Zhou Yuhao let out a wretched scream, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his face deathly pale as he fled for his life. Amidst the onslaught of so many, with runes densely scattered and radiant light flashing, the crowd pressed in, beating him mercilessly. Even a genius was still human—facing hundreds of the strongest youths from various tribes, he was simply outmatched. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, his hair disheveled, a pitiful sight.
Normally, he was arrogant and unruly, his talents extraordinary, looking down upon these ordinary disciples. Though he never voiced his disdain, his heart was full of contempt. Yet now, they were the ones pummeling him relentlessly.
Hundreds of youths from the tribes roared like a raging tide, drowning him in their fury. Zhou Yuhao cried out, “I really don’t know! I have nothing to do with him!” But who would believe him? He had just been resisting fiercely, even claiming to know where the “holy terror” was—many had heard it with their own ears. And if he was innocent, why had he tried to flee?
Cursing inwardly, Zhou Yuhao thought, *If I hadn’t run, I’d have been beaten to death! Now, even if I jumped into the Yellow River, I couldn’t wash myself clean.*
“Brothers, grab him! We’ll interrogate him slowly!” someone shouted.
Yet Zhou Yuhao’s combat prowess was no joke. Though heavily injured and unable to escape, he still struggled fiercely, holding his ground.
*Thud!*
A tiny rune-formed palm struck from the shadows, slamming into his left ribcage. The impact was like a thunderbolt, sending him flying with a scream. The force was terrifying—his left ribs shattered instantly.
This time, he collapsed to the ground, immediately swallowed by the surging crowd. Kicks rained down as he curled up, desperately shielding his vital spots.
“Aooow—!” His cries no longer sounded human, more like the wails of a beast. His teeth sprayed out, shattered, as the mob trampled and struck him until he was utterly powerless.
“This can’t go on. Yuhao will die!” someone from the Genius Camp muttered anxiously. Though far away and blocked by hundreds, they could vaguely see Zhou Yuhao fall. If this continued, he’d surely perish.
This wasn’t just one or two attackers—it was hundreds. Even mere trampling would turn him to pulp.
*Boom!*
Runes flared, divine hymns cascaded like waterfalls, deafening the air. The two closest to Zhou Yuhao in the Genius Camp leaped forward, blasting through the crowd with powerful Treasure Spells, instantly sending dozens flying.
For a brief moment, silence reigned—their intimidation worked.
Relieved, the two coldly pressed forward, striking again and felling another dozen.
“Genius Camp disciples bullying newcomers? Did we leave our tribes to join the Sky Mending Pavilion just to be oppressed? Unite and fight back!” Little Rascal’s voice rang out from the crowd.
Instantly, fury ignited. Everyone had seen the two’s ruthless attacks, their arrogance and disdain plain as day.
“Think they can trample us just because we’re new? Let’s teach them a lesson! Avenge our brothers!”
“What’s so special about the Genius Camp? Just because they joined earlier, they think they rule? Beat those arrogant bastards!”
The place erupted. This time, not hundreds but *thousands* surged forward like a mad tide, runes flying like rain, all aimed at the two.
The duo paled—their intimidation had failed. They were now engulfed in the human flood, surrounded by dazzling lights. The combined attacks were horrifying.
*Thud! Thud!*
Two more rune-formed palms materialized, slamming into them. Bones snapped—over a dozen fractures each—their combat power plummeting as the mob swallowed them.
With that, Little Rascal slipped away, mission accomplished. He had been the first to shout, the first to strike, and the one to deal the critical blows. Now, Zhou Yuhao and the two were buried in the chaos.
*Let them fend for themselves.*
“Aooow—!” The trio’s howls turned into desperate pleas, but mercy was nowhere to be found.
The Genius Camp frowned. This was spiraling out of control—the three would either be crippled or killed. Some rushed to fetch elders, while others stepped forward to intervene.
“Genius Camp bullying again! Their earlier humility was just an act—now they bare their fangs, ready for war!”
The cry sent the place into frenzy. Over *three thousand* new disciples surged, runes falling like a storm, blasting the geniuses back.
Little Rascal gaped. He had only nudged things along—he hadn’t expected *this* scale. Slipping away, he vanished.
