Under the moonlight, the young man in a dark blue robe stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The faint chill radiating from him caused the air in the courtyard to grow noticeably still.

  Suppressing the turbulence in his heart, Yun Che maintained the proper humility of a menial disciple. He lowered his head and said,

  “Yun Che greets Senior Brother Zhang.”

  His gaze flicked briefly over the man’s attire.

  According to Frost Profound Sect regulations, a disciple’s robes signified both cultivation and status: registered disciples wore gray, outer disciples wore white, inner disciples wore dark azure, and only those who had reached the late Qi Condensation stage—or core disciples of a peak—were permitted to wear robes as dark as ink.

  Back when he had served as Yun Che’s guide, Zhang Mingyuan had still worn white. Yet only a few short months had passed, and he now stood before him clad in black.

  The speed of this promotion was astonishing.

  Yun Che could not discern Zhang Mingyuan’s cultivation in the slightest. All he sensed was a calm exterior beneath which cold currents surged, deep and unfathomable. His tone grew even more respectful.

  “Congratulations, Senior Brother, on your great advancement and promotion to a true disciple.”

  Zhang Mingyuan’s gaze swept over Yun Che as if it carried tangible weight, probing him inside and out. His voice remained even.

  “A small improvement. Hardly worth mentioning. That said… my ability to break through so quickly is not entirely unrelated to you.”

  Yun Che froze, then looked up in surprise.

  “When I searched for you at the bottom of the cliff a month ago,” Zhang Mingyuan continued, a flicker of something unusual passing through his eyes,

  “I discovered a Yin-Devouring Wind Eye there. While its suction is deadly to low-level cultivators, the core—having devoured and pulverized all things for years—unexpectedly condensed exceptionally pure icy spiritual energy, along with a peculiar form of Void Essence. It proved highly beneficial in tempering my Ice Soul Profound Art.”

  “If not for searching for you, I might never have found that place.”

  So that was it.

  Realization dawned on Yun Che. The place that had nearly claimed his life had instead become another man’s stepping stone to advancement. Such were the strange ironies of fate.

  “This is Senior Brother’s good fortune,” Yun Che said quickly. “I would not dare claim any credit.”

  Zhang Mingyuan waved a hand dismissively, his gaze returning to Yun Che.

  “As for you, I have heard some things. Being unable to sense Xu Spirits due to innate limitations is unfortunate, but unavoidable. Still, since you have entered the Frost Profound Sect, even as a registered disciple, diligence is expected.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Yet you still show no trace of spiritual fluctuations. I fear you have not even achieved the most basic step of drawing qi into the body.”

  He paused, his tone indifferent.

  “Among the registered disciples, one could say you are… unique in making no progress whatsoever.”

  Yun Che’s heart tightened. He could not tell whether this was a mere observation or something more pointed. On his face, however, he showed only bitterness and shame.

  “Senior Brother’s words are justified,” he said with a bow.

  “Yun Che is dull-witted and has disappointed you. I will redouble my efforts day and night and dare not slacken.”

  Unwilling to linger on this subject, he cautiously shifted the topic.

  “May I ask what instructions bring Senior Brother here so late at night?”

  Zhang Mingyuan appeared uninterested in pressing the matter further.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “There are two things. First—Liu De, who was responsible for dispatching labor in this area, has been missing for several days. Some disciples claim that shortly before his disappearance, you were seen heading toward the service quarters.”

  So this was it.

  Yun Che’s heart contracted, but his expression remained composed. He even furrowed his brows slightly, as if recalling something unpleasant.

  “Senior Brother refers to Liu De? That did happen. About seven or eight days ago, I went to the storeroom to collect a newly sharpened sickle. When I passed by the service quarters, Liu De suddenly called me over. His words were… rather impatient. He complained that I fetched water too slowly and delayed the kitchens, and he scolded me for a while.”

  He lowered his head slightly.

  “I knew myself to be at fault and dared not argue. After listening, I left. I have not seen Senior Brother Liu since.”

  The conflict was framed as a routine reprimand, the timing deliberately blurred.

  Zhang Mingyuan studied his face for a moment, then nodded faintly.

  “Liu De’s reputation was never good. Abusing menial disciples was common for him. Perhaps he felt he had no future in the sect—or had other plans—and left the mountain on his own. An outer disciple is hardly worth concern.”

  Yun Che silently released half a breath.

  “Second,” Zhang Mingyuan continued, his tone turning more serious,

  “after discussion between the sect master and the elders, it was decided that having labor zones managed long-term by outer or selected registered disciples breeds many problems.”

  “From today onward, inner disciples will rotate supervision to correct discipline and occasionally guide those among the menials who show promise.”

