CHAPTER 114: 114- LIN CARAVAN (BONUS)

Elder Fang Ruì walked at the head of the group, her steps light despite the weight of her title.

At eighteen, she was already one of the youngest Qi Transformation cultivators in the Fang Clan’s recent history, a feat that earned her the rank of Elder, yet left her leading peers barely a year her junior, all still in Qi Condensation.

She clutched the mission scroll, its parchment crisp against her fingers as Coldwind City’s mist-threaded breeze tugged at her sleeves.

"Focus," she chided herself.

Explaining the task felt like balancing on sword’s edge, too stern, and she had seem pretentious; too casual, and they had forget she was their Elder.

Behind her, the five junior cultivators chattered like sparrows, their energy bright and unburdened.

All except Fang Lian.

Lian trailed slightly apart, a silent shadow. The others unconsciously left a half-step of space around her, their eyes filled with hostility.

Fang Ruì glanced at Fang Lian, the personal disciple of the current clan head.

Earlier that day, when she had picked up a task to lead a group of cultivators on a caravan escort to the Lin family to earn some merit points, Fang Lian had unexpectedly volunteered to join.

She had mentioned having her own task to complete somewhere along the same route.

Fang Ruì didn’t mind the company, she needed to form a group anyways.

But when she heard that Fang Lian already had an individual task, she decided to form a different group and have her tag along.

Fang Lian did not speak much along the way and her expression gave little away.

That only made Fang Ruì’s curiosity grew.

What task did she have? She had not dare asked.

Pressing for details might have come off as rude, especially toward someone so closely tied to the clan head.

But still... she could not help wondering.

What kind of mission could be so important that it required Fang Yuan’s personal disciple to travel so far?

The clan head was not exactly short on resources, if anything, he was known to be generous with those he trusted. Surely, if she needed help, he would have provided it.

So why was she out here like this? Outside like this? Was this task that important?

Fang Ruì bit her tongue, resisting the urge to ask. Surely she’s also not out here like me earning merit points.

She gave a light cough, more to steady herself than to clear her throat, and stepped forward.

Facing her team, she unrolled the mission scroll.

"The Lin family’s caravan assembles at Northgate within the hour," she stated, her voice carrying cleanly over the quiet street.

"Our task is to escort them through the Blackridge Pass to Ashe City."

She maintained eye contact with each cultivator, her Qi Transformation aura lending weight to her words despite her youth.

"It’s a three-day journey through territory notorious for bandit activity. The clan’s intelligence confirms multiple organized groups operating in the region."

A subtle tension rippled through the junior cultivators.

Fang Ruì continued, her tone deliberate: "Risk assessment classifies this task as moderate, which should be manageable for our team of five qi condensation but it will still require constant vigilance.

We’ll maintain defensive formations at all times, rotate scouting duties, and establish nightly wards. Understood?"

A ripple of nods answered her.

All except Fang Bong, the lanky nineteen-year-old who leaned against a nearby wall of polished jade-stone, arms crossed.

A smirk played on his lips as the others murmured their assent.

Rui ignored it, tightening her grip on the scroll.

She had worked too hard-sweated through the championship trials, pushed her cultivation through countless sleepless nights-to let his pettiness undermine her now.

"Good," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate. "We move out in-"

"Relax, Little Elder," Bong cut in, pushing off the wall. His voice was a lazy drawl, slicing through the brief moment of order.

"We’ll keep your precious merchant wagons safe. Wouldn’t want our champion tripping over her own robes before the real fight, eh?"

He chuckled, the sound sharp and needling. "Just point us at the bandits. We’ll handle the messy work while you... supervise."

Little Elder.

The words landed like a slap. Ruì’s fingers tightened on the scroll, knuckles bleaching white against the parchment.

She forced her chin up, the phantom taste of training yard grit sharp on her tongue. Focus. Breathe. You earned this.

Ruì ignored it, the familiar burn of injustice flaring in her chest. She’d faced worse than Bong’s pettiness on the championship sands broken ribs, Qi exhaustion that felt like dying.

She tightened her grip on the scroll until the reed core threatened to snap.

She had earned her robes. Yet now... Just let it slide. He’s senior in age, technically. Don’t—

"Apologize."

The air chilled. Fang Lian stood beside Bong, her voice a shard of ice.

She hadn’t raised it, yet it silenced the path.

Bong blinked, his smirk faltering. "What? She doesn’t mind! Right, Ruì?"

He nudged her shoulder, overly familiar. "See? All good."

Ruì opened her mouth to say to Fang Lian It’s fine, really, no need but the words never made it out.

Fang Lian’s gaze locked onto Bong, sharp and unblinking. Her voice cut through the air, low and absolute:

"You will address her as Elder Fang Ruì. Not ’Little Elder.’ Not ’Ruì.’ Every careless word you spit diminishes her rank, disrespects her attainment, and insults the clan head who personally granted her that title."

Her hand rested lightly on the plain hilt of her sword.

"Apologize. Now."

Ruì swallowed. Lian wasn’t being a busybody. Right now, she was her wall. A shield raised between Ruì and the erosion of the respect she had bled for.

This timidness, this urge to fold wasn’t her. Not truly. She had faced down rival cultivators on the championship, spirit beasts during the clan excavations. Yet why did leading her own feel harder?

Fang Bong’s smirk twisted into something uglier. He straightened, looming over Lian with a derisive scoff.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to come between us?"