The CopyCat Immortal

Chapter 12: Meeting with the Elders

The heavy iron-wood doors of the Pavilion of Emerald Depths didn’t just open; they groaned under the weight of an invisible spiritual pressure. Ren didn't bother fixing his sleeve. The tattered hemp was still stained with Feng’s blood and his own bile, but dressing up wouldn't hide the truth. To the Elders sitting on the high dais, he wasn’t a student. He was a bug under a magnifying glass, and the sun was getting dangerously bright.

The hall was cavernous, smelling of five-thousand-year-old cedar and the metallic tang of pure, unfiltered Qi. At the center of the room sat four figures. Ren recognized the mercurial eyes of Elder Zhou immediately, but the others were new terrors.

Elder Meng, a woman whose beauty had been chiseled into a mask of perpetual frost, sat on the left. Beside her was Elder Han-Tao, a man so wide he seemed to occupy two seats at once, his breath sounding like a smithy’s bellows.

"Kneel," Han-Tao rumbled. The word wasn't a request. A physical wave of Earth-Qi slammed into the floorboards, forcing Ren’s knees to hit the wood with a jarring crack.

Ren gasped, his chest tightening as his stolen Earth-Shield instinctively hummed beneath his skin to keep his legs from shattering. He quickly clamped down on the resonance. If they felt the vibration of a Tier-2 defense technique coming from a 'trash' disciple, he’d be executed before he could even apologize for the floor.

"Seniors," Ren rasped, keeping his forehead inches from the dust. "This servant... I’m honored, just really confused why I’m here. Did the laundry delivery get messed up?"

"Drop the act, Ren," Elder Meng snapped. Her voice was a shard of ice cutting through the humid air. "We aren't the brainless thugs you’ve been 'accidentally' defeating in the pits. We’ve read the reports. A Stormcrest Wolf, a Pale Shadow arrow, and now, a night-time skirmish with Feng. The infirmary says your bones mend before they even finish the diagnostic. Explain that, or we'll peel back your skin to see what’s underneath."

Ren felt his pulse hammer against the "Core-Damper" ring on his finger. It was icy cold, warning him that his internal world was a powder keg.

"Luck, Elder," Ren whispered, playing the only card he had left. "Just the blind, stupid luck of a man who’s too dumb to die. My mother used to say I was born under a falling star. Guess some of that iron stayed in my blood."

Han-Tao laughed—a jagged, unpleasant sound. "Iron in your blood? I think it’s something else. Feng claims you hit him with his own Night Shot. He’s in a coma, boy. His neural paths are scorched. A laborer shouldn't even know that technique exists, let alone have the capacity to fire it back."

"I didn't hit him with anything," Ren lied, his face still pressed against the grain of the floor. "He tripped. In the dark. People trip, right? I was just trying to find my way back to the shack, and he comes screaming about Xiang Wu's pride. Then there was a flash, and he was on the ground. I thought he had a seizure."

Elder Zhou, who had been silently sipping from a jade bowl, finally set it down. The click resonated through the hall like a gavel.

"He’s good, isn't he?" Zhou said, his voice surprisingly light, almost conversational. "Look at him. Even now, under the combined pressure of three primary elders, his heartbeat is steady. He’s either the greatest actor the Azure Cloud Sect has ever seen, or he’s so empty there’s nothing for our pressure to push against."

"Zhou, this isn't a game," Meng hissed. "The Frost-Peak Temple emissaries are already asking questions about our 'prodigious servant.' If we’re harboring a spy or a demonic vessel, the reputation of the entire sect is at stake."

Ren took a breath, sensing the shifting currents. He needed to give them a piece of the truth—just enough to satiate their hunger without revealing the kitchen.

"If the Elders want the truth," Ren said, slowly lifting his head, making sure his eyes looked watery and desperate. "My meridians are ruined. Everyone knows that. I’m 'trash.' But... when I get hit, I don’t feel the Qi fighting me. I feel it filling me. It hurts. It burns like I’m eating hot coals. I don’t know why. I thought it was a curse. Is it... is it a demonic sickness?"

He watched them. This was the gamble. If he made it sound like a terrifying medical anomaly—a spiritual sickness rather than a technique—he might buy himself time.

"Spiritual Reflux?" Han-Tao whispered, his bushy eyebrows shooting up. "A void-sink in the spirit roots? It’s a rare defect, Meng. Instead of channeling Qi, the body acts like a sponge, soaking in external force until the container eventually bursts."

"It would explain why he didn't turn to ash," Meng noted, her gaze softening from murderous to clinical. "The necrotic energy of the arrow wasn't resisted. It was... stored. And eventually, it has to leak out. When he 'flicks' his fingers, he isn't using a technique. He's venting the pressure."

