The square fell into silence so thick it seemed the world itself had stopped breathing.
High above, a figure floated in midair, his robes untouched by wind, as though the heavens themselves bore his weight. White hair cascaded down his shoulders, a long beard of the same hue framing a face etched with the calm lines of age. His eyes—deep as mountains, sharp as lightning—swept across the crowd below, pressing down with an invisible force that made even the air shudder.
"So," the old man's voice rolled, neither loud nor soft, yet it carried to every corner of the square. "What is happening here?"
It was not a question. It was judgment.
Below, disciples paled. Some dropped their gazes instantly, bowing so low their foreheads nearly touched the ground. Others trembled, struggling to keep their footing as that voice alone weighed on their shoulders like boulders. Not a soul dared speak.
There was not a single disciple in the sect who did not recognize him.
Elder Fang.
The Head of the Outer Sect. The one who governed the thousands of outer sect disciples with absolute authority. His word was law, his gaze sharper than blades.
To the younger disciples, he was a distant legend—a mountain too high to climb, a storm too dangerous to reach for. To the older disciples, he was a nightmare, a man whose punishments were remembered in whispers years later.
Wu Hao's expression cracked. For all his arrogance, for all his pride, his body stiffened like a child caught with his hand in the fire. His attendants fumbled into hurried bows, voices tumbling over one another in panicked greetings.
"Greetings, Elder Fang!"
"Disciple pays respects to Elder Fang!"
Only Li An did not move.
His face remained blank as his eyes lifted toward the sky, searching the inherited memories within him. A moment later, they surfaced with clarity.
Elder Fang. The Head of the Outer Sect. A man even inner sect disciples treated with deference. A man whose shadow stretched far across the sect.
Yet Li An's expression didn't change. While the others shook with reverence or fear, he simply watched, quiet and steady, as if measuring the old man the way a swordsman measures an unfamiliar blade.
Gasps rippled through the crowd when they noticed his stillness.
"He hasn't bowed—"
"Does he not know who Elder Fang is?!"
"He's… insane…"
Elder Fang's gaze finally settled on Li An.
The air seemed to freeze.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing in those ancient eyes. No anger, no approval, only the weight of a man who had lived too long and seen too much. But that silence alone pressed harder than Wu Hao's malice ever could.
Even Wu Hao, flushed with pride moments ago, felt his throat dry.
The square waited, every breath held.
"Li boy, it's been a long time."
Elder Fang's voice shifted like the sky clearing after a storm. Just moments ago, his tone had pressed on the crowd like thunder; now, it carried warmth, almost fondness. A faint smile curved his lips, completely at odds with the suffocating pressure that still lingered in the air.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Li An lifted his head, eyes calm, and cupped his fists respectfully. "Li An greets Uncle Fang."
The square shook with silence. Uncle Fang? Did they hear that correctly?
"Hahahahaha!" Elder Fang's booming laughter rolled across the courtyard, scattering the heavy air like wind through clouds. His gaze softened, his expression touched by pride. "That's my best student."
The disciples below looked as though their souls had been struck out of their bodies. Elder Fang—the head of the outer sect, a man who stood at the very peak of authority here—actually… acknowledged Li An like family?
"Ah, I'm sorry, Li boy," Elder Fang's smile faltered slightly, regret flickering in his eyes. "I heard about what happened last year."
"It's no worry, Uncle Fang," Li An replied evenly, voice steady, carrying neither shame nor despair. "I've not yet given up."
Elder Fang's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. He nodded once, firmly. "That's the spirit."
Then, his expression shifted. The genial smile remained on his lips, but the air around him changed—like a blade half-hidden in a sleeve suddenly flashing in the sun.
"So, Li boy," Elder Fang said slowly, his gaze sliding over the square like a knife drawn across silk, "tell me. What's happening here? I trust…" His eyes narrowed, and a ripple of killing intent bled into his aura, heavier and heavier, "…no one is making things difficult for our sect's hero?"
The last word cracked like thunder.
The pressure slammed down—not on the whole square, but focused, sharp as a spear, right on Wu Hao and his four attendants. Their knees buckled instantly. One attendant let out a strangled cry, barely choking it down before it escaped his throat. Another's face had already drained white, veins standing out at his temples as if his very body would burst under the weight.
Wu Hao's proud chin wavered. His teeth clenched so hard blood pooled in his mouth. He forced his back straight, but sweat poured down his spine, soaking his robes. His lungs burned with every breath, each word from Elder Fang pressing him closer to the ground.
The disciples watching didn't dare speak.
Whispers stirred in their throats but never left their lips.
Meanwhile, Li An remained still, calm beneath Elder Fang's pressure, as though the storm had nothing to do with him.
