Won't Tolerate It
Northern shore of Dongjeong Lake, where the Dongbeonhoe was based—Yue Mountain's north bank. A group of young men and women strolled along the lakeside.
They were in the flower of youth, early to mid-twenties. And every one of them stood out with exceptional looks, drawing eyes from all around. Crowds kept their distance, watching their every move intently, but no one dared approach. Their outfits varied but screamed luxury at a glance, and man or woman, they all carried ornate swords at their waists.
They were the proud young experts of the Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Clans. Some already seemed chummy; others were meeting for the first time. But what did it matter? At their age, smiles bloomed in no time. Amid a flurry of pointless banter, one young man gazed at the scenery and let out a grand sigh of admiration.
"To think I'd finally see the famed Dongjeong Lake like this. If I'd known it was this beautiful, I would've begged my martial uncle to bring us sooner."
"Exactly. And it's not just the views. I had no idea this place was so developed. The streets and shops are packed!"
"What about the Dongbeonhoe's preparations? I didn't know much about them as a sect, so I wasn't thrilled about the event here at first. But seeing how thoroughly they've set everything up... I'm impressed."
The young men and women nodded in unison. Indeed. To host the Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Clans' regular gathering—a massive affair—the Dongbeonhoe had poured money without restraint. And for good reason. The gathering wasn't just a meeting of key figures. Elders and above from every renowned sect attended, along with young experts eager to make names at the accompanying friendly sparring tournament, plus the warriors escorting them. Each sect brought at least twenty, pushing the Orthodox factions' numbers past two hundred. Crowds flocked from everywhere to glimpse these dragon-and-phoenix-like youths, often forming long lines.
By landing and running this colossal event, the Dongbeonhoe aimed to solidify its grip on the Dongjeong Lake region and leap onto the central plains stage—swords drawn.
"I hear there are over a hundred factions based around Dongjeong Lake alone. Not counting one-man lineages—they're saying at least thirty-plus members per group. And they even rank them, updating monthly."
"They nitpick that much in a little pond like this?"
"Competition's fierce, they say."
The young experts perked up at the tale. Who was first? Where did Dongbeonhoe rank? Who was dead last? Chatter erupted. Then a handsome youth in a blue hero's turban burst into laughter, raising his voice.
"Haha! So what if it's cutthroat? Lump all hundred factions together, and they still wouldn't match one of our prestigious Orthodox sects. Brothers, sisters—what do you say?"
His voice brimmed with confidence, matching his good looks. Some nodded; women giggled, stealing glances. But not everyone agreed. A young man walking a bit apart spoke up. Unlike the others with flowing hair and flashy robes, he sported a gleaming bald head and neat gray monk's robes—a fresh-faced monk.
Namu Amitabul. "Can't see it that way. Sure, it's off the main Jianghu grid now, but Dongjeong Lake's where the Yi Family once rooted down and rose huge, right? A region soaked in the nutrients of a clan once called the world's greatest—can't underestimate the foundations of its sects."
"Yi Family?" The blue-turbaned youth scowled. "Just an old name, no? They even still around?"
"Old name or not, it was too big to dismiss like that."
"Hmph. Flowers bloom and fade quick, but deep-rooted trees live millennia. Can't compare a mayfly clan to our Orthodox prestige. Right?"
His allies nodded vigorously. The young monk just rolled his prayer beads and smiled.
"You talk like you've lived those thousand years yourself. Last I checked, Cheongseong's history's barely a few centuries."
"......"
The Cheongseong youth's face twisted. No one could tout history before Shaolin. Why tag along with these youths just to stir trouble, anyway? Monks hunting mates? As the Cheongseong youth geared up to snap, a sharp one stepped in smoothly, changing the subject.
"Anyway, participants keep pouring in. Didn't expect this many."
"Dongbeonhoe's leader invited every faction head around here—all hundred. Hilarious—our gathering's brought a brief peace to Dongjeong Lake. Haha!"
"They here for our event?" A woman pointed; all heads turned. Three youths approached along the shore. Lean and slender, swords at sides. The rear one was hard to see, blocked.
"Different style from the others. Another no-name faction."
"Not participants—too plain. Gear's minimal."
"And filthy clothes. Not showing up like that, right?"
As they neared, snickers rippled. Their once-white training robes were caked in mud. One was torn in spots. A flashy beauty whispered to her arm-linked friend.
"Hate big events like this. Filthy rags crashing? Imagining one that rude next to me... Ugh! Right, sis?"
The observing woman replied coolly. "Dirty's nothing. Upright gait, pure aura from afar—not ordinary."
Surprised by her sister, the beauty peered closer. Her eyes soon sparkled.
"Sis is right—opened my mind's eye, and wow! Definitely special."
Her gaze locked on the second youth. Torn, muddy robes, but brighter-faced than any here.
"Wait, I meant—" The first woman tried clarifying, then gave up. Other women gasped in unison.
"Oh my... Oh my..."
"Talent like this in Dongjeong Lake?"
The calmly walking youths flinched at the stares. Too far for greetings, too close to ignore. The lead one bowed politely, cupping fists. The second followed, flushing under the women's bold eyes. Mischievous girls giggled. His face burned redder.
"......"
The male experts soured. Ignored despite fine looks, skills, robes—for some no-name in rags? Hostility spiked. They glared daggers at the trio hurrying to Dongbeonhoe.
Finally, the last youth emerged from behind. Barely twenty, boyish even. Yet puffing a thick pipe arrogantly, trailing leisurely.
The young experts gawked, exchanging shocked looks.
Street punk?!?!
Smoking while walking—at that age! Insolent brat. As the men lamented Dongjeong Lake's fallen standards, the youth glanced back, exhaled smoke, and muttered. Soundless, but lip-read clear:
What're you staring at?
Jinpyeong's mood wasn't great, truth be told. En route to Dongbeonhoe, they'd crossed a small mountain and run into bandits preying on travelers. Bandits? No issue before the brothers. Problem: overconfident Jinun charging ahead alone, got careless, snagged on a branch—robe ripped.
Wear good clothes? Pointless if mud-caked and torn in half a day! Jinpyeong silently puffed away; brothers eyed him warily, walking quiet.
Dongbeonhoe's turf neared. Giggles from roadside. Glanced over. Fine varied robes, young, ornate waist swords—Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Clans youths, no doubt.
Didn't care about origins... but why that look? Mood twisting, Jinpyeong muttered.
What're you staring at, huh?
Next instant—flash! A youth vaulted several zhang, landing before him. Fine Orthodox lightness skill—Cheongseong disciple, likely. Others followed, blocking the Yi brothers.
Startled Jingang and Jinun; Jinpyeong calmly puffing. Blue-turbaned youth smirked twistedly.
"Brat. Too far to hear? Say it again."
"Brat?"
Jinpyeong laughed. He wouldn't tolerate it. Slammed the pipe down.