CHAPTER 13

  Morning mist still clung to the stone steps. Cold air descended from the mountain, leaving the Outer Sect corridor veiled in a thin haze like smoke. The sky had yet to brighten; only a few faint streaks of light slipped past the tiled roofs, falling upon a lone figure standing before the Elder of the Outer Sect’s chamber.

  Yang Feng had been waiting for some time.

  The wooden door creaked open.

  The elder had just risen. His robe was not yet properly arranged, traces of sleep still lingering in his expression. The moment he saw Yang Feng standing there, he frowned.

  “Hm?”

  “what is it?”

  Yang Feng cupped his hands. His voice was calm, though the seriousness beneath it was unmistakable.

  “Elder, if I am not mistaken, five days from now is the assessment for disciples eligible to enter the Inner Sect.”

  The elder nodded lazily.

  “Yes. So?”

  “Why are you asking? You have not even been in the sect for a year.”

  “Yes,” Yang Feng replied, “but I’ve already reached Foundation.”

  “…Hm?”

  The elder froze.

  His gaze locked instantly onto Yang Feng.

  Yang Feng’s aura was faint — so faint that, unless one stood close, it would be difficult to notice. Not sharp. Not oppressive. It carried no trace of pressure.

  Yet beneath that calm surface… there was an unusual steadiness, like a small lake that had only just settled after a passing breeze.

  That aura…

  There was no mistake.

  “You… broke through?”

  “In less than a year?”

  The elder’s eyes widened.

  “A prodigy?”

  “A miracle within the sect?”

  For the briefest instant, a rare glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes — but it lasted no more than half a breath.

  Then his brows furrowed deeply.

  “Wait.”

  “If you broke through… why was I not informed?”

  “You did not require a protector?”

  Yang Feng lowered his head.

  “I formed Mortal Foundation.”

  “…What?”

  The elder went still.

  His face drained pale, as though doused with cold water.

  The air between them seemed to grow heavier.

  “What did you say?”

  “…Mortal?”

  This time, his complexion shifted from pale to ashen.

  He drew in a sharp breath. His hand trembled slightly as he pointed at Yang Feng, unsure whether to scold him or to weep.

  “You…!”

  “You truly are a prodigy.”

  “A prodigy at ruining yourself.”

  The elder finished speaking, his chest rising and falling with restrained anger. It took him a long moment to steady himself. Even then, the way he looked at Yang Feng felt as though it could bore straight through him.

  “You. Inside.”

  He turned and pushed the door open, stepping in without waiting.

  Yang Feng followed in silence.

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  The room was sparse — a wooden desk, a few bamboo scrolls, and an incense burner long extinguished since the night before. The air was cold and still, quiet enough that their footsteps sounded unnaturally loud.

  The elder sat down heavily and braced both hands on the table, studying Yang Feng once more from head to toe.

  “I’ll ask you one last time,” he said. His voice had lost its anger. What remained was something closer to frustration… and worry.

  “Did you really break through to Mortal Foundation on your own?”

  He nodded without offering any excuse or explanation, and without the slightest trace of regret.

  The elder closed his eyes briefly, as if swallowing something bitter lodged in his throat.

  “…Fine.”

  He opened them again. His gaze was complicated now.

  “You chose this path. From this moment on, no one can turn you back.”

  He stood and pulled a worn ledger from a cabinet, setting it down on the table with a dull thud.

  “I’ll put your name on this year’s list. The Sect Master will review it.”

  “As for the outcome… that’s yours to bear.”

  The Sect Master, Wu Huai Zhang, was a well-known powerhouse within the Eastern Region.

  Though he led only a mid-tier sect, no one dared underestimate his strength. Early-Stage Nascent Soul — that realm alone was enough to secure his footing in any territory.

  Yet…

  Contrary to what one might imagine of a dignified sect leader handling grand affairs day after day, Wu Huai Zhang was an exceedingly unhurried man.

  He rarely left the Sect Master Hall.

  He rarely interfered directly in sect matters.

  Not because he was idle.

  But because… his lifespan was long.

  In his youth, he had fought, competed, and risked his life beyond the Eastern Region.

  Only after ascending to the position of Sect Master did he come to understand a simple truth:

  Having nothing to do… was also a form of cultivation.

  The Sect Master Hall stood atop the highest peak, the very center of the entire sect.

  From there, the five inner peaks stretched outward like five unsheathed blades, while the Outer Sect lay lower still, veiled in morning mist.

  The wind at the summit was always sharp, like the edge of a sword.

  As it swept along the stone corridors, it formed thin, lingering sounds, faint as the hum of steel.

  Behind the hall lay a small garden.

  A few ancient pines.

  A clear pond.

  And at the bottom of that pond, a small flood dragon lay coiled in lazy slumber.

