In the great hall, Elder Yang sat squarely on his prayer mat and slowly stopped expounding.

His gaze went sharp, fixed on the disciple who had suddenly stood up.

He had in fact taken in everything the disciples below had been doing, and had let it pass for two reasons. First, these cultivators from the Nanyang Sect were only sitting in on a single lesson.

It was Elder Liu's instruction, after all; teaching basics and sparing the visitors any embarrassment was no more than proper courtesy.

Second, he was an outer-gate elder. When had it become these disciples' place to pass comment on what he chose to teach?

Whispering among themselves was one thing.

But to stand up and openly disrupt the expounding was contempt for his elders, plain and simple.

Elder Yang reached for the discipline ruler, and was on the point of beating the disciple out of the hall when he heard Tong Xinchuan's answer.

"……"

The elder frowned slightly, considered a moment, and set the ruler down again.

The Clear-Moon Sect encouraged nothing so much as disciples debating the Dao with one another.

The timing was poor, but he could deal with that once the debate was over.

The one thing he could not work out was whether these Nanyang cultivators, their lineage severed, could possibly know the refined Dao of formations.

Surely they did not imagine that the beginner's material he had just been teaching was what formations actually were?

"Hah! Hah! Hah!"

The tall, thin disciple who had stood up was called Feng Yan. Under Tong Xinchuan's quiet gaze he drew several rough breaths and looked back up at Elder Yang.

He was finished. He had acted on impulse and forgotten that the elder was still expounding.

Pinned now by that one remark, he could neither sit down nor go on standing. If he simply backed down, would that not cost Elder Yang face? What right would he have to attend the man's lessons afterward?

"You'd dare set me up!"

Feng Yan glared back, fists clenched. "What use is a smooth tongue? If you have…