Lin Yang's eyes, which always carried a hint of languid detachment, were now like two deep pools as he fixed a long, searching gaze on Chen Yang.
He felt that the blank, innocent expression on Chen Yang's face looked genuinely "sincere."
As if he truly knew nothing about the loft catching fire.
Yet deep within those eyes, a fleeting flicker of panic — and the forced composure that followed — betrayed a cunning that was difficult to put into words.
Even so.
His attention was quickly drawn to Chen Yang's peculiar posture.
The person before him had been standing sideways since a moment ago, presenting only one ear in his direction, as though straining to listen.
"What's wrong with your ear?"
Lin Yang frowned slightly and asked in a clear voice:
"Burned by the fire?"
Hearing this, Chen Yang instinctively tried to turn his body to face him properly.
But he immediately remembered that his right ear was still blocked, unable to make out sounds clearly.
He had no choice but to maintain his sideways stance, awkwardly rotating his neck in an attempt to angle his left ear more toward Lin Yang, and mumbled an explanation:
"It's… it's nothing. I think I got hit by a shockwave just now. It's a little… a little hard to hear on this side."
He pointed to his right ear:
"If I tilt like this… I can hear clearly."
He found that his right ear seemed to be completely blocked by something.
Not a single sound from the outside world could get through, yet his left ear was perfectly fine.
This half-deaf state forced him to adopt this slightly comical sideways posture whenever he spoke with Lin Yang.
Lin Yang watched him with a barely perceptible flicker of doubt in his eyes.
But he did not press the matter, and instead returned to the purpose of his visit.
Before he could speak, Chen Yang asked first, still standing sideways with his left ear turned toward him:
"You… did you come here for something?"
Lin Yang was caught off guard by the question, and then that habitual languid expression took on a trace of irritation:
"What did I come for? Where is my hair ribbon?"
"Hair ribbon?"
Chen Yang was also taken aback, genuine confusion spreading across his face:
"What hair ribbon?"
Lin Yang watched his expression — which seemed to have completely forgotten — and raised an eyebrow higher, his tone carrying a reminder:
"Yesterday, in the plaza, the one I tossed to you! The one I told you to use to pull Zhao Yanran down!"
Only with that reminder did Chen Yang suddenly remember!
Yesterday, during the chaotic rain battle in the plaza, Lin Yang had indeed flicked a strip of cloth from his sleeve and thrown it to him, telling him to channel spiritual energy into it and drag the airborne Zhao Yanran back down.
The situation had been urgent at the time, and he hadn't gotten a clear look at what it was.
He had simply treated it as some kind of special magical weapon or rope, used it, and then forgotten all about it — he might even have carelessly tossed it into the mud somewhere in the plaza…
"Ah! That thing…"
Chen Yang's face immediately flushed with embarrassment:
"So it was… a hair ribbon?"
He instinctively turned to look Lin Yang over carefully.
He saw that Lin Yang was dressed as usual in a plain, elegant robe, his ink-black hair loosely gathered into a hair bun at the back of his head with a simple wooden hairpin, a few strands falling freely — which only made his face look more strikingly handsome. Yet there was no sign of anywhere that would require a hair ribbon.
He couldn't help but ask in puzzlement:
"You… don't you always use a wooden hairpin to hold your hair bun? I don't think… I've ever seen you use a hair ribbon?"
At those words, the habitual composure on Lin Yang's face suddenly cracked like ice splitting open, a flash of unmistakable discomfort crossing his features, and his voice rose a notch:
"I want to change my hairstyle and use a hair ribbon — is that not allowed?! Who says I have to use a wooden hairpin forever?!"
Chen Yang was baffled by this sudden burst of temper, but still nodded reflexively, stammering:
"Sure… sure, of course that's fine."
Seeing him like that, Lin Yang seemed to grow even more irritated, yet the anger had nowhere to vent, and in the end he simply let out a cold snort and said nothing more.
He flicked his wrist, and from somewhere unknown, he actually produced a strip of cloth.
