A glacial chill settled into Wang Ba’s marrow.

He guessed it!

He actually guessed it!

Wang Ba’s mind raced. He had covered his tracks perfectly. He had acted the part of the terrified victim flawlessly. So how? How could Zhao Feng possibly know?

And if he knew, why the charade? Why let the square-faced disciple close the case, only to drag Wang Ba out here and drop the guillotine now?

Panic surged, threatening to crack his composure. But weeks of living on the edge, of surviving in a world where a wrong look could mean death, had forged his nerves into iron.

Externally, not a muscle twitched. His expression shifted not to fear, but to a mask of bewildered innocence.

“Senior Brother Zhao… I confess, I’m at a loss. I don’t understand what you mean…”

“No. You do.”

Zhao Feng shook his head, his gaze piercing. “Stop pretending. I believe you understand, therefore, you understand.”

The words were cryptic, a riddle wrapped in arrogance. Yet, in that moment, the fog in Wang Ba’s mind cleared.

He recalled Zhao Feng’s repeated mention of ‘intuition.’

Cause and effect.

Because Wang Ba was truly involved in Chu Erniu’s death, Zhao Feng’s intuition had snagged on that truth. The act was the cause; his suspicion was the effect.

It was like a master of nature who didn’t need to study the alignment of the stars or the tilt of the axis to know autumn had arrived—they simply needed to see a single falling leaf.

Zhao Feng didn’t need evidence. He didn’t need to trace the method or the motive. He perceived the ‘effect’ directly.

That was why he had said: If I think it is you, then it is you.

The other disciples clearly knew of this terrifying ability, which was why they had accepted his baseless conclusion without a murmur of dissent. Against an instinct that struck straight at the truth, lies were pale, powerless things.

Wang Ba’s throat felt like sandpaper. He dropped the act, his voice rasping. “Then… what does Senior Brother intend to do?”

“I told you. Cultivators do not need to concern themselves with the hypocrisy of mortal justice.”

Zhao Feng turned to face him fully. On that usually frost-bitten face, a slow, genuine smile emerged.

“So what if you killed him? What does the death of a disciple surnamed Chu matter to me?”

Zhao Feng’s tone was light, as if discussing the weather. “He tried to kill you first. You merely retaliated. Besides, the man truly died from the backlash of his own heretical arts. Technically, you committed no crime.”

He stepped closer, his presence looming. “You are a Junior Brother I have high hopes for. Since his death hurts me not, and you are effectively innocent, why wouldn’t I help you?”

Wang Ba’s eyes went wide.

Senior Brother Zhao… is this flexible?

The man looked like an ice sculpture, but his moral compass was surprisingly pragmatic.

Still, the revelation was terrifying. Zhao Feng hadn’t seen the lifespan drain. He hadn’t seen the confrontation. Yet he knew the shape of the conflict as if he’d been standing right there.

Are all cultivators this monstrous?

No… surely not. If every cultivator possessed this kind of supernatural insight, Wang Ba’s deception of Deacon Li and Yu Changchun would have failed instantly. His lifespan drain would trigger alarm bells everywhere.

“Rest assured,” Zhao Feng said, seemingly reading his mind again. “I cannot speak for the Inner Sect, but within the Outer Sect, I am likely the only one with this specific gift. And even for me, there are many limitations.”

Wang Ba let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. If everyone was like Zhao Feng, he might as well dig his own grave now.

“I called you out here to give you a warning,” Zhao Feng continued, his tone turning serious.

“Focus on the Physique Strengthening Scripture. Push for the tenth layer. With your latent talent, once you awaken your Spirit Root, you will surpass trash like Chu Erniu in a heartbeat. There is no need to take such extreme risks again.”

“Remember your status. You are a Laborer Disciple. Without a Spirit Root, you are not truly part of the Sect. If an Outer Sect disciple beats you to death, the Sect rules will not protect you. There is nowhere to cry for justice.”

Sensing the sincere concern behind the harsh words, Wang Ba nodded gravely.

He knew his place. And to be fair, yesterday’s retaliation had been impulsive.

But he didn’t regret it.

He was a coward, yes. He followed the Dao of Gou. But when someone held a knife to his throat, shrinking back wasn’t caution—it was stupidity.

