Chapter 84 Someone Learns a Painful Lesson

Amidst the intense gaze of the multitude, the gigantic silver egg descended. It landed soundlessly upon the ground, yet left behind a massive crater in its wake. In the eyes of the onlookers, Base Zero—which had already undergone numerous transformations—began to shift once more. It was steadily shrinking; though the process was slow, it was painfully clear to anyone watching.

The number of cultivators gathered outside was greater than ever before. Seeing the silver egg strike the earth, many of them hurriedly rushed forward. A few of the bolder ones even readied their divine abilities, intending to strike it with a barrage of power. Right at that moment, a voice echoed from afar.

"Touch it not! Touch it not! This thing is an ominous entity of supreme misfortune, weighed down by immensely heavy karma. Do none of you provoke it, do not provoke it."

Following the sound, the crowd saw a thin, scrawny man who appeared to be in his forties or fifties. He wore a traditional Daoist robe, yet topped it with a wealthy squire's cap, giving him an incongruous and rather bizarre appearance. What made it even more comical was a medicinal plaster stuck directly across his face, making him look precisely like a wandering quack doctor.

He hurried over with bustling steps, but did not speak immediately. Breathing heavily, he stroked his sparse beard, cast a glance at the surrounding crowd, and then said in a leisurely manner, "This is an ill-omened object. None other than its rightful owner can ever move it." An expression of profound self-satisfaction then bloomed across his face.

Such a statement was entirely unreasonable, but facing a fellow who looked this easy to bully, no one wished to step forward and make a scene. Who could possibly know what sort of strange artifact this was? Nowadays, one could not judge anything by its appearance; who could guarantee that this wasn't an immensely powerful expert concealing his true capabilities? After all, those who had lived for countless ages were bound to be more or less psychologically eccentric.

Though curses were muttered under their breaths, the majority of the people still harbored the hope of forging a favorable connection. What if this man was an ancient monster? What if he happened to be half-blind and decided to take them in as disciples? Even failing that, receiving a casual piece of guidance from him would be wonderful indeed. For a moment, everyone's gazes burned with intense fervor.

"Ahem, ahem, ahem." The man coughed a few times, stroked his meager beard a few more moments, swept his gaze across the surroundings, and declared, "I go by many names, but in recent years, I have called myself Abbot, and my primary profession is fortune-telling." With that, he whipped out a piece of cloth from his bosom, upon which four bold characters were scrawled: *Iron-Mouthed Divine Diviner*.

"Splendid!" A clear, bright voice rang out. "Magnificent calligraphy!"

Such a remark was utterly shameless. All four characters were crookedly scrawled, and there even appeared to be a misspelled word.

The voice continued unabated. "Truly, the handwriting reflects the man! Ah... possessing the transcendent grace of an immortal, with strokes as powerful as iron and hooks of silver." The speaker finally managed to drag out two complimentary phrases. By this point, he was covered in cold sweat; such brazen flattery was an entirely new experience for him.

The gazes of the crowd snapped unanimously toward the speaker, eager to see what kind of person could possess such a shameless face. It belonged to a handsome young man in a blue robe, though at that moment, his expression was a complex mixture of embarrassment and sheepishness. This was simply going too far—he could easily have made a living on his looks alone, yet he deliberately chose to abandon all pride.

"Haha, these words please this old man's ears," Abbot said, continuing to stroke his beard before adding, "Say a few more things for me to hear. If this old man is pleased, rewards shall not be lacking for you."

Countless minds stirred. Those who had been quietly despising the blue-robed youth a moment ago instantly changed their tune...

"Old sir, your heroic bearing is truly peerless!"

"Old sir, your magnificent spirit towers to the heavens!"

"Old Immortal..."

"Old God..."

"Old Senior..."

......

"Shut your mouths!" A sudden roar shook the entire audience. "Is that any way to speak? This is clearly my elder brother! Look at my elder brother—so extraordinarily handsome, graceful as a jade tree in the wind, blessed with boundless talent and supreme wisdom..."