  A sense of foreboding rose in Yun Che’s chest.

  Sure enough—

  “However,” Zhang Mingyuan said,

  “inner disciples are occupied with cultivation and sect missions. Few can spare time for such trivial affairs. Considering your special circumstances—unable to cultivate by conventional means—and your temperament… which is at least stable…”

  His gaze passed over Yun Che.

  “You will temporarily assume supervision of the Cold Nether Pool and the rear mountain herb gardens. Move into the service quarters tomorrow, organize affairs, and restore order. Consider it a form of tempering.”

  Yun Che’s expression finally showed genuine bitterness.

  Supervising the menials?

  This meant he would move from the fringes into the center of scrutiny. Not only would the work become heavier and more entangled—requiring constant dealings with registered and even outer disciples—but worse, he would lose his privacy.

  That shabby gray-tiled room had been his sanctuary.

  Under watchful eyes in the service quarters, how could he safely use the stone bead?

  “Senior Brother,” Yun Che tried to decline,

  “My cultivation is shallow. I fear I am unfit for such responsibility and may hinder sect affairs—”

  “No need for further words,” Zhang Mingyuan interrupted flatly.

  “The decision is made. With Liu De gone, the area is in disorder. Someone must take charge.”

  “If difficulties arise, come to Frost Condensation Peak

  and seek me. You take over tomorrow.”

  With that, he flicked his sleeve.

  A crystalline, ruler-length sword radiating icy brilliance emerged behind him. Stepping onto it, Zhang Mingyuan gave Yun Che a slight nod. With a soft hum, the sword transformed into a streak of icy blue light and vanished into the night sky, leaving behind only lingering cold.

  Yun Che stood alone in the courtyard, staring at the direction the sword light had disappeared. His brows knitted tightly as frustration and helplessness surged.

  This position was a thankless burden—one that would severely obstruct his cultivation.

  “Everyone wants easier work,” he muttered.

  “Who would accept a useless ‘cliff-diving’ nobody managing them?”

  Arguing directly was impossible.

  Then there was only one way.

  “I’ll make this position impossible to sit in.”

  Back in his room, Yun Che packed his meager belongings: two gray robes, the cloth that once wrapped his mother’s osmanthus candy, a few dried wild herbs, and—hidden deepest—the stone bead and the oil-wrapped hide scroll.

  He headed for the service quarters near the Cold Nether Pool.

  The courtyard was in disarray, clearly unmanaged since Liu De’s disappearance. Yun Che pushed open the side room; dust and stale odors rushed out. He grimaced and began cleaning, tossing all of Liu De’s personal effects aside.

  The noise drew nearby registered disciples. They gathered at the gate, watching—curious, wary, and some openly disdainful.

  Yun Che ignored them.

  After a moment, a plump disciple stepped forward nervously.

  “Y–Yun Senior Brother… Shall we help?”

  Yun Che stopped, turned, and looked at him coldly.

  The smile froze. Sweat beaded at the disciple’s temple.

  Yun Che said nothing and dragged Liu De’s chair beneath the eaves, sitting down heavily. More disciples arrived until nearly a hundred filled the courtyard, murmuring under moonlight and flickering lamps.

  Yun Che’s gaze swept the crowd, lingering on familiar mocking faces.

  Then he pointed casually.

  “You. Starting tomorrow—rear mountain ironwood. Five hundred jin per day.”

  The man paled.

  “I—I clean the mountain paths! I can’t chop ironwood! Five hundred jin would kill me!”

  Yun Che took a sip of cold water.

  “Too little? Then a thousand.”

  The man collapsed.

  The courtyard exploded in uproar.

  “This is abuse!”

  “We won’t accept this!”

  “Let’s report him!”

  They surged away in protest.

  Yun Che did not stop them.

  Go. Make it bigger.

  Half an hour later, they returned—heads bowed, faces ashen.

  They had failed.

  Yun Che’s heart sank… then hardened.

  “So,” he said coldly,

  “it seems the sect wants me to keep managing you.”

  He smiled faintly—without warmth.

  “I’m petty. I hold grudges. If I’m uncomfortable sitting here, none of you will be comfortable either.”

  “Whoever can drag me off this seat—I’ll thank him.”

  Silence.

  He turned and shut the door.

  Inside, the cold mask fell away, leaving only exhaustion.

  “This path,” he murmured,

  “is harder than I imagined.”

  But perhaps—

  This position could yet be used.

  act the villain—

  not out of hatred,

  but out of survival.

  the sect won’t bother correcting, and the menials desperately want gone.

  a shackle—

  or a hidden opportunity?