Chapter 19 - What's Mine is Mine (and What's Yours is Also Mine)

The bustling Martial Grounds were filled with disciples training, sparring, and socializing. Mostly Inner and Core disciples frequented the area, though the occasional Outer disciple could be spotted.

Today, the Grounds were livelier than usual. Shouts and exclamations rang out as a crowd formed, eager spectators gathering to witness the source of the commotion.

"Back off, I told you we're through!" A melodious yet forceful female voice shouted. The crowd's attention zeroed in on the speaker, a stunning beauty with jade-like skin and shimmering crystal hair. Murmurs of admiration and interest rose from the gathered disciples.

Two figures stood at the center of the commotion—the dazzling woman and a handsome man trying to drag her away. His pleas and remonstrations went unheeded by the stubborn lady.

"Trouble in paradise?" A wry voice commented.

"Looks like Lover Boy can't take a hint," another quipped.

"Ten spirit stones say she dumps him by nightfall."

"Foolish bet. Have you seen her? No way she settles for that loser."

As the commentary flew, a strange sensation overcame the crowd. A sense of overriding purpose filled their minds—they must protect the woman.

Exchanging determined looks, a few Inner Disciples strode forth. One seized the persistent man's shoulder in an unbreakable grip. "There seems to be a misunderstanding," the Inner Disciple said, expression dark with suppressed irritation. With a broad, ingratiating smile, he continued, "Why don't I give you a tour of our sect, Junior? We have many enlightening places we'd be honored to show a newcomer."

Despite the polite phrasing, his words and tone brooked no argument. The hapless man paled, acquiescing with a jerky nod. The Inner Disciple's smile sharpened. "Excellent."

The handsome man regarded the Inner Disciple who seized him with unveiled contempt. "Something wrong with your brain?" he sneered.

Face darkening, the Inner Disciple gritted out, "I can tolerate much, Junior, but you will show respect." As he spoke, his fist shot out—only to be dodged with casual ease.

"And who are you to demand respect?" The handsome man's disdain was palpable.

Rage suffused the Inner Disciple's features. "You dare—!" He broke off with a cry, clutching his bloodied nose. "Get him! Show this upstart his place!"

Other disciples rushed to obey, mouths twisting in ugly sneers and scoffs. Though mere low-ranked Inner Disciples, they were still cultivators. Against a mob, what chance did even a gifted loner have?

Their self-assuredness was their downfall. They saw only a pretty boy without allies—not the coiled strength and speed that ended the first disciple's attack, sent him crashing down, and put the rest on high alert. Yet their alertness was for naught. Before the next disciple could make a move, a blur resolved into the handsome man before him. A blink, and that disciple joined the first in the dirt, confusion writ plain on his dirtied face.

Shock rippled through the crowd as the extent of the newcomer's abilities sank in. For all that he held back, keeping attacks non-lethal, his prowess outstripped theirs several times over. To think they'd been so foolish as to dismiss and antagonize one so powerful ... It seemed they now owed their lives to his mercy and restraint. Sweat beaded the stronger disciples' brows at the realization.

"Attack together!" A second Inner Disciple roared.

For all his bluster, he held back from personally confronting the newcomer. 'Fools. Now's the perfect chance to win that beauty's favor.'

Slipping behind her, he swept the woman into a princess carry. "Fear not, Junior Sister. I shall protect you from that ruffian."

His heroic pose was cut off as she screeched, "Unhand me, you cad!" Skin reddening in rage, she swung her fan at him.

Seeing one of their number accosted, several female disciples bristled. While loath to confront the handsome man, they had no such compunctions about putting the grabby senior in his place.

...

Meanwhile, curiosity and concern drew disciples from their rooms to investigate the ruckus outside.

Excepting one. Xin Yang awaited the ideal moment to slip into unoccupied chambers—the small formations guarding each insufficient to bar his entry.

Not every room held valuables, wasting his time on poorer disciples' lodgings. Eventually, he came upon one with a 'different air'—senses prickling in warning at whatever anomaly it held. "Now what is this about...?" There was something wrong here, that much was certain, but what? What provoked this feeling?

Nothing for it but to investigate the source of this disquieting aura. He ransacked the room, upending everything in his search. Still the feeling of wrongness persisted.

"Can't find it, where is the blasted thing?" Xin Yang was certain he hadn't missed a spot. Yet his efforts remained fruitless. The room yielded no clues as to the anomaly's origin.

Wait—the floor. He cast a jaundiced look downward. "Hiding a corpse under there or something?"

Yes, that had to be it. Whatever provoked this feeling lurked beneath. But how to reach it without inflicting major damage?

As if he cared for the room's state or its owner's reaction at this point. "Forget this." He smashed through the floorboards.

What he found was no corpse, but a simple emblem—from which an eerie, ferocious aura flowed, leaving him breathless.

Any sensible person would have fled, wanting no part of that malignant presence. Xin Yang was not such a one. An unsettling discovery would not deter him from claiming his prize.

The emblem went into his spatial ring, its loathsome miasma surrounding him. Paying it no heed, he returned to his room and settled in to cultivate, the very picture of innocence.