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Translations of Chinese Boy’s Love webnovels. Only the English translation belongs to me everything else belongs to the original author.

Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure

Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure CH 128 Extra 8 The Family Of Foxes

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The Road to Kun-Lai.  

Qingqiu lies to the north of the Western Continent, a long journey from Kun-Lai Mountain. However, for the spirit demon race, the journey wasn’t particularly difficult. They could absorb the essence of the sun and moon along the way, traveling with their families, chatting and laughing. Other than the slower pace, there wasn’t much trouble.  

By autumn, the Kun-Lai mountain range was already blanketed in a layer of fine snow. A group of small foxes, their fur in various colors and patterns, frolicked in the snow, tumbling and rolling together. Their fluffy tails swished as they played, accumulating small snowballs on their fur. When they got up and shook themselves, the snow scattered everywhere.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

A graceful and beautiful adult fox approached them slowly. Immediately, the little foxes swarmed around, treating the adult fox like a snow pile to climb on, covering it in snowflakes as well.  

“Alright, settle down. Just a few more mountains to cross, and we’ll reach Yuzhi Peak in Kun-Lai,” the adult fox said gently, picking up each little fox one by one and placing them in neat rows.  

“Why are we taking the mountain route instead of going along the river?” a small white fox tilted its head and asked.  

“Xiao Mi, the inland areas of Kun-Lai Mountain are human territories. Spirit demons are prohibited from entering without permission. Cultivators from the Western Continent frequently visit their families. If we encounter them, it would be hard to explain,” the adult fox replied softly.  

“Are we afraid of them?” Xiao Mi retorted dismissively. There were so many of them this time, and they were strong. It doubted a few ordinary humans could defeat them.

“It’s not about one or two. If conflicts arise and sparks spread across the Western Continent, it would bring significant trouble from Kun-Lai. Then, we won’t be able to go play at Kun-Lai anymore.” The adult fox licked Xiao Mi and continued, “Once we reach Yuzhi, we can take a cloud turtle to Shennong Peak.”  

“Is that the place with lots and lots of rice?” The little foxes perked up their ears and looked at the adult fox with wide, sparkling eyes.  

The adult fox felt its heart melt at their adorableness. Stroking the nearest little ear, it nodded. “Yes, lots of rice.”  

Cheering, the little foxes darted off into the snow.  

A few larger foxes of varying fur colors approached. Watching the energetic little foxes running ahead, they walked gracefully and whispered amongst themselves about how tireless the young ones seemed, despite exhausting the adults.  

“Boss, you said we’d take a cloud turtle, but I heard they’re expensive,” a bright red-furred fox commented. “I heard it costs at least 50 grams of Azure Rice per trip. For so many foxes, it’ll cost several pounds of rice—that’s way too expensive.”  

“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” the big fox replied with a faint smile.  

*

Main Net Charm, Kun-Lai Spirit Demon Home.

[Calling for a Cloud Turtle] Request: A cloud turtle for 63 foxes from Yuzhi Peak to Shennong Peak. Willing to pay in Azure Rice—any affordable options?  

Posting: Bringing my family of 63 foxes to Kun-Lai for a living. The little ones are young, and we’d like to tour Kun-Lai. Looking for someone willing to help.  

1st Reply: “63 foxes aren’t heavy. I have one year of experience transporting passengers. One peak route costs 50 grams of rice or three spiritual stones. Interested?”  

2nd Reply: “One year of experience? I have 50 years of experience! I won’t veer off course chasing fire eagles or get lost. I also know all the best spots in Kun-Lai. One peak route is 75 grams of rice or four spiritual stones. Choose me for reliability—don’t skimp!” 

3rd Reply: “Everyone starts somewhere. My rates are as affordable as the first reply’s, and my service is solid.”  

Poster: “Reply #2, can you lower your price? We need to travel across multiple peaks. How about a 20% discount?” 

2nd Reply: “Best I can do is a 15% discount.” 

Poster: “Deal!”  

*

The big fox reluctantly returned the Net Charm to a young woman dressed in luxurious clothing.  

Xiao Mi stared longingly at the Net Charm, having heard how fun it was to use. But it was so expensive—just a short session on the Net Charm had cost a spiritual stone, which could buy 100 grams of rice.  

“Spiritual stones are fine,” the big fox reassured, nuzzling its daughter. “Azure Rice is the most convenient currency for spirit demons in Kun-Lai. If someone accepts rice, they won’t want spiritual stones.”  

After all, spirit demons weren’t wealthy, and Shennong Peak didn’t actively grow spirit demon food. They only produced limited amounts each year, leaving no surplus to buy even if one had the money.  

“Father, I heard that if you raise a rabbit from Shennong Peak, you can have your own field. Is that true?” Xiao Mi’s eyes sparkled as her three fluffy tails swished like white flames.  

