Chapter 212: Taking a Disciple

The tavern was silent, and Chen Xiaoming's voice echoed through the air. The young man standing opposite him stared as if he were looking at a lunatic.

Were mortals these days always so arrogant? Had they truly grown bold enough to provoke cultivators?

Was his spiritual sword no longer sharp enough, or was this man simply blind?

Taking another glance at the so-called mortal, the young man decided it was time to teach him the meaning of what it meant to be an Immortal.

"Since you're so eager to die, I'll be happy to oblige."

A few tables—if Chen Xiaoming wanted them so badly, then he could go retrieve them himself in the afterlife.

Chen Xiaoming furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze falling on the young man with an air of faint discomfort. From his body, a light, fragrant scent drifted out, weaving its way toward the young man.

In the blink of an eye, the aroma struck. The young man froze, momentarily stunned by the fragrance. But then his body stiffened entirely—he couldn't move.

The spiritual energy within him, which had been flowing freely just moments before, came to a halt, no longer responding no matter how hard he tried to circulate it.

Terror filled his eyes as he stared at Chen Xiaoming, thoughts spinning wildly. But in that instant, he understood—he'd misjudged completely. This was no mere mortal. This was a powerful senior, far beyond his grasp.

"Senior, please calm your anger. I am a disciple of the Profound Ice Sect. I beg you to show mercy in light of—"

His words were cut short as Chen Xiaoming waved a hand, dismissing him without so much as a second glance. His gaze remained indifferent.

"I'm nothing more than a common man," he said coolly, "not some lofty senior."

He gathered his few belongings, casually dusting off his bundle before slinging it over his back. Without another word, he turned and made for the tavern doors.

"But the moment you chose to raise your hand against me… your fate was already sealed."

The words drifted out behind him like a cold wind. The young man's expression changed drastically. Veins bulged across his exposed skin as his face turned a deep crimson from pain.

Pfft.

A muffled noise rang out. The young man's eyes bulged wide before thin wisps of white smoke began to pour from his skin, quickly thickening until they engulfed the tavern.

When the smoke eventually cleared, there was no trace of the young man left. It was as if he had never existed.

"This… this isn't possible!"

A gaunt man in the corner stared in horror. He had seen the young man's cultivation level with his own eyes. To make someone of that strength vanish without a sound—only a cultivator at or beyond the Foundation Establishment Realm could manage such a feat.

Something sparked behind his eyes. Turning to the girl beside him, he whispered urgently in her ear.

The girl shook her head vehemently, eyes brimming with tears. The gaunt man gave her a gentle pat on the head and murmured something softly into her ear.

The girl's face paled. She clung to him, unwilling to let go, but when she met his unwavering gaze, she understood—her father had made up his mind. Slowly, she lowered her head.

"Go now, Qian'er. This is your only chance."

His voice trembled with emotion and reluctance, but his eyes were resolute. Forcing back his sorrow, he pushed the girl toward the tavern doors.

She stood there, unmoving for a moment, before turning and running out into the snow-covered streets.

Watching her vanish into the snowfall, a look of bittersweet relief crossed the man's face. The sect had found him. The young cultivator hadn't reported back, so it was only a matter of time before others were sent.

In his current condition, he couldn't even protect himself, let alone his daughter.

Now, everything depended on that man—Chen Xiaoming. Whether it was salvation or ruin… this was their only chance.

"Please, Qian'er… you must succeed."

At the same time, Chen Xiaoming walked alone through the snow-covered street. Large flakes drifted down from the sky, casting a chill over the world but clearing away the irritation in his heart.

In the past three years, situations like this had happened more times than he could count. He couldn't help but sigh.

Was he just too nosy? Or was it that these kinds of people always seemed to come to him?

He thought for a moment. If that old devil Wang were in his shoes, he would've walked away without lifting a finger.

That thought brought a slight smile to Chen Xiaoming's face.

"Clearly, I'm the more kind-hearted one."

Praising himself without a trace of shame, he found his mood lifting.

Whether one comprehends the Dao or not doesn't matter. What matters is being happy.

"Senior! Senior! Wait for me!"

He had just turned the corner when an urgent voice called out from behind. Chen Xiaoming frowned slightly and turned back, only to see the young girl from the tavern dashing through the snow toward him.

She couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. Her delicate face still bore traces of childish innocence, her black hair tied in a ponytail that swayed as she ran. She wore a thick, patched-up coat, plainly dressed, but her slightly chubby cheeks gave her a certain charm.

"Senior."

She stopped in front of him, eyes locking onto his, then, without warning, dropped to her knees and pressed her head deeply into the snow.

"I beg you, please accept me as your disciple!"

Though her voice was young, it rang with determination. She stayed kneeling, her forehead buried in the snow, not rising—as if unless he agreed, she would never get up.

Chen Xiaoming was amused. The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, though his gaze held a flicker of intrigue.

"And why should I accept you as my disciple?"

His questioning tone made the girl's body tremble. She knew full well how abrupt her request was. No master would so easily take on a stranger as a disciple.

"My mood is decent today. Fine—stay here and kneel. When I'm in an even better mood, I'll come back and accept you."

He didn't give her a chance to reply. Turning around, he strolled away into the snowy street.

After a few steps, he paused and threw one last sentence over his shoulder, laced with teasing:

"Of course, if you can't endure it, you're free to leave. Who knows, maybe I'll still take you in someday."

With that, he said nothing more. Hands clasped behind his back, he continued down the street at a leisurely pace.

Chen Xiaoming was in an uncommonly good mood today. He'd given her a chance. Whether she could seize it or not… that was up to her.

Looking up at the darkening sky, the snow seemed to fall even heavier than before.

With the tavern gone, Chen Xiaoming could only head to the city's lone teahouse.

A city this size with only one tavern and one teahouse? Unbelievable.

Back where he'd left her, the girl looked stunned. She had been bracing herself for a harsh rejection and had been prepared to beg relentlessly.

But he hadn't rejected her.

So she took his words to heart—and began her trial with unwavering resolve.

No more than twelve or thirteen years old, the girl shivered faintly despite being wrapped in a thick winter coat. The biting chill still found its way through the layers, creeping into the bones.

Atop a distant teahouse, Chen Xiaoming had already taken his seat. His eyes gazed toward the girl from afar, calm and intent, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Whether you become my disciple or not... that depends on you, little one."

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