The man nodded and said, "You'll need to put down fifteen hundred gold coins as a guarantee. We don't tolerate people wasting our time. Is that clear?"
Lin Shu inclined his head. He didn't trust them, but he could trust their desire to protect their reputation.
After a few minutes, a servant handed him a token—proof that the commission was officially registered.
"The disciples will be assigned as soon as possible," the man continued. "In the meantime, leave your residence details so we may inform you once the request is fulfilled."
Lin Shu gave the name of the room he was renting. Once the matter was settled, he left quietly and returned to his quarters to cultivate while he waited.
Meanwhile, inside the Stormbreak Sect branch, the mission hall bustled with activity. The hall itself was vast and opulent, filled with rows of boards covered in parchment. Disciples drifted between them, speaking in low voices. A steward entered carrying a new mission slip and pinned it to the great central board.
Almost immediately, a group gathered. Most dispersed just as quickly, shaking their heads.
"Senior brother, why not try this one? The pay's solid, isn't it?" a disciple asked.
"You idiot," the senior snapped. "That's a thunder eagle hunt. Taking that thing in its own terrain is suicide. You won't even find it on the ground—by the time you reach it, it'll already be done hunting. Which means your only chance is to ambush it at its nest. But the moment you try, it'll take to the skies, and you'll never keep up with its speed. Even if you somehow brought it down, look at the conditions: the body must be fully intact. That means either you're an assassin who can kill a peak-stage beast without it noticing, or you're strong enough to kill it midair and somehow catch the corpse without it being torn apart by the cliffs. The mountains there are hell to navigate. Forget it—we're not throwing our lives away."
The junior swallowed and nodded. Around them, other disciples wore the same look of regret, but no one dared claim the mission.
Then the hall grew tense.
Someone new walked in—a boy who looked no older than fifteen or sixteen. His hair was long and brown, streaked with black. His robes weren't like the standard disciple garb; they were customized, with open slits at the shoulders. His expression was one of dull irritation as his eyes scanned the mission board.
"Why send me here, of all places?" he muttered under his breath. "I should be in the Far Lands. This is all thanks to those decrepit old bastards who call themselves elders and those spoiled rats."
Disciples instinctively stepped aside. Some were annoyed, others nervous.
"I hope he takes some mission and dies with those chicken wings of his," someone whispered.
His senior smacked him in the back of the head. "Shut your damned mouth! You want us both dead? If he hears you, we're finished."
Another junior froze, remembering who stood before them. "That's Shang Yufeng… isn't he supposed to be elsewhere?"
The name spread in murmurs. Shang Yufeng—an external disciple of the Stormbreak Sect. He wasn't an internal disciple, but he was powerful enough that his name was known across the sect's branches. Against the core disciples of the main headquarters he might have been nothing special, but among externals he was feared. And hated.
Yufeng had built his reputation by stealing missions, robbing kills, and beating anyone who dared resist him. He was ruthless, violent, and he loved it.
Shang Yufeng shoved a student aside with one hand, eyes narrowing on the cluster at the mission board. A crooked smile formed when he saw what they were staring at.
"Well, isn't this something," he muttered, plucking the slip from the board just as another hand reached for it.
"Hand over the mission, Yufeng. I was here first," a girl's voice cut in, sharp and steady.
Yufeng didn't even spare her a glance. He tucked the slip into his hand and turned, striding toward the mission office.
"I said hand it over."
This time she moved like lightning, stepping into his path, blade flashing free of its sheath. Yufeng arched a brow, unimpressed, and adjusted his stride. She lunged—steel darting for his ribs.
He sprang upward, his movement fluid, cloak billowing. She twisted mid-motion, blade redirecting to stab him from below—only for the seams of his clothes to split open as a massive wing burst free. Brown feathers streaked with black swept through the air. With a single beat, the gust shifted her balance, and Yufeng spun midair, his heel whipping down in a bicycle kick.
