The man in the white embroidered robe bearing the Chu family crest led Zheng Xie directly to the Zheng Family entrance gate. The guards were absent currently, sent to investigate where the massive influx of soul energy came from.
A clear signal that this conversation would be official and recorded.
The moment they arrived, the man flicked his wrist, forming a defensive array around them. His expression remained unreadable, cold like a blade's edge.
"Now," the man said, folding his arms behind his back. "Tell me everything. In detail. Spare nothing."
Then, without blinking, he added, "And know this—lying will not help you. I will be soul-searching you after this interrogation. It would be wiser to speak the truth."
Zheng Xie nodded silently.
The Chu clan cultivator gestured for him to proceed. He had already mended Zheng Xie's injuries with expert efficiency. Now, he wanted the facts.
Zheng Xie cleared his throat, his expression composed yet serious. "I will speak truthfully, as the second son of the Zheng family. I recently discovered disturbing irregularities in the Calm Pill Pavilion's operations."
He paused, searching the man's face—not for sympathy, but to make sure he was being understood.
"I noticed something was wrong when I used one of their most popular products—the Sky Assimilation Pill. I sensed inconsistencies in the energy flow, and with the help of a few fellow disciples, I investigated further. It wasn't just low quality… The pills were being deliberately mislabeled."
The man's brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Zheng Xie continued. "As I dug deeper, I found something worse. In several batches of Sky Assimilation Pills, there were… other pills mixed in. I didn't recognize them at first. So I brought them to a few elders of the Pavilion under the pretense of being curious."
He drew a breath.
"They identified them as Spirit Seizing Pills."
That name alone carried weight. The Chu family man's jaw stiffened.
"I was appalled," Zheng Xie said, voice hardening. "But I didn't want to believe Patriarch Qi Fan was involved. So I requested a meeting. The elders arranged it under the guise of a 'business proposal.' I hoped I was wrong. I truly did. But I wasn't."
He looked directly into the man's cold, discerning eyes.
"During the meeting, Qi Fan tried to bribe me. He offered me a spiritual root enhancement treasure, claiming he could replace my current one—even though I know that's impossible unless one is born without a root. He used temptation first… and when that failed, he tried coercion."
The Chu cultivator remained quiet. He was already relaying information to the family Patriarch, who was now confronting Qi Fan personally.
Zheng Xie's tone dropped a notch. "He claimed I'd doom the Pavilion's people if I exposed him. That they relied on him for survival. Then, when I still refused, he tried to force-feed me one of the Spirit Seizing Pills—to brand me a soul cultivator, so that I would be the one labeled a criminal."
His fists clenched as he remembered the pain.
"He broke my arm. Crushed my ribs. And even then, I still resisted."
The Chu cultivator gave a faint nod, neither approving nor disapproving.
"He killed his own disciples—people who trusted him—just to prove his ruthlessness. The spirit slates of his Pavilion cracked one after another, and he stood silent, suppressing the truth with more violence. Patriarch Qi Fan is no righteous man. He wears his reputation like a mask. Underneath… he's rotten."
The man finally exhaled, nodding once. "You've answered sufficiently. Now, as promised…"
He placed a single hand upon Zheng Xie's forehead. A ripple of golden soul energy surged out as he performed a basic but absolute soul-search—a technique that allowed him to view Zheng Xie's memories through Zheng Xie's own eyes.
The world faded briefly.
Then—memory.
Inside Qi Fan's personal chamber. A serene room filled with the scent of aged tea leaves and distant incense. Qi Fan sat cross-legged in the air, sipping tea from a jade cup.
"Zheng Xie," he said calmly, his long beard fluttering slightly. "You don't yet understand how this world works. What's righteous and what's not… is decided by people. People like me."
His voice was soft. Almost tired.
"I have lived righteously for a hundred years. Saved more lives than most 'righteous' sects combined. Just this one time—just one deviation—what harm could it bring?"
Across from him, Zheng Xie sat stiffly.
He slammed the table with his palms, fists shaking.
"You've abandoned righteousness," he said. "You've been corrupted, Patriarch Qi Fan. My father trusted you. He thought highly of you. And this is what you are? I am ashamed of what you've become."
Qi Fan merely set his cup down and stared.
"Name your price," he said. "Everyone has one. I'm not a fool—I know what young cultivators desire, especially the useless one's like you. Spiritual root enhancement? Pills? Fame? You'll find no better offer than what I can give."
Zheng Xie clenched his jaw. "Are you seriously trying to bribe a Zheng family heir?"
Qi Fan sighed. "If you go through with this… my Pavilion will collapse. Countless disciples will be unemployed. Starving. You think you're saving them, but you're condemning them."