“It’s true, but…” The big fox chuckled bitterly. “We can’t afford to raise a rabbit from Shennong Peak.”  

“Why not? Don’t they eat grass?” Xiao Mi asked curiously.  

“They eat meat. Fresh, tender meat,” the big fox replied with a sigh.  

Nearby, a silent nine-tailed fox chuckled softly and approached. “Not all of them. Some are willing to eat older meat.” (TN: they aren’t talking about literal meat here lol)

The big fox turned to her, a look of quiet grievance on its face.  

*

At Shennong Peak, expansive fields of golden rice spread out as far as the eye could see. The air was filled with a faint, enticing fragrance.  

In a field spanning dozens of acres, stalks bent under the weight of azure grains, captivating the small foxes who drooled at the edge of the field.  

So much rice…  

They wanted to roll in it.  

Unable to control themselves, they dashed forward, only to be caught by the big fox and sternly warned to wait, or risk being sent home immediately.  

Startled by the sudden reprimand, the little foxes’ eyes brimmed with tears.  

Just then, a newcomer—a squirrel spirit demon—succumbed to the rice’s aroma and plunged into the field, biting into a stalk.  

Immediately, a dozen sword-wielding cultivators descended, shouting, “Damaging the fields is a serious crime in Kun-Lai. You’re under arrest! You have the right to resist, but all consequences are on you!”  

The squirrel screamed and tried to flee, but the fastest cultivator knocked it unconscious with a sword hilt and carried it away, blood splattering as he disappeared. “First come, first serve.”

“Hmmph!” The remaining cultivators grumbled but resumed their posts.  

Terrified, the little foxes huddled together, trembling.  

“You see? It’s a trap. I fell for it once, too, couldn’t afford the fine, and ended up mining for three months,” the big fox lamented.  

“Got it!” the little foxes chorused, nodding fervently.  

*

The foxes found a cave in Kun-Lai.  

The cave was deep and dry, its floor covered in glowing moonlight grass. Lanterns made of luminescent insects hung on the walls. Grass-woven balls and rabbit figures scattered across the floor delighted the young foxes, who eagerly pounced, tussling over the toys until they rolled into a tangled heap.  

“This place is a bit rough, but I hope it’s comfortable enough for you,” the big fox said softly to Su Wan, the nine-tailed fox. 

“I suffered far more hardships back in the Xuan King’s palace,” Su Wan said with a naturally enchanting voice while stroking her soft, young fox lover. “You’re already doing very well.”  

*

The Great Xuan black snake and nightingale dragged a bag of eggs up Shennong Peak.  

“Are you really going to sell your eggs?” Nightingale asked, trembling on his brother’s head.  

“These eggs are unfertilized—they won’t hatch. Wouldn’t it be a waste not to sell them?” Black Snake replied indifferently.  

“But you’re male! How can you even lay eggs?!” Nightingale still couldn’t wrap his head around it.  

“How many times do I have to explain? The Dragon-Snake lineage can lay eggs with almost any species. Stick it in a flower, and it could make the flower lay eggs—let alone me, a living snake,” Black Snake scoffed. “Anyway, most of the eggs turn into nine-head snakes, but a few become beauty rat snakes. We can keep those to help out in our shop—saves us the cost of hiring someone.”  

“But… but those are your eggs,” Nightingale said, still overwhelmed.  

“So what? Snakes don’t need to raise their young—they hatch and fend for themselves. Unlike you birds, who have to take care of them until they grow up,” Black Snake retorted coldly. Then his tone turned angry. “Actually, I wanted to sell them to Yushou Peak, but their offer was way too low! It’s outright robbery!”  

This was a story Nightingale could laugh about for a lifetime. He mimicked the voice of the last egg-buying cultivator, pinching his tone as he asked, “Snake, Yushou Peak wants to buy your eggs. Twenty Kun-Lai mice for one egg—deal or not?”  

“My live eggs… are only worth 20 mice?” Black Snake said, playing along.  

“Not enough… then how about twenty-one mice~?” Nightingale sang mockingly.  

“One mouse is worth 1 spiritual stone. I have a mortgage of 400,000 spiritual stones to pay off!” Black Snake snapped.  

“Just lay 20,000 more eggs, and you’ll be set!” Nightingale burst out laughing after delivering his punchline.  

“Enough. I don’t need a brother like you,” Black Snake huffed. “They’ll come back for sure. These are nine-headed hydra eggs—they’ll definitely sell for a high price.”  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Once we’re debt-free, we can relax as landlords,” Nightingale mused dreamily.  

“Exactly!” Black Snake agreed. Then he noticed a small fox that looked a lot like Su Wan, curiously wandering around and looking about. A sly grin crept onto his face. “I wonder if the restaurant at Shennong Peak takes fox meat?”  

