A Sect That Took Him Too Seriously
The mountain path leading toward Azure River Sect grew increasingly refined the higher they climbed. What had once been uneven stone gave way to carefully carved steps, each slab polished smooth by centuries of disciplined footsteps. Faint patterns were etched into the stone—ancient formations designed to stabilize spiritual flow, guide qi, and subtly pressure those who walked upon them.
Shin Yung noticed none of that.
He was busy staring at the steps.
“These are… very even,” he remarked casually.
The words echoed softly in the mountain air.
Wei Jun stiffened, his steps slowing by half a beat. He did not turn back immediately, as though afraid that doing so too quickly might imply something improper.
“These steps,” he said carefully, “were carved personally by the Third Patriarch of Azure River Sect.”
“Oh,” Shin Yung replied, nodding. “That explains it.”
Explains what, exactly—Wei Jun did not ask. He only tightened his posture, interpreting the response as confirmation that Senior Shin had seen far more ancient, far more terrifying constructions before. Only someone who had witnessed divine formations would dismiss a patriarch’s work with such calm acceptance.
Behind them, Chen Ming slowed his steps.
“…Did the formation flags just stop moving?” he muttered.
Wei Jun did not even glance back. “You’re imagining things.”
Chen Ming swallowed, his gaze flicking sideways toward the thin banners planted along the path. They had been fluttering moments ago, resonating faintly with the ambient qi, responding naturally to the mountain breeze.
Now they were still.
Not frozen. Not suppressed.
Just… still.
Then why does it feel like the formation is holding its breath?
Chen Ming said nothing more, rationalizing furiously. Perhaps the wind had shifted. Perhaps the formations were responding to Wei Jun’s presence. Perhaps—
He glanced at Shin Yung’s back and felt his scalp prickle.
No. Best not to think further.
As they continued upward, the spiritual atmosphere grew denser, yet Shin Yung’s pace never faltered. He did not adjust his breathing. He did not unconsciously circulate qi like cultivators did when entering a high-density area. He simply walked, hands behind his back, gaze drifting lazily across the scenery.
Inside, his thoughts were considerably less dignified.
These stairs are endless. Why are cultivation sects always vertical? Do they hate knees?
At last, the outer gates of Azure River Sect came into view—two towering stone pillars carved with cloud motifs and river sigils, radiating ancient authority. Between them shimmered the outer formation barrier, translucent and subtle.
Inner disciples stood guard.
They straightened immediately upon seeing Wei Jun’s core disciple token, recognition flashing across their faces. Then their attention shifted naturally toward Shin Yung—and stalled.
Their spiritual senses extended out of habit.
Passed over him.
And found nothing.
The first disciple frowned slightly and tried again, this time with more care. Still nothing. His expression changed instantly. He bowed—quickly, deeply, and with just a hint of panic.
“Senior,” he said, gesturing hurriedly, “please… walk in the middle.”
Shin Yung paused.
“In the middle?” he asked honestly. “Is the middle safer?”
The disciple froze.
His mind went blank.
Safer? From what? The formations? The sect? The heavens?
“Yes,” he said instantly. “Extremely.”
Shin Yung nodded and complied, stepping precisely where indicated. The barrier rippled faintly and parted without resistance.
The guards bowed again.
Wei Jun felt his heartbeat quicken. Chen Ming’s hands were damp with sweat.
They had not specified his realm.
They had not dared.
Within minutes—far too quickly for coincidence—two elders arrived, their movements calm and unhurried. One was thin and sharp-eyed, his beard tied neatly; the other broader, with a presence like a still mountain.
Their gazes settled on Shin Yung.
Courtesy demanded acknowledgment.
The thin elder released a thread of domain pressure—not as a probe, but as etiquette, a way to gauge without offense.
The pressure dispersed.
It did not recoil.
It did not resist.
It vanished, as if swallowed by emptiness.
The elder’s face remained neutral, but behind his sleeve, his fingers tightened.
“…Honored guest,” he said evenly. “Please follow us.”
Shin Yung inclined his head, internally wondering if this was how people got escorted to execution in this world.