Zheng Xie was silent.
Then—his voice, cold with resolve.
"I will build something better. A place where they don't have to lie and cheat. Your Pavilion has no place in a righteous world anymore."
Qi Fan's expression changed for the first time.
Disdain.
"Tsk. Tsk. Young blood... So idealistic. Let me show you just how pathetic you are."
A moment later—jade spirit slates began to crack.
The soul search ended.
The Chu family man's eyes opened slowly, his breathing calm. He took a single step back, processing what he had seen.
"Very well," he said, his voice lower now. "Your words match your memories. I've seen enough."
He turned away.
"Your information has already been sent to the family head. You have done something most would never dare. You've exposed a man protected by his own legend. Good job."
Zheng Xie remained silent.
The man gave him a long look.
"Rest, Zheng Xie. From this point on… the Verdant Lotus Plain will have one soul cultivator less."
The man from the Chu family disappeared in a blink. Zheng Xie remained still, staring at the space where he once stood.
His expression was solemn—at first.
Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curled into a smirk.
'Using soul path techniques to search the soul of a soul cultivator? That's probably the most foolish thing anyone could do… But I suppose I can't blame him. He didn't know… no one does.'
Zheng Xie exhaled softly and shook his head, a faint sigh slipping through his lips. "Hah… if only he had the sense to teleport me back to the sect. Now I have to make the whole damn journey on foot…"
He raised his fingers and snapped them.
From deep within his Thousand Body Soul, three hundred of the remote soul fragments returned, merging with his true soul.
Five hundred seventy-nine. Out of the thousand, that was what remained. The hassle, as he called, was dead.
That was enough.
"Two hours of running, huh?" he muttered, cracking his neck. "Well, I did skip leg day…"
He began his trek back to the sect.
'Now the great families will begin their little game of negotiation. They'll gather, flatter, and fight over who gets to take control of the Calm Pill Pavilion. The Xuan Family is the closest candidate—because of proximity, naturally—but it won't be them.'
His lips curled again.
'It was me who exposed the darkness. Me who revealed the truth. It's only right the Zheng family claims the Pavilion. Besides mass producing Spirit Seizing Pills I have… other uses for their talents.'
After two hours long run, he returned back to the sect. He first stopped by the Martial Master's hall to report his return. He said nothing more than a soft, "I've returned."
His master gave a nod. That was all.
Zheng Xie then made his way to the training ground, where he spent the rest of the day training his [Flowing Swift Fist] technique. The movements were smoother now—his body sharper, more responsive.
He couldn't perform the technique, yet. But there was progress.
…
Night fell.
The moon hung low and full in the sky. Zheng Xie returned to his cottage, fully expecting to collapse into bed.
Instead, he found trouble waiting at his doorstep.
Wan Ruo. Yun Shi. Liang Yu.
All three stood in front of his door, arms crossed, clad in pitch-black robes that fluttered dramatically in the night breeze. They looked like assassins from a low-budget theater troupe.
Zheng Xie stopped mid-step, eyebrows rising slowly. "What kind of ridiculous act are you three planning now?"
He yawned. "It's late. I need sleep. Whatever this is, I'm not interested."
Wan Ruo casually strolled forward, grinning as he patted Zheng Xie on the shoulder. "Brother Zheng, who told you this was optional?"
Zheng Xie's mouth parted slightly. "Wait, what?"
Before he could protest further, Yun Shi glided up from the other side, his eyes shimmering like a sage lost in poetic fervor. He placed his hand solemnly on Zheng's other shoulder and began,
"We are but young seedlings, trapped within the fences of this cage we call a sect. Though our spirits chirp like birds, we remain caged—mindless, aimless, stagnant. Yet tonight… let us rise. Let us break these rusted shackles and fly like free birds into the morning sky."
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Wan Ruo clapped first, followed by Liang Yu. Then Zheng Xie.
All in perfect sync.
Wan Ruo grinned. "Bravo! Truly inspired."
Liang Yu added with a smirk, "I didn't know you had such a talent, Yun Shi. You could be a poet."
Zheng Xie chuckled, crossing his arms. "Who are you trying to swoon with a monologue like that? Someone from the inner sect? I refuse to believe a man would learn poetry without any ulterior motives."
Wan Ruo snorted. "He's secretly learning zither, I swear. That or he's been reading those tragic romance scrolls again. Don't think you can hide from this Wan Ruo, I know every act you do within the sect."
Liang Yu shook his head, playing along. "Zither? With that voice? The instrument would break in protest. But maybe he could become a literary author. Get some maidens crying over poems of his broken heart."