A full quarter of an hour passed before the blue-robed youth finally stopped talking. He swept his gaze across the entire assembly, subduing the entire audience into absolute silence. Having seemingly abandoned all remaining shreds of dignity, he stood calmly and composedly under the weight of countless gazes filled with contempt, shock, and utter disbelief... Since he had already made up his mind, he was determined to walk this path to the very end. This, too, could be considered his own unique Dao.

"Good lad," Abbot laughed heartily. "What is your name?"

"This junior is Wang Menglong, a disciple hailing from the Saber Valley," the blue-robed youth replied, squeezing his way to the front with an expression of utmost reverence. At that moment, everyone etched this particular sect firmly into their memories. In the State of Qin, the Saber Valley was considered a first-rate sect, but in the grand scale of the entire Immortal Spirit Realm, it was merely passable.

The deep impression that the disciples of this sect were exceptionally and utterly shameless was now firmly engraved in the minds of everyone present, lingering long and refusing to fade.

***

Speaking of his own sect, Wang Menglong had initially felt a pang of guilt, as he was well aware of what the others were thinking. But when he recalled how his sect had treated him, that shred of guilt vanished entirely.

Originally, he had been cultivating peacefully, acting as one of the core disciples of Saber Valley—neither ordinary nor particularly special. But then came that fateful day—a day that arrived completely unannounced. After returning from a year of traveling the world, he noticed that his fellow sect members looked at him with very strange expressions. Those with whom he had previously shared decent relationships now treated him with utter disdain; far from speaking to him, they refused to even spare him a glance. Even the outer sect disciples who used to fawn over him had lost their former reverence, replacing it with thick, unmasked contempt.

Finally, after exhausting every possible effort, he discovered the truth. As it turned out, he was accused of having ambushed someone—right at the Chu River Bridge, immediately after the tyrannical monk Lin Xinzhan and the white-robed fairy Ren Ruyi had engaged in their cataclysmic battle and sustained severe injuries. It was claimed that he had launched a sneak attack upon someone during that chaos. There were specific times, locations, and individuals involved, and witnesses even came forward claiming that the culprit had proudly announced his own name: Wang Menglong of the Saber Valley. The rumors only grew more and more bizarre with each retelling, until eventually, some people even swore they had seen him there in the flesh... It was an utterly monstrous and unmerited grievance.

Wang Menglong had tried desperately to explain, pouring out his grievances, his bitterness, and his sorrow. But whenever he brought up his whereabouts at the time, asking why they wouldn't believe he had been cultivating alone in a desolate mountain, they simply refused to listen. Since there was no one else in that remote place to testify on his behalf, was it his fault? In the end, he had even gone so far as to swear vicious oaths. His master believed him, and his close friends remained half-doubtful, but the masses refused to believe him. The endless public outcry of the entire world refused to believe him. As time marched on, not only did the scandal fail to die down, but it grew increasingly rampant and explosive.

Even if beaten to death, Wang Menglong would never believe there was no one secretly manipulating things behind the scenes, but who on earth could it be? Before Wang Menglong could even lock onto a suspect, the sect's disciplinary verdict regarding him was handed down... Amidst this extremely tense situation, in order to preserve the pristine reputation of the Saber Valley, Comrade Wang Menglong was to be subjected to the following punishments: First, his status as a core disciple was temporarily revoked. Second, he was required to perform a thousand good deeds to restore the sect's honor. Third, he was forbidden from returning to the sect for a full century.

Amidst profound agony and merciless mockery, Wang Menglong had departed. He had no choice but to leave, while the disciplinary elder in his black robe coldly glared at him. Wang Menglong could only look up to the heavens and sigh, knowing full well that no one would ever care.

A person always grows and undergoes metamorphosis through suffering. Wang Menglong carefully reminisced about his social circle—those friends, those enemies... Without a doubt, someone had been framing him. Just who could it be? Yet try as he might, he simply could not figure it out. Still, this did little to stop him from cursing aloud the entire way... Meanwhile, the mastermind behind the scenes, Chen Kaiyuan, sneezed heavily twice and remained entirely unaffected.

Having suffered deeply and reflected upon his mistakes, Wang Menglong concluded that his social skills were simply too abysmal, which was why he had been framed and why no one believed him. Thus, his entire worldview became utterly twisted...