They did not lead him to the disciple quarters or the guest halls, but to the Listening Pavilion—a quiet structure set slightly apart, elegant and restrained, layered with formations that whispered of caution rather than hospitality.
Not a prison.
Not a residence.
A waiting place.
The elders withdrew. Wei Jun bowed deeply, relief and tension tangled in his expression, while Chen Ming followed, his thoughts spiraling.
No cultivation. No reaction. No pressure. No sense. This is worse than everything making sense.
Su Yan lingered briefly. “If Senior requires anything,” she said gently, “please let me know.”
Shin Yung nodded.
The pavilion fell silent.
The moment the doors closed, Shin Yung collapsed into the nearest chair, posture instantly abandoned.
“…System,” he whispered internally.
- Yes.
“Am I still alive?”
- Confirmed.
“I think I offended about six ancient beings by accident.”
- Assessment: Unlikely. They appear satisfied.
He stared at the ceiling. “This world is exhausting.”
The Listening Pavilion doors closed softly behind Shin Yung.
For a moment, the world felt distant.
Wei Jun did not move immediately. Only after they had taken several steps away did he finally release a slow breath, the tension he had been suppressing since the forest encounter seeping into his posture.
“…That was,” he began, then stopped.
Chen Ming finished the sentence for him, voice low and tight. “Not something we should pretend we understand.”
Wei Jun glanced at him. “You felt it too.”
“I felt nothing,” Chen Ming replied instantly. Then hesitated. “Which is the problem.”
They continued walking in silence for a few moments, the sound of flowing water filling the gap between their thoughts.
Chen Ming broke first.
“He didn’t resist,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Did you notice? No reaction at all. Not to the formations. Not to the pressure. Not even to the elders’ presence.”
Wei Jun’s jaw tightened. “That suggests absolute control.”
“Or absolute indifference,” Chen Ming muttered. “Which is worse.”
Su Yan walked slightly ahead of them, hands folded calmly in front of her. She had been quiet since leaving the pavilion, her expression thoughtful rather than troubled.
Wei Jun finally asked, “Junior Sister Su, what do you think?”
She did not answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was gentle, measured. “Senior Shin did not appear hostile.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Chen Ming said, a little too quickly. He caught himself and lowered his tone. “I mean… did you sense anything at all?”
Su Yan shook her head. “No.”
Chen Ming let out a thin, nervous laugh. “See? Even you—”
“But,” she continued, “he also did not appear to be acting.”
That made both men stop.
Wei Jun turned to her fully. “Explain.”
Su Yan met his gaze calmly. “He did not seek authority. He did not test us. He did not ask for anything. Everything that happened was because we reacted first.”
Chen Ming felt a chill crawl up his spine.
“So we… did this to ourselves.”
Wei Jun exhaled slowly. “Which means reporting this is unavoidable.”
Chen Ming grimaced. “I don’t like this.”
“You wouldn’t,” Wei Jun replied flatly. “But imagine if we hadn’t reported it, and something happened later.”
Chen Ming went pale. “The elders would peel us alive.”
Su Yan did not contradict them.
Instead, she said quietly, “Senior Shin does not belong to the disciple world.”
That sentence settled heavily.
Wei Jun nodded once. “Then he must be treated accordingly.”
They resumed walking, the decision already made.
Behind them, the Listening Pavilion stood silent.
Not far from the Listening Pavilion, three core disciples stood under the shadow of a willow tree, all pretending very poorly that they were not watching the same direction.
“That’s him,” murmured the first, arms crossed. “The one the formation didn’t react to.”
The second frowned. “Didn’t react is understating it. It withdrew. Like it didn’t want to offend him.”
The third hesitated. “I heard he has no cultivation.”
The first disciple laughed quietly. “If that’s true, then I’m the Sect Master.”
Silence followed, uncomfortable and heavy.
“…But,” the second added slowly, “Senior Su Yan addressed him as ‘Senior’ without hesitation.”
The third swallowed. “She only does that when she’s certain.”
No one contradicted that.
After a moment, the first disciple spoke again, voice lower now. “If he truly has no cultivation, then he’s either a fraud we should already be dead for offending… or something we lack the realm to comprehend.”
