Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Grand Competition Concludes (First Release Requesting Initial Subscription)

Even for the entire Dongyue Sect, the Outer Sect Grand Competition was considered a major event. With patience, they waited for the contest to conclude. The stewards of the Southern Hall efficiently organized the scriptures, handed them to the highest-ranking Moon-Pattern Steward for review, and then carefully sealed them away.

Of the sixty elders from the Inner Sect, most had already returned. This time, none of the disciples caught their attention. The various peaks were inevitably disappointed, but they were long accustomed to such outcomes. If every decade they could produce a few Inner Sect disciples, the Demon Sect would hardly be so rampant.

In the grand hall of Huayang Peak, a steward in a deep blue robe lifted his teacup and remarked indifferently, “Actually, the Inner Sect does have its eye on one disciple.”

The moon pattern, embroidered in silver thread, exuded an air of nobility. It not only represented the power of the Southern Hall but also signified that its owner was a True Immortal of the Golden Core stage. Thus, even Zhao Jing could only sit at the farthest seat, signaling his disciple to refill the guest’s cup with steaming spiritual spring water before distractedly asking, “Wolong Mountain or Sword-Hidden Peak? Surely not the Southern Hall?”

At his words, several waiting disciples nearby cast envious glances. The places Zhao mentioned were the most prestigious among the peaks. Strictly speaking, the Southern Hall was not a true mountain gate, but that did not diminish its status as the foremost among the outer sects.

The Moon-Pattern Steward shook his head, casting a meaningful glance at the scripture Zhao Jing clutched tightly, and smiled faintly. “It’s Little Green Mountain.”

“Wang Yao?!”

Zhao Jing’s head snapped up, blurting out the name that had been weighing on his mind. In the beginning, no one ever considered taking action against Green Mountain—not out of mercy, but because Little Green Mountain had been in decline for over twenty years, now little more than an empty peak.

There was no need to act. Even the addition of a newly-advanced Foundation Establishment elder would change nothing.

Only Zhao Jing remained cautious; even as Green Mountain lingered on the edge of ruin, he made arrangements to snuff out its last glimmer of hope. Of course, personal grievances played a part—after all, his favorite disciple, Yang Mu, had yet to return.

But undeniably, he had done all he could. More than half of the other peaks could not produce a single disciple who had established their foundation in the last ten years. Huayang Peak had done so, and even managed to have that disciple assigned to the right time slot.

Yet, that disciple surnamed Wang… now had the Inner Sect’s favor…

At this thought, a chill crept into Zhao Jing’s heart.

The Moon-Pattern Steward shook his head. “It’s a child named Xiao Bao.”

Zhao Jing’s grip on the scripture tightened with a creak. If True Immortal Kong Fang had already left, he would have torn it open to see for himself.

How could there be another one?! That damned Little Green Mountain had only three disciples in total—could they all be prodigies?!

“What’s got you so anxious?” Kong Fang frowned.

“If that child enters the Inner Sect…” Zhao Jing ground his teeth.

“There’s no ‘if’.” Kong Fang stood, gazing toward the hall’s entrance, his tone laced with a strange undertone. “He refused.”

At these words, every disciple in the hall shuddered.

Zhao Jing’s square face was a picture of shock and absurdity. He struggled for some time before squeezing out two words: “Nonsense!”

…

…

At the summit of Little Green Mountain, Su Bailu gazed at the small figure sleeping soundly in the room. Unable to resist, she moved closer, reaching out to brush aside the girl’s short hair.

Suddenly, the girl flipped upright, seizing Su Bailu’s wrist, her cold, guarded face full of wariness.

“You…” Su Bailu instinctively glanced at the scars on her face.

The girl shrank back decisively, her other hand reaching for her waist, her expression shifting the moment she realized something, then she shook out her sleeve and finally patted her head.

…

She bit her lip, locking her gaze with Su Bailu’s, then slowly retreated toward the door, lowering her voice: “Stay away.”

Su Bailu watched in astonishment as the girl left the wooden house, only for a slightly frail figure to enter soon after. The girl from before was now being carried in by the collar, as limp and lifeless as a kitten who had given up on life.

“Master?”

Lin Ze nodded, casually tossing Yu Huan back onto the bed. “Without my permission, don’t let her wander.”

With that, he turned to leave. But after a few steps, he frowned and looked back, seeing Yu Huan silently following right behind him.

Catching his gaze, she stubbornly lifted her chin and said coldly, “I’m going with you.”

Lin Ze nodded thoughtfully. “Bring me a rope.”

Su Bailu was speechless.

And so she watched as her master, without a hint of mercy, trussed the girl up like a little rice dumpling and tossed her back into the room.

She asked a bit sympathetically, “Is she our new junior sister?”

Lin Ze shook his head. “No.”

Though he had brought the girl back, he had no intention of accepting her as a disciple—not yet, at least.

“By the way, here’s some medicine for her injuries. You know how to use it, right?”

“I understand, Master.”

Lin Ze tossed a few medicine bottles over. With Su Bailu being the only female cultivator on the mountain, he had placed Yu Huan in her cabin.

With everything settled, he headed toward the cliff edge, where three figures of varying heights stood at attention, nervous faces taut.

Lin Ze produced the scripture sent from the Southern Hall, settled lazily into a bamboo chair, cast a sidelong glance at the three, and leisurely opened the scroll.

After a while, he looked up at Wang Yao. “Not bad. Go and get some rest.”

Any disciple who took first place in the competition would surely receive a reward from their master, but Lin Ze showed no such intent. Yet Wang Yao, at these simple words, broke into a surprised, joyful grin—happier even than when he’d first seen the Foundation Establishment Pill. He turned with a silly smile and left.

The remaining two were not so lucky.

Yang Mu coughed awkwardly, a miserable look on his face.

Xiao Bao picked at his fingers in silence.

Lin Ze looked at them with a beaming smile. “Very good.”

Both boys felt a chill run through them and pointed at each other.

“It was Brother Mu who took me there!”

“It was Senior Brother Xiao who didn’t explain!”

“Brother Mu told me to go all out!”

“Senior Brother Xiao didn’t mention he’d already perfected his Qi!”

Lin Ze watched their mutual finger-pointing coldly, then rapped each of them hard on the forehead with the scripture. “There were only seven matches, and you managed to injure six disciples. The last only escaped because he surrendered quickly! What were you thinking?”

“Is innate true fire meant to be used against your fellow disciples?”

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted Xiao Bao to participate in the competition. The child had only been cultivating for three months, had no sense of restraint, and barely knew how to interact with other cultivators—how could he let him duel with the others?

“You used innate true fire back then too, Master—almost roasted Elder Qingfeng alive…” Yang Mu muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Lin Ze pretended not to hear, glancing at them impassively. “Three hours of breath training. Miss even one incense stick and you’ll skip dinner tonight.”

The two hapless boys exchanged a glance and trudged off toward the spiritual spring.

The little fox hurriedly leaped from Xiao Bao’s neck and curled up obediently in Lin Ze’s palm. It had no desire to join Xiao Bao in endless breath training—how boring that would be! With its head held high, it called out in a childish voice, “Papa!”

Lin Ze, just about to rise, paused and looked at it expressionlessly. “You’re going too.”