Chapter 23: Does This Count as Cheating?

“How are things going?” Huo Yongfei stood before the enormous Memory Stone, counting the shifting dots on its surface. Ninety disciples had entered, and now more than seventy remained inside.

“I feel something’s off,” Fan Zifan rubbed his chin, and when he realized he had no beard, he conjured one with spiritual energy and stroked it slowly. “This jade token hasn’t moved at all.”

“Hm?” Shan Hongxing maintained a cold, distant demeanor, but his heart was attentive. “Yu’er, count them—has someone slipped in unnoticed?”

There was no doubt who had slipped in.

“Master, where are you headed?” Lu Feiyu watched as his master swept his sleeves and left, still a little bewildered.

Huo Yongfei and Fan Zifan both looked at him, but in the end it was Bai Teng, seeing their awkward silence, who spoke up. To teach a disciple—such a request was impossible even when the old man was alive.

You know better than any of us what kind of person she used to be. Whenever you and she clashed, it was always a life-and-death struggle. The rest of us, we don’t ask for much—only that the sect remains safe and steady.

If you go today, let it be you alone who bears the consequences. Don’t drag the entire Xuanyun Sect down with you!”

Shan Hongxing stood frozen, about to leave, when he saw ahead a figure seated in a wheelchair being pushed forward.

Ai Fengling greeted him with a gentle smile. Since injuring his leg, he rarely left Lingxiao Pavilion. Shan Hongxing remembered that in the past, Ai Fengling had liked to smile, but since his cultivation was destroyed by a demonic cultivator, that smile had almost disappeared from his face.

“Third Brother, where are you headed? Why is it that as soon as I arrive, you’re about to leave? Am I not welcome, Seventh Brother?”

Shan Hongxing paused, then, seeing that Liang Si was behind the wheelchair, understood everything.

All these people were trying to excuse Wen Jingge; none of them wanted to return to those days when Xuanyun Sect was shrouded in darkness. Yet he still wondered how Wen Jingge managed to slip inside—how could the Spirit-Measuring Stone at the entrance fail to warn them?

“That disciple…” Ai Fengling stood beside Song Huan, tugging at Song Huan’s sleeve. “Senior Brother Song, is that Wen Senior Sister’s disciple?”

“Yes.” Song Huan glanced at him, thinking how odd this Seventh Brother was. Why ask him when Wen Jingge’s chief disciple was right there?

“Want to place a bet?”

“Hm?” Song Huan was startled, weighing the storage pouch in his hand. “Are you serious?”

“Let’s bet on the same thing, shall we? If we win, we split the prize. If we lose, I’ll cover it.” Ai Fengling blinked at him, and Song Huan was taken aback—clearly there was some inside information here!

“How… how much?” he asked about the amount of spirit stones.

“Whatever you like, Senior Brother Song.”

“That’s not really proper!” Despite his words, Song Huan reluctantly pulled out a thousand spirit stones. “We spell cultivators are poor—this is all I have, my entire fortune.”

“I understand, always making trouble—have to pay for damages.” Ai Fengling smiled, fanning himself. “I just feel bad that they don’t include you, Senior Brother.”

“What?” Song Huan was baffled.

He looked at Ai Fengling, then at the other four, feeling that while he was in seclusion, they’d been plotting something together—even Ai, who usually cared little for worldly matters, seemed to be involved. How was it he hadn’t heard a whisper?

“Senior Brother Fan, are you taking bets?” The largest bookie in Xuanyun Sect’s underground wasn’t anyone else—it was Fan Zifan, master of Qinghong Peak. This was no secret.

After all, as a medicine cultivator, a single spiritual herb, a refined pill, or his medical skills—though not quite miraculous—could always earn a fair amount of spirit stones.

But that was in other sects.

Within this sect, the richest was still the most dilapidated Wanzhang Peak—no, it should be Lingxiao Peak, where Wen Jingge once lived.

Because every blade of grass and tree on that mountain, many had been dug from Fan Zifan’s medicine fields, and its rare treasures were traded for medicines from his mountain.

So Fan Zifan had to find other ways. Whenever there were competitions, he’d set up as a bookie, pitiably enough, just to keep his medicine fields running.

“Let’s do it!” Fan Zifan had made a tidy profit off Wen Jingge last time and had wanted to open bets again. “What’s the wager?”

“Seventh Brother wants to bet, on…”

“On whether Wen Senior Sister’s second disciple will get a goose egg upon emerging,” Ai Fengling’s voice was quiet, but clear enough for everyone present to hear.

“I bet he’ll come out in first place,” Ai Fengling added, delivering a heavy blow.

The crowd erupted—even Bai Teng, who had spoken on Wen Jingge’s behalf, didn’t think much of her disciple.

With average aptitude, he’d gone in just to avoid gossip. As for achieving anything remarkable, none of them held out hope.

“You’re crazy!” Bai Teng poured out spirit stones, counted them one by one, and transferred them to another storage pouch. “Eleven thousand spirit stones! How many years have you stayed in the mountains? How many spirit stones can your Lingxiao Hall possibly have?”

“Wen Senior Sister gave them to me. When she sealed the mountain fifty years ago, she gave me half her spirit stones. This is a mere drop in the bucket.” Ai Fengling seemed oblivious to the meaning of “humblebrag,” his innocent demeanor unchanged.

“Senior Sister said she was going into seclusion and couldn’t come in person, so I’m here on her behalf. As the master, she ought to give her disciple something as a token for entering the contest, right? Besides, eleven thousand spirit stones isn’t much!”

Fan Zifan’s mouth twitched. Wen Xiao Five had really done it—at least half those spirit stones were taken from Qinghong Peak, and she’d guarded them fiercely when stealing, yet gave them away so generously!

“Come one, come all! Don’t miss your chance!” Fan Zifan pulled a gong from his space ring and started pounding it, no different from a street performer. “Today we shall…”

“Let your disciple spread the word!” Huo Yongfei pressed his temple.

This whole crowd, none of them reliable.

They were all masters of their peaks, yet acted like children. He could hardly bear to watch.

“My heart is not soft,” Qiao Yu declared firmly. “I’ll help you snatch back the jade token.”

“Good!” The clay figurine said, then leapt from tree to tree. Qiao Yu saw her whip out a vine, hook it with her foot, and swing out upside down. Gathering spiritual energy onto her bow, she fired an arrow at Jiang Zilin.

“Not good!” Her cry came too late. As Jiang Zilin turned, Qiao Yu sprang from behind to strike, only to discover the Jiang Zilin on the ground was merely an illusion formed from spiritual energy.

“Does this count as cheating?” Bai Teng asked anxiously. “Only cultivators of grade six can form shadows—Lu Feiyu, check who selected this Jiang Zilin!”