The old man stood frozen in place, his expression blank as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. He could have sworn he heard his disciple curse him, but that wasn’t possible, right? No... that can’t be real, he thought, trying to convince himself. His excitement had been so overwhelming that perhaps he was just hearing things.
But then, it struck him—This damned brat... who does he think he is?
His fury ignited in an instant. "Wen Ran," the old man hissed, his voice tight with rage, "you have a very thick face. Do you know who you’re speaking to? Who in the world would dare curse their own master and disobey me? Aren’t you afraid of the heavens punishing you?" His voice boiled with indignation, but beneath it all, there was a begrudging truth: he couldn’t harm Wen Ran, not yet. He needed him. And that only made him angrier.
Wen Ran’s anger was a wildfire at this point, fueled by frustration, exhaustion, and the weight of his own pride. He had worked tirelessly, faced countless failures, and had finally created something extraordinary. He knew the pill he had crafted was no simple creation; it had potential. It wasn’t just a step forward in alchemy—it was a leap. He could already feel its immense power, and perhaps, with the right conditions, it could even push him to the third circle of the Spirit Flow stage.
"Fuck off," Wen Ran spat, unable to contain his frustration any longer. His voice was thick with resentment. "If I were afraid of heaven, I wouldn’t walk the path I do. Did that old brain of yours rot already? Are you that dumb?"
His words echoed in the room, a sharp challenge that filled the air between them. For the first time, Wen Ran could feel his own rebellion taking root. No more would he bow to the old man’s manipulations, no more would he silently endure.
If someone had been watching the old man from the side at that moment, they would have seen him trembling, his body shaking like a kettle’s lip when it was about to boil over. The air around him grew dense with spiritual energy, and before Wen Ran could even react, the power in the room surged—rushing straight toward him.
"You brat!" the old man snarled, his voice laced with venom. "Do you think I wouldn’t dare kill you?" A massive sword, crafted from pure spirit energy, materialized in the air, its tip aimed directly at Wen Ran. For a moment, Wen Ran stood frozen, but the fear that one would expect to see was absent from his expression. Instead, he stared straight at the blade, as if daring it to strike.
"Give up the pill. Kowtow and apologize to me, and I will spare your life," the old man hissed. His rage was so palpable that it almost suffocated the room. "Otherwise, not even the sect master will be able to save you."
The old man’s words echoed with contempt, but Wen Ran didn’t flinch. His chest tightened, his resolve hardening with each second. This wasn’t just about the pill anymore—it was about respect, about standing his ground, even if it meant facing death. He wasn’t going to be humiliated further.
"Fuck off!" Wen Ran shouted, his voice ringing with defiance. "I’m ready. Kill me if you want, but you will not take what’s mine! This is where I draw the line!"
The old man’s face twisted with rage, his hand gripping the hilt of the spiritual sword tighter. "You ungrateful brat!" he roared, and with that, the sword surged forward with blinding speed, faster than lightning, aiming directly at Wen Ran’s head.
But just before the blade could pierce his skull, it stopped, hovering only inches from Wen Ran’s face. A small cut appeared on his forehead, blood trickling down his skin. The sword had grazed him, but the killing blow never came.
The old man’s lips curled with frustration and something deeper— a bitter defeat. He bit his lip, his hands trembling with a mix of anger and regret. He could have killed Wen Ran right then, but something stopped him. With one last furious glare, the old man turned away, storming off in a fit of rage.
Wen Ran stood still, his blood dripping down his cheek, but his eyes burned with a fierce resolve. He had crossed a line with his master, and the old man’s failure to break him only fueled his determination. This battle, for now, was won.
"Fine! Have it your way…" The old man’s voice was seething with rage, yet tinged with an ominous promise. "But know this, if within ten years you cannot forge a Nascent Soul pill for me, at the highest possible quality, I will not hesitate next time. There will be no mercy, and no sparing you anymore!"
With a final roar, the old man unleashed a powerful surge of spiritual energy, sending it crashing into Wen Ran. The force was immense, and Wen Ran was thrown violently backward, his body slamming into the wall with bone-crushing force. A mouthful of blood spilled from his lips as he struggled to stay upright.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freёwebnovel.com.
Well, at least I’m not dead… Wen Ran thought bitterly, wiping the blood from his chin. The pain in his body was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of victory that burned inside him. The old man’s fury had been a test, and though his body ached, Wen Ran knew he had emerged from it stronger, at least mentally.
A little injury like this is nothing to me, I can easily recover, he thought, his mind sharp even through the haze of pain. He knew he was acting like a fool, provoking his master to this extent, but deep down, he understood the dynamics at play. The old man wouldn’t kill him, not yet, anyway. He needed him, and that was Wen Ran’s leverage.
For Wen Ran, today was more than just about the pill, it was a test, one to see how far he could push his boundaries. How far could he go before the old man would snap? And to Wen Ran’s surprise, he had won today’s battle, not through strength, but through sheer stubbornness.
He had completely defeated his master in the battle of will, and that, to Wen Ran, felt like a victory more valuable than any pill.