Chapter Thirty-Four: Truth Revealed

“I finally understand now why the two of you are true disciples!” After hesitating for quite some time, as if entranced or in a daze, he finally drew a deep breath, looked at Song Hai, and sighed softly.

Profound? It was far too profound!

A true disciple was truly a true disciple—there was not the slightest exaggeration. Innate ability was not the sole criterion; as long as one possessed innate strength, that was enough!

This point dawned on Ru Chi, and he understood it with utmost clarity.

Neither of the two before him were opponents he could contend with; as for the other, Zhou Yi, who seemed so ordinary, so unremarkable, quietly seated there—it was even less worth considering.

From the very start, their manner and bearing made it clear to Ru Chi that it was the one sitting, not the one fighting, who was in command.

Obviously, the one seated was the stronger of the two—at least, it was far more likely.

Even the one who fought him was so powerful, then...

Ru Chi did not pursue the thought further; there was little point.

“In this matter, I shall not involve myself any further. Might the benefactor kindly return my monk’s staff?” He pressed his palms together and bowed to Song Hai, his expression serene, as if he had truly let go.

“Oh!” Song Hai had been waiting for his answer, but this was not what he expected. He paused, then handed the staff back. “Here.”

“Then, I shall take my leave.” With that, Ru Chi accepted the staff, turned, and left. He had given up on the autumn-leaf ganoderma. Though he still had cards up his sleeve, it was meaningless now—their overwhelming strength had already proved they were worthy.

“What a profound mastery of inner force!” No sooner had Ru Chi departed, and before Zhou Yi and Song Hai could do anything else, another monk entered at the doorway.

He wore grey robes, his head was completely shaved, a gentle smile on his face, admiration gleaming in his eyes. On his back he carried a cylindrical case, and he looked at the two men.

“And you are?” He arrived so quickly? Zhou Yi was inwardly amazed, his brows furrowing as he asked.

“I am Mingzhen,” the monk replied, his gaze passing over them. His brows were fine and dark, his cheeks youthful, his chin utterly smooth—not even the faintest down had grown, making it clear he was still very young.

So young, yet his inner strength ran deep—what manner of prodigy was this?

Mingzhen’s expression revealed nothing, but in his heart he sighed. He had arrived as soon as Ru Chi did, and while Ru Chi might have been shaken by his bout with Song Hai, Mingzhen was even more stunned!

Ru Chi perhaps had not yet realized it, but Mingzhen was well aware: from the way Song Hai had so easily taken the monk’s staff, despite only being at a postnatal stage, it meant he possessed at least a century’s worth of inner power. In fact, Mingzhen suspected that might be an understatement.

He had his own share of fortuitous encounters—once, he had consumed a century-old vermilion fruit, gaining thirty years’ worth of inner power. Moreover, he was quite gifted, and from the very start of his cultivation, he had trained within the Bodhi Monastery’s secret realms, staying three years in the lower sanctum before moving to the higher, until now.

He had practiced the monastery’s core techniques, the Bodhi Heart Sutra, and studied the supreme art, the Thousand-Petal Hand of Great Compassion. Eighteen years had passed, and now he was twenty-three.

Yet even so, he had only cultivated eighty years’ worth of inner power!

He had once thought himself quite accomplished. His fortunes were not the greatest under the heavens, but not lacking either. There might be those with luck or talent surpassing his, but surely not by too much. His eighteen years of effort, he believed, would not be outdone by many—if he was surpassed, it would be by a narrow margin.

This belief held until just now.

But Song Hai’s vast, oceanic inner force was like a mountain, crushing his confidence and perseverance with effortless ease!

Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed such a person existed—someone so young, no older than fifteen or sixteen by the look of him, yet possessing over a century’s worth of inner power! How could he bear such a comparison?

Sighing at this, Mingzhen lamented inwardly that the gap between people was truly beyond measure. Had it not been for today, he would never have believed the saying: The difference between men is greater than the difference between man and swine!

In fact, compared to Zhou Yi and Song Hai, Mingzhen was hardly worth mentioning.

But if he were compared to Ru Chi, then Ru Chi would be the one outclassed!

Both were of the innate realm, but one had only thirty years of inner force, while the other had eighty—a difference of fifty years!

Both were true disciples—Ru Chi had not withstood even a single move from Song Hai, but likewise, he would not have survived a single exchange with Mingzhen either!

“You’re here for this as well?” Zhou Yi pointed to the box on the table, speaking softly.

Unlike the first time, when he addressed Ru Chi, Zhou Yi was brimming with confidence now, a hint of dominance lacing his words.

“Riches tempt the heart; this autumn-leaf ganoderma is truly rare—I simply cannot let it go!” Smiling, Mingzhen reached behind his back, opened the cylindrical case, and produced a roll of green flag.

The flag was rolled up, about a finger’s thickness; unfolded, it might be the size of two palms.

Holding the little flag, Mingzhen smiled at Zhou Yi. “Much as I dislike admitting it, I cannot deny it—it is a matter that brings me sorrow!”

“In terms of martial skill, I am no match for either of you, not even for this gentleman here,” Mingzhen glanced at Song Hai. “I have no confidence in defeating him, let alone you.”

“Yet I cannot bring myself to give up either—the autumn-leaf ganoderma!” Mingzhen’s gaze burned as he looked at the wooden box, a flicker of greed in his eyes.

“So, you’ve brought a trump card?” Zhou Yi neither confirmed nor denied, his gaze falling upon the little flag in Mingzhen’s hand, his pupils narrowing—he sensed danger.

What was this thing?

It looked like a simple flag, yet in Zhou Yi’s eyes, it made every pore stand on end, every muscle tense—danger, extreme danger!

“You’re relying on this little flag, then?” Zhou Yi’s eyes were taut, staring at the flag before turning to Mingzhen.

No one had ever made him feel this way before. Not even when he had been uncertain about the strength of the innate realm, or when Ru Chi, as a true disciple, entered—he had been able to sit calmly because Ru Chi simply did not give off a sense of threat.

And reality had proven him right—Ru Chi, though of the innate realm, was astonishingly weak.

But Mingzhen was different. From the moment he entered, Zhou Yi had felt an indistinct sense of danger from him. He had watched Mingzhen carefully for some time, but could not pinpoint the source.

Only when Mingzhen unfurled the flag did Zhou Yi understand—it was this seemingly ordinary flag that had inspired the sense of peril all along.

Since arriving in this world, his senses had been sharpened; any intuition was as good as fact.

Now that the little flag gave him this sense of threat, it meant the flag could truly harm him.