  The place was so quiet that one could hear droplets of water falling from the eaves into the pond.

  On ordinary days, he preferred to spend his time there — watching flowers bloom, feeding the flood dragon, and setting out a chessboard for tea with the Grand Elder.

  Living slowly.

  Very slowly.

  Today was no different.

  Wu Huai Zhang was seated at his tea table, lifting his cup as a faint fragrance rose with the steam, when the Outer Sect Elder entered.

  “Hm?”

  Wu Huai Zhang glanced sideways.

  “Elder… you’re early today.”

  He gave a faint smile.

  “Let me guess… the list of recommended Inner Sect disciples?”

  “Yes, Sect Master.” The Outer Sect Elder bowed.

  “However… only four meet the qualifications this year.”

  “Oh?” Wu Huai Zhang looked mildly surprised.

  “So few?”

  “Among them… there is one special case.”

  “Special?”

  He set his teacup down.

  “Go on.”

  “A disciple who joined this year.”

  “Hm?” Wu Huai Zhang raised a brow.

  “A new disciple? That fast?”

  “He cultivated quite quickly and has already broken through.”

  “Oh?”

  Wu Huai Zhang chuckled.

  “Then isn’t that a once-in-a-thousand-years talent?”

  “Hahaha! Breaking through to Foundation in a single year? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “He must have encountered some great fortune. Otherwise, to break through within a year, he would have to breathe Spiritual Qi day and night, gather sufficient heavenly treasures, and even avoid lightning tribulation…”

  He slapped the table lightly.

  “Ha! A new genius for our sect!”

  Cold sweat began to bead on the Outer Sect Elder’s forehead.

  “Actually… he…”

  “Hm?” Wu Huai Zhang frowned.

  “Why are you hesitating?”

  The Outer Sect Elder bowed lower, his voice dropping.

  “He formed… Mortal Foundation.”

  The wind on the mountaintop continued to blow.

  The pond in the rear garden rippled faintly.

  Wu Huai Zhang had been lifting his teacup; his hand froze midair.

  A drop of tea fell onto the stone table.

  “…Mortal?”

  He repeated it softly.

  Not because he had misheard.

  But to confirm.

  The Outer Sect Elder swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  A silence stretched long enough for the wind to sound sharper than before.

  Wu Huai Zhang slowly set the teacup down.

  He did not slam it.

  Did not press it heavily.

  He simply set it down.

  “I was just about to boast to the Grand Elder,” he sighed.

  “One year to Foundation.”

  “I thought our sect was about to produce a true prodigy.”

  He lifted his gaze toward the Outer Sect Elder.

  “You’re certain he isn’t mistaken?”

  “No, Sect Master.”

  “No lightning tribulation?”

  “None at all.”

  “Not even the slightest phenomenon?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Wu Huai Zhang fell silent for another breath.

  Then he laughed.

  Not loudly.

  Just a dry sound.

  “The youth of today truly have courage.”

  “One year to Foundation… and he chose Mortal.”

  He shook his head, his gaze drifting back toward the pond behind him.

  The small flood dragon at the bottom turned lazily once.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “At least… he broke through.”

  The Outer Sect Elder blinked slightly.

  Wu Huai Zhang picked up the list and glanced over it.

  “Put him into the Inner Sect.”

  “Whichever peak is willing to accept him… is their matter.”

  A faint curve touched his lips.

  “I am the Sect Master.”

  “Not a matchmaker.”

  The Outer Sect Elder nearly failed to suppress a reaction.

  “Leave the list.”

  Wu Huai Zhang lifted his teacup again.

  “Sit. Have a cup with me.”

  “It’s rare to have something this interesting.”

  He looked toward the distant Outer Sect, where the morning mist had yet to disperse.

  “One year to Foundation…”

  “And choosing Mortal…”

  “I would like to see how far he can walk.”

  When the Outer Sect Elder withdrew, the garden returned to stillness.

  The morning wind passed through the pines, carrying the lingering chill of the night. The pond lay clear and calm, disturbed only by the occasional ripple.

  Wu Huai Zhang sat alone at the tea table.

  He flipped the list open once more.

  His finger stopped at that name.

  Yang Feng.

  He said nothing.

  He simply looked at it for another moment.

  Beneath the surface of the pond, the small flood dragon shifted slightly. Its long body curved gently through the water, so docile it seemed almost harmless. It surfaced briefly, drew in a mouthful of air, then sank again.

  The water soon returned to perfect stillness.

  Wu Huai Zhang set the list down.

  “Raised in a small pond…” he murmured, his eyes following the fading ripples.

  “Whether the water is deep or shallow… depends on what lies beneath.”

  He lifted his teacup and took a sip.

  “Let him try.”

  The wind passed once more, and the surface of the pond showed no trace of the flood dragon—only still water.

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