The news of Lin Ming’s defeat spread through the outer estate faster than a wildfire.
But it wasn’t the gossip that mattered—it was the silence.
Servants and lower disciples now avoided Ye Chen’s gaze whenever he walked the stone paths.
They didn’t whisper behind his back anymore.
They just stepped aside, their eyes filled with a mix of suspicion and palpable fear.
In the world of cultivation, strength was the only law that demanded absolute respect.
Ye Chen, however, knew his current strength was barely a ripple in the ocean.
The First Layer of the Qi Condensation realm allowed him to crush minor bullies, but the true geniuses of the Lin Clan’s inner sect were already approaching the Fifth and Sixth Layers.
To face them—and to eventually leave this minor clan behind to hunt his true enemies—he needed a lethal edge.
His destination was the Martial Pavilion—a towering, three-story pagoda made of dark pine that housed the clan’s accumulations of techniques.
As an outer disciple, Ye Chen only had the right to enter the first floor once a month.
The elder guarding the entrance was a blind, withered old man named Lin Mo.
He sat motionless on a bamboo mat, his breath so faint he looked like a carved statue.
Ye Chen didn’t speak.
He placed his identity token on the low table beside the old man and bowed slightly—a habit ingrained from his past life as a Sovereign.
The blind elder’s ears twitched.
Without opening his milky-white eyes, he waved a hand.
“First floor only, boy,” Lin Mo whispered, his voice raspy like dry leaves.
“You have two hours. Do not attempt to sneak onto the second floor unless you wish to have your meridians shattered by the protective formations.”
“Thank you, Elder,” Ye Chen murmured.
He picked up his token and stepped past the heavy bead curtains.
The interior of the Martial Pavilion smelled heavily of aged parchment, dried ink, and sandalwood incense.
Dozens of wooden shelves stretched across the floor, stacked with thousands of jade slips and leather-bound books. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Outer disciples were scattered around, desperately memorizing stances and movements.
Ye Chen walked right past them.
He ignored the Iron Fist Technique, the Swift Wind Footwork, and the Glinting Sword Art.
To his eyes, these techniques were crude, flawed approximations of true martial arts, written by ancestors who barely understood the flow of spiritual energy.
Instead, he walked toward the furthest, darkest corner of the pavilion—the section reserved for damaged, incomplete, or rejected manuals.
The techniques the clan had deemed too dangerous, too difficult, or simply broken.
His fingers brushed against the spine of an old, dust-covered book made of blackened beast hide.
The moment his skin touched the material, the silver Qi within his dantian throbbed violently, as if reacting to a long-lost friend.
Ye Chen blew the thick dust off the cover, revealing three faded characters written in a sharp, jagged script:
Shadow-Sunder Slash.
According to the notes scribbled on the inside cover by a clan elder fifty years ago, this was a fragment of a high-grade Earth-rank sword technique found in a forgotten rogue cultivator’s tomb.
The manual was deemed useless because it required the user to flow their Qi backward through their secondary meridians—a process that had crippled three young geniuses who tried to master it.
A thin, cold smile touched Ye Chen’s lips.
Backward flow?
Fools.
This isn’t a broken technique; it’s an Eclipse-style art.
In his past life, the Azure Cloud Sovereign had studied the laws of light and shadow.
He knew that certain legendary techniques required a reverse circulation to create a vacuum of energy, allowing the sword to strike without sound, wind, or warning.
A normal cultivator’s meridians would snap under the pressure.
But his newly repaired roots, strengthened by the Nine Heavens Monarch Scripture, could handle it with ease.
“Hey, look what the waste is holding.”
A sharp, condescending voice shattered the silence.
Ye Chen didn’t turn around immediately.
Standing a few feet away was Lin Hu, a tall, broad-shouldered disciple with a long scar running down his left jawline.
He was nineteen years old, possessing a cultivation at the Second Layer of the Qi Condensation realm.
He was also the trusted enforcer of Lin Hao—the young master Ye Chen had humiliated in the outer treasury just yesterday.
“Young Master Lin Hao told me to look out for you, Ye Chen,” Lin Hu sneered, stepping closer.
His heavy boots thudded against the floorboards.
“He said you gave him a piece of paper with strange words, and then you stole a valuable herb. He was too shocked to kill you then, but he sent me to retrieve that herb and break both of your arms.”
The disciples nearby stopped reading.
Their eyes lit up with excitement as they gathered around to watch the impending entertainment.
Ye Chen patted the manual tucked safely against his chest.
His eyes fixed onto Lin Hu with an indifferent calmness that made the big man feel incredibly uncomfortable.
“Lin Hao should have tested the chant before sending his dog to bark,” Ye Chen said softly, his voice carrying an icy edge.
“But tell me, Lin Hu, do you really want to strike me inside the Martial Pavilion? The guard elder will execute you before your foot leaves the ground.”
“I don’t need to strike you here, trash,” Lin Hu hissed, leaning in close.
“The monthly outer arena trials begin tomorrow morning. Every disciple must fight to maintain their rations. I will personally ensure your name is drawn against mine.”
He spat on the floor near Ye Chen’s boots, turned around, and swaggered away, his laughter echoing through the shelves.
Ye Chen remained standing in the shadow of the bookcase, his expression completely unreadable.
He didn’t feel fear.
He felt a profound sense of boredom.
These petty schemes and minor characters were nothing but dust on his boots.
“Tomorrow morning,” Ye Chen whispered to himself.
A dark spark lit up in his eyes as he walked toward the exit to register the manual.
The arena would be the perfect place to show this clan that the tiger they tried to starve had finally grown its teeth.