The fat man waved her suggestion away with a dismissive shake of his head.
"Forget it," he muttered, his tone heavy with disdain.
"What could you possibly draw from a mere mortal? A drop in an empty bucket."
The other elders murmured their agreement, their heads dipping in silent concession, while Zhao Yan continued walking, each step carrying him further from their judgment.
But then a sudden cry shattered the air.
"Wait!"
A second female elder moved, her body gliding forward like a rush of wind.
In an instant she stood before him, barring his path. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him closely, her expression shifting from suspicion to intrigue.
"How strange…" she whispered, her gaze sharpening.
"Tell me—why didn't you steal the Phantom Step Technique inside your dormitory?"
Zhao Yan froze, her words slamming into him like thunder.
For a moment, his mind faltered, but he steadied himself, lowering his head with solemn respect.
His voice was calm, yet carried an undercurrent of pride.
"Immortal Master," he said firmly, "that technique is not mine, so I dare not steal it."
He raised his chin slightly, eyes burning with conviction. "I may be a beggar, but I am no thief."
The woman's lips curled in disdain, a faint twitch betraying her irritation at his stubborn pride.
With a flick of her wrist, she hurled a pouch of coins at his feet, the dull clink of silver striking the ground like a final judgment.
"Leave," she commanded, her voice cold and sharp.
"Do not dare set foot near this sect again."
Her eyes swept over him with open contempt.
"To take pride in begging rather than striving for cultivation… your kind sickens me."
With that, she turned on her heel, her robes whispering against the ground as she walked away.
One by one, the other elders followed suit, dispersing into the shadows of their halls, leaving Zhao Yan standing alone with the weight of their rejection pressing down on him.
But Zhao Yan was calm even though this unexpected occurrence happened.
He had never trusted that fat man's offer to help him leave, which was why he had made his own preparations in secret.
He intended to Revulsion points to increase his cultivation and escape if he sensed danger.
Yet nothing could have prepared him for what actually awaited him—the sudden appearance of five elders, and the revelation that the so-called fat disciple was none other than the sect master of Kunlun Sect himself.
The moment truth dawned, Zhao Yan abandoned any thought of using his points.
Instead, he lowered his stance, cloaking himself in the role of a worthless insect.
He offered flattery laced with desperation, calling them Immortal Masters, elevating them as though they stood at the peak of all existence.
The male elders basked in the praise, their pride quietly stroked, while the women barely spared him a reaction.
So he played along, yielding to every demand, bending his back where needed.
And when he confirmed the fat man's true identity as sect master, he did what he excelled at—bootlicking.
The man drank in the praise and, in his pride, let Zhao Yan walk free.
But freedom came with resistance.
Two female elders had questioned the decision, only for the last to step forward—sharp, cunning, her eyes cutting straight to their scheme.
She wanted to know why he didn't take the Phantom Step Technique manual with him.
She never knew that Zhao Yan didn't need a manual at all; with the system, he could practice any skill he read without carrying the book itself.
So he lied again, cloaking himself in the image of a beggar with pride in filth, and the mask worked.
Disgust flared in her eyes, and with a flick of disdain, she tossed him a bag of coins and turned away, leaving him cast out and despised, but alive.
"Amber Williams… she's alive." Beneath the mockery and veiled threats, one truth burned clearer than any other.
"And, she's searching for someone with a system," Zhao Yan muttered under his breath, eyes glinting in the dark.
A slow, relieved smile touched his lips. "But now… she's no concern of mine."
Though he had spent no more than a single day within Kunlun's walls, the turmoil and close calls had made it feel like a month of struggle and survival compressed into fleeting hours.
Yet now, at last, he had stepped out into the night air not as a prisoner but as a free man.
For the first time, he could think clearly and plan with patience.
He no longer needed to crawl among degenerates in a sect of debauchery—he could bide his time, gather knowledge, and choose a sect worthy of his ambitions.
"First, information," he whispered, his gaze shifting to the winding mountain trail that disappeared into shadow.
...
"Big Brother… it's already midnight. Let's just head back," a boy of about seventeen whispered, tugging nervously at the sleeve of the taller figure beside him.
Both wore black robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods that blended into the shadows.
The taller youth, his voice steady and commanding, answered without hesitation.
"Du Feng, how many times must I remind you?" His eyes scanned the darkened road ahead.
"I've confirmed it—there's a caravan passing through tonight. And inside… they're transporting the legendary Spirit Stone."
The name alone made the night feel heavier.
Du Hong leaned closer, his tone brimming with conviction.
"Do you even understand its worth?"
"With a single Spirit Stone, both of us could secure a place in the greatest sects of the Western Continent."
"Even though Heavenly Sword Sect doesn't treasure it, we'd still be admitted as menial disciples. And Du Feng… even the menial disciple of Heavenly Sword Sect commands respect that no one in Cloud City would dare challenge."
"That would be enough to set us for life."
Du Feng swallowed, caught between his brother's burning ambition and his own unease.
Suddenly, Du Hong stiffened.
With a sharp motion, both brothers pressed off the ground, their bodies rising weightlessly into the branches.
Hidden among the leaves, their breath stilled as the night around them thickened with anticipation.
Du Feng's gaze snapped toward the road, pupils narrowing. "Someone's coming."