The Genius Camp, enraged, began glowing, readying devastating spells to crush the newcomers and remind them what *true* genius meant.
Yu Feng frowned. If this escalated, a full-scale conflict would erupt—and who knew who’d suffer more? He wanted to stop it but knew it was futile.
*Boom!*
The rune clash erupted, a storm of energy exploding midair, bright enough to level mountains.
“*Halt!*”
A thunderous voice rang out. A golden gourd materialized in the sky, radiant and majestic. Like a whale swallowing the sea, it absorbed all the runes, devouring the destructive storm whole.
Awe gripped the crowd. The gourd bore a single rune, flickering like creation itself, exuding a primordial aura that made all tremble.
Shrinking, the gourd spun down into the palm of an elder—the same one who had once sat before the mountain gate. Stern-faced, he boomed, “The ringleaders of this chaos shall face three years of wall contemplation!”
Little Rascal, nearly free of the crowd, perked his ears. *Better blend back in—standing out now would be bad.*
The elder’s piercing gaze swept over the disciples. *Three thousand new recruits… and already infighting. What a mess.*
Soon, several elders arrived, wiping cold sweat. Xiong Fei and Zhuo Yun were livid. *One disaster after another—has anything gone smoothly since these newcomers arrived?*
Their investigation yielded nothing—no real instigators, just a few unlucky scapegoats. Zhou Yuhao’s bones were 90% broken; the other two were half-crippled, needing months to recover.
Most had just followed the crowd—no true rebellion intended.
“Why did you claim to know where the holy terror was?” Zhuo Yun roared at Zhou Yuhao, barely stopping short of calling him *deserving*.
Zhou Yuhao seethed with grievance. *Yes, I ran my mouth—but that little brat who punched me without warning was worse!*
And yet… how had a *child* managed to floor him, a genius, with one strike? He hadn’t even dodged.
Too embarrassed to voice this, he kept silent.
With no clear instigators, the three-year punishment was void. The golden-gourd elder flicked his sleeve and left.
“You… *infuriate* me!” Xiong Fei and Zhuo Yun bellowed, ranting for half an hour before storming off.
As the chaos settled, Little Rascal winked at Qing Feng nearby. The boy’s jaw dropped. *This entire storm… was Big Bro’s doing?!*
A group of senior disciples arrived, all over twenty, having trained in the pavilion for eight years. They tended to the wounded while lecturing on the rules against infighting.
“Senior, what was that elder’s gourd? It was amazing! Where’d it come from?” Little Rascal asked eagerly.
“Little chubby, don’t get ideas,” a kind senior chuckled. “That’s a treasure beyond your reach. Thinking of plucking one yourself?”
“If there’s more, why not?” Little Rascal said, stunning the senior.
Nearby, graceful senior sisters giggled behind their sleeves. One teased, “That’s our pavilion’s sacred treasure—grown by the Guardian Spirit. Still want to ‘pluck’ it?”
“*What?!*” Little Rascal gasped. *The Guardian Spirit is a gourd vine?*
Days passed peacefully. With no more threats to Qing Feng, Little Rascal relaxed and began exploring the pavilion.
The sect’s territory was vast—hundreds of spirit mountains for disciples, grand peaks for elders, and forbidden zones resembling primordial wilderness.
“That’s the Holy Court,” Little Rascal murmured, gazing at a mist-shrouded expanse where chaotic vapors swirled.
Then—*someone was there!*
A lone figure walked an endless path through the mist, steps steady, resonating with the heavens. Though advancing, the road seemed infinite, its end unreachable.
“Shi Yi,” Little Rascal whispered.
This had to be the legendary Shi Yi—a youth hailed as *near-divine* among his peers.
“He’s been walking for days, yet never reaches the end,” Little Rascal mused. *The Holy Court’s mysteries run deep.*
The path thrummed with the echoes of the Great Dao. Even from afar, Little Rascal sensed its power. *Shi Yi may not have entered yet, but this journey alone grants immense benefits.*
Gritting his teeth, Little Rascal resolved: *I must train harder. If I slack, he’ll leave me in the dust.*
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