C2 Arrogant

"Brother Ye... They came for medicine, and when they found none in stock, they resorted to violence... Ah!!"

The servant sprawled on the ground had been in the midst of explaining to Ye Feng when, out of nowhere, a foot came hurtling through the air. Jee Fanchen had kicked him, sending him flying over ten meters before he crashed into a nearby wall, knocking him unconscious.

Jee Fanchen, you brute!

No one could have anticipated such brazen behavior from this newcomer. The onlookers, though mere servants, were his seniors by age. Yet, without a moment's hesitation, he struck with excessive force over a simple disagreement.

The silence that followed was deafening. After delivering his kick, Jee Fanchen strode towards Ye Feng and the others, hands clasped behind his back. His ominous footsteps echoed like thunderous drumbeats, striking fear into the hearts of all present.

Hualala.

The crowd scrambled backward, bending and swaying like stalks of wheat in a gale, leaving only Ye Feng and Lee Xiang standing their ground against this haughty menace.

Jee Fanchen approached, stopping a mere three meters from Ye Feng.

He regarded Ye Feng with the disdainful gaze of an emperor surveying a groveling beggar—arrogant, icy, brooking no challenge to his authority.

"What was it you said earlier?"

Jee Fanchen didn't wait for an answer, pressing on, "Senior Brother Lee Huayu is a prodigy of the Nephelo Sect, the benchmark I aim to surpass. But..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes flashed with a chilling intensity, and a sudden surge of malice barreled towards Ye Feng. "Whether it's me or Lee Huayu, what right does a lowly servant like you have to speak of us?"

Swoosh.

Before his words could settle, Jee Fanchen's hand whipped out in a swift, vicious slap aimed at Ye Feng's face.

"Brother Ye, watch out!"

Lee Xiang, at Ye Feng's side, sensed the fierce momentum of the slap—so swift it left no room for defense.

But in the blink of an eye, a fist met the brutal slap head-on.

Bang.

A dull thud echoed.

Ye Feng reeled backward, absorbing the brunt of Jee Fanchen's humiliating blow.

He blocked it?

Lee Xiang and his companions were taken aback.

They had always believed Ye Feng's abilities were on par with their own. Yet, when Jee Fanchen unleashed that fearsome palm strike, a blow that would have sent Lee Xiang soaring through the air without mercy, Ye Feng had withstood it.

Ye Feng's prowess was clearly beyond that of an average martial cultivator.

"Oh?" Jee Fanchen examined his palm, a hint of surprise in his tone. "You actually withstood my strike?"

Ye Feng rose to his feet, his right fist quivering subtly, yet his eyes, clear in their black and white distinction, held not a trace of retreat.

Eight years of patient refinement might have dulled Ye Feng's once sharp edge, but the pride he was born with would never bend to anyone.

Facing Jee Fanchen's icy, domineering gaze, he responded with a defiant smile.

"I merely speculated before, but your palm strike... truly mundane. Lee Huayu, eight years ago, was more than twice your better!"

"How insolent! You dare to speak such words!" Jee Fanchen's pupils contracted fiercely, his face twisting into a savage snarl, like a wounded beast. "You find my palm strike mundane? Very well, I shall show you the true might of the Profound Stage."

"This is the Herbal Hall of the Nephelo Sect. Such insolence will not be tolerated!"

"And if I choose insolence, what will you do? Kneel before me!"

Jee Fanchen's haughtiness stemmed from over a decade of unchecked ego. In Lightdale County, he was unchallenged, and within the Outer Sect of the Nephelo Sect, he saw himself as unbeatable. A mere servant like Ye Feng was nothing but an ant to him, easily crushed underfoot.

With a mighty bellow, Jee Fanchen finally unleashed the true force of the Profound Stage.

His palm glowed with a pale white aura, as a mysterious energy far surpassing mere brute strength transformed him into a blur, a whirlwind indiscernible to the naked eye. With a single sweep of his arm, he conjured howling winds, aiming a devastating blow at Ye Feng's face.

Cursed Profound Qi!

Ye Feng knew all too well the allure of this formidable power he had long coveted.

He lifted his arm to intercept the blow, but despite his formidable physique, he was no match for someone at the Profound Stage. His arm collided with Jee Fanchen's palm and was brutally smashed back into his own face. Propelled by the force, he was flung backward, crashing to the ground like a ragdoll sandbag.

"Brother Ye!" Lee Xiang, with eyes blazing red, lunged forward to help.

"Silence!" With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Jee Fanchen sent Lee Xiang sprawling through the air.

In the face of a Profound Stage martial cultivator, those at the Physical Stage were as insignificant as ants, easily squashed.

Ye Feng tumbled across the ground several times before coming to a halt. His left arm was numb, unresponsive, and his face rapidly swelling. But before he could gather his wits, Jee Fanchen's menacing silhouette loomed over him, his foot callously pressing down on Ye Feng's face.

"Come on, tell me... how do I measure up to Lee Huayu now?"

"Not even... close!" Ye Feng spat out defiantly through clenched teeth.