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The strip should originally have been snow-white, its texture looking quite extraordinary, with a faint shimmer of spiritual light flowing through it.
But now it was covered in muddy stains, creased and wrinkled from being soaked and dried by rain, and the edges even appeared slightly frayed.
It looked dirty and crumpled, utterly at odds with Lin Yang's ever-immaculate image.
Chen Yang stared at the bedraggled hair ribbon in Lin Yang's hand.
Then he thought back to how he had probably just tossed it carelessly into the mud after using it yesterday.
He immediately felt a pang of guilt, his gaze shifting evasively.
Lin Yang's eyes bore straight into Chen Yang, and though his voice made every effort to remain calm, anyone could hear the suppressed anger simmering beneath that calm:
"I told you to pull Zhao Yanran down — couldn't you have wrapped it around her waist, or somewhere else? Did you have to use my hair ribbon to bind her ankles?!"
Chen Yang opened his mouth, wanting to explain.
The situation had been urgent at the time; Zhao Yanran was airborne, and her ankles were the easiest target to aim for and wrap around. He had acted entirely on instinct — there had been no time to pick and choose where to bind her.
But Lin Yang clearly had no interest in hearing his explanation, and said coolly:
"Wash it! Wash it carefully, by hand! No laundering spell techniques, no using spiritual energy to cut corners!"
Chen Yang looked at Lin Yang's unyielding gaze, then looked at the dirty hair ribbon, knowing he was in the wrong. He could only resign himself to his fate and nod.
He took the hair ribbon, and at his fingertips he could still feel a faint trace of residual spiritual energy on it, and…
A delicate texture that was difficult to put into words.
He walked over to the water well nearby — the one that had been nearly half-drained by the clay bowl earlier but had since recovered somewhat — and drew up a bucket of clear well water.
Then he silently crouched beside the well, rolled up his sleeves, and began carefully scrubbing the hair ribbon by hand.
The mud dissolved in the water.
Turning the clear water murky.
He rubbed and kneaded repeatedly, using his fingers to pick out the stubborn stains one by one, his movements clumsy yet unusually earnest.
Throughout the process he could even feel Lin Yang's gaze resting on his back the entire time, carrying a scrutinizing, supervisory weight that kept him from slacking off in the slightest.
It took a full fifteen minutes, and several buckets of water, until his hands had been soaked pale and wrinkled by the well water, before the hair ribbon finally recovered its original snow-white color.
Though it was still damp and creased, at least it looked clean as new.
Chen Yang let out a breath of relief, wrung out the clean hair ribbon, then stood up and prepared to hand it to Lin Yang.
However, Lin Yang merely glanced at the still-dripping hair ribbon, and his brow furrowed again, his voice cool:
"It's not dry yet. How am I supposed to use it wet?"
Chen Yang instinctively wanted to form a simple spell technique to dry it.
But just as he raised his hand, he met Lin Yang's eyes — eyes that seemed to see right through his intentions…
Chen Yang froze.
He could only sheepishly lower his hand and walk obediently to the old tree in the courtyard that had come through relatively unscathed.
He found a clean, fairly smooth branch, and carefully draped the snow-white damp hair ribbon over it, letting it dry naturally in the breeze and sunlight.
Having done all this, Chen Yang stole a glance at Lin Yang's expression.
Sure enough, seeing him so "obediently" wash the hair ribbon by hand and hang it to dry, the layer of frost on Lin Yang's face seemed to thaw a little.
Though there was still no smile, at least his gaze was no longer so oppressive.
Chen Yang quietly breathed a sigh of relief, and finally had the chance to ask the question that had been circling in his mind for a long time.
He still stood sideways, making sure his left ear could hear clearly, and asked:
"You… yesterday in the plaza, why did you help me?"
Lin Yang toyed with the folding fan in his hand, and without even lifting his eyelids, replied in a casual tone as if commenting on the fine weather:
"I always act on impulse. I found Yang Tianming displeasing to the eye, so I helped — do I need a reason?"
That answer was no answer at all.
