The Wind Justice Courtyard, tasked with overseeing the hall’s martial artists, was the most prestigious of Baolin’s five courtyards. Unlike Four Seas Courtyard disciples, who braved the elements, or Martial Transmission Courtyard disciples, who spent their cultivation time training juniors, Wind Justice disciples stayed under the hall’s eaves, earning merits without facing storms, with ample time to cultivate. Naturally, it was the top choice for inner and outer disciples.

Its standards were strict—ordinary disciples needed ninth-grade peak, while deacons required eighth-grade Muscle-Strengthening Realm. Rumor had it the current middle-aged courtyard master was the old hall master’s prized disciple, post-Lin Junqing’s fall. Thus, Wind Justice disciples carried themselves loftily, rarely humoring peers.

So, Zhao Mu and Xiangzi were awkwardly barred at the courtyard gate.

Zhao Mu’s smile was strained. Despite his pleas, the two black-robed gatekeepers wouldn’t budge. “Junior Brother Zhao, you’re from the five courtyards—you know the rules. Don’t make this hard,” one said, forcing a smile and clasping his fists.

Zhao Mu gave an embarrassed laugh, about to speak, when a bear-like figure ambled over, hands behind his neck, yawning. “Boring… so boring. Where to hunt a demon beast today? A fish demon? Or a stroll in Great Green Ridge?”

The gatekeepers drooped their eyelids, pretending not to hear. Great Green Ridge? A forbidden zone off-limits by the three great halls. Wan Yuxuan, favored by the courtyard master, could flout rules, but ordinary disciples couldn’t.

Muttering, Wan Yuxuan paused, spotting Xiangzi. “Hey, big guy, finally an outer disciple, and you’re here instead of the Martial Transmission Pavilion?”

Xiangzi clasped his fists. “Senior Brother Wan!”

A quick-witted gatekeeper, seeing the unassuming gray-robed apprentice familiar with Wan Yuxuan, hurried to explain Xiangzi’s purpose. Wan Yuxuan smirked faintly. “Heavy on loyalty, eh? Fine, I’m bored—come with me.”

No one dared stop them now. Inside, the gatekeepers exchanged glances, stunned. Our eccentric Senior Brother Wan, who never gives face, is acting friendly?

—

With Wan Yuxuan leading, the way was smooth. They stopped at an iron-locked gate—the Wind Justice Courtyard’s “detention chamber,” a euphemism for the hall’s prison.

The Five Ores Powder incident had implicated over twenty people. As the gate opened, dim candlelight flickered in the dark underground passage. Underground? Xiangzi’s heart jolted. This is a big deal.

Sensing his thoughts, Wan Yuxuan grinned. “You’re an outer disciple now, kid. You should know how rare ninth grade is. The Bone-Strengthening Broth has a yearly quota—even in good years, only thirty doses every six months. Apprentice selection is brutal. Lives are secondary; wasting a dose is the real crime. Martial paths are ruthless—last night’s plot wasn’t new. Some apprentices even killed peers in the past. But the Five Ores Powder’s rarity made this a spectacle. It’s not something a miscellaneous courtyard lackey could get.”

He paused, smiling faintly, a calculating glint in his eyes. “You’ll understand after your assignment.”

Xiangzi missed the hidden meaning, but “quota” stirred him. Does Baolin not produce the broth? Is someone above the three great halls controlling martial advancement? His heart trembled.

—

“Brother Xiang… you came to see us?” A rustling came from a nearby cell, and a dark, joyful face peered through the iron bars, followed by Jiang Wangshui’s pale one.

As hall apprentices, they’d faced no torture, just a night of questioning and anxiety. Seeing Xiangzi, they were thrilled. Jiang Wangshui, sharp as ever, noted Xiangzi’s transformed aura. “Brother Xiang… you passed the ninth-grade trial?”

Xiangzi nodded, smiling. Xu Xiaoliu jumped, circling the cell. “Brother Xiang’s fine… he’s fine!”

Their worries eased—they’d stayed awake, fearing the Five Ores Powder had ruined Xiangzi’s trial. He approached, gripping their hands through the bars. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get you out.”

—

After comforting his friends, Xiangzi asked Wan Yuxuan to see Lu Qi. “Brother Xiang, save Xiao Qi… he was manipulated,” Xu Xiaoliu pleaded, his dark face flushed.

Xiangzi lowered his head, silent. Xu Xiaoliu slumped, realizing something, as Jiang Wangshui sighed and patted his shoulder.

At the deepest cell, windowless, a dozing disciple snapped up. “Senior Brother Wan.”

“All quiet?”

“Fine. The kid’s crazed, hands and feet bound. Hundred Herbs checked last night—his blood energy’s weak, too damaged by the Five Ores Powder. His mind’s gone.”

“Open the door.”

With a scrape of the bolt, the door creaked open. Xiangzi’s gaze fell on a wooden box on a nearby table, holding an open cloth sack with gleaming silver dollars—seized from Lu Qi’s room.

“Senior Brother, may I see?” With permission, Xiangzi picked up a coin. Under the dim candlelight, the old dynasty’s mint-crafted silver dollar was exquisite, its patterns vivid. Tilting it, faint engravings appeared in the shifting light.

Xiangzi’s eyes sharpened, pondering, before setting it down.

A sudden cry rang out. “This… this kid’s dead?”

“Senior Brother, I checked last night—his hands and feet were bound!”

The room froze in shock.