Clad in a flowing white martial robe adorned with dark yellow stripes that rippled gently in the breeze, an Elder stood tall and imposing, his sharp, hawk-like eyes glaring at Ji Wuye with an intensity that could pierce steel.

The Elder's clean-shaven face was etched with deep lines, his silver hair gleaming like spun moonlight under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

Behind him stood countless Inner Disciples in perfect formation, their white robes emblazoned with crimson stripes that seemed to smolder like embers.

"This is what he has done, Elder," Hao Hanying explained carefully, standing beside the towering figure of authority.

His voice carried a slight tremor, betraying his apprehension as he gestured towards the scene of ruin and chaos that surrounded them. "Not only did he attack all the patrols and representatives of Kunlun's Official Disciples, but he also injured members of Wudang and..."

Before Hao Hanying could finish his explanation, murmurs of disbelief began to ripple through the crowd of Inner Disciples like a gentle breeze stirring fallen leaves.

Their eyes widened in shock, taking in the devastation that lay before them.

"The... Wudang?" one of the Inner Disciples stammered, his voice faltering as his gaze fell upon Ji Wuye. The young man stood calmly beside the monk, meeting their scrutinizing stares with an expression bordering on boredom, his handsome features betraying none of the fury that must have fueled such destruction.

The harsh contrast between Ji Wuye's reputation – as nothing more than a pretty handsome face and the weakest among them, with the added fact that he was merely an Outer Disciple at the 2nd realm – and the utter devastation that surrounded them left the disciples grappling to reconcile what they knew with what they saw.

Disbelief etched itself onto their faces, eyes narrowing suspiciously as they studied the young man's calm demeanor.

"Impossible..." someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. "This can't be his doing."

Steeling themselves, the Inner Disciples turned towards the Elder which no one other than Xia Zhenkang, formally cupping their hands in a show of respect.

"Greetings, Elder. The commoners have fled the area due to the... disturbance," one of them reported, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands that betrayed his unease. "We came to investigate the commotion, but this..."

His words trailed off, hanging in the air like the smoke that still lingered from whatever battle had taken place. Elder Xia remained silent, his flowing white hair gleaming like spun silver under the dappled light.

His clean-shaven face betrayed no hint of emotion, but his piercing gaze stayed fixed on Ji Wuye, who returned the stare with equal intensity, his eyes shimmering like polished obsidian.

Once again, "Did he really..." one of the Inner Disciples began, his voice trailing off into an uneasy silence as his widened eyes darted between the fallen martial artists strewn across the wooden platform and Ji Wuye's seemingly impassive figure.

While most of the Inner Disciples were still struggling to piece together the improbable connection between Ji Wuye and the chaotic scene of devastation before them, one Inner Disciple suddenly spoke up, shattering the tense quiet.

"So, you are the famous junior who was once the fiancé of Junior Sister Mu," he remarked, his tone dripping with disdain and scorn. He was a young man with long, raven-black hair cascading over his shoulders in silken waves, framing a face that would have been considered strikingly handsome were it not for the perpetual sneer that seemed etched into his features.

His eyes, slightly inward-tilted and slitted, lent him a sharp, almost serpentine gaze that seemed devoid of warmth or kindness. Thick, arched brows framed those penetrating eyes, grounding their sharpness with an impression of strength and intensity. Beneath them, thin lips pressed into a haughty line, adding a touch of cold aloofness to his overall demeanor.

While his lean, athletic figure and chiseled features might have been considered moderately attractive by the standards of the Jianghu, his appearance paled in comparison to the otherworldly, almost immortal handsome of someone like Ji Wuye.

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Narrowing his eyes further, the disciple scrutinized Ji Wuye from head to toe, his upper lip curling into a sneer of undisguised disdain as he drank in the young man's calm, unruffled countenance. "No wonder. Even I feel disgusted."

"Pfft!" A hushed murmur rippled through the gathered Inner Disciples, but no laughter or mocking followed – they could all sense the palpable anger radiating from Elder Xia like the lingering charge in the air after a thunderstorm.

The next moment...

"Bring the wounded to the infirmary for treatment," Elder Xia ordered. At once, several Inner Disciples cupped their hands in silent acknowledgment before leaping down to tend to the injured.

"This makes no sense," one of them muttered, brow furrowed as he knelt beside a fallen Wudang disciple. His expression twisted in utter confusion as he gently probed the unconscious man's injuries, feeling the erratic, disrupted flow of qi beneath his fingertips.

"Their Qi... it's completely disrupted. The dantian—" He paused, frown deepening as his hands hovered over the disciple's stomach, where mottled bruises bloomed like spilled ink across the skin. "—it's leaking, unable to retain any qi. But there isn't a single sword mark, just bruising..."

His voice trailed off, eyes widening slightly as realization began to dawn. How could such devastating internal injuries have been inflicted without leaving so much as a scratch?

Nearby, another Inner Disciple helped a battered Murong Yu to his feet, doing his best to maintain a professional demeanor despite the bewilderment etched into his features.

