True "deference" is not about looking up at someone.
It is about standing level with them—
so that every act of giving becomes a contest of grace, not submission.
At noon, the Outer Sect Task Hall of Crimson Pavilion was packed with dust and murmurs.
Behind the long sandalwood desk, Steward Li's fingers stiffened around the jade slip in his hand.
He had sat here for thirty years.
He knew exactly what disciples returning from Blackwind Cavern were supposed to look like—broken, shaken, barely holding together.
But the group before him was… wrong.
A month ago, he himself had sent these low-born outer disciples into that filth-choked hell that had accumulated corruption for over a century. Back then, their eyes had darted nervously, their breaths shallow and weak—like lambs led to slaughter. Someone higher up had even hinted that this mission was meant to grind them down to the bone.
And yet—
Steward Li lifted his gaze and swept his eyes across the twenty-odd figures standing below.
Their clothes were tattered. Dust clung to their bodies. Some still bore scabs from wounds not yet healed.
All of that was expected.
What wasn't expected were their eyes.
Each pair was heavy, sunken, like stones resting at the bottom of a deep pool. The distance between them, the rhythm of their breathing—together, they vaguely formed the outline of a battle formation.
And at the front stood Jiang Muchen.
The young man wore a faded gray robe, the cuffs frayed, mud still clinging to his sleeves. Yet when Steward Li swept him with his early-stage Foundation Establishment divine sense, it felt like running into a wall—warm, steady, immovable.
Not powerful.
Just… anchored.
"Jiang Muchen," Steward Li cleared his throat. His voice echoed dryly through the hall.
"According to the task record, your team cleared seventy percent of the eastern sector of Blackwind Cavern and repaired twelve formation arrays—thirty percent above quota."
He paused, eyes locking onto Jiang Muchen.
"By regulation, double contribution points. Six thousand."
Even as he said it, the number felt absurd. Results like this meant either reckless sacrifice—or cheating.
But cheating in Blackwind Cavern?
"Reporting to Steward," Jiang Muchen stepped forward and bowed. His posture was respectful, but his back remained perfectly straight.
"The corrupted materials are unsuitable for the hall. All items have been placed outside. Please step out to verify."
Steward Li rose slowly, fingers tightening inside his sleeve.
Outside the hall, the open ground was neatly arranged.
Three bulging burlap sacks.
Two sealed wooden barrels.
Twelve formation arrays, cleaned and polished to a shine.
Steward Li swept them with his divine sense—and his heart jolted.
The crushed bone residue was refined to near impurity-free quality.
The toxic miasma extract exceeded standard concentration by thirty percent.
The worn runes on the formation arrays had been carefully refilled—the craftsmanship finer than that of the veteran rune masters maintained by the hall itself.
This wasn't the result of forced labor.
This was craftsmanship.
"Jiang Muchen," Steward Li turned back, his expression complicated.
"You did all this yourselves?"
"Yes," Jiang Muchen replied, then added calmly,
"It was thanks to the extra ten Cleansing Talismans and five Anti-Miasma Pills you provided. Without them, we could never have pushed into the deeper zones."
Steward Li froze.
He had never issued extra supplies.
And then he understood.
The boy was handing him a way out—publicly.
A reputation for 'caring for subordinates,' in exchange for a smooth resolution here and now.
Steward Li studied Jiang Muchen for a long moment. Then he laughed, a self-mocking sound.
"You've got a sharp mind," he said.
"Very well. I'll add another five hundred contribution points—and grant you three days of rest. No new tasks."
"Thank you, Steward!"
Twenty voices responded in perfect unison, shaking dust loose from the eaves.
As Steward Li turned back toward the hall, he paused at the threshold, speaking without looking back, his voice lowered.
"Be careful. Things… aren't peaceful lately."
Jiang Muchen's eyes sharpened.
"I understand."
Contribution points were distributed quickly.
