Zhou Buyi's hands shook. He wanted to strike but dared not.
He knew Su Yan's status. The patriarch had delivered him personally. That alone stayed his hand.
"I only wanted Young Master Fan to teach the bumpkin a lesson. How dare he kill a master of the house?"
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He'd seen every intrigue among the great clans. A nobody with talent, offending the inner-court steward—normally a word would crush him. But killing the young master on day one? Unprecedented.
Su Yan noticed his fear and sighed. "You lied. You said the Zhou family heals anything. He's beyond saving. I should have held back."
"Really?" Yuan Qi asked.
"No." Su Yan shook his head. "He sought revenge for a corrupt magistrate. He deserved death. I'm just being polite, giving Buyi a way to save face."
Yuan Qi nodded. "You're so considerate, A-Yan."
"Insolence!" A figure shot forward, skin turning golden like a Buddha's body. Two grotto-heavens blazed behind him. "For every Zhou who died by your hand!"
His palm descended like thunder—a Buddha's wrathful strike.
Su Yan stepped back. "Sparring or vendetta?"
"Vendetta!"
Su Yan's palm shot out. Dust rose. A horned serpent burst from the mist. Their palms met, and the serpent clashed with the golden hand. Bone snapped. The Zhou man flew backward, caught by the throat, held aloft.
More Zhou disciples surged. Su Yan's fingers tightened. The serpent coiled, bones shattered, the Mud Pill Secret's vitality severed. The man fell, conscious only from the neck up, screaming in terror.
Two more attacked. Three-legged gods of flame and light. Su Yan leaped, twisting like a serpent, dragons and pythons swirling from his sleeves.
Their arms burst. Blood mist rose, evaporated by his pure yang qi. The two gritted their teeth. "Zhou men don't die from wounds!"
The blood mist suddenly condensed into a crimson short-sword—Su Yan's sword-qi fused with their blood. One man's temple exploded. The blade turned toward the second.
A white-haired youth stepped in, hand turning to gold. He caught the sword, fingers flicking, each strike like a temple bell, deflecting the blade. It struck a bronze pillar with a resounding *clang*.
Su Yan lunged forward, serpent and dragon together. Then inspiration struck—the third character, "Origin." Dao tones thundered in his mind. His qi split into yin and yang, water and fire refining together, channeling through the Dragon-Serpent Awakening Art.
*Roar.*
Pure yang became a dragon. Pure yin became a serpent. They crashed toward the white-haired youth—Zhou Youyou, the sixth young master who'd spent his youth deciphering the Tuo Scripture until his hair turned white.
The shockwave peeled his face into wrinkles. He shielded the disciple behind him, sliding backward, desperate.
"Wait—sparring! It's sparring, not vendetta!"
Su Yan's attack vanished mid-strike. He stumbled back, face flushed like a drunkard.
"Your cultivation is profound, Young Master," Su Yan said, steadying himself. "An honor to spar with you. Shall we call it a draw?"
Zhou Youyou stared, hands trembling. "I'm... not your match..."
"Then a draw it is. Su Yan, at your service. Your name?"
"Zhou Youyou." He was dazed.
"Impressive at sixteen."
"I'm... sixteen..."
"Truly talented. I'm fourteen."
Zhou Youyou fell silent.
Yuan Qi whispered, "A-Yan, you've learned tact. That thick book of rituals paid off."
Su Yan beamed. "Slept like a baby with it."
The thirteen elders at the center hadn't stirred, still immersed in the jade slip.
The other disciples hesitated. That final move had been terrifying.
Veyon watched Su Yan, then murmured to Elder Xiao, "He got the true transmission."
"What?"
"The Tuo Scripture is fake. Or half-fake. When he fought, his qi developed yin-yang changes that weren't there before. That move embodied the lunar path from the Tuo Scripture, but with yang added. The true method is in those eight characters."
Veyon sat before the jade slip, studying the eight bird-seal characters. She tried Su Yan's eight movements, imitating them perfectly. Nothing happened.
"There must be heart-method too," she thought. She found Su Yan and Yuan Qi on the roof, one posing, one coiled, breathing like bellows, wind howling.
"You're not studying the scripture?"
"I already learned it," Su Yan said slowly, mid-pose.
"I can't read it," Yuan Qi admitted. "Waiting for A-Yan to teach me."
"I need to ask my mother."
Su Yan laughed. "You don't need to ask your mother everything. Decide for yourself. Trade me your clan's dragon-vein positioning technique, your Yellow Court Secret opening method, whatever you've got."
Veyon's eyes lit up. But Elder Xiao appeared behind him. "Young Master Yuan, remember—you'll be the Yuan patriarch someday. Don't fraternize with yao trash."
Veyon stiffened. The light died. "I understand, Elder Xiao."
He jumped down, face empty.
Elder Xiao glared at Su Yan. "Stay away from the young master. You won't get Yuan techniques through him."
Su Yan stretched and resumed his practice, ignoring him.
The great bell spoke. "That Veyon is sharp. He saw the Tuo Scripture's flaw and came to you. Shame about the old servant. A-Yan, teach me the Eight Yuan Tones. As a bell, I'll learn them faster!"
"Can I learn too?" Yuan Qi asked.
"Probably. Might not get all of them."
The bell chuckled. "Teach him half. Turn him female. Save on betrothal gifts!"
"Wretched bell! I'll crush you!"
Serpent and bell tangled. Soon Yuan Qi begged for mercy. Everyone was happy.
Su Yan transmitted the eight Dao tones. He couldn't fully articulate them, but the approximation was enough. One boy, one serpent, one bell posed on the roof, absorbing the flower-fragrant qi in strange postures.
Zhou Buyi glanced up, sniffed, and hurried toward the main palace.
"Patriarch, that snake-catcher caused trouble."
Zhou Qiyun sat with eyes closed. "How many did he injure?"