"Fine," Mu Chen said, his voice reaching every corner of the hillside square with a terrifyingly calm resonance. "Anyway, it would not take much time."
Zhao Gang's expression shifted, his initial anger blooming into a heightened state of arrogance. He lifted his chin a fraction higher, a smirk playing across his lips as he adjusted his stance.
"Well, it looks like you at least have some awareness of your situation," Zhao Gang said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Don't worry too much. Since you are a new disciple, and I am technically your senior brother, I will go easy on you. I wouldn't want to break the sect's newest 'prodigy' on his very first day."
A few paces behind Mu Chen, Shen Xi stood with Nibi cradled in her arms. The golden cat, who had been lazily watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight, looked at Zhao Gang and blinked in genuine confusion.
Shen Xi shared the sentiment, her eyes narrowing as she observed the senior disciple. It was as if they were watching a man completely engrossed in his own delusions.
"You talk a lot," Mu Chen remarked.
"Arrogant brat!" Zhao Gang's face flushed a deep crimson. "Let me show you the true, staggering difference between the outer sect and inner sect!"
Zhao Gang erupted. His Spiritual Qi surged outward, coiling around his frame like a serpent forged from a solidified storm. The sheer pressure of his peak mid-Nascent Soul cultivation was a physical weight, causing the surrounding black-belt disciples and the newly arrived recruits to grow pale.
For those who had only known the diluted energy of the outer mountains, this was a revelation. It was the ability to compress spiritual energy until it hummed with the resonance of a thousand foundations—a density that turned breath into lead.
Zhao Gang's technique unfolded. The air warped and shimmered as a massive, tiger-shaped manifestation took form, its body constructed from crackling dark green energy. This was the technique that had earned him his golden belt and solidified his status within Elder Lu Hong's lineage.
The phantom beast stretched across the arena, its claws shimmering with enough concentrated force to carve deep canyons into solid bedrock. Its roar was a physical shockwave, a heavy pressure that drove several of the weaker disciples to their knees.
"Even your techniques are noisy," Mu Chen said, his voice cutting through the roar of the manifestation without effort.
As the gargantuan tiger lunged toward him, its jaws wide enough to swallow him whole, Mu Chen simply extended his hand. He met the apex of the phantom's charge with his open palm.
The impact that everyone expected—a collision that should have cratered the hillside and sent shockwaves to flatten the nearby mountains—never came. Instead, the world seemed to experience a singular point of absolute silence.
"What?"
Zhao Gang's eyes widened as his ultimate technique, refined across years of sect resources and blood-sweat cultivation, simply flattened against Mu Chen's palm. It looked like warm, malleable clay being pressed against an unyielding slab of mountain stone. There was no explosion. No devastation. The energy simply agreed, in that instant, that it had never possessed momentum.
Zhao Gang stood stunned. By the time he realized it, Mu Chen was already in front of him. Whether Mu Chen had crossed the distance between them — or whether the distance had simply ceased to exist — was something he would never understand.
Mu Chen flipped his hand with the casual indifference of someone brushing a stray thread from their sleeve. It was a simple backhand, a motion that looked as if it lacked all power. It connected with Zhao Gang's chest with the dry, unsettling sound of a withered leaf being crumpled in a fist.
Crack
Zhao Gang's spiritual Qi defenses, shattered in sequence like a row of ceramic cups being dropped from a high shelf. His ribs, reinforced by expensive, sect-forged pills, cracked with the sharp, clean snap of dry wood under a sudden weight.
Puff.
A spray of blood exploded from his mouth in a perfect, crimson arc. His body transformed into a blurred streak of gold and crimson, hurtling backward through the air, toward the platform where Elder Lu Hong sat.
Elder Lu Hong watched the incoming projectile of his own disciple with a deepening frown. As Zhao Gang's limp form reached the edge of the platform, the elder didn't move to catch him.
Instead, he flicked his sleeve with an indifferent motion. A faint surge of Source Qi erupted, pushing the battered Zhao Gang aside so that he crashed into the stone tiles several meters away, rather than staining the elder's futon.
Lu Hong's expression was dark. He realized then that Mu Chen's victory over Lu Feng in the outer mountains had not been a fluke of luck or a moment of temporary weakness.
The silence that followed the crash was heavy and suffocating.
Mu Chen stood in the center of the square, looking slightly annoyed. He sighed as he thought—If that guy had just fought from the beginning instead of yapping for so long, I would have been in our residence by now.
