Chapter 42: At The Very Least, You Know How To Bow

Chapter 42: At The Very Least, You Know How To Bow Still, Lin Fan remained blissfully unaware. "I’m telling you," he whispered to himself, "this mysterious, stoic charm of mine is finally working. One nod from the Saintess? That’s progress. Yue Yu walking beside me? That’s practically fate." The old man groaned again and collapsed back. ’I’m never getting revived...’ he thought miserably: ’This idiot’s going to get himself killed flirting with a female, and I’ll die a second death just from shame.’ But Lin Fan continued on, walking tall—hands behind his back, hair tousled just enough to look wild but handsome (in his mind), eyes narrowed as if pondering profound truths. He even let out a soft sigh, just loud enough for others to hear: "...So lonely at the top." No one reacted. Even Yue Yu didn’t blink. She had long since tuned him out. From a short distance away, Hei Long still watched this performance unfold with visible amusement. He didn’t need to lift a finger—Lin Fan was his own worst enemy, sabotaging himself one exaggerated motion at a time. . . . After returning to the mountain, the disciples quickly assembled into neat lines, each group forming in front of their respective elders. The tension in the air was subtle but growing, as one by one, each disciple was called forward to present their monster cores. Most stepped up eagerly, some boasting with pride, others with quiet satisfaction, displaying monster cores of varying sizes and hues. The elders nodded or scribbled notes as they examined each contribution, occasionally sharing a hushed word with a fellow elder. This had all served its purpose well—it separated the truly capable from the merely fortunate. But then came Hei Long... When his name was called— Hei Long strode forward calmly, a confident yet unreadable expression etched across his face. Without ceremony, he reached into his robes and pulled out a monster core. A hushed murmur swept through the crowd. Even some of the disciples who’d been snickering minutes before now stared with widened eyes. "That’s... impossible," one elder whispered under his breath, the words barely audible. The Flame-Veined Tiger was no ordinary monster. Though not the highest-tier monster in the forest, it was known for its aggression, speed, and ability to manipulate. Even advanced disciples were instructed to avoid it when possible. For someone like Hei Long—still young in cultivation—to bring down such a monster alone... "Could he have cheated?" one of the elders finally voiced what many were thinking, his tone low and cautious. Another elder folded his arms. "It’s hard to believe," he admitted. "But not impossible. We can’t rule it out entirely." "He’s the Saint," a third elder interjected, her expression unreadable but her voice laced with subtle reverence: "Chosen by the Sect Leader herself. Why would someone of his status need to cheat in something as small as this?" A moment of silence passed among the elders. "I watched him for a short while in the forest," the first elder added thoughtfully: "He seemed... composed. Instructed other disciples not to fight amongst themselves. Spoke with authority. I saw no signs of trickery." "Even so," said an elder, "we’ll need to confirm his account. No accusations—not yet. But this warrants a discussion with the Sect Leader." "Agreed," the others murmured. With a silent nod, they set the matter aside—at least for now—and moved on to the second anomaly. Lin Fan. The last to be called. The last to step forward. And when he did, his hands were empty. No monster core. No excuse. Just an awkward grin plastered across his face as if none of this mattered. At first, the elders hesitated. Perhaps he’d been unlucky. Maybe he had fought valiantly and failed. Perhaps another disciple had stolen his monster core in the chaos. There were always circumstances that could be forgiven—so long as there was effort. But then came the testimony... One of the disciples stepped forward, his brow furrowed and voice clipped: "I watched him for nearly the entire second half," he said: "He made no effort to hunt. No attempt to assist others. He... followed a girl." The elders turned toward him sharply. "Followed?" "Stalked, more like," the man replied, his tone laced with disapproval: "He trailed her through every quadrant of the forest. Never lifted a blade. I’m not even sure if he drew his weapon once." A cold silence fell over the gathering. All the disciples began murmuring amongst themselves. Some laughed under their breath; others shook their heads in embarrassment. "This is grounds for punishment," an elder said flatly, disgust clear in his tone: "Every other disciple brought something back. Every single one. Except him." Another elder nodded: "Letting this go unpunished would send the wrong message. This was not just for monster cores—it was to test resolve, discipline, and character. He failed on all three." A third voice, gentler but no less firm, added: "He doesn’t need to be cast out. But he must understand consequences. No one advances through the ranks by chasing skirts." Lin Fan, meanwhile, stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, scratching his head, confused: "Why is everyone freaking out over something so trivial? So what if I didn’t bring back a monster core? Does that somehow mean I’m weak?" Lin Fan scoffed: "Please—I could crush any disciple here without even trying. Wasting my time on something as petty as monster hunting? I’ve got better things to do—..." Before Lin Fan could get another word out, he suddenly became aware of the silence that had fallen over. All eyes were on him. The casual grin Lin Fan been wearing slipped from his face, replaced by an expression of growing discomfort. A heat crept up his neck, and his throat tightened beneath the weight of a hundred stares. He instinctively tugged at the collar of his robe, trying to ease the constriction—though it did nothing to help. A few disciples snickered in the back. Someone coughed, purposefully loud. Lin Fan let out a weak, awkward laugh, hoping to brush it off. ’Did they hear me talking to myself...?’ he thought to himself. ’Fuck it...’ Lin Fan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and began pushing his way toward the front. The murmurs of the crowd buzzed in his ears like mosquitoes, each whisper a tiny sting. When Lin Fan finally reached the base of the stone steps where the elders stood, he paused. For a second, he hesitated—then dropped his head and fell into a respectful bow. He cupped his hands tightly together and held them before him in the traditional gesture of apology. "Respected Elders," Lin Fan began, his voice wavering at first but gradually growing steadier: "I offer no excuse for my failure. I did not complete this monster hunt as I should have. I disrespected the intent, and in doing so, I have brought dishonor not only upon myself, but possibly to the sect." Lin Fan swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue: "As an act of repentance, I accept whatever punishment you see fit to impose. No complaint shall pass my lips. I only ask that I be allowed to learn from this—so that I may one day redeem myself and prove I’m not beyond correction." He bowed lower then, almost to the ground. "..." The elders exchanged glances. Lin Fan could feel sweat collecting at his brow, a bead slowly running down his temple as he remained frozen in his bowed position. Then one of the elders spoke, voice like stone grinding against stone: "At the very least, you know how to bow."