Dark clouds pressed down upon the city.

As the turbulent flow of blood within him gradually settled, Qin Chuan stretched out his arms, his entire body free of any abnormality. His lips murmured dreamily, soft as the dawn cry of a doe drinking from a brook, innocent and tender.

“It’s done.” Candle Flame’s eyes gleamed with relief. He grinned, turned to Zhang Huai, and tapped the man’s flabby belly with his toe. “Qin Chuan should be all right now.”

In the loft, Xing Hua and Wen Yuan exchanged glances. “Old Daoist, did I see that right? He actually succeeded in breaking through!” Their vision was exceptional; the man before them showed not a trace of defeat.

Breaking through a cultivation barrier is unlike ordinary advancement. A single misstep could mean death and annihilation; ‘nine deaths for one life’ is no exaggeration.

Qin Chuan slowly opened his eyes, feeling the strange yet familiar landscape within his body. He was utterly transformed—where once spiritual energy was vague and ethereal, now it had become tangible, swirling into a visible vortex: the first layer of Qi Refinement.

He would have preferred to linger longer in this rare, silent realm after his breakthrough, but the clamor from the courtyard shattered the tranquility he had so painstakingly achieved.

He glanced at the arcane formation of stones around him, already understanding the situation. Candle Flame was like the moon’s reflection in a deep pool: clear at first glance, but disturbed and obscured by the smallest pebble. Yet such matters were insignificant; everyone has their secrets.

Qin Chuan had his own—the Secret Dust Method. The sect had only taught him a basic breathing technique, but the Secret Dust Method was a matter of the heart. Where had he learned it?

Even Qin Chuan himself was unclear. The heart method was passed to him by his sister, who fell on the road while fleeing disaster. The so-called truth is now nothing but empty talk. There must be more behind it, but lacking strength, he dared not act rashly.

“Let’s go see the courtyard. It seems things are about to get out of hand.” Qin Chuan’s caution was justified—the noise from outside was overwhelming, shouts and cries rising and falling, piercing the ears of all present.

At this point, it is necessary to outline the factions on Qingyang Mountain.

Apart from Xing Hua and Wen Yuan, who managed affairs, all others were registered disciples of the Green Mountain Sect. These disciples clustered together, and within half a year, three main groups had formed. The first, led by Zhao Yu, consisted of refugees from the southern lands. The second, headed by Lei Ya, were native to Green Mountain. The third group, also southern refugees, was the trio of Qin Chuan and his companions.

Qin Chuan’s group was unusual—their conduct set them apart, inviting constant trouble and exclusion. The southern refugees believed the trio sought to curry favor with Xing Hua, enduring the blazing noon sun daily to reclaim wild fields. Their devotion to the Dao made them pariahs.

Moreover, the southern refugees and mountain natives, divided by background and fortune, were at odds, their frequent disputes growing ever more entrenched. None of the three factions got along, but the other two, being evenly matched, vented their frustrations on the weakest trio. Qin Chuan was not one to flatter or force himself upon others, and his circumstances made that clear. Yet all three were mature and steadfast, ignoring the gossip and slander.

Having sorted out these not-so-complicated relationships, let’s turn to the drama unfolding on Qingyang Mountain.

The commotion in the courtyard had begun as soon as the trio commenced meditation, and had continued for some time. Let us rewind to the start of the incident and explore its origins.

A hastily constructed fence encircled the courtyard, where crooked-necked trees stood in scattered clusters. Untouched by pruning, they possessed a rustic charm, a few trembling branches stretching beyond the yard as if fearing the disciples might lop them off in a fit of displeasure.

A weary bird perched atop a branch, lazily preening its feathers, ignoring the droning summer cicadas.

It was an afternoon for resting beneath the willows, and banter drifted deep and shallow among the others. Someone noticed Qin Chuan’s trio, faces reddened under the relentless sun, and couldn’t resist a jibe.

“Look at them—still as foolish as ever.” With a raised brow and pursed lips, he glanced contemptuously toward the distant three.

One person stirred, and the drowsy disciples suddenly perked up.

“Isn’t it true! Perhaps people from the south are just simple-minded!” Lei Ya, for reasons unknown, spoke loudly enough to drown the incessant cicadas, his words falling clearly upon the ears of the southern refugees.

The crowd groaned—trouble was brewing. The two sides had long been locked in competition, always holding back enough to avoid serious trouble. But Lei Ya, perhaps caught up in the moment, had stepped into the southern refugees’ minefield.

His remark silenced even the cicadas, as if sensing the storm to come.

Zhao Yu slowly rose. “Lei Ya, let’s settle this today—who’s really the fool on Qingyang Mountain?” His voice was deep and resonant, like distant thunder.

Amusingly, though barely thirty, he suffered from premature balding, yet radiated a fierce energy. Broad-shouldered, wasp-waisted, with a long horse face, a three-inch scar ran down his coppery skin, earning him the nickname “Scar.”

Lei Ya cursed inwardly. Normally, he would step forward and exchange blows, but today was different. He turned away, refusing to respond—whether seeking peace or plotting silently, none could tell.

He closed his eyes beneath the crooked tree, feigning calm, but his twitching eyelids betrayed his unease.

The Green Mountain natives, seeing Lei Ya inexplicably subdued, drooped their heads like grass scorched by the sun.

Zhao Yu pressed his advantage. “So, tell me, how are southerners foolish?” No one knew what taboo Lei Ya had broken today, but one sentence had provoked Zhao Yu’s stubborn wrath. Zhao Yu advanced, the mountain folk retreated, then yielded a direct path to Lei Ya, each silent and compliant as well-fed rabbits.

The atmosphere had grown tense, straining the nerves of all. A storm was brewing, black clouds pressing low as if about to burst. Lei Ya seemed to lose his composure, his hands clasped behind him, needing the crooked tree for support lest he collapse.

Zhao Yu cared nothing for others’ thoughts, striding forward, his muscles hardened by months of training. His fist, the size of a bowl, drove straight toward Lei Ya’s abdomen.

But let us pause here and see what wager the two old Daoists in the loft made before Qin Chuan’s breakthrough.

“Look, your Qingyang people are about to fight,” Wen Yuan said, savoring his fragrant tea, gleeful. “Did I not predict this months ago?”

Xing Hua raised an eyebrow and smiled, unconcerned by the other’s mockery. “One’s fate, whether food or drink, is always preordained. As long as one isn’t a fool, anyone could guess this would happen.”

“Why not…guess whether the mighty newcomer can suppress the local snake?” Xing Hua slouched, his fingers tapping the pine-scented tea table, like a seasoned gambler sizing up his opponent, his thoughts unreadable.

Wen Yuan, seeing Xing Hua’s expression, knew well the mischief in his belly. They had known each other for many years, and every trick was familiar.

“It’s not impossible, but at least let’s set the stakes first.” Wen Yuan’s eyes darted, and he noticed Xing Hua’s seat cushion, obviously not lacking in cunning.

Xing Hua, having anticipated Wen Yuan’s temperament, remained calm. He lifted his cup and blew away the steam. “I want your Wind Listening Token. What do you want of equal value?”

“You want the Wind Listening Token?” Wen Yuan was momentarily stunned. “Though it's a rare thing, it’s no longer of use to you, is it? How about this: I’ll take your jade willow cushion.”

The two struck a deal at once.

Had Qin Chuan and his companions been present in the loft, witnessing the two elders burping and farting like commoners, they’d surely be astonished—their conduct was far removed from the stern image they’d always imagined.