The girl crossed her blade, bracing herself. The impact rattled her arms, forcing her back a few steps, but she twisted with it, minimizing the blow. Her eyes narrowed, her stance sharpening.
Students all around leaned against pillars and walls, watching with interest but no surprise. Fights here were nothing new.
Yufeng landed lightly, a smile tugging at his lips, his wing spread wide. He surged forward, palm cutting through the air as if to strike. The girl snapped her blade up in defense—only for Yufeng to vanish from her line in the next heartbeat.
Her blade met nothing.
He was already past her, steps echoing lightly against the polished floor as he walked straight toward the mission office. She spun to follow but stopped midway, lips pressed tight.
Yufeng pushed open the door with his shoulder, mission slip in hand, his smirk never leaving. To everyone watching, there was no question who had won.
Shang Yufeng strolled out of the office, casually spinning the sealed mission slip between his fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. Duan Mei was already waiting, her eyes cold, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.
"Shameful thief," she spat, her voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the disciples still loitering nearby. "This is why you were punished and sent here. You have no honor and must learn it from us—but it seems you've only grown worse."
Shang Yufeng's grin widened as he tilted his head, his brown-and-black wing folding back into his clothes with a faint rustle. "Listen, Dun Dun—or whatever your clan calls itself—how about you piss off and leave me be? The rules are clear: if you couldn't stop me before I reached the office, the mission is mine. That's not shameful, that's just me being faster, sharper, and smarter."
He leaned closer, his voice carrying just enough to sting. "I am an upright disciple who honors his sect and abides by the rules. Unlike Duan bastards who drown in their own shitty pride."
Gasps and snickers rippled through the small crowd of students. Yufeng twirled the sealed slip between his fingers one last time before holding it up in front of her face, his smile turning mocking.
"Now," he said, flicking the paper lightly, "how about you play somewhere else? I have more important things to do."
Then, with deliberate ease, he brushed past her, whistling faintly as though her fury were nothing more than background noise.
Shang Yufeng's reputation in this branch was already carved deep into every disciple's mind, and none of it was flattering. He hadn't come here by choice—he'd been kicked out of another branch, punished for openly defying the orders of his superiors and while his offense wasn't grave his, but his uncaring and none regretful showed them that he didn't care about the mistake he made and most likely have not learned his lesson so they chose to punich him with a harshly and send him to this branch which is one of the most busy and strict branshes of the sect but of course shang Yufeng didn't stop and continued his dirty acts and now he learned how to use the rules in his favor and go to the extreme. The sect hadn't just sent him here in disgrace, they had also stripped him of resources and fined him so heavily that he was forced to claw his way back through missions.
But Yufeng was not the type to quietly submit. Instead, he made the rules of this branch his weapon. Missions here worked under one iron law: if you could not protect the treasure or opportunity you picked, then you didn't deserve it. The strongest always took the first bite. For someone like Yufeng, this was fertile ground.
He rarely bothered taking missions the "proper" way. Instead, he'd stalk students who had already done the work of selecting or preparing a promising task. When he found something worth his while, he'd swoop in, snatch it, and walk away without a shred of shame. To him, most of the disciples here weren't even half his level, so whatever they picked, he believed he could do better—and if they weren't strong enough to stop him, then what was the problem?
What truly infuriated people was that his abilities weren't mere arrogance. Yufeng had speed, reflexes, and a slippery cunning that made him a nightmare to deal with. He had stolen missions not just from mediocre disciples but from cultivators stronger than him. Every time they tried to corner him in rage, he somehow slipped away, wings flashing only for a heartbeat before vanishing again. Often, he left them not only empty-handed but missing something—a talisman, a pouch, a blade—plucked away in the chaos.
That was why Shang Yufeng was the most hated disciple in this branch. He wasn't the strongest, not even close, but he acted as if strength alone meant nothing when skill could twist the rules in his favor. To many, he was a shameless thief. To others, he was living proof of the sect's brutal philosophy. And to Shang Yufeng himself, he was just playing the game better than anyone else.