I Just Wanted To Live but I Somehow Became Better Than the Protagonist

Yet, one could hardly blame him, for there was truly no one worthy of his invoking the art of sound and painting. Once the Battle Spirit Melody played, the two battle spirits, both nearing the Golden Core stage, were utterly crushed in a one-sided display. Otherwise, it was akin to being mercilessly kicked around by a group of newcomers, all equally close to the Golden Core, like a ball in a cruel game.

Zhou Feifan, the sixteenth prince of the Great Zhou Dynasty, was a true prodigy, a Golden Core of the seventh layer, who had suffered greatly at the hands of the sound and painting. Not to mention the group of novice cultivators who had yet to reach the Golden Core.

Moreover, Ye Yong had his own thoughts; revealing the might of sound and painting too early would jeopardize his efforts to vindicate it in the joint competition.

Sound and painting were not as weak as the masses claimed; they simply did not conform to the conventional weapons like swords and blades, which could be mastered through mere practice. Sound and painting demanded talent and insight. In the same realm, while not necessarily stronger than swords, they were undoubtedly more troublesome.

“So, are you leaving?” After hearing the account of the duel, Huaxin felt a strange notion arise—perhaps Ye Yong was more suited to cultivate something else than sound and painting.

Ye Yong did not respond, stepping into the cave dwelling.

Mu Qingyin’s abode was simple, devoid of excessive ornamentation, yet her paintings adorned the walls, surpassing any gilded or silvered carvings.

Ye Yong had visited once before, so it was not unfamiliar; he quickly found the guest chamber.

Seven imposing elders sat around a round stone table, with the young and beautiful Mu Qingyin among them, shining like a beacon.

If you wish to invite me to another hall, at least show some sincerity? This way, I can’t even muster a thought of switching sides.

Silently mocking in his heart, Ye Yong performed a respectful bow typical of junior cultivators.

In truth, this bow was not much different from the usual greeting among cultivators; it merely varied in the depth of the bend. Generally, cultivators would bow slightly upon meeting, while juniors would lower themselves more to show respect to their elders.

“Ye Yong, you’ve come at just the right time!” An elder, though aged, still robust, patted the seat beside him, signaling for Ye Yong to sit.

“Hmm?” The other elders raised their eyebrows in unison.

“I’ll stand, it’s fine. If there’s anything to discuss, please, elders, speak freely.” Ye Yong was not foolish enough to sit; if he were to take a seat, it would be beside Mu Qingyin.

“Alright! I like straightforward young people!” The elder who spoke did not take offense at Ye Yong’s refusal to sit. He began to introduce himself: “I am Ma Weiguo, the third elder of the Fist Intent Hall. At a young age, I have mastered the Five Tiger Fist to an extraordinary level; it’s no small feat. In this day and age, many look down upon bare-handed combat, unaware that it is precisely bare hands that can handle various unforeseen crises, preventing one from losing their weapon and suffering a significant drop in strength. I’ll be frank; I hope you will join the Fist Intent Hall. I will personally take you as my disciple, ensuring you become a fearsome fist cultivator.”

28 Continue to Wash White

To become a direct disciple of the Transformation God Elder—this is the dream that all young cultivators yearn for.

Outer disciples, ordinary disciples, inner disciples, direct disciples.

A direct disciple not only symbolizes strength but also signifies status within the sect. As long as one does not touch upon the sect’s great taboos, even serious mistakes can be easily brushed aside, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Ma Weiguo, how shameless can you be? Can you really teach Ye Yong? Do you even deserve to be his master?” The thoughts and sentiments of the crowd echoed in unison, and as soon as Ma Weiguo spoke, he was met with scornful ridicule from the other elders.

“I may not deserve it, but do you?” Ma Weiguo snorted coldly. He was a formidable being at the eighth level of Transformation, and those present were all floating around that level. In a real fight, it would be hard to determine a victor. In certain specific environments, Ma Weiguo might even have the upper hand, for fist cultivators do not rely on weapons; they depend on the strength of their own bodies. “Ye Yong, trust me, fist cultivation is the best choice. Invest all your resources in yourself; there’s no need to waste extra money and effort on weapons. True strength lies in one’s own power. In contrast, sword and knife cultivators—without their weapons, their combat prowess diminishes, and they simply cannot stand on the same stage.”

“Don’t listen to his nonsense. Fist techniques are only suitable as a backup,” a sword cultivator of great renown said, looking at Ye Yong with confidence. “Indeed, a sword cultivator’s strength wanes without their weapon, but have you noticed that the most formidable sword cultivators always learn additional fist or palm techniques? With the sword as the main focus and fists as a supplement, one can go further. Everyone gets injured; if a fist cultivator’s hands are damaged, it’s undoubtedly fatal. Yet we sword cultivators can wield our swords with our minds. Even if our hands are rendered useless, we still possess considerable combat power. Can a fist cultivator do that?”

