As the caravan gathered beneath the fading light of the setting sun, preparing to resume their arduous journey, Long Huang wandered over to the weathered axe of the infamous Bandit King. It lay half-buried in the dirt, its jagged edge still shimmering with the remnants of battle. He picked it up, testing its weight, muscles straining as he gave an appreciative whistle. "Not bad," he mused, a sly smile creeping across his face. "This could fetch a good price at the weapon pavilion. Or I might just keep it as a trophy—a memento of today's little adventure."
Zhao Gun, who had been silently observing the aftermath of the skirmish, stepped forward, disbelief etched on his features. "You're not seriously thinking about looting him," he said, his voice tinged with disapproval.
Long Huang turned, the axe resting casually on his shoulder. "Of course I am," he replied with a grin. "What, did you think I fought him for honor? I've got bills to pay, a family to support, and my 'fancy cultivation shed' could use some upgrades. A little treasure wouldn't hurt."
Zhao Gun pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration mounting. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are, still following me around like a lost puppy," Long Huang teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Admit it, Zhao Gun. You're intrigued by me. You can't resist the charm of the 'Ordinary' disciple who keeps getting lucky."
"I am not—"
"Admit it," Long Huang pressed, leaning closer and lowering his voice dramatically. "You're dying to know my secrets. How does Long Huang, the so-called 'Ordinary' disciple, keep defying the odds?" He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Maybe I'll share them... if you beg."
Zhao Gun's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. "I'd rather face another Bandit King."
"Suit yourself," Long Huang said, straightening and slinging the axe over his shoulder with an exaggerated flourish. "But just so you know, the offer expires at midnight. After that, the price doubles. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Before Zhao Gun could retort, a commotion erupted at the edge of the pass. The rustling of leaves and rising murmurs grew louder as a group of figures emerged from the thicket—disciples from their sect, led by none other than Huang Min. Her expression was a strange mixture of relief and irritation, her robes rumpled from a hasty journey.
"Long Huang!" she called, striding forward. "You idiot! Do you have any idea how worried I—"
Her words faltered as she took in the scene: the Bandit King lay motionless, his followers either incapacitated or fleeing into the woods. Long Huang stood among the chaos, the enormous axe resting casually on his shoulder, looking every bit the triumphant hero. Her eyes darted to Zhao Gun, who looked as if he'd seen a ghost, and then back to Long Huang.
"...You did this?"
Long Huang rubbed the back of his neck, feigning innocence. "Uh, maybe?"
Huang Min exhaled sharply and, to everyone's surprise, delivered a punch to his arm. "Next time, could you at least tell someone before you run off and challenge a Bandit King?"
"Ow! What was that for?" he protested, rubbing his arm theatrically.
"For being reckless," she retorted, though her tone lacked true anger. Then, softer, she added, "And for making me think you were dead."
Long Huang blinked, then grinned. "Aw, Huang Min. You do care."
She punched him again, this time playfully.
" Thank you for the gift," softly escaped her lips as she was thanking Long Huang for the jade bed. Hearing this Long Huang just smiled.
The journey back to the sect was anything but quiet. News of Long Huang's astonishing victory spread like wildfire, whispers following them at every turn. By the time they reached the sect's gates, a crowd had already formed. Disciples peeked from behind pillars, elders stroked their beards in deep contemplation, while a few young masters scowled in disbelief.
" I still don't believe it was that pretty boy who did it "
"Yh I bet he took Young master Zhao credit"
" But don't you see Young master Zhao is behind him instead of in front so it must be true"
" Let's not mess with him before we end up like that Bandit King "
In the midst of it all, Long Huang strolled through the bustling courtyard as if he hadn't just upended everyone's expectations. He hummed a carefree tune, occasionally waving at curious onlookers, his demeanor unbothered.
Zhao Gun, trailing behind him like a storm cloud, finally couldn't hold back any longer. "You're loving this, aren't you?" he snapped.
"Immensely," Long Huang admitted, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at their faces. Priceless."
"You realize this changes nothing, right?" Zhao Gun hissed, voice low and urgent. "You're still an Ordinary-bloodline cultivator. The elders won't overlook that."
"Maybe not," Long Huang replied lightly, "but they'll think twice before underestimating me again." He paused, smirking. "And so will you."
Zhao Gun fell silent, his jaw tightening. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? Long Huang had shattered his assumptions, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew about talent and potential.
What else had he been wrong about?
That night, as darkness settled and the stars began to twinkle above, the air buzzed with the promise of change.
"Note to self," he muttered to the ceiling, his voice tinged with frustration, "next time, bring snacks. Fighting on an empty stomach is exhausting work." His stomach growled in agreement, a stark reminder of the rigorous clash he had just endured. The battle had left him drained, both physically and mentally.
A sharp knock at the door shattered his moment of solitude. He sighed, the weight of fatigue pressing down on him. "If you're here to challenge me, can it wait until morning? I'm too tired for this."
The door creaked open, revealing Zhao Gun, who stood stiffly in the threshold, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was a mask of control, though beneath it lay a flicker of something deeper—an emotional turbulence that intrigued Long Huang.
Long Huang raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company at such a late hour?"
Zhao Gun hesitated, the usual arrogance that defined him tempered by an unexpected vulnerability. After a moment, he stepped inside, closing the door with a deliberate slowness that suggested he was weighing his words carefully. "I want answers," he stated, his tone low but edged with urgency.
Long Huang propped himself up on his elbows, stretching his limbs as he regarded Zhao Gun with a newfound seriousness. "Ah, the prideful Zhao Gun finally comes seeking help. I never thought I'd see the day. So, you've come to beg, huh?"
Zhao Gun's eyes narrowed, frustration flickering across his handsome features. "Cut the games. How did you do it? No tricks. No lies. How did you manage to defeat a Bone Tempering cultivator?"
Long Huang studied him, the silence between them stretching as he weighed the implications of revealing his truth. With a deep, reluctant sigh, he finally spoke. "Fine. But you're not going to like what you hear."
Leaning forward, his usual playful demeanor evaporating, he fixed Zhao Gun with a penetrating gaze, one that seemed to pull at the very threads of their shared history. "It's because I stopped caring about realms and bloodlines a long time ago," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.
Zhao Gun frowned, confusion etching deeper lines on his forehead. "What does that even mean?"
Long Huang let out a soft chuckle, though it held no humor. "It means I quit letting other people define my limits. So what if my bloodline is 'Ordinary'? So what if I'm 'just' at the Meridian Tempering Realm? None of that matters if you know how to fight," he emphasized, tapping his temple with a knowing smile. "And trust me, I've had plenty of practice."
Zhao Gun stared at him, his expression shifting from doubt to contemplation as he searched for any hint of deception. Yet Long Huang's gaze remained unwavering, the familiar smirk absent from his features. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Zhao Gun's mind—a nagging doubt that perhaps his previous assumptions had been misguided.
As Long Huang watched Zhao Gun ponder his words, a slow smile crept across his face, knowing he had planted a seed of doubt that could grow into something much larger. The night air around them felt charged, heavy with unspoken truths and the weight of realization, as both young men stood at the precipice of understanding or perhaps misunderstanding the message about strength, potential, and the true meaning of power.