Chen Yang also knew it would be hard to get anything sincere out of Lin Yang, so he didn't dwell on it.
He thought for a moment, then asked another, more pressing question:
"Then what you said yesterday… that in three months I'd have another chance to face Yang Tianming — what did you mean by that?"
Lin Yang looked at Chen Yang, who was still standing sideways and glancing at him from the corner of his eye, and felt an inexplicable irritation rise in him again.
But he looked carefully at Chen Yang's right ear and found no external injury on the auricle; and the way Chen Yang instinctively tilted his head and concentrated when listening didn't look like an act.
He lightly snapped open the folding fan in his hand with a soft whoosh, the jade-white fan face covering the lower half of his face just so, leaving only a pair of deep, inscrutable eyes visible.
He looked at Chen Yang through the fan's ribs, his voice carrying a faint, indeterminate quality as it passed through the fan:
"Brother Chen, do you… wish to become a Personal Disciple?"
"A Personal Disciple?"
Chen Yang was momentarily stunned, then a wry smile crossed his face:
"Personal Disciple… aren't all the spots already taken? Didn't the Elders of each peak already select their own Personal Disciples at yesterday's assembly?"
A ripple of self-mockery stirred in his heart.
He had been quietly hoping all along to become Shen Hongmei's Personal Disciple, to study advanced sword arts and receive her personal guidance.
Yet it turned out that Senior had never had any intention of taking on a disciple.
It seemed that some things were, in the end, nothing but wishful thinking on his part.
The gap in status was too great — perhaps in Senior's eyes, he was nothing more than a slightly unusual junior.
As for Crimson Glow Peak, it was currently at odds with the sect, its gates sealed shut, so they certainly wouldn't be taking anyone in.
The Elders of the other peaks had mostly already taken their own Personal Disciples, their spots filled.
Could it be…
That he should go to Jade Bamboo Peak and, leveraging his connections with Liu Yiyi and Xiaochunhua, try to curry favor with Elder Song?
Even shamelessness wouldn't help — the point was, it was simply out of the question!
Everyone knew that Elder Song Jiayu of Jade Bamboo Peak only accepted female disciples!
He ran through every possibility he could think of in his mind and found that there was truly no path left, and he couldn't help but feel a little deflated.
But just then.
Lin Yang's voice, somewhat muffled by the folding fan, came through clearly into his left ear once more:
"There is one person,"
Lin Yang's tone was flat, yet it seemed to carry a strange, magnetic quality:
"who has never taken a Personal Disciple. Not even once."
Chen Yang jolted, and instinctively pressed:
"Who?"
Lin Yang slowly closed the folding fan, revealing that handsome yet perpetually detached face. He looked at Chen Yang with calm eyes and said, word by word:
"The current Sect Master of the Verdant Wood Sect — Ouyang Hua."
Ouyang Hua?!
That name struck like a thunderclap, exploding through Chen Yang's mind!
That elusive, unfathomable Core Formation cultivator who had not even appeared at yesterday's Sect Assembly?!
He…
He had never taken a Personal Disciple?!
An indescribable shock and an inexplicable surge of excitement swept through Chen Yang's entire being in an instant!
Before he could even process this staggering revelation, Lin Yang added another quiet remark, like a boulder dropped once more into a still lake:
"In three months, Sect Master Ouyang Hua will hold an open trial to select his Personal Disciple."
Chen Yang felt as though an invisible hand had seized his heart in a crushing grip, and his breath caught in his throat!
The Sect Master's Personal Disciple!
What did that mean?
It meant the finest cultivation techniques, the highest-quality resources, the most elite guidance, and…
Supreme, unrivaled status!
That was the ultimate destination every disciple of the Verdant Wood Sect dreamed of!
And then Lin Yang's final words fell like the last stroke of a judge's gavel, heavy and decisive.
"Of course."
He looked at Chen Yang's face, which had in an instant become filled with boundless hope, and the corner of his mouth seemed to curl into the faintest, most unreadable arc as he said:
"Yang Tianming… he will also be participating."