They exchanged looks.
“…Should we report this?”
The second shook his head. “Already done. Twice.”
“And?”
“…The elders told us not to speculate.”
That answer disturbed them more than any rumor.
Within the Elder Council Chamber, incense burned low, its smoke curling lazily between ancient pillars carved with suppression arrays older than the sect itself. Seven elders sat in silence, each having reviewed the same reports, each having reached a conclusion they did not wish to voice first.
Finally, Elder Qiu broke the stillness. “The formation reacted to him.”
Elder Han corrected calmly, “It did not react. It yielded.”
“That distinction matters,” Elder Mu said, eyes half-lidded. “Formations only yield to two things: authority embedded in the same system… or something entirely outside it.”
“He has no detectable cultivation,” another elder said.
“Impossible,” Elder Qiu replied instantly.
“He walked through domain pressure without slowing,” Elder Han added. “That is not ignorance. That is immunity.”
Silence stretched.
“If he were suppressing his cultivation,” Elder Mu continued, “the formation would still respond. Concealment does not negate interaction.”
“So what are we suggesting?” one elder asked carefully. “That he exists beyond our measurement?”
Elder Qiu’s fingers tightened slightly on his armrest. “Worse. That our methods of measurement may be irrelevant to him.”
A pause.
“…Then why come here?” another elder asked. “Why Azure River Sect?”
No one answered immediately.
Finally, Elder Han spoke. “Perhaps because we did not attack him.”
That landed heavily.
“Or,” Elder Mu added, “because we are small enough not to be perceived as a threat.”
Several elders stiffened at that.
“So,” Elder Qiu concluded, voice even, “he is not an enemy.”
“No,” Elder Han agreed. “Enemies announce themselves.”
“Nor is he an ally,” another said.
“Correct,” Elder Mu said softly. “Allies require intent.”
Silence fell again.
At last, Elder Qiu exhaled. “Then our course is clear.”
“Observe,” Elder Han said.
“Accommodate,” Elder Mu added.
“And under no circumstances,” Elder Qiu finished, “test him.”
No one objected.
After all—
Whatever Shin Yung was, provoking him would not be a conflict.
It would be a lesson.
Listening Pavilion
Su Yan returned a short while later.
This time, she carried a small tray with both hands, her steps light and respectful. She stopped a polite distance from Shin Yung and inclined her head slightly before placing the tea down.
“Senior,” she said softly, “this is spirit tea from the western terraces. The bitterness is mild.”
Shin Yung blinked.
“I see.”
She did not urge him.
She simply waited.
He lifted the cup, took a cautious sip, then paused. “It is… slightly bitter.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “Then it is proper tea.”
They sat in silence.
Not the strained silence of courtesy.
But the quiet that came when neither side felt the need to fill the space.
Su Yan did not ask about his cultivation. Did not inquire about his origins. Those questions were for disciples—and for people who believed they had the right to answers.
Instead, she said, carefully, “Senior appears unaccustomed to prolonged attention.”
Shin Yung considered deflecting.
Then decided against it.
“That would be accurate.”
She nodded, as though that alone clarified many things. “The sect can be… noisy.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That is an understatement.”
Her smile deepened slightly—just enough to be human, not enough to be familiar.
“Senior may remain here for as long as desired,” she said. “The elders have no intention of causing inconvenience.”
Not a promise.
A statement of fact.
She rose, inclined her head once more, and departed without lingering.
Shin Yung watched the door close.
For a long moment, he did not move.
Then he leaned back slowly, staring at the ceiling beams carved with cloud motifs.
“…System,” he murmured internally.
- Yes.
“She didn’t fear me.”
- Confirmed.
“She didn’t worship me either.”
- Assessment: Correct.
Shin Yung exhaled. “That might be the most dangerous outcome so far.”
Outside the pavilion, rumors began to circulate—quietly, carefully, like water seeping through stone.
Inside, a man with no cultivation drank tea reserved for honored guests.
And Azure River Sect still did not realize what kind of misunderstanding it had committed to protecting.
