The backlash was swift and subtle. The day after his confrontation with Zhang Li, Lin Feng went to the Assignment Hall, a bustling building where outer disciples could take on tasks for contribution points. The points were essential, the only real currency for purchasing better techniques, weapons, and resources from the sect.
The hall was filled with a low murmur of conversation and the scent of ink and dust. A large jade board dominated one wall, covered in glowing script listing available missions. Lin Feng scanned them, his analytical mind categorizing the risk-reward ratios.
- Gather 20 Silverleaf Herbs from the Sect's Eastern Gardens: 5 Points.
- Clean the Beast Stables for one week: 10 Points.
- Escort a Supply Cart to the Outer City: 15 Points. (Risk: Low)
- Hunt 3 Shadow-Weasel Pelts from the Whispering Woods: 25 Points. (Risk: Medium)
He noted a mission to gather a specific root from the Whispering Woods. It was close to where he'd fought the boar. The reward was 20 points. A decent, manageable risk.
He approached the bored-looking disciple behind the counter. "I would like to take Mission 47, the Whispering Root gathering."
The disciple, a pimply youth with a superior air, didn't even look at him. "Taken."
"Taken? It's right there on the board."
"It's taken," the disciple repeated, his tone final.
Frowning, Lin Feng pointed to another. "Fine. Mission 52, the Shadow-Weasel pelts."
"Also taken."
He tried three more, each time for a mission that was clearly still listed as available. Each time, he was met with the same flat refusal. The other disciples in the line behind him began to mutter, casting sidelong glances his way. He was being blacklisted.
He saw the flicker of a smirk from a corner of the hall. One of Zhang Li's lackeys was leaning against a pillar, watching. The message was clear: Zhang Li's reach extended here. Lin Feng was to be starved of resources, isolated, and forced to either crawl back to his barracks and wither or come crawling to Zhang Li for mercy.
Anger, cold and sharp, coiled in his gut. This was more insidious than a direct fight. It was an economic siege.
He left the Assignment Hall, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He had 5 Low-Grade Spirit Stones from his System reward and 300 System Points. It was a reserve, but not an infinite one. He needed a steady income.
The atmosphere in the outer disciple quarters had also chilled. Where before he was ignored, now he was actively avoided. Disciples he didn't know would turn away as he passed. His meals in the communal hall were eaten in a bubble of silence. The social pressure was a tangible force, designed to grind down his spirit.
After two days of this, the walls of the sect felt like they were closing in. He needed to get out, to breathe air that wasn't thick with politics and silent condemnation.
"I'm going to the Outer City," he told a worried-looking Xiao Hai. "I need supplies." It was a flimsy excuse, but the boy just nodded, understanding the unspoken tension.
The Outer City sprawled at the foot of the Azure Cloud Sect's mountain, a chaotic, vibrant, and filthy tapestry of life that serviced the cultivators above. The air here was a mixture of roasting meat, exotic spices, unwashed bodies, and the faint, ever-present tang of Profound Energy from low-grade artifacts and talismans sold in the markets. It was a shock to the senses after the rarefied, if hostile, environment of the sect.
Lin Feng wandered through the crowded streets, his grey disciple robes earning him a modicum of respect and a wide berth from the commoners. He bought a simple meat bun from a street vendor, the greasy, savory taste a profound comfort. For a few minutes, he could almost pretend he was just a tourist in this strange world.
That's when he heard it. A cry, sharp and pained, cut short. It came from a narrow, grimy alley between two ramshackle buildings, the kind of place that screamed "trouble."
His first instinct, honed by a lifetime of urban living, was to keep walking. Not your business. Don't get involved.
But he was no longer just a man from Earth. He was a cultivator, however low-level. And he had just been fighting a different kind of battle against bullies.
Gritting his teeth, he slipped into the alley. The scene within was both depressingly familiar and uniquely brutal. Three thugs, their auras marking them as barely into Qi Condensation Level 1—dropouts or failed disciples—had cornered a slight figure. They were laughing, a cruel, mocking sound.
"Come on, blind girl, we know you have it. The spirit herb you picked for Old Man Feng. Hand it over, and we won't ruin that pretty little face."
The girl was pressed against a wet brick wall, her clothes simple and worn. Her head was bowed, but as one of the thugs reached for the small pouch at her waist, she looked up.
Lin Feng's breath caught.
Her eyes were the color of misted silver, beautiful and utterly sightless. Yet, there was no fear in them. Only a deep, weary resignation and a spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished. Her face was pale and delicate, but set in a stubborn line.
"I need it for medicine," she said, her voice quiet but clear, like a bell in the filth of the alley. "It is not for you."
"Medicine?" the lead thug guffawed. "What do you need medicine for? You're already broken!"
The other two laughed. The lead thug raised his hand, not to grab the pouch, but to strike her.
"Touch her," Lin Feng said, his voice low and cold, echoing in the confined space, "and I will break the arm you raised."
The thugs spun around. Seeing his disciple robes, their bravado faltered for a moment. Then the lead one sneered. "Sect brat. This isn't your concern. Piss off."
Lin Feng took a step forward, letting a trickle of his Qi Condensation Level 2 aura wash over them. It wasn't much, but to these street-level thugs, it felt like a tidal wave. Their eyes widened.
"I'm making it my concern," Lin Feng said. He didn't draw his dagger. He didn't assume a flashy stance. He just stood there, his gaze fixed on them, the memory of the Raging Boar's death in his eyes. "You have three seconds to disappear."
The lead thug looked from Lin Feng's face to his companions, his bravado crumbling under the weight of genuine power disparity. With a final, muttered curse, he spat on the ground. "This isn't over, sect brat."
They shoved past Lin Feng and scrambled out of the alley, their footsteps fading quickly.
Silence returned to the alley, broken only by the drip of water and the distant sounds of the city. The blind girl had not moved. Her misty silver eyes were turned in his direction, though he knew she couldn't see him.
"Thank you," she said softly. She didn't sound relieved, merely… acknowledging a change in circumstances.
"They're gone," Lin Feng said, his voice softening. "Are you alright?"
"I am unharmed," she said. She tilted her head, a faint frown on her face. "Your energy… it is sharp. Like a newly honed blade. But there is a dissonance in it. A conflict."
Lin Feng froze. She could sense his energy? And his state of mind? How?
"My name is Su Lian," she said, as if reading his confusion. "I may not see the world with my eyes, but I see its truths more clearly than most. You are from the sect, but you carry the stink of the city on you, and the weight of a recent battle on your soul. You are… out of place."
Her perception was unnerving. It cut through all pretense.
"I'm Lin Feng," he replied, stunned. "And… you're not wrong."
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. It transformed her face, making her seem both ancient and childlike. "The alley is no place for conversation. My master's clinic is nearby. Let me offer you tea. It is the least I can do for the man who prevented me from having to use my needles."
She gestured slightly, and Lin Feng saw that tucked between her fingers were three long, silver acupuncture needles, poised and ready. She hadn't been helpless. She had been prepared to fight.
Intrigued, humbled, and desperate for a connection that wasn't based on power or manipulation, Lin Feng nodded.
"Lead the way," he said.
As he followed her slender, confident form out of the alley, he felt the suffocating pressure of the sect begin to loosen its grip. He had come to the city to escape, and had instead found an anchor.