Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Winds Rise

Lan Yingxing spoke very slowly, his expression calm and indifferent. It was clear that these words must have come from the senior disciple of the Hall of Clear Law. Yet, the words themselves were somewhat overbearing. The meaning behind Fang Hen’s words was simply, “My fists are stronger, so I’m giving you a way out.” Shen Yu found this distasteful—he disliked the man before him, and even the uniform azure robes of the Hall of Clear Law failed to win his favor.

After a few opening remarks, Su Mo had returned to his ancient tome, reading with keen interest. Lan Yingxing spoke again, “Junior Brother Shen, what do you say?” Shen Yu ignored him, gazing off into the distance, lost in the ever-changing clouds.

Lan Yingxing’s brow furrowed in displeasure. He pressed, his voice growing heavier, “Junior Brother Shen?”

Shen Yu glanced at him, answering coolly, “Not interested.”

The atmosphere grew instantly colder, and Lan Yingxing’s expression darkened further. “It seems you care nothing for the reputation of the Hall of Clear Law. Or perhaps, you think you’re quite the fighter.” Lan Yingxing’s tone was icy. “At this Four Halls Contest, I believe someone will surpass you.”

The youth simply shook his head, paid no further heed, and returned to his room. He truly did not understand why others were so convinced he would participate in this Four Halls Contest. He might be bored, but not so bored as to join such a competition.

Lan Yingxing watched the young man’s departing figure, right hand clenching the measuring rod at his side. After a long breath, he muttered, “In the end, you’ll have to come.” With that, he strode away, leaving only Su Mo quietly reading in the courtyard.

...

The Hall of Clear Law was the most austere place in the Daoist Sect, perched atop a precipitous western cliff. Every building adhered to a particular design, and every hundred feet stood a sentinel in azure robes. Lan Yingxing passed through layers of pavilions, finally arriving at the grand hall atop the mountain. Before the hall stood two stone qilin creatures, each over twice the height of a man, exuding majesty and righteous power.

Lan Yingxing entered the hall directly, bowing respectfully to the imposing figure ahead. “Senior Brother, Shen Yu refused.”

Few in the Hall of Clear Law could command such deference from its seventh disciple. One of those few now stood in the great hall. The tall figure turned, revealing a square and severe face.

Fang Hen of the Hall of Clear Law, fifteenth on the Lingyun Register.

“You should not have gone,” the man’s voice was as deep and cold as ice. “A man so proud would never accept.”

Lan Yingxing replied, “Senior Brother Chen specifically told us not to involve the Hall of Clear Law. He said this was his matter alone.”

Fang Hen replied, “Junior Brother Chen is proud too. How could he bear to use the Hall’s name for his own ends? Yet, his status represents the Law Enforcement Pavilion. If he loses face, so too do the Pavilion and the Hall. That, I cannot allow.”

Lan Yingxing bowed slightly, probing, “It seems he truly does not intend to participate in the Four Halls Contest.”

Fang Hen was silent for a while, then said, “You know what you must do.”

Lan Yingxing nodded and bowed. “I understand.”

...

Life on Flying Peak was as tranquil as ever. Shen Yu hadn’t given Lan Yingxing’s words a second thought; he spent his days reading and sleeping as usual. The only addition to his routine was practicing his fist technique.

Each morning at the edge of the waterfall, Shen Yu practiced slowly, each strike at a precise angle, as though drawing a circle in the air. In his hands, the technique brimmed with subtle transformations, every movement and stillness containing a trace of yin and yang.

Daoist Master Daofan came from afar, asking, “What fist technique is this?” Su Mo, who had arrived unnoticed, was amazed. “There’s no record of such a technique in the sect’s archives, nor in the three-story library at the academy below. It must be little brother’s own creation.”

If it had never been seen before, then that was that. Su Mo’s words were wildly bold, yet sounded perfectly natural. Even Daofan, who was on the verge of reaching the upper three realms, nodded in complete agreement without a hint of doubt.

After half an hour, Shen Yu finished his practice and approached Daofan.

Over the past year, Daofan seldom visited Flying Peak unless it concerned Shen Yu. Daofan said, “There’s something you should know.”

Shen Yu remained silent, waiting.

Daoist Fuchen did not hesitate, “Several more disciples from Emerald Bamboo Peak have entered the Path. One of them, a rather ordinary girl named Yang Liu, obtained a spiritual treasure—the Flowing Cloud Sword—on her first trip to Treasure Cliff. Though its quality is average, it’s still a rare find. Eventually, she was accepted as a disciple by the head of Sitting Forgetfulness Peak.”

Shen Yu’s expression remained calm; none of this surprised him. Since arriving at the Daoist Sect, he had only ruffled two heads and infused them with his primordial Dao intent. One girl was now the master’s junior at the Hall of True Crossing, while the other, though a bit slow, was not far behind.

Daofan studied Shen Yu’s indifferent face and chose his words with care. “But a few days ago, for reasons unknown, she quarreled with a disciple of Sitting Forgetfulness Peak. Her Flowing Cloud Sword was taken, and she was gravely injured. She’s not yet awakened.”

At this, Fuchen watched Shen Yu carefully, and Su Mo, too, gazed at the boy with curiosity.

Shen Yu asked, “Is something wrong?”

Daofan replied, “I heard at Emerald Bamboo Peak that you and Yang Liu are acquainted. I thought, well, I thought you might care.”

Shen Yu said, “A little.”

Su Mo asked, “Care about what?”

Shen Yu answered evenly, “I care that this girl is still so foolish, so naive, and still so weak.”

Daofan and Su Mo exchanged glances. “Is that all?”

Shen Yu replied earnestly, “That’s all.”

...

A brief silence passed.

Su Mo couldn’t help but laugh—little brother’s temperament hadn’t changed at all. Even Fuchen took a long moment to recover.

Shen Yu’s expression remained serene. He said to Daofan, “I suppose more must have happened after that.”

Daofan nodded. “Yes. Afterwards, Jiang Shaoqiu from the Hall of Elaboration heard about it and went up Sitting Forgetfulness Peak alone to seek justice for Yang Liu.”

Shen Yu remarked, “He’s weak, too.”

“He is, but then others joined him.” Daofan recalled the scene with emotion. “Then Shang…Sister Shang from the Hall of True Crossing brought Ye Zhiqiu from the Hall of Clear Law with her. The three of them fought with disciples from Sitting Forgetfulness Peak and nearly demolished the main hall.”

Shen Yu said nothing.

After a pause, Daofan continued, “The head of Sitting Forgetfulness Peak, Zhang Zhi, was furious. With a single blow, he sent the three tumbling down the mountain, all badly hurt.”

Shen Yu frowned slightly. The head of Sitting Forgetfulness Peak was already at the Spirit Roaming stage—perhaps even among the upper three realms. Shang Yingluo might be outrageously gifted, but the difference in cultivation was too vast.

But why would such a powerful elder lower himself to attack a few entry-level fourth generation disciples?

In matters concerning low-ranked disciples, he needn’t have intervened at all.

Shen Yu asked, “Did they retrieve the Flowing Cloud Sword?”

Daofan glanced at Su Mo, then replied, “They did, but most of its spiritual energy had dissipated; its quality is much diminished.”

Over the past three years, Shen Yu had seldom interacted with others in the sect, yet this incident had drawn in the few people he actually knew.

Some things were now obvious.

Daoist Daofan had told Shen Yu this, simply to see what action the youth might take. There was a trace of expectation on the master’s gaunt face, and Su Mo’s gentle eyes held a hint of amusement.

But the boy did not look at either of them. He simply watched the slow dance of clouds across the sky.