"Don't worry, Uncle Fang," Li An said lightly, his voice carrying across the hushed square. "They only wanted to… help me a bit."
The corner of Elder Fang's lips twitched. His eyes, however, locked onto Wu Hao with the force of a mountain pressing down. For a heartbeat, the pressure intensified, making Wu Hao's legs quake. Then, just as quickly, the old man's expression softened into a smile.
"Oh?" Elder Fang chuckled, though the sound was far from kind. "It seems I was mistaken."
The crowd shuddered. Everyone knew what that meant: Elder Fang was not mistaken. He was merely choosing to let it go—for Li An's sake.
"Li boy," Elder Fang said, his voice returning to warmth, "I'll be going. Don't cause too much trouble." His eyes glimmered with something only Li An could read—a faint encouragement, a promise that the sect had not forgotten him.
Then, like a streak of light, Elder Fang rose into the sky. His figure vanished beyond the jade gate, but his laughter lingered, rolling through the square like distant thunder.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. The disciples remained stiff, still stunned by what they had just witnessed. The pressure that had weighed them down was gone, yet their hearts continued to pound.
Wu Hao finally straightened, his body trembling with the effort. His attendants stumbled back, panting, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. Shame burned in Wu Hao's chest, hotter than fire. In front of the entire sect, his arrogance had been crushed under Elder Fang's single glance.
His gaze snapped toward Li An. His pride twisted into rage, his jaw tight as a blade. "Don't think this is over," he spat, his voice low but seething, dripping with venom.
Li An only smiled, calm as still water. His eyes glimmered faintly, a sharpness hidden behind serenity. "I hope not," he replied softly.
That simple answer struck Wu Hao harder than any insult. It was not dismissal—it was a challenge. A promise.
Around them, disciples exchanged uneasy glances. Some felt pity for Wu Hao, others awe for Li An. But one truth weighed on all of them: though crippled, Li An still stood taller.
The square slowly emptied after Elder Fang's departure, whispers trailing like echoes. Li An, however, did not linger. His steps carried him away, calm and unhurried, until the murmurs faded behind him.
For the first time since his return, he allowed himself to wander.
The main square of the sect was vast, built like a city within walls, and its market thrummed with life. Stalls lined the streets, overflowing with herbs that glowed faintly under the setting sun, weapons etched with flowing patterns, talismans that whispered faint qi fluctuations. Disciples haggled and laughed, voices mixing with the cries of merchants. The smell of roasting meats and spirit grains drifted through the air, rich and strange.
Li An's gaze lingered on everything. The curved blades forged from cold-iron ore, talisman papers that shimmered as if alive, gourds of pills that released medicinal fragrance even sealed. These were the things he had read of in stories back on Earth—but now, they were real, tangible, within reach.
He stopped at a food stall where skewers of beast meat sizzled over spiritual fire. The vendor dusted the meat with ground spirit herbs, and the aroma struck like lightning. Li An bit into one, savoring the taste—juicy, fragrant, layered with qi that trickled faintly into his body.
So this is spirit beast meat… no wonder cultivators can live for centuries.
From there he sampled everything: honeyed spirit fruits that glowed faintly in the dusk, bowls of steaming noodles made with grain that nourished the meridians, roasted seeds that cracked with sparks of fire qi. His stomach, unused to such richness, protested, but his heart brimmed with quiet joy.
Not far away, a small crowd had gathered. Spirit Beast Peak disciples stood proudly, each accompanied by a creature at their side: a fox with silver fur and three tails that swayed hypnotically, a hulking bear with stone-like skin, a serpent with eyes like burning coals. Children of the sect pointed and gasped; even older disciples couldn't help but watch with awe.
Li An's eyes lingered longest on the fox. It turned its head, as though sensing his gaze, and its golden pupils met his calmly. For an instant, Li An felt a ripple of spiritual pressure, delicate but vast—like a hint of something ancient gazing back.
He exhaled slowly, his lips curving faintly. Even the beasts here carry pride and dignity…
The sky shifted as the sun dipped low, dyeing the sect in hues of amber and crimson. Lanterns began to flicker alight along the streets, glowing softly against the stone paths. Realizing how much time had passed, Li An turned back toward Miscellaneous Peak.
The path was quiet. Cool evening wind brushed through pine trees, carrying the faint chirps of spirit insects. For once, there was no mockery, no hostility—only silence, only peace.
When he finally stepped into his small courtyard, a strange warmth settled in his chest. This place was humble compared to the grand palaces of the inner sect, but it was his. Here, no one watched, no one whispered. Here, he could finally move forward.
Li An sat cross-legged in his room, exhaling once to calm his thoughts.
"System," he said softly. His voice cut through the silence like a ritual. "Show me the progress.