Shen Xi couldn't help but let out a soft giggle at Mu Chen's expression. In her arms, Nibi let out a long, theatrical yawn, her tiny eyes flickering with a bored light as she settled back into the silk of Shen Xi's robes.
"I'd heard for a while that the winner of the Mountain Selection Ceremony possessed great physical and spiritual power," Elder Shen Xiao said, his voice breaking the silence. His face, usually a mask of stoic authority, showed a rare hint of genuine surprise. "But I truly didn't expect him to be quite so formidable."
Mu Chen looked at Shen Xiao. He sensed a certain level of peace in the man, a lack of the frantic, grasping ambition that plagued Lu Hong.
"I will be under your peak," Mu Chen said, offering a simple acknowledgment.
"Since you have made your choice, you are officially a disciple of my lineage from this moment forward," Shen Xiao replied, a small, satisfied smile appearing on his serious face.
He reached into his sleeve and produced a golden belt, tossing it toward Mu Chen. The belt was not just a mark of rank; it was intricately engraved with runes designed to aid in the gathering of spiritual energy during cultivation.
"Elder Lu," Shen Xiao said, turning his attention to his colleague on the platform. "I believe we should return to our discussion now regarding the ownership of the last Purple Origin Cave."
"Oh?" Lu Hong's voice was a mocking sneer. "Old man Shen, it seems you truly value this new talent. You even want to grant him the Purple Origin Cave?"
"Do you truly think Mu Chen is not capable of holding it?" Shen Xiao countered, his voice steady. "If you have a doubt, you can find someone to challenge him directly. If there is a single Gold Belt disciple in your lineage who can defeat Mu Chen, I will surrender the claim to that cave without a moment's hesitation."
The monstrous talent Mu Chen had just displayed had clearly instilled a new level of confidence in Shen Xiao. He was willing to gamble. The disciples of the purple belt had their own Purple Origin Cave, so they did not participate in this type of fighting.
Elder Lu Hong hesitated. His eyes flickered toward the broken form of Zhao Gang and then back to the other Gold Belt disciples standing behind him. He knew his lineage well, and he knew that among them, there weren't many who could realistically hope to defeat the youth standing in the square.
If he allowed another of his disciples to be humiliated so publicly, the ridicule he would face within the sect would be unbearable.
"Master Shen, let us go!" one of the Gold Belt disciples behind Lu Hong shouted, his face twisted with indignation. "He is just a new disciple! Just because he defeated Zhao Gang, he thinks he can walk over the senior members?!"
Several others joined in, their voices rising in a chorus of resentment. The Purple Origin Cave was the highest-ranking residence. Its internal springs continuously emanated a stream of the purest Spiritual Qi, a resource that provided an incredible boost to cultivation speed. To see it handed over to a newcomer was a bitter pill that no veteran wanted to swallow.
"Very well," Lu Hong said, his voice dropping into an indifferent, cold tone. He realized the risk of the situation. If he pushed for a fight and his disciples lost again, it would be he, the Elder, who would be ultimately humiliated.
"Since that is your intention, Elder Shen, I will give you this face. This Purple Origin Cave will be given to this boy," Lu Hong declared.
He spoke as if he were granting a great favor, attempting to mask his retreat with a veneer of elder wisdom. In his mind, he had already decided that Mu Chen was an exceptional outlier—perhaps only a purple-belt disciple could truly stand against him. To continue the fight now was to chase a diminishing return.
"Thank you very much, old man Lu," Shen Xiao said, nodding. His expression remained unchanged, but inside, he was feeling much more pleased.
Give me face? Did he really think I, Shen Xiao didn't know that he didn't trust the Gold Belt disciples of his lineage?
Lu Hong didn't wait to exchange further pleasantries. He stood up and left the platform with a sharp flick of his sleeve, his followers trailing behind him in a cloud of suppressed anger.
Many of the remaining Golden Belt disciples watched Mu Chen with eyes full of resentment. They couldn't understand why Elder Lu had allowed the challenge to end. In their minds, they were also Gold Belt disciples; if Mu Chen could have a Purple Origin Cave simply by defeating Zhao Gang, then why couldn't they?
Zhao Gang, who was still being tended to by a few younger disciples, felt a sudden chill run down his spine. What? Why don't you ask me my opinion, I want to fight or not?
"Mu Chen," Shen Xiao said, drawing a token from his robe. The token was carved from a deep, translucent purple jade. "This is the token for the Purple Origin Cave. From today onward, that residence is yours."
"Thank you, Master Shen," Mu Chen said, accepting the token with a polite nod.