humiliated? Did they think he wouldn't dare?

He gripped the iron rod tightly, but looking up, he met the Daoist's calm, unfathomable gaze. For some reason, his anger deflated.

He stood silently for a long time, then quietly put the Disciplinary Staff back into his pouch, his face dark. "Elder, you jest."

Yang Mu breathed a sigh of relief.

Dignity aside, he wasn't a fool—better to avoid a beating if possible.

At that moment, Lin Ze shook his head, reached out and patted Steward Fang's old face, speaking softly, "Don't blame me for not giving you a chance. You're simply not up to it."

His palm was gentle, but the crisp sound was piercing.

The gesture perfectly mirrored the elder's earlier action when he slapped Yang Mu, clearly a deliberate act of vengeance.

Fang Yunying's eyes nearly bulged in fury.

The white fox flashed a look of delight, jeering inwardly—you're a cultivator at the peak of Foundation Establishment, what are you afraid of? Go on, hit him!

It had long wanted to see Lin Ze embarrassed.

But the next scene disappointed the fox. It wondered if the old man was part turtle for his patience.

The gray-clad elder forcibly suppressed his anger, cupped his hands, and said, "I am here by the order of Huayang Peak, visiting as instructed. Elder Lin, why must you toy with an old man?"

"This rebellious disciple is disrespectful to his elders. Senior Brother Zhao Jing instructed me to bring him back for proper discipline. If I have caused any disturbance, I ask Elder Lin's pardon."

Fang Yunying hadn't expected the other to be so arrogant, paying him no mind at all. For a moment, he was at a loss, unsure how to proceed.

Yet, having lived over a hundred years, the old man quickly adapted, invoking Huayang Peak and Zhao Jing—two formidable names—along with his own status as a prominent figure among the outer sect. Surely this young Elder wouldn't disregard them!

True, Lin Ze was now an elder.

But how did he attain that position? Fang Yunying knew well. When the Eight Question Sword Array was set, everyone thought it a spectacle, but the Daoist seized the opportunity and claimed Little Green Mountain with ease.

The sect values tradition and lineage, but Lin Ze's cultivation was low and he was an outsider, making his position questionable.

Would he not feel embarrassed occupying this role?

Why not accept the olive branch instead of forcing a confrontation?

He then tentatively asked, "If Elder has no further instructions, I will take him back now."

Lin Ze sidestepped Fang Yunying, lazily settling into a bamboo chair, casting a light glance at him.

He said nothing, but his meaning was clear.

Fang Yunying felt a stifling anger boiling in his chest, nearly driving him mad.

The other’s undisguised contempt was blatant mockery.

What—did he think the old man's cultivation at the peak of Foundation Establishment was worthless? If it came to blows, would he really have the upper hand?

Seeing the elder’s clenched fists, Lin Ze's face finally showed a hint of anticipation.

"Senior Brother Zhao said: if Yang Mu returns with me, then after the outer sect competition, when the peaks request the Southern Hall to reclaim Little Green Mountain, Huayang Peak will abstain."

Clearly, taking Yang Mu away easily was impossible. Fang Yunying, fearing he might die of rage atop Green Mountain, decided to drop pretense and stated the terms outright.

As for fighting—

A steward daring to strike an elder would be courting death.

Negotiation is always a matter of probing boundaries. He was no naive youth; he could endure this much.

As soon as he spoke, Yang Mu's cheerful expression faded, and he looked nervously to his master.