Chapter 8
1270words
More than thirty disciples had gathered at the sect square, their whispered conversations buzzing like flies in stagnant air. The majority were late-stage and peak Rank 1 cultivators. The absence of middle-stage disciples was telling—weaklings had no place in this blood-soaked contest.
"Senior Brother, you’re finally here! Does this mean you’ve broken through to Rank 1 late stage?" Xiao Ge asked eagerly, his voice trembling with admiration.
Yanwei smiled faintly, the perfect picture of a humble yet ambitious disciple. “That’s right, Junior Brother. Finally, I can step into the secret realm with my head held high. Who knows? Senior Sister Yan might even notice me.” His words carried a subtle mix of self-deprecation and confidence—enough to sound genuine, but not enough to provoke envy.
Before Xiao Ge could respond, a sharp, mocking voice sliced through the air.
“You? Be noticed by Senior Sister Yan?” A handsome young man emerged from the crowd, his disdainful gaze locking onto Yanwei. “Do you even deserve to speak her name? Who do you think you are?”
The crowd stirred. Whispers spread like wildfire.
“Isn’t that Jiang Yu?” one disciple muttered, their tone a mix of awe and envy.
“The sect leader’s true disciple!” another added breathlessly.
“I heard he’s been in seclusion to break through to Rank 1 peak stage,” said a burly cultivator, his voice dripping with jealousy. “Look at his aura—he really did it.”
A young woman giggled nervously. “He’s so handsome…” she murmured, her cheeks tinged pink.
Yanwei tilted his head, his expression a carefully crafted blend of confusion and fear. “?? Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, as though overwhelmed by Jiang Yu’s oppressive presence.
Jiang Yu sneered, his voice laced with killing intent. “You don’t even know who I am? I’m Jiang Yu, the sect leader’s true disciple. You dared to make trouble for me despite not knowing who i am?” His aura flared, suffocating the space around him. “You’re either the most arrogant fool in the sect… or the most suicidal.”
The crowd erupted into a storm of murmurs.
“He’s done for. Offending Jiang Yu? What a joke.”
“That’s Wu Shang, right? Senior Sister Yan’s little lapdog. I heard he doesn’t even have a background.”
“A loner like him? He might as well dig his own grave.”
Some disciples sneered openly, others shook their heads in feigned pity. But beneath the surface, their true feelings were laid bare.
This was human nature at its most raw.
For the onlookers, Wu Shang’s misfortune was a mirror reflecting their own insecurities. They clung to the belief that his failure stemmed from some inherent flaw—arrogance, stupidity, or bad luck. Not like me, they thought. I’m smarter. I’m careful. I would never make such a mistake.
It was a fragile, fleeting superiority, born from the desire to validate their own mediocrity.
But there was another, simpler truth: Wu Shang was alone. In a world where alliances were shields and connections were lifelines, a loner was easy prey. His downfall was not just entertainment—it was a reminder to everyone watching of the price of standing alone.
The disciples whispered, laughed, and sneered, their judgments piling onto the image of a desperate fool. Yanwei’s hands trembled, his head bowed slightly, as though crushed beneath Jiang Yu’s aura.
They saw what they wanted to see.
What escaped their notice was the glint of calculation in his lowered eyes, the subtle control in his quivering fingers before they settled behind his back.
Weakness is a mask they’ll never question, Yanwei thought, his expression betraying nothing. The dead don’t speak, but the living scream loud enough to reveal everything.
Before Yanwei could respond, a voice rang out, silencing the crowd. “Enough playing around! Prepare yourselves for the secret realm. The only advice I have for you is this: do not trust anyone, not even your sect brothers.”
The speaker was an old man with flowing white hair, his peaceful expression masking an undeniable authority—Elder Xin. His presence alone commanded respect, and every word he spoke was like a decree carved into stone.
The disciples froze, then gasped in unison. For many, this was their first time seeing an elder. Excitement flickered in their eyes. A single piece of advice from an elder could be the difference between survival and death in the secret realm.
Jiang Yu stood straighter, his usual arrogance replaced by a rare display of admiration. He knew who this man was: Elder Xin, the hero who had once saved thousands of mortals, forcing two demonic monks to retreat at great personal cost.
Elder Xin’s gaze swept over the gathered disciples, sharp and penetrating. “Board the boat. Show the other sects that our sect reigns supreme!” His booming voice sent shivers through the crowd.
Cheers erupted. “Victory belongs to us!” the disciples roared, their confidence filling the air.
Elder Xin allowed a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on Yanwei and Jiang Yu. His gaze was inscrutable before he turned and stepped onto the massive flying boat.
Xiao Ge didn’t even manage to speak, his eyes fixed on Yanwei with concern. Loyal to him as an older brother, he knew that if Yanwei fell, his life would be miserable. Xiao Ge owed Yanwei his life after a past incident that still haunted him.
The disciples followed, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and bloodlust. More than a hundred boarded, their collective killing intent so thick it seemed to weigh the very air. A mortal in their midst wouldn’t have lasted a second.
As the boat hummed with power, preparing to lift off, Jiang Yu stepped into Yanwei’s path. His voice was low, venom dripping from every word. “Just you wait. If you fall into my hands, I’ll make you regret ever being born.”
Yanwei didn’t respond. His hands trembled slightly, his gaze lowered, and his movements hesitant, betraying an underlying fear he could not fully suppress.
The disciples who noticed this smirked, whispering to each other. To them, it was clear: “Wu Shang has already lost.”
“Young Master Jiang, Elder Xin is calling you,” a guy said, bowing respectfully. He shot a final look at Yanwei, full of ridicule.
Jiang Yu glanced at Yanwei for a moment before turning away, following the guy. Yanwei’s expression remained dull, though the murmurs of his fellow disciples—some openly ridiculing him, others merely sneering—did nothing to faze him. He stood still, lost in thought.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he mused inwardly. “Why is a Rank 3 elder calling Jiang Yu? Is it for safety? A hidden trump card? Or perhaps a mission?” The sight of Jiang Yu’s eyes, burning with a mix of excitement and nervousness, only deepened his confusion.
Yanwei paused, a thought creeping into his mind. “No, if there’s something hidden in that secret realm, the geniuses from the other sects would already know and i would definitely be able to see it in their eyes.” He shook his head, determined to focus on the task at hand, unwilling to let his thoughts unravel further. “I can't afford to get distracted.”
The ridicule of the disciples mattered little to him. He had been called a demon by billions, mocked, and hated for longer than most could imagine. If he lost control of his emotions over the taunts of these Rank 1 children, he’d deserve nothing less than to smash his head into a wall and end it.
