Ever since Shen Xian refused Liu Xu’s challenge, rumors within the Divine Wood Sect had spread like wildfire. What began as whispers among the outer sect disciples soon grew into a roar of condemnation.

“Did you hear? That direct descendant of the Shen Family didn’t even dare to accept a challenge from a mere outer sect disciple,” a cultivator sneered in the dining hall, surrounded by hushed discussions.

“Hah! He relies on his family background to worm his way into the inner sect, yet he doesn’t have the courage to draw his sword,” another added, eyes full of contempt.

“I heard he can’t even master basic sword arts. His cultivation is entirely propped up by pills. No wonder Senior Sister Wei was forced into an engagement. It was probably just pressure from the Shen Family.”

These words slithered like venomous snakes, quickly crossing the threshold into the inner sect. Outside the lecture hall, inner sect disciples leaned against corridor pillars, their gazes drifting toward Shen Xian’s usual seat.

“What is he relying on, really?” a disciple carrying a sword scoffed. “If he is too afraid to fight someone like Liu Xu, is he even worthy of the inner sect?”

“Maybe he has other ‘skills’?” another suggested with a meaningful smirk. “After all, he managed to ‘invite’ even Senior Sister Wei…”

“Hah! I heard he keeps a turtle in his courtyard,” someone interjected, drawing a chorus of mockery. “He spends all day sunbathing. It’s quite fitting for him, don’t you think?”

The group burst into laughter. Inside the Deacon Hall, disciples on duty whispered while registering names, their derision growing more creative with every retelling.

“I heard the turtle has more backbone than he does.”

“Yeah, a Black Mystic Spirit-Seeking Tortoise as big as a millstone. It lies there motionless, too lazy to even eat its spirit rice.”

“Tsk, tsk. Like master, like pet.”

The rumors evolved from “cowardice” to “ruined cultivation,” and finally to “relying on a woman’s skirts.” Some disciples even began shouting as they passed Shen Xian’s residence.

“Some people aren’t even as good as a turtle! At least a turtle sticks its head out to bite!”

“Hiding away all day—what kind of cultivator is that?”

These insults stabbed like thorns, yet Shen Xian remained as calm as a frozen lake. His silence only emboldened his detractors.

“Look at him. He doesn’t even deny it. Isn’t that an admission of guilt?”

“Trash is trash. He doesn’t even have the courage to argue. Senior Sister Wei must be blind…”

In the world of cultivation, cowardice was the ultimate sin. Shen Xian had become the perfect target: a spoiled young master who used his family’s influence to claim the sect goddess, only to cower in his shell.

Back at his residence, Wang Yu had returned from the Artifact Refining Hall. He had already dealt with a few of the more brazen gossips before arriving at Shen Xian’s gate, his face flushed with indignation.

He hesitated, then knocked. The door opened silently.

In the backyard, Shen Xian was lazily feeding the tortoise. The millstone-sized creature munched on spirit grass, not even lifting an eyelid at the visitor.

“Young Master…” Wang Yu’s voice was uncharacteristically low. “I failed in my duties.”

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. “If I’d known it would cause such an uproar, I’d have crippled that bastard Liu Xu on the spot.”

Shen Xian casually tossed a Jade Marrow Crystal. The tortoise caught it precisely, a faint shimmer of light dancing across the patterns on its shell.

“What does this have to do with you?” Shen Xian asked, finally looking up.

“But the rumors…” Wang Yu gritted his teeth, pulling a blood-stained cloth from his robe—evidence of the “discussions” he’d had with the gossips. “I dealt with a few of the filthiest mouths, but I couldn’t stop it.”

Shen Xian let out a light laugh and tapped the tortoise’s shell. “Look at it, Wang Yu. Do you think it cares about the clamor of ants?”

The tortoise retracted its neck slightly, its beady eyes flashing with a hint of human-like mockery. Wang Yu froze.

He realized that the book on the stone table wasn’t a cultivation manual; it was a volume of Records of Strange Tales from Lin Yuan. Beside Shen Xian sat a half-finished cup of tea. He hadn’t been brooding; he had been enjoying his morning.

Wang Yu’s shoulders relaxed, but he leaned in closer. “But what about Senior Sister Wei Zhaoli?”

A flicker of thought passed through Shen Xian’s eyes. It had been two days, and she hadn’t visited. Had she been delayed? Or was she listening to the rumors?

“Don’t worry about it,” Shen Xian dismissed him. “Aren’t you preparing for the competition? Go back and focus on your training.”

“This subordinate takes his leave, then,” Wang Yu replied, withdrawing helplessly.

The next morning, Shen Xian headed to his classes as usual. Contemptuous glances followed him every step of the way.

“Look, there goes the turtle-in-his-shell,” a blue-robed disciple muttered loudly.

“Shh! Careful,” his companion mocked. “He is backed by a Holy Son, after all.”

Several female cultivators giggled, their gazes sweeping over Shen Xian with disdain before shifting away. Shen Xian’s expression didn’t flicker.

The morning bell of Red Leaf Courtyard was still echoing when Shen Xian entered the lecture hall. A group of inner sect disciples were discussing the Azure Sky Sword Art.

“This form emphasizes sword intent like a rainbow,” said Zhou Ming, the leader of the group. He shifted his gaze toward Shen Xian. “However, some people can’t even release sword qi, let alone master intent.”

“Senior Brother Zhou, you’re mistaken,” someone chimed in. “Children from great families have their own… special methods.”

“Oh? Is that why he was too afraid to duel an outer sect disciple?” Zhou Ming sneered. “What a pity for our reputation.”

Shen Xian walked straight to his seat, turning a deaf ear to the taunts. Truly a Turtle Cultivator, the others thought.

Suddenly, an elegant figure stepped through the morning light, entering the hall. It was Wei Zhaoli.