Chapter 597: These Young Descendants Have No Manners at All

“Gentlemen, please proceed.”

At the entrance of a secluded yet exceptionally serene courtyard, the escorting bodyguard stopped.

Zhang Chuyang’s vigilance rose several notches.

Such an isolated courtyard is perfect for carrying out shady dealings.

Creak.

Zhang Jie led the way and pushed open the door.

The courtyard’s layout and decor were similar to the one they had just left,

consisting of a pavilion, several stone tables, and a few stone benches.

In the corner stood a large water tank, its clear water filled with several goldfish, each about a thumb’s length, swimming leisurely.

Zhang Jie cast a casual glance and headed straight for the main house.

Creak.

As they reached the door, before Zhang Jie could reach out to open it, the door swung inward from within.

Zhang Jie peered inside; the room was sparsely decorated,

with only the necessary seating for guests and a few ink-wash landscape paintings hanging on the walls.

These paintings were clearly the work of masters—mere brushstrokes that vividly captured the grandeur of mountains

and the vitality of water, immersing viewers as if they were truly there.

Zhang Jie seemed to transcend time, witnessing the masters freely wielding their brushes with divine inspiration.

“Marvelous, marvelous—truly marvelous.”

Zhang Jie couldn’t stop praising.

At his level, one no longer judges people by their appearance, but directly by their “spirit.”

From this “spirit,” one can deduce a person’s character, preferences, and life experiences with near-perfect accuracy.

Had he been interested, he could have set up a fortune-telling stall under the Tianqiao bridge,

planted a banner reading “Iron-Mouthed Truth-Teller,” and become a spiritual fraud.

This is precisely what is meant by: “Mountains are not mountains, waters are not waters; mountains are mountains, waters are waters.”

“Brother Jie...”

Zhang Chuyang, however, had no such leisurely mood as Zhang Jie.

His gaze fell on the main hall and was immediately drawn to two figures seated on high-backed armchairs.

The figure on the left had an intense gaze; a scar ran across half his face, and being stared at by him,

Zhang Chuyang felt as if he were naked, completely exposed and laid bare.

The other had a faint smile, leaning on a cane, watching him and Zhang Jie with a cheerful expression.

Yet Zhang Chuyang sensed not a trace of kindness in that smile—only a chilling dread.

It felt like... like when he was a child chopping firewood in the mountains,

encountering some reptilian cold-blooded predator lurking among dead leaves and branches, waiting for its moment.

“Zhang Chuyang bows before Master Lü and Master Wang!”

Without a second’s hesitation, Zhang Chuyang bowed deeply.

These two elderly men were none other than Lü Ci, head of the Lü family, and Wang Ai, head of the Wang family—two of the Four Great Families of the occult world,

and also two of the Ten Elders, the ten most powerful and esteemed figures in the occult realm.

“Youngster, what have you discerned?”

Wang Ai, gripping the dragon-headed cane, did not immediately respond to Zhang Chuyang, but instead turned his gaze to Zhang Jie,

who since entering had fixed his eyes on the ink-wash paintings behind them.

His displeasure, though unspoken, was unmistakable.

Could two Grand Elders like us be less worthy of attention than a few dead paintings?

Today’s youth have no manners at all!

“The masterful brushwork of the ancients is astonishing—I wish I could sit and discuss the Dao with those sages.”

Zhang Jie, as if oblivious to Wang Ai’s irritation, spoke with a hint of regret.

The ancient master who created these paintings may not have possessed great cultivation, but his spiritual realm was sublime,

leaving behind a spiritual imprint that endured for centuries.

Unfortunately, even this spiritual imprint could not escape the ravages of time—it was now severely damaged, leaving Zhang Jie filled with melancholy.

To sit and converse with such an ancient sage would greatly benefit Zhang Jie at this stage.

His cultivation, bolstered by the shared space and other Zhang Jies, is unparalleled in history, transcending the world itself;

even if immortals who had ascended to heaven descended to earth, their strength relative to his would remain uncertain until tested.

Yet his cultivation journey has been brief, and he lacks deep understanding of the subtleties of Qi cultivation.

He must therefore draw upon the experience and wisdom of others and the ancients.

“Playing at mysticism!”

From the corner, a young man whom both Zhang Jie and Zhang Chuyang had ignored sneered.

“Lü Gong, step back.”

Lü Ci silenced the youth mocking Zhang Jie.

“Yes, Great-Grandfather.”

Lü Gong, unable to defy Lü Ci—his great-grandfather and head of the Lü family—fell silent.

“Greetings, Master Lü, Master Wang.”

Zhang Jie now appeared to notice Lü Ci and Wang Ai for the first time, bowing slightly.

Zhang Chuyang watched, his lips twitching.

Did Zhang Jie even bend his waist by 0.05 degrees?

His indifference was glaringly obvious.

“We’ve sat here for hours and seen nothing,

yet you, a mere youth, spotted the mystery at a glance.

Old, old indeed—the future belongs to you young ones.”

Lü Ci, known as the “Crazy Dog,” was anything but mad; he smiled warmly as he spoke.

Lü Gong, who had also been sitting there for hours: Am I even human? Am I even human?

“Sit.”

Wang Ai regained his composure and pointed his cane toward two other chairs on either side.

Zhang Jie didn’t hesitate—he picked a chair he liked and plopped down.

Zhang Chuyang, encountering such high-ranking figures for the first time, was nervous,

choosing the chair next to Zhang Jie’s and sitting tightly beside him.

Although he had previously met the Old Heavenly Master, whose status and power surpassed both Wang Ai and Lü Ci,

the context was entirely different: the Old Heavenly Master was his grandfather Zhang Huaiyi’s senior brother,

and treated him as a true nephew—undoubtedly family;

these two old rascals showed not the slightest hint of goodwill.

“Lü Gong, serve tea to our guests.”

After Zhang Jie and Zhang Chuyang sat down, Lü Ci instructed Lü Gong.

“Yes, Great-Grandfather.”

Lü Gong bowed respectfully, moved swiftly to the kitchen,

retrieved a teapot and cups, and poured a steaming cup of tea for each of Zhang Jie and Zhang Chuyang.

Of course, he also replaced the now-cold tea in the cups of his great-grandfather and Wang Ai,

who was of equal rank and generation to his great-grandfather.

After serving, he returned to his original spot, head bowed, eyes downcast.

Lü Ci’s immense authority within the Lü family was evident.

“Why did you summon me and my junior brother Chuyang?”

Zhang Jie took a sip of tea and cut straight to the point.

Wang Ai’s smile froze—he hadn’t expected Zhang Jie to be so blunt.

Zhang Chuyang, until seeing Zhang Jie drink, had only lifted the cup to his lips as a token gesture,

avoiding actual contact with the tea.

Though he knew the Ten Elders wouldn’t stoop so low as to drug or sabotage tea meant for a teenager,

he still clung to the principle: better safe than sorry.

Now, with Zhang Jie leading the way, he felt reassured.

In recent days, he’d never seen Zhang Jie come out on the losing end.

Follow Brother Jie—you can’t go wrong.

Follow Brother Jie, you won't go wrong.