Chapter 87: A Few Traces of Laughter Remain

Since the Grand Sect had already made its move, the elders no longer clung to any hopes of luck; their opponents were no fools and would not leave Little Green Mountain even a sliver of opportunity.

Among these disciples from Huayang Peak, there was a high probability that someone had already reached the Foundation Establishment stage.

But who could it be?

As they pondered, a slender figure approached quietly from behind. His features were delicate, and he stood beside them, speaking softly, "Elders, please look over there."

The three elders followed his gaze and saw, standing at a distance, a young man with a sinister expression, dressed in the steward's robe of Huayang Peak, standing out amidst the crowd.

"When did Huayang Peak gain such a young steward? What is his name?"

"Zhao Jinian. It's only happened in the past few days," the newcomer replied with a gentle smile.

Elder Zhang felt a twinge of envy; the stewards of his own sect were twice as old as the man across the way. Even though they were all at the Foundation Establishment stage, age and ability could not be equated.

Suddenly, Yang Shulong nudged him quietly.

Elder Zhang turned, puzzled, and his eyes widened in surprise. The newcomer standing beside him wasn’t much older than the Huayang steward, yet a faint aura emanated from him—almost at the late Foundation Establishment stage!

Even the renowned elder of Qingfeng Mountain, famous for his brilliance, was only at late Foundation Establishment. Moreover, he benefited from his father's resources—privileges ordinary cultivators could never hope for.

If one considered aptitude alone, the man before him was in no way inferior to the Qingfeng elder—perhaps even slightly superior.

"Whoever Zhao Jinian is watching—that person is Huayang Peak's true trump card," the refined young man said, tilting slightly.

It was a simple logic; once reminded, the elders immediately understood.

"But... who are you?" Elder Zhang asked.

The young man smiled and clasped his hands in greeting, "Li Zhiwei of Dongli Peak, greetings to you three elders."

"What brings you here?" Elder Zhang pressed.

Li Zhiwei's smile faded a little, and he gazed quietly at the gathering. "Just like him, I'm here to see our junior brother."

The elders were baffled, unable to make sense of it.

Whose junior brother?

Before they could figure it out, Li Zhiwei drew a pair of silver gloves, thin as cicada wings, from his storage pouch. "I have urgent matters to attend to. Please pass these to Wang Yao on my behalf."

Qin Qi took the gloves and examined them—they were a fine magical artifact. He was about to speak, but Li Zhiwei had already turned and quietly departed.

After a moment's silence, he sighed, "Doesn't Little Green Mountain feel a bit strange?"

Yang Shulong picked up the thread, his gaze sharpening. "Elder Lin may not be as simple as we thought."

...

The supposedly not-so-simple Elder Lin was now speechless.

The wounded girl, already severely injured, had stayed in the great hall for three days, refusing to leave. Her eyes were swollen, her face bruised, lips cracked and bleeding; her breath was faint to the extreme.

She crouched on the ground like a pitiful kitten, but her hand clung tightly to his robe, refusing to let go.

"Help me."

There was no plea in her voice, not even a hint of softness—so blunt that it was hard to muster any sympathy.

Even a beggar on the street knows to spin a tragic tale. But this little girl merely stared at the Daoist, like a dying beast, with ferocity hidden in her eyes.

"This is just an outer sect competition. Losing won't kill you," Lin Ze glanced at her, his tone utterly flat.

"Your internal injuries are serious; if you keep pushing, you may lose your life."

"If I lose, I have to leave Dongyue Sect." She bowed her head, and after a long pause, spoke earnestly, "I don't want to leave."

On reflection, her words were not unreasonable.

The grand competition was the only chance for disciples to make a name for themselves among the peaks. Miss it, and one was essentially estranged from the sect. Relying solely on classroom teachings, it was hard to make further progress in cultivation.

Most disciples would choose to leave Dongyue Sect and seek another path.

"You lack skill; you're not suited for cultivation." Lin Ze's words were blunt. She hadn't even survived the first round, meaning she was mediocre even among ordinary disciples.

Not want to leave?

Many didn't want to leave. Which disciple didn't dream of seeking immortality?

What made her any more special than the rest?

If she had anything unusual, it was that fierce streak. Without it, Lin Ze wouldn't have noticed her.

But if one called that an advantage... it seemed a stretch.

Lin Ze had no intention of raising a ruthless demoness. In the simulator, he vividly recalled the moment he personally beheaded Su Bailu.

This girl resembled him too much, and that was not necessarily a good thing.

...

Even in his thoughts, Lin Ze couldn't bring himself to admit she was so similar to him.

"You've been watching me all along," the girl's voice grew weaker, her little face serious. "You admire me... You think I'm very good."

"Have some shame, will you? Don't go praising yourself," Lin Ze rolled his eyes.

"I haven't," she replied, without a trace of embarrassment. She raised her trembling hand and pointed to her eyes.

"I saw it all. You can't fool me."

"Your eyes are swollen like steamed buns. What could you possibly see?" Lin Ze took a deep breath, feeling a bit insincere.

She'd only guessed half right.

He did believe that, given a chance, the girl would achieve something extraordinary.

But that trust wasn't about her; it stemmed from his own self-assurance.

Lin Ze believed that, even without the simulator, as long as he avoided calamities like the Great Black Cloud Demon, he could thrive in this world—albeit in a more sordid manner.

She was like him; it stood to reason she could thrive, too—she just lacked opportunity.

"Help me. I can do anything," the girl seemed on the verge of collapse, her voice barely audible.

Lin Ze curled his lip. "You can do nothing."

As soon as he finished, he felt his robe lighten. Looking down, he saw her hand, which had gripped him so tightly, now limp on the floor.

...

After pondering for about the time it took to burn a stick of incense, Lin Ze sighed and lifted her up.

[Would you like to add a character card: Yu Huan]

[Searching]

[Trust condition met]

[Decomposing]

As he walked, a deep blue character card appeared on his panel.

[Yu Huan: Rare]

Lin Ze glanced at the evaluation on temperament—a perfect score of twenty, dazzlingly bright.

Compared to that, her aptitude score of four seemed irrelevant.

As for trust... Lin Ze saw no value in it.

No matter how high it got, it only proved he was strong in her eyes. If he took it as a measure of intimacy, he'd be in for a nasty surprise.

"Someone like you could never entrust your life to another," he murmured with a hint of emotion.

His fingers flicked, easily removing the short dagger from Yu Huan's sleeve, the poisoned needle from her hair, and the soft sword at her waist.

Clearly a cultivator of an immortal sect, yet she dressed like an assassin.