"Oh? Still got a sharp tongue?" Jee Fanchen sneered, increasing the pressure on his foot, threatening to shatter Ye Feng's cheekbone. "Say one more thing, and I'll make sure you can never speak again in this lifetime!"

"Brother Ye, enough! Just concede!"

"There's no shame in losing to Young Master Jee!"

The surrounding servant disciples couldn't stand by silently, their voices a chorus of concern, unable to watch Ye Feng endure such degradation.

But Ye Feng's fists were clenched tight, his eyes nearly bursting from their sockets with fury. He was seething, resolved to never bow down, even if it meant death.

"To hell with you..."

Just as Jee Fanchen's eyes glinted with the imminent release of his power, an authoritative voice cut through the tension.

"Stop right there!"

The instructor had arrived, at long last.

The servant disciples exhaled in collective relief, rushing to the instructor to plead Ye Feng's case.

Jee Fanchen turned a dismissive glance at the instructor, clearly unimpressed. Yet, with the situation as it was, he knew better than to inflict further harm.

"You got lucky, trash..." With a forceful kick to Ye Feng's face, he turned his back and walked away without giving Ye Feng another glance.

"Remember, the Nephelo Sect isn't for losers like you. Better leave while you can!"

Jee Fanchen strutted toward the instructor with his hands clasped behind him and his chest out. With a few seemingly nonchalant words, he silenced the crowd of servant disciples.

The instructor, after casting a distant look at Ye Feng, said nothing. He simply ushered everyone to leave quickly, acting as if the incident never occurred.

Lying on the ground, Ye Feng's heart was as cold as the mud plastered on his face.

...

An hour later.

Ye Feng walked alone on the back mountain of the Nephelo Sect.

His face was still swollen, the pain searing, but the sting of humiliation was far worse.

He had been ruthlessly defeated by Jee Fanchen, with no chance against such a formidable martial cultivator.

After the assault, Jee Fanchen faced only a mild scolding, escaping any real punishment.

One was a disciple on the verge of expulsion; the other, a rising prodigy. The choice was clear to all.

Ye Feng was seething with rage.

Once, he too shone brightly, outshining even Lee Huayu, the top youth of Lightdale, in body refining speed. Now, he was oppressed by a childe bolstered by medicines.

Such sorrow and rage could drive a man to madness.

But Ye Feng remained true to himself.

He refused to wallow in anger. After eight years, this wasn't his first taste of oppression. If he had succumbed to self-pity, he might have leapt from a mountain long ago.

Now, he didn't even have the luxury of time to feel angry or wronged.

He came to the back mountain partly to release his pent-up frustration, but more importantly, to seek the last chance to break through the Profound Stage.

Spiritual Essence Grass.

Previously, Ye Feng had relied on harvesting wild Spiritual Essence Grass from the back mountain to gain substantial Profound Qi. This remained his sole hope as an outer disciple.

Just five more Spiritual Essence Grasses...

No, even three would suffice!

With the Profound Qi from just three Spirit Origin Grasses, he was certain he could break through to the Profound Stage!

Ye Feng clenched his teeth in determination and continued his relentless pursuit through the desolate mountain forest. The herbs on the outskirts of the back mountain had long been harvested by him, so he had no choice but to venture deeper into the uncharted wilderness of the mountain in search of any remaining chance.

But it seemed as though the heavens were toying with him; despite his exhaustive efforts, he couldn't find even a single leaf of Spiritual Essence Grass as the night wore on.

"Oh, heavens above, you truly seem intent on toying with me to the bitter end..."

After a grueling six hours, Ye Feng, with a wry smile etched across his face, slumped against a mountain wall and sat down.

The most excruciating pain isn't found in defeat, but in knowing that despite pouring in tenfold, even a hundredfold more effort than others, it all amounted to nothing—like drawing water with a sieve.

That agony, that sense of utter despair, was beyond words!

Ye Feng's heart felt as though it was being wrung out by an invisible, crushing grip, oozing with the blood of heartache.

With only one day left until the Inner Sect Assessment, was he truly at a dead end?

Ye Feng closed his eyes. Despite his resilience, he couldn't suppress the urge to let out a cathartic howl to the sky. As he stood up, arms raised, head thrown back, mouth agape, ready to unleash his cry...

Suddenly, his gaze was captured by a massive, crooked tree overhead.

Huh?

This tree... it looks so familiar!

Ye Feng scanned his surroundings, a strange sense of recognition washing over him.

Have I been here before?

At that moment, a breeze swept through the mountains, sending a cascade of leaves fluttering down. One, as if by the grace of the Master of Fate, landed gently on Ye Feng's head.

That's it, it was in last night's dream!

Ye Feng vividly recalled the bizarre dream where a mysterious voice guided him through the back mountain to this very spot, in front of this mountain wall. Yet, the crooked tree in his dream had been merely a sapling, nothing like the flourishing giant before him now.

He plucked the leaf from the tree, and a wild, improbable thought sprang to mind, absurd but irresistibly alluring.