012, this is downright shameless.

Wang Yu was utterly bewildered. On the summit of Mount Tai, when the phantom of Master Kong drew a stroke, he felt his vision blur, and when he came to, he found himself astride the back of the multicolored auspicious qilin’s phantom—high above the clouds.

At this moment, Wang Yu was on the verge of madness, for he suffered from a fear of heights. He could not even stand, but sat rigidly upon the qilin’s back, daring not to move, not even to glance downward, lest he tumble from the sky. Thus, he maintained his seated posture as the multicolored qilin carried him from the heavens down to the earth.

To the eyes of Mount Tai’s head, Ziyou, and the great scholar Zhu Bingli, Wang Yu’s behavior was nothing short of arrogant, lacking in respect and decorum. Even if he had received the ancestor’s approval and was personally borne by the multicolored qilin, they thought, he should not expect to continue his cultivation in the Confucian school.

As the qilin touched down, Wang Yu’s heart finally settled, though his legs still felt weak. He steadied himself and managed to dismount from the phantom’s back. As he did, the multicolored qilin’s image transformed into a single scale, returning to his palm. This was the gift bestowed upon him by Master Kong—a scale of the multicolored qilin, granting him the ability to summon its phantom. The multicolored qilin was a sacred beast of the Confucian school; even its shadow possessed extraordinary power. It was not only a mark of approval for Wang Yu, but also a protective talisman.

Yet those who witnessed this scene were filled with mixed emotions. Some envied him; others were jealous or admiring, and some were resentful—none more so than Zhu Bingli, whose heart burned with envy. How could an outer disciple deserve the ancestor’s favor? Only those of the direct lineage, like himself, were worthy of the qilin’s scale. Thus, Zhu Bingli began plotting how he might seize the scale for himself.

The happiest of all was Tao Yuan, who was overjoyed to see Wang Yu safely ascend the heavenly staircase. Usually calm and composed, Tao Yuan could not contain his excitement. He hurried forward and clapped Wang Yu on the shoulder. “Hongjian, are you unharmed?”

Wang Yu had recovered by then and smiled at Tao Yuan. “Headmaster, I am quite well.”

Tao Yuan breathed a sigh of relief, murmuring, “It’s good you’re unharmed, very good. Now you need not leave.”

Before Wang Yu could reply, Zhu Bingli suddenly shouted, “Wang Yu, hand over the qilin’s scale to the head of the mountain at once! Such a sacred object is not for you to wield. Have you not heard, a child carrying gold through a busy market is courting disaster? Surrender it quickly to avoid calamity!”

At this, the crowd looked at Zhu Bingli with undisguised contempt. What a so-called great scholar, to act so shamelessly! This was nothing short of outright theft, a disgrace to his reputation. Even his teacher, Ziyou, frowned slightly. Though he, too, wished to claim the scale for himself, he would never stoop to such base methods. Moreover, Ziyou had no intention of keeping it forever—he merely wished to borrow it for a time to aid his study of the Water principle and the path of ritual, so he might break through to the sub-saint realm. Afterward, he would return it to Wang Yu, offering some recompense in exchange.

But Zhu Bingli’s words had put him on the spot, making it seem as though he sought to rob a junior of his treasure, and he could hardly avoid such a reputation now. Nevertheless, he did not rebuke Zhu Bingli; after all, the man was his disciple and a great scholar, and such matters were not so grave. At worst, he would allow Wang Yu to remain in the Confucian school. Although Ziyou had previously wished to expel Wang Yu at once, for the sake of the qilin’s scale, he could tolerate his presence for now. As for the future, that would depend on Wang Yu’s own talent and fortune.

Wang Yu, hearing Zhu Bingli’s demand, could not help but laugh in anger. This was a great scholar of the Confucian school? How was he any different from a bandit? This was nothing but cunning and force. In truth, the scale meant little to Wang Yu; he had not intended to stay in the Confucian school, and the scale was of little use to him. But Zhu Bingli—who did he think he was, to try to take the scale from him?

Never.

Wang Yu burst out laughing, then looked at Zhu Bingli with open disdain. “Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that?”

Zhu Bingli’s face turned livid, his Confucian robes stirring without wind, and a faint murderous intent emanated from him.

Of course, that was all he dared. To attack Wang Yu openly, with so many witnesses, was unthinkable. Not only would many intervene, but even if none did, he would not dare. To kill over a disagreement would violate all propriety and the Confucian doctrine of benevolence. So Zhu Bingli could only suppress his rage, glaring coldly at Wang Yu.

“Wang Yu, you dare speak to me so rudely—are you not afraid of the strict rules of our school? To insult your teacher with such arrogance, you must suffer a hundred strokes of the disciplinary ruler and be expelled, never to return. Have you considered this?”

Do not think such punishment light. The disciplinary ruler was no ordinary ruler; a single stroke brought pain not only to the flesh but to the soul. Most could barely withstand ten strokes, and would require weeks to recover. A hundred strokes could kill a man outright. Clearly, Zhu Bingli sought Wang Yu’s death.

Wang Yu spat contemptuously. “Teacher? You dare call yourself my teacher? Do you even know what my status is now? You, presume to be my teacher?”

At this, everyone was stunned.

Status?

Was he not merely an outer disciple who had failed to pass the trial for three years, soon to be expelled? What status could he have?

Oh, right—he had now ascended the heavenly staircase and would not be expelled. Even so, at best, he was a formal disciple of the Confucian school. A disciple was still far beneath a great scholar like Zhu Bingli. Surely Zhu Bingli was entitled to be called his teacher.

Was there some special identity? An illegitimate child of the ancestor? A prince from some distant land?

Seeing their puzzled looks, Wang Yu stretched out his arms. On his pale forearms, nine bright insignia were burned into the flesh—marks of the nine branches, symbols granting eligibility to compete for the headmaster's position.