Yun Shi smugly brushed his nose with the back of his hand, his chin tilted high and his chest puffed. "Guys, guys… I'm really not that good. You're all overpraising me. It was just… you know, a momentary stroke of genius. Completely unprepared."
The air shifted.
As if on cue, the other two's admiration turned into collective scorn.
Wan Ruo snorted. "Right. What were we thinking? Of course it wasn't planned. I mean—how could you plan anything with that chicken-scratch handwriting of yours?"
Liang Yu chimed in, rubbing his chin with an exaggerated sage-like gesture. "Yeah, even the lowest-ranked beast—like a blind, one-armed ink lizard—could write better than you. What a disgrace."
Wan Ruo nodded sagely. "Seriously. I once saw a goat dip its hooves in ink and tap-dance on a scroll. Looked like a refined poem compared to your scribbles."
"Oh, oh! And I bet he didn't even write it himself," Liang Yu added, gasping in fake realization. "Yun Shi! Tell us, whose masterpiece did you steal?"
Yun Shi's proud smirk twitched.
His brow creased. Fists clenched.
Then—
BAM!
With explosive indignation, he lunged at them. But his efforts were immediately thwarted. The two of them nimbly dodged every swing, laughing maniacally.
Then the counterattack began.
Fists rained down. Elbows flew. Someone yelled, "For the dignity of handwriting everywhere!" and Yun Shi was caught in the middle of a merciless combo move known as the Simultaneous Brotherly Correction Fist.
Fifteen minutes passed.
By the time they were done, Yun Shi looked like a soggy ink brush beaten against stone.
Wan Ruo finally remembered why they were all gathered.
"Oh!" he gasped, eyes lighting up. "I almost forgot the main thing in all this nonsense—Zheng Xie, let's go to Birch City. I heard there's some kind of festival happening there. Maybe there'll be beautiful girls wearing masks. You know what they say—masked girls are always more mysterious and alluring than most."
Liang Yu gave him a half-lidded stare. "That's the dumbest reason I've ever heard to attend a city-wide event. But while we're on the subject… rumor says there'll be some rare martial manuals for sale in the street markets. Hidden in the trash, obviously. But somewhere in that trash might be gold."
He smirked. "And I, Liang Yu, was born to find gold in garbage."
In the background, Yun Shi was still groaning, rolling slowly on the ground. He somehow pulled himself to his feet.
"I, for one," Yun Shi said dramatically, holding his ribs, "just want to taste food that doesn't come in the form of soup, meatballs or bland dumplings. I dream of dumplings with bursting fillings, spicy noodles that sting your soul, roast duck with crispy skin, glazed pork that melts in your mouth, skewers that shine like polished jade—my hunger is vast as the heavens, deep as a scholar's loneliness, and—"
Wan Ruo cracked his knuckles with a sigh. "He's doing it again."
Liang Yu looked at Yun Shi like a doctor about to diagnose a terminal case of poetic overdramatization. "Poor Yun Shi. This illness of his… only a brotherly intervention can cure it."
WHACK!
Yun Shi didn't even finish the next metaphor.
For the second time that night, he was smacked into submission—this time with a spinning kick and a flying shoe.
The beating lasted longer—twenty whole minutes.
By the end, Yun Shi's hair was sticking up in four directions. His robe was lopsided, one sleeve hanging like a limp noodle, and a faint nosebleed trickled down with tragic dignity.
He jabbed a shaky finger at Wan Ruo, tears brimming in his eyes. "You… you hit my face. MY FACE! I'm bleeding! Why the face, you ugly mutt?!"
Wan Ruo scoffed. "Because that's where the nonsense comes from!"
Liang Yu stepped in, trying to mediate. "Alright, that's enough—both of you calm down. Yun Shi, stop flailing. Wan Ruo, stop grinning like a—"
THWACK!
Wan Ruo's fist—meant for Yun Shi—accidentally slammed into Liang Yu's jaw.
Time froze.
Liang Yu slowly turned his head, rubbing his chin, his pupils beginning to lose focus.
"…Seriously?" he muttered.
Wan Ruo paled. "It was a mistake! A genuine, accidental, brotherly mistake!"
Yun Shi, still half-conscious, opened his mouth to say something witty—
Only for Zheng Xie to calmly walk up and place a hand over his mouth.
"There are no 'accidental' punches among brothers," he said coolly. "Liang Yu, beat this brat."
The calmness of his voice was chilling.
Wan Ruo didn't even have time to protest.
BOOM.
Round Three.
The beating resumed in full force. Somewhere, a squirrel fled in terror.