Chapter 591

“It’s him—he was sitting with Zhang Chulan, the one who doesn’t care about face! He’s probably no good either!”

“Exactly! Birds of a feather flock together; this guy’s just as shameless!”

The audience’s fury over Zhang Chulan’s brazen behavior spread to anyone closely associated with him.

Feng Xingtong, who had sat beside Zhang Chulan earlier, was viciously berated by the enraged crowd.

“It’s Chulan who’s shameless—it has nothing to do with me!”

Poor Feng Xingtong, the little white-haired boy caught in the crossfire, was on the verge of tears.

“We don’t care—why did you get so close to Zhang Chulan?”

The audience’s minds were entirely ruled by rage; they paid no heed to Feng Xingtong’s protests.

Unable to sit still, Feng Xingtong slunk away in shame.

Though the crowd hadn’t yet resorted to violence, as the saying goes: when all point fingers, even the healthy die;

for a teenager like him, this scene was already too much to bear.

Zhang Jie’s assessment: still too young.

What if people mock me, slander me, look down on me?

Just endure him, let him be, smile at him—after a hundred years, dance on his grave, wouldn’t that be delightful?

Of course, such a tactic suits only Zhang Jie, a long-lived one who has shattered the human lifespan limit.

For ordinary people, doing this would only leave them as a pile of bones and a single grave after a hundred years.

“Jiege, you knew Chulan would do this?”

Feng Xingtong, disheveled and his neatly combed white hair in disarray, fled to Zhang Jie’s side.

Once he caught his breath, he couldn’t help asking.

Looking back, Zhang Jie’s decision to leave the moment Zhang Chulan stepped offstage was clearly foresight.

“I didn’t know what Chulan would do.”

Zhang Jie shook his head slightly: “But I knew that wherever he goes, trouble will follow.”

“Isn’t that what Patriarch Puti told Sun Wukong when he left Slant Moon Three Stars Cave?”

Feng Xingtong, who loved gathering information and had read widely, instantly recognized the source of Zhang Jie’s words.

In Chapter Two of the original Journey to the West, Sun Wukong showed off his magic (turning into a pine tree) before his fellow disciples,

and Patriarch Puti immediately expelled him from the sect.

At their parting, the Patriarch’s warning to Sun Wukong was harsh and profound:

“Wherever you go from here, evil will follow. No matter how much chaos or violence you cause, do not say you are my disciple.

If you utter even half a word of it, I will know—and I will flay you, grind your bones,

cast your soul into the deepest abyss, so you may never rise again for ten thousand kalpas!”

Sun Wukong, terrified, immediately kowtowed and swore:

“I dare not mention my master’s name even once—I’ll say I learned it all myself.”

He thought carefully—Zhang Chulan’s actions truly were a path to evil.

“This kid’s gotten too used to pretending to be a pig to eat tigers.”

Zhang Jie didn’t rage at Zhang Chulan like other cultivators did, accusing him of shamelessness—he sought the reason behind it.

If, before his arrival, Zhang Chulan had resorted to such tactics due to insufficient strength;

after all, though his talent was equal to that of Zhang Lingyu and Zhuge Qing, the top tier of the younger generation,

nearly a decade without cultivation had left him only slightly stronger than ordinary young cultivators,

one-on-one he could handle, two-on-one he struggled, three-on-one he was certain to lose.

But after his training, and after learning that the Old Farmer’s Art was the Qi Body Source Flow,

after diligent practice, even three-on-one was no longer a problem.

Yet this kid still chose the path of trading reputation for advantage—

clearly, he wanted to pretend to be weak, hiding his true strength.

“Also, this kid doesn’t fully trust me.”

Zhang Jie chuckled softly.

Zhang Chulan’s move was clearly aimed at Zhang Lingyu and Zhuge Qing as hypothetical enemies, seeking to catch them off guard.

Yet earlier, Zhang Jie had clearly made a deal with Zhang Chulan,

trading the Qi Body Source Flow for his help in clearing obstacles.

“But this is fine too.”

In this world, who besides oneself is truly reliable?

Lean on a mountain, it falls; lean on water, it flows; lean on parents, they will eventually grow old.

…

In the arena, Zhang Chulan ignored Xiao Huohuo’s defeated-dog gaze,

and paid no heed to the sea of contemptuous shouts surrounding the arena,

smiling broadly as he approached the Tian Shi Fu referee:

“Brother, the match is over—shouldn’t you announce the winner now?”

“Younger Brother Zhang…”

The referee brother gave Zhang Chulan a long, deep look. Had the Grand Celestial Master not already announced it,

he truly would not have acknowledged this shameless creature as his younger brother, as a disciple of Long Hu Mountain.

‘Jiege, Lingyu Xiaoshu, you must defeat Zhang Chulan!’

He silently prayed for Zhang Jie and Zhang Lingyu.

If this shameless creature won the Luo Tian Da Jiao,

became the Tian Shi heir, it would be nothing short of a disaster.

The Tian Shi Fu’s thousand-year reputation might be ruined forever!

“Breathe!”

The referee brother took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to punch this annoying fool into orbit,

then shouted loudly: “Winner of this group: Zhang Chulan!”

“Shameless!”

“Zhang Chulan, you shameless bastard!”

The crowd’s accusations against Zhang Chulan’s shamelessness grew louder.

“Grand Celestial Master, I never expected Long Hu Mountain would produce such a… interesting disciple.”

On the ten elders’ viewing platform, an elderly man with perfectly groomed silver hair and a tailored suit,

whose appearance stood out sharply among the elderly, couldn’t help chuckling.

“Old Lu, don’t spare my face.”

The Grand Celestial Master smiled warmly, utterly unfazed by the amused glances from Wang Ai and Lu Ci.

This man in the suit was none other than the Grand Celestial Master’s closest friend, the one who had offered one of the Eight Marvelous Arts—the Tong Tian Lu—as prize,

making the Luo Tian Da Jiao so grand—a patriarch of the Lu family, one of the four great clans of the cultivator world,

renowned for impeccable character and upright conduct, known as “A Life Without Flaw,” Lu Jin, Old Master Lu.

To be fair, Old Master Lu’s appearance stood out among centenarians.

The Grand Celestial Master, though deeply cultivated, had always focused only on numerical gains,

never spending a single point on appearance since his youth.

Tian Jinzhong was weighed down by worry, appearing ancient.

Lu Ci had once been decent, but the scar across half his face made him look monstrous;

coupled with his rabid, man-eating aura, he was hardly inspiring joy.

And Wang Ai?

His face was layered with wrinkles—enough to crush ten flies at once.

No need to mention him.

Old Master Lu’s reputation as a gentleman was well-deserved.

“This child, Chulan, must have suffered greatly.”

Tian Jinzhong, seated in his wheelchair, looked at Zhang Chulan with deep pity.

Who, as a youth, hasn’t dreamed of being unique,

standing alone, in green robe and white horse, sword in hand, wandering the world?

If not for enduring too much hardship in childhood, how could such a cautious, meek, face-slapping personality have formed?