Three hundred. Two hundred. One hundred fifty—assigned precisely according to effort and injury. Jiang Muchen himself took three hundred: just enough for a leader, not enough to appear greedy.
The group was about to disperse when noisy footsteps erupted outside the hall.
A dozen well-dressed inner and outer disciples poured in, led by Zhao Qing, his face twisted into a deliberately smug grin. A month ago, he'd suffered humiliation in the poor disciples' courtyard and spent weeks recovering. Today, he was clearly here to reclaim face.
"Well, if it isn't the heroes of Blackwind Cavern," Zhao Qing drawled, eyes raking over the group—lingering on the injured ones.
"Look at you, covered in mud. Anyone would think you crawled out of a mining pit."
Laughter burst from behind him.
Lu Hanshan's face darkened, his hand tightening around his greatsword.
Jiang Muchen reached out and pressed a hand to his shoulder.
Then he turned—and smiled.
"Senior Brother Zhao," Jiang Muchen stepped forward and produced a small porcelain vial.
"You look much healthier than last time. This is a bruise-dispersing powder I refined in Blackwind Cavern. It works wonders on old injuries. Your left shoulder—near the Tiānzōng acupoint—was hurt before, wasn't it? That meridian is complicated. If stagnation lingers, it could disrupt future cultivation."
He offered the vial as naturally as if offering tea.
Zhao Qing froze.
His followers stared, mouths half-open.
The laughter died in their throats.
Everyone watching held their breath.
Was Jiang Muchen insane?
Zhao Qing had come to provoke him—and he was… giving medicine?
Zhao Qing stared at the vial.
If he took it, he admitted his injury wasn't fully healed.
If he refused, Jiang Muchen's gesture was too complete—refusing would only make him look petty.
"No need to feel pressured," Jiang Muchen said gently, placing the vial on a nearby stone table.
"It'll stay here. Take it if you need it. We're fellow disciples—why cling to old grudges?"
He smiled once more, then turned and left with his group.
Zhao Qing remained rooted in place, face flushing from pale to green, as if slapped by an invisible hand.
Once they were clear of the hall, Zhao Tiezhu finally blurted out,
"Brother Jiang, why were you so nice to that bastard—"
"It wasn't for him," Jiang Muchen replied calmly.
"It was for everyone watching."
He kept walking.
"There were thirty or forty onlookers. They saw Zhao Qing provoke us. They saw me offer medicine. They saw him trapped—unable to accept or refuse. What do you think they'll say afterward?"
Zhou Xiaohuan's eyes lit up.
"They'll say Zhao Qing is narrow-minded—and that you repaid malice with grace!"
"More than that," Jiang Muchen smiled.
"They'll think this: the people who survived Blackwind Cavern didn't come back broken. Their spines are harder than ever. We even dare to 'show deference' to someone like Zhao Qing, one of Xiao Chen's lackeys."
"That tells them something," he said softly.
"It tells them we now have the capital to 'defer'—and take it back."
Understanding dawned on their faces.
When they returned to the poor disciples' courtyard, Wang Duobao was already waiting.
The fat man had slimmed down, but his eyes burned bright—sharp as a newly drawn blade.
"Brother Chen!" Wang Duobao rushed forward and wrapped him in a crushing hug, voice trembling.
"If you hadn't come back soon, I was going to storm Blackwind Cavern myself…"
Jiang Muchen patted his back and handed him a jade box.
"For you."
Inside lay a fist-sized mineral, glowing with earthy yellow light.
Earth-Origin Stone.
"From deep inside Blackwind Cavern," Jiang Muchen said.
"You travel a lot and your cultivation isn't strong yet. Shape it into a heart-guard and wear it day and night. It'll strengthen your body and steady your mind."
Wang Duobao's eyes reddened. He nodded hard.
Nearby, Zheng Xiaoqi stood quietly, his arm healing well. Jiang Muchen handed him a cloth bundle.
"Coagulation salve and flesh-regrowth powder. Apply on schedule—no scars."