"Young Master Murong, please allow me to assist you to the infirmary," he said, his steady voice belying the turmoil churning beneath as he supported the barely conscious martial artist. Murong Yu could only respond with a weak, ragged cough, his brow glistening with beads of sweat.

Though an Inner Disciple himself, the one assisting Murong Yu knew full well that this Young Master's martial realm was said to be equal to their own.

A troubling question began to form in his mind, its tendrils snaking through his thoughts: was all this unimaginable destruction truly the work of Ji Wuye?

The remaining Inner Disciples moved with efficient urgency to aid the other wounded, their robes swirling like eddies of crimson in their wake. Yet their quick, uncertain glances towards Ji Wuye betrayed the churning unease that gripped them all.

The implications of the situation were becoming impossible to ignore any longer. If Murong Yu – renowned for his genius and strength, said to rival even theirs – had been so thoroughly defeated, then that meant a mere Junior, an Outer Disciple, was stronger than them all?

Such a thought was so utterly absurd, so incomprehensible, that for a moment their efforts faltered. The Inner Disciples hesitated, their actions slowing as they cast furtive glances – half disbelief towards the calm, indifferent figure of Ji Wuye.

He stood unmoved, his intense crimson gaze fixed solely upon the towering presence of Elder Xia, utterly unfazed by the chaos unfolding around him.

Meanwhile, another Inner Disciple approached the stoic form of Shao Mu. Clasping his hands together, he bowed respectfully to the monk. "Esteemed Master," he intoned, "Do you require any assistance?"

As responses, Shao Mu declined with a polite gesture and only observed Ji Wuye and the surrounding Inner Disciples swiftly set about evacuating the injured towards the infirmary.

Those who remained took their positions behind the towering figure of Elder Xia, their postures rigid and tense, bracing themselves like soldiers girding for battle.

"Injuring our esteemed guests, staining our reputation, ruining the official sparring session, and making your fellow Martial Siblings bedridden," Elder Xia began, his deep voice cutting through the charged silence like a blade of frost. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, the only outward sign of the fury that seethed barely contained within him.

The Inner Disciples straightened their backs instinctively, expecting – no, demanding – at least a proper bow of apology, some display of contrition from their insolent Junior.

Yet...

Ji Wuye stood motionless and defiant, his intense crimson gaze unwavering, exuding a calm indifference that showed no trace of the deference expected.

"No. You are wrong. Your judgment is wrong," Ji Wuye replied, his tone disturbingly casual, as though he were commenting on the weather rather than addressing the sect's esteemed Elder.

He made no effort to cup his hands in the reverent gesture of respect, standing there in his Kunlun robes as though they were nothing more than ornamental cloth rather than sacred symbols of their righteous sect.

"You—!" One of the Inner Disciples stepped forward, anger flushing his face a deep crimson as he struggled to rein in his indignation. "That Kunlun robe you wear—do you even understand what it represents? Generations of righteous martial artists, of proper conduct and respect!"

"How dare you address your Elder like this!" another disciple thundered, his voice booming from deep within his core as his knuckles turned white from the force of his clenched fists.

Outrage burned bright in his eyes as he glared at the unrepentant Ji Wuye. "Not even a proper form of address, not even a basic gesture of respect! Have you completely forgotten the teachings of propriety and hierarchy?"

"In all my ten years in Kunlun, I've never witnessed such brazen disrespect," a third disciple interjected, his expression darkening like storm clouds gathering across his features.

He shook his head slowly, disbelief and disgust warring within his narrowed eyes as they bored into Ji Wuye. "You stand before Elder Xia - a Senior who has protected our sect for decades with unwavering dedication - and you dare to dismiss his words as though he were nothing more than a common street vendor peddling wares?"

"Brat," another disciple spoke vehemently, his Qi flaring visibly around him in an almost palpable aura of outraged power as he took a threatening step forward.

The hem of his robe trailed behind him like a crimson tail, snapping sharply with the force of his movement. "I will personally teach you the meaning of respect and proper conduct. Clearly, the basic teachings have failed to penetrate that thick skull of yours!"

At this point, the thought of whether Ji Wuye was truly strong enough to defeat them all seemed utterly inconsequential. What mattered now was teaching this insolent Junior a well-deserved lesson in humility and manners.

"Elder!" The disciple who had mocked Ji Wuye earlier now stepped forward once more, his features twisting into a smug smirk as he cupped his hands respectfully towards the towering figure of Elder Xia. "Please allow me the privilege of punishing this ungrateful Junior and reinstating the proper order!"

However, before Elder Xia could respond, a soft yet alluring voice suddenly cut through the charged atmosphere like a silk blade.

"Silence."

The single, quietly commanding word instantly quieted all the Inner Disciples, their mouths snapping shut as one. The sound of measured footsteps echoed through the stillness, each step precise and purposeful. From behind the ranks of Inner Disciples emerged a vision of ethereal beauty - long, inky black tresses flowed like spilled silk in her wake, and deep crimson eyes - uncannily, eerily similar to Ji Wuye's own intense gaze - commanded the rapt attention of all.

With flawless, porcelain fair skin and features of exquisite, almost unearthly perfection, she was none other than Mu Lan Rou.