True survival wasn’t about hiding in a hole forever. It was about knowing when to hide… and when to bite the jugular.

“However,” Zhao Feng said, his brow furrowing, “after this incident, my premonition has grown stronger.”

He lowered his voice. “Five days from now. When the Sect Leader leads the disciples away from the mountain, I sense a great upheaval.”

“Mark my words. If chaos descends, abandon everything and come to me immediately.”

“If you encounter a strong enemy, do not hoard that sword energy I gave you. Crush the jade pendant. If I am nearby and have the strength to spare, I will come.”

Wang Ba nodded, etching the instructions into his memory. He no longer dared to dismiss Zhao Feng’s gut feelings as mere superstition.

“Good.”

With a final nod, Zhao Feng’s face hardened back into its usual glacial mask. He stepped onto his flying sword and shot into the sky, a streak of light vanishing into the clouds.

When Wang Ba returned to Ding Ninth Manor, the atmosphere had shifted completely.

Tao Yi still wore his habitual grin, but Senior Brother Shi and Lin Yu treated Wang Ba with a sudden, jarring politeness. The display of favor from Zhao Feng had changed the hierarchy instantly.

Lin Yu retreated to her room, casting furtive glances at Wang Ba’s back. Her mind spun with salacious theories. Could it be… does the new First Disciple of the Outer Sect have… special preferences for men?

Meanwhile, Senior Brother Shi actively joined Wang Ba in feeding the Spirit Poultry. The scowl that usually etched his face was replaced by an amiable, almost fawning smile.

“I had no idea you had such deep ties with Senior Brother Zhao. Incredible, truly incredible!”

Tao Yi, leaning on a broom nearby, clicked his tongue. “You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, Junior Brother Wang.”

“Is Senior Brother Zhao… really that powerful?” Wang Ba asked, genuinely curious.

He knew Zhao Feng was important, but his knowledge of the upper echelons of the Outer Sect was spotty at best.

“You really don’t know?”

Senior Brother Shi looked scandalized. “He is publicly recognized as the head of the Ten Great Disciples of the Outer Sect! They call him the ‘Sword Heart that Sees Clearly.’ He’s only been in the Sect for thirty years, yet he’s already reached the Perfection stage of the tenth layer of Qi Refining. No one in the Outer Sect is his match!”

Wang Ba paused. “I thought the First Disciple was Immortal Lu Yuansheng?”

“That’s ancient history,” Tao Yi chimed in. “Lu Yuansheng dominated the Outer Sect for years. Since the day I joined, he was the untouchable king. But he died unexpectedly outside the Sect a while back. Senior Brother Zhao took the title.”

“Did no one object?” Wang Ba asked. “Surely there were challengers?”

“Object? Who would dare!”

Shi cut in, glaring at Tao Yi as if still annoyed by the man’s earlier betrayal during the investigation. “When Zhao Feng claimed the seat, everyone questioned him. Every single elite disciple except the late Lu Yuansheng lined up to take him down.”

Shi’s eyes grew distant, filled with awe. “He fought them all. One man, one sword. He swept through the challengers like a gale through dry grass. He became a legend in a single day.”

“He was only in his forties then,” Shi sighed. “With his talent, once he breaks through to Foundation Establishment, his rise will be meteoric. I might even see him become an Elder before my time is up.”

Shi looked down at his own hands, calloused and aging. “Comparisons… they really are the thief of joy.”

Thinking of his own eighty years of life, stuck at the sixth layer of Qi Refining with no hope in sight, Shi’s excitement deflated. He looked suddenly old and frail.

Tao Yi, ever the cynic, chuckled. “Why so glum, Senior Brother Shi? Look at the mortals. They rot in the mud. We live free of disease, with lifespans they can only dream of. We’ve already won the lottery.”

Tao Yi leaned in, grinning. “If you’re really that unhappy, apply to leave the mountain. Go down to the mortal world, start a clan. With your cultivation, you could have a hundred wives, a thousand concubines, and live like an emperor…”

“Nonsense! Vulgar!”

Shi’s beard bristled with indignation. He turned to storm off, unwilling to listen to such disgraceful talk.

But before he could take a step, a booming voice rolled down from the sky, growing louder with terrifying speed.

“…OPEN UP!”

“EVERYONE! MOVE ASIDE!”