Zheng Xiaoqi accepted it, nose stinging.
When the courtyard gate closed, cutting off all outside eyes, Wang Duobao's report exploded like a string of firecrackers.
Han Lin had submitted the basic proposal to Steward Han of the Frostice Aristocratic Family. The response was positive—but the meeting had to be absolutely confidential. Time and place would be set by Steward Han.
"Han Lin says his uncle's under massive pressure," Wang Duobao whispered.
"The Frostice Patriarch's seclusion is unstable. Inner demons are worsening. The family's power struggle is at a boiling point. If this pill request fails, Steward Han might not survive his return."
Jiang Muchen nodded.
"And Xiao Chen?"
Wang Duobao's expression tightened.
"He's been to the Shattered Star Mining Zone three times this month. Each time, he stayed two or three days in an abandoned deep shaft. The laborers I bribed say he's built a massive formation there. At its core—a black bead, thick with demonic aura."
Demonic Calamity Pearl.
Jiang Muchen's heart sank. Xiao Chen was preparing that ritual—using demonic force to forcibly unlock the next layer of the Heavenly Calamity Battle Body.
"And one more thing," Wang Duobao lowered his voice further.
"Three days ago, people from the Nether Ghost Manor appeared in Ghostcry Forest. A black-robed elder led them—said to be at elder rank."
Nether Ghost Manor… Gui Wuying?
Jiang Muchen unconsciously touched the Nether Bone Fragment in his robe.
It was still cold—but deep within his soul, the suppressed "coordinate" trembled faintly, as if something far away was trying desperately to activate it.
Not an illusion.
His expression shifted.
"Brother Chen?" Lu Hanshan noticed.
"I'm fine," Jiang Muchen said, steadying himself.
"Go on."
After hearing the rest—fifty-three hidden members, shifting neutral factions, Elder Huoyun asking after him—Wang Duobao finally asked carefully:
"Brother Chen… are you really going to meet the Frostice envoy?"
"Yes," Jiang Muchen said without hesitation.
"But not yet."
He stood and looked toward the cloud-wreathed Guest Peak.
"Tell Han Lin this: three days from now, at dusk, Outer Sect Listening Rain Pavilion. I'll give his uncle one cup of tea's worth of time. Late—and the deal's off."
Wang Duobao blinked.
"That's… aggressive."
"No," Jiang Muchen replied coolly.
"It's a stance."
"We need them to understand—what we offer isn't charity we beg for. It's cooperation they can't afford to refuse."
He paused, eyes flashing coldly.
"And let Han Lin 'accidentally' leak to Xiao Chen's people that the Frostice envoys are contacting a mysterious figure who might solve their problem."
Lu Hanshan sucked in a breath.
"You're pulling Xiao Chen in too?"
"The muddier the water," Jiang Muchen smiled,
"the more fish it draws."
"And I want to see," he added softly,
"what roles Xiao Chen and Nether Ghost Manor truly play on the Frostice line."
Night fell.
After everyone rested, Jiang Muchen sat alone in the courtyard.
He held the Nether Bone Fragment in his palm. It was icy cold, the soul-bound coordinate pulsing harder and harder—something distant was trying to awaken it.
He closed his eyes and suppressed it with chaotic sword intent.
But he knew—it wouldn't hold for long.
Far away, from Guest Peak, an ice-blue sword light shot into the sky, carving a sorrowful arc before vanishing.
The aura of Frostglow Sword.
Murong Xueli…
Are you watching this same night sky?
Jiang Muchen clenched the bone fragment, resolve flashing in his eyes.
A storm was coming.
And this time, he wouldn't hide from the rain.
He would ride it.
The Creed of Deference
At the highest level, deference has nothing to do with rank—
only with where you place your move on the board of human hearts.
You see me as a piece; I see you as the tide.
A true player never fears hands outside the board—
only the cowardice that dares not place a seemingly idle move…
one that overturns the entire game.