“Bullshit! Fist cultivators are not limited to just our fists. Our entire bodies are weapons! Without hands, we have our feet; without limbs, we have our heads!”

Fist cultivators belong to the realm of physical cultivation. Ordinary cultivators balance both body and spirit, while fist cultivators focus on the physical, honing their bodies to the extreme.

This is why, despite his age, Ma Weiguo still possesses a robust and imposing figure.

“While you speak of fists and swords, do you not regard us knife cultivators at all?”

“Knife cultivators are all madmen! Ye Yong, choose anyone but a knife cultivator!” Suddenly, the three sword elders and the fist elder spoke in unison.

The knife elder’s face turned a mottled shade of blue and red, while his companion beside him bit down on his lip, trembling all over, his gaze sharp and cold as a blade, as if he were about to strike.

“Elders, this quarrel is quite inappropriate; it will only make us the laughingstock of the younger generation,” Mu Qingyin interjected at that moment. “Instead of engaging in meaningless disputes, why not ask Ye Yong what he thinks?”

Mu Qingyin lifted her gaze, her eyes soft as she looked at Ye Yong. No matter what decision he made, she would not obstruct him. Whether to stay or leave was entirely up to him.

Compared to the old men, it was clear that the beautiful and wealthy master was far more alluring. Yet Ye Yong would not take Mu Qingyin as his master.

The difference between a master and a teacher is still significant. There’s little difference among siblings, but a master, in a sense, is a second parent. Disrespecting one’s master or going against one’s disciples is seen as a grave act of filial piety, hard for the world to accept.

Otherwise, Ye Yong would have long since taken Mu Qingyin as his master. Becoming a master-disciple pair, would he not see her often? Would he not be able to seek her guidance on various matters, and wouldn’t that enhance their rapport?

It is precisely because the path of master and disciple is fraught with difficulty that Ye Yong chose not to pursue it. Instead, he sought to become familiar with Mu Qingyin by painting beautiful women, constantly lingering in her presence.

“Before expressing my thoughts, I, the junior, have a question I hope to ask the esteemed elders.” Ye Yong bowed slightly, lowering his head in a gesture of humility. “May I inquire, among the paths of the world, which is the strongest?”

“Of course, it is the way of the sword (blade) (fist).”

The six elders exchanged fierce glares, repeating in unison, “It is the way of the sword (blade) (fist)!”

Seeing them on the verge of another quarrel, Ye Yong boldly posed and answered his own question: “For each of you elders, it is surely the path you walk that is the strongest. Yet, in truth, there exists no absolute strongest path; only the path that suits oneself. The elders believe their chosen way is the mightiest because it aligns with their nature, allowing them to wield its full potential. Tell me, can a sword cultivator guarantee victory over a fist cultivator?”

The sword elder fell silent, and just as Elder Ma was about to bask in his triumph, Ye Yong continued, “And what of the reverse?”

Elder Ma fell silent as well.

“I, lacking in talent, spent ten years mastering the sword before joining the Tianluo Sect. In my relentless pursuit of strength, I became ensnared by demonic delusions, my temper grew fierce, and I even lost control and killed a servant in my household. The moment I witnessed an innocent life extinguished before my eyes, I was struck with clarity. Is this truly the path I wish to tread? If I grow powerful yet become heartless and cruel, is it worth it?” Seizing the moment, Ye Yong began to cleanse the dark history left by “Ye Yong.”

Among those present, aside from Mu Qingyin, who may not have taken a life, whose hands are not stained with blood?

Speaking thus, he was unafraid of their strange gazes. They were all ancient beings, having lived for over a thousand years. A fledgling cultivator might not find it alarming; in the world of cultivation, the weak are devoured by the strong. Ye Yong had made it clear that it was an accident, and there was no reason to pursue the matter. To cultivators, mortals held little value; servants were not even considered human, merely living possessions.

“I began to explore other paths, trying my hand at fists, blades, and the like, yet I still struggled to suppress the fury within. Thus, I turned to music and painting, seeking to cultivate my spirit. Since then, the demonic delusions have dissipated, and remarkably, my previous studies in sword, fist, and blade have also flourished. Though the delusions are gone, I have grown fond of music and painting; I cannot abandon it. The sword elder previously said, ‘Let the sword be primary, with the fist as a supplement.’ Perhaps for me, music and painting should be the main focus, with the others as mere support.”

The elders were stirred, their hearts yearning for talent, not wishing to destroy the promising future of this young man. Upon hearing Ye Yong’s words, they fell into a contemplative silence.