Nie Yong walked the forest path alone, the fresh scent of damp earth clinging to the air as he left the serene quiet of the mansion behind. The moment he passed through the outer perimeter and reentered the familiar grounds of High Heaven Pavilion, the peaceful calm was replaced by low murmurs and scattered noise.
"Hm?" He paused at the edge of the square.
A crowd had gathered near the outer dormitory buildings, surrounding something—or someone—with the tense anticipation of an impending storm.
Nie Yong narrowed his eyes. "What's happening there?"
He stepped closer, curiosity piqued, weaving through the gathered disciples until he reached the edge of the circle.
Then he saw him.
Su Mu, his robes torn and bloodied, was on the ground, coughing up red, barely able to stand. His face was a mess of bruises. Above him loomed a taller youth in a dark chestplate artifact, one fist raised high and the other clenched at his hip.
Nie Yong blinked. "Oh… I remember this scene."
He scanned the crowd, then frowned. "Nope… Yang Kai isn't here."
He sighed. He hadn't come here to play hero. He just wanted to grab his things and go home.
Still, it was hard to look away.
The attacker, smug and self-satisfied, stepped forward again, ready to drive another blow into Su Mu's already broken frame. The surrounding disciples didn't intervene—either too weak, too afraid, or just too entertained.
Then, just before the fist could land, it stopped mid-swing.
Or rather—was stopped.
The youth in the black chestplate turned slowly, confusion shifting to alarm as he saw his fist gripped tightly in someone else's hand.
Nie Yong stood there, smiling mildly. "Finished playing the little, spoiled kid?"
The grip on the attacker's fist tightened just enough to make him wince.
"What?! How dare you!" the youth bellowed. "I am Wei Zhuang, the grandson of the Great Elder—"
Crunch.
Wei Zhuang's sentence turned into a scream as Nie Yong reached up and pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger, squeezing with practiced, casual force. The cartilage cracked. Blood poured.
"I made you a question," Nie Yong said flatly, his tone shifting from amused to glacial. "Finished playing the little, spoiled brat?"
Wei Zhuang staggered back, clutching his nose and shrieking in pain. "You—you dare attack me?! I'll have you crippled for this! My grandfather will—!"
"Your grandfather's not here," Nie Yong cut in, voice still calm. "And if this is how you behave when left alone, maybe he should keep a tighter leash on you."
Gasps rippled through the watching crowd. Some disciples stepped back instinctively, eyes darting between Nie Yong and Wei Zhuang.
Wei Zhuang's face twisted in fury, his fingers lighting up with Qi as he drew on his artifact's defensive power. "You bastard! You think a nobody like you can insult me?! You want to die?!"
Nie Yong raised a hand lazily, his Qi surging just enough to crackle in the air like static. The pressure was subtle—but unmistakable.
"You really think that chestplate is the only reason you're standing?" Nie Yong asked.
Wei Zhuang flinched.
Behind him, Su Mu coughed violently, struggling to sit up. "Brother Nie…?"
Nie Yong exhaled a long breath and rolled his shoulders, as if limbering up for a nap rather than a fight. Then he let one arm dangle and raised the other lazily, his body slouched in the most unserious combat stance imaginable.
"Come on, spoiled brat…" he said, voice almost bored. "Let's see what you can do."
"You fucker!!" Wei Zhuang bellowed, veins bulging in his neck as his fury peaked. His Qi surged violently, reinforcing his body through the artifact and his cultivation, and with a guttural roar he charged forward, fists like hammers.
He closed the distance in a blink—fast, at least for someone of his level.
But it didn't matter.
Nie Yong didn't dodge.
His fist snapped up from his relaxed pose with casual precision, driving forward like a piston.
CRACK.
The moment Wei Zhuang entered range, his charge was abruptly and violently halted by a fist slamming square into his face.
The impact echoed across the courtyard like thunder. Wei Zhuang's head snapped back, his feet left the ground, and his body arced through the air like a ragdoll. A spatter of blood and several white fragments—teeth—trailed after him.
He crashed down hard near the edge of the circle, unconscious or nearly so.
Silence followed. Disciples stood frozen, mouths agape, too stunned to react.
Nie Yong shook his hand once, like brushing off dust. Then his vision flickered, and a soft sound chimed in his ears.
[Would you like to copy Wei Zhuang's abilities?]
To be continued...
***
***
How was this chapter? Liked it?
Again, sorry if the chapter's a bit short, but this was all I could do, I've been very busy this week.