Zhou's eyes twinkled. Ren knew the old man didn't fully believe it, but Zhou was happy to let the others run with a convenient lie.

"Exactly," Zhou said. "A human trash can. Eventually, the trash overflows, and anyone standing too close gets dirty. Feng just happened to be standing there when the bag broke."

"If that’s the case," the Sect Leader’s voice boomed from the deep shadows at the back of the dais, his figure still invisible. "He is useless as a cultivator, but potentially valuable as a shield. An anomaly like this shouldn't be wasted in a shack scrubbing tiles."

Ren’s skin crawled. He’d gone from being executed to being a lab rat.

"He’s participating in the Internal Trials," Meng noted. "He’s actually made it through to the quarters."

"No," the Sect Leader replied. "The trials are for those who can grow. Ren is a stationary object that happens to absorb energy. He shouldn't waste the geniuses' time. However, I want to see how much this 'sponge' can hold."

The invisible figure stepped forward, just far enough into the light to show a glimpse of a beard white as snow and robes that seemed to be woven from shifting clouds.

"Ren," the Sect Leader said. "The rumors of your survival have made our outer disciples lazy. They think even a laborer can survive anything. We need to prove them wrong—or prove you right."

"Sir?" Ren asked, a real chill of dread settling into his bones.

"A mission. Deep in the Hidden Dragon Valley. The Azure-Bloom herb is ready for harvest, but the valley is currently being patrolled by Grade-3 Golems. Usually, we’d send an entire team of inner-track students. I’m sending you. And a partner. To test the 'limits' of your Reflux."

Ren's pragmatic mind raced. Grade-3 Golems? Their defensive resonance was miles beyond the Tier-1 dummies he’d been practicing on. This was a death sentence disguised as a 'field test.'

"Who’s my partner?" Ren asked, knowing he couldn't refuse.

"Hua Ran," Zhou said, his voice carrying a hint of a warning. "She needs to see that even a piece of coal can hold fire. She’ll witness your 'anomalous progress,' and she’ll report back."

Hua Ran. The "Icy Rival." The one genius who everyone said was untouchable. Sending a laborer with her was the Elders' way of keeping him under the most stringent watch possible while tossing him into the meat grinder.

"Thank you, Sect Leader," Ren said, dropping his head back to the floor. "I’ll try to bring the herb back. And not explode on Lady Ran’s shoes."

"Get out," Han-Tao grunted. "The Quartermaster will give you your supplies. And Ren... if you come back empty-handed, we’ll assume the 'sink' in your spirit has dried up. And we don't keep empty buckets around the Azure Cloud Sect."

Ren backed out of the hall, the silence behind him feeling like a drawn sword. The pressure lifted as the iron-wood doors slammed shut, leaving him in the cold, thinning air of the peak.

He looked at his bandaged hand. His ribs still hurt from the kneeling, and the Night Shot was a frozen needle in his spine.

Hidden Dragon Valley. Golems. Hua Ran.

He started walking down the thousand steps toward the servant peaks, his gait rhythmic, hiding the power boiling beneath the mask. The Elders thought they were putting him in a cage. They thought they were testing his capacity.

"Sponge, huh?" Ren whispered to the biting wind, a cold, sharp light flickering in his irises. "Well, if they want me to soak everything up, I hope they don't mind when I take the valley’s secrets, too."

He had been seen, analyzed, and given an ultimatum. The 'behind the scenes' life was over. He was no longer just the boy who tripped into victory. He was officially the Sect’s guinea pig.

"One more mission," he muttered, adjusting his worn belt. "One more chance to die."

By the time he reached his shack at the base of the mountain, the first flakes of a cold, grey snow began to fall. Ren ignored the shivering initiates. He ignored Zhao’s distant glares. He sat on his bed and looked at the Core-Damper ring. It was pulsing.

"Bring it on," he sighed, lying back on the straw. "I’ve got plenty of room for some Golem-tech."

He closed his eyes, already calculating the kinetic energy of a Grade-3 impact. The Elders thought they were conducting a test. Ren knew better. This was an invitation to a banquet, and he was planning to leave nothing on the plates.

He would survive the Hidden Dragon Valley. He would survive Hua Ran’s ice. And then, he would come back for the Elders themselves.

Because a sponge doesn't just hold water. Once it's full, it becomes a weight. And Ren was becoming very, very heavy indeed.

The game had just changed. It was no longer about survival; it was about acquisition.

And Ren was an expert at making the best of a bad situation.