“I’ll go ask,” Nightingale replied. 

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In-Progress, Top Dupe

Top Dupe CH 086 Control Part 2

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The clapperboard sounded alongside the thunder, as lightning and thunder lit up the distant sky, occasionally casting a glow on the window.

“Mm…” Wen Yuchi murmured softly but didn’t wake up. He simply drew his legs onto the sofa, pulled the coat draped on the sofa over himself, and continued sleeping.

In the scene’s dark atmosphere, as though the darkness was about to descend, Wen Yuchi seemed like prey completely oblivious to danger, calm and serene under the thunder and lightning.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

The boiling kettle gradually fell silent; the red light at the bottom turned off, indicating either a power cut or a tripped circuit.

It felt like a sinister omen.

The entire room dimmed, leaving only the sound of the heavy rain outside, as though it would fill the world.

The thunder grew closer, creating a heart-stopping tension, but Wen Yuchi’s mind seemed submerged in another realm.

His slightly ajar apartment door creaked open, just faintly, almost drowned out by the thunder.

A tall figure stepped into the room, strolling in lazily as though unconcerned about being noticed by Wen Yuchi. At the same time, every step he took was silent, blending into the darkness, until he reached the sofa and gazed down, quietly and patiently, at the sleeping Wen Yuchi.

Though an uninvited shadow, he watched over Wen Yuchi with an air of natural entitlement, even tilting his head in a gentle and careful manner.

The rain continued. He seemed like a defiant observer peeking at a sliver of light, with no lines but an aura of complete restraint and self-control, as though roses were blooming in his blood, their calyxes and thorns tearing through veins and heart. Even though his mind screamed in pain, he maintained his silence—for if Wen Yuchi were to wake up, his judging gaze might be no different from the world’s.

And then all illusions would be shattered.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, illuminating the intruder’s face.

Cold and sharp as though chiseled from stone.

Then a thunderclap rumbled, causing the whole building to shudder.

Wen Yuchi jolted awake, his shoulder twitching. Before his eyes had fully opened, he sensed someone standing by his sofa.

His instincts kicked in, and he tensed to spring up, but the other person’s hand suddenly gripped his throat, pinning him back onto the sofa with a knee pressing down on his abdomen.

Wen Yuchi’s eyes widened, his body taut, and his first reaction was to grab the other person’s fingers. But the grip was unexpectedly strong, and with both hands, he could only barely prevent the fingers from crushing his throat.

But if they wanted to kill him, why use only one hand?

And the feel of this hand… that wrist… seemed familiar.

Wen Yuchi looked up at his assailant in silhouette, breathing in a scent both refreshing and faintly heated, as if a chemical reaction had occurred. Combined with the dampness of the rain, it accelerated his heartbeat, an invisible something tearing at a membrane over his heart—not pain, but a kind of addictive torment.

His gaze met a pair of deep, enigmatic eyes, apparently cold but simmering with a hidden fire, rising from the depths to a rolling boil. Wen Yuchi had, for the first time, the illusion that his gaze was burning.

Another flash of lightning outlined the person’s elegant features, and for an instant, Wen Yuchi wondered if this person had somehow fused with his soul, their gaze like a celestial tide flowing through his veins.

They drew closer, hair slipping down, almost brushing Wen Yuchi’s cheek though there was still a gap, the restrained aura searing as if his senses were stripped.

“Mr. Lu… how did you get in?”

As Wen Yuchi realized who it was, he released his grip.

As expected, the hand at his throat immediately lightened, holding his neck with just enough pressure to make its presence known without constricting his breathing.

“You didn’t close the door,” Lu Pingfeng’s voice was cold, his tone utterly calm, yet it sounded gentle against the sound of torrential rain.

“You can let go now. If there hadn’t been a power outage, I could have offered you some hot…” Wen Yuchi glanced toward the kitchen, where the kettle’s water had likely cooled, “instant coffee.”

“I came here to kill you. Just like I killed Dr. Kong… I have countless ways to stage the crime scene as an accident. I could, for example, ignite the gas in your apartment.”

Lu Pingfeng’s features held a naturally intense beauty in the darkness, as if concealing countless secrets and madness, alluring to anyone who thought they couldn’t be ensnared.

But Wen Yuchi easily crossed that line, for he saw those shadows as no different from those cast by drifting clouds on the ground.

“Lu Pingfeng, how many bottles of medicine did you return to Mrs. Kong?”

“One,” Lu Pingfeng answered.

“A bottle has no more than twenty-four tablets, which matches Dr. Kong’s prescription,” Wen Yuchi said.

“So?”

“So what? I checked that medication. Taking all twenty-four pills isn’t enough to cause Dr. Kong’s psychosis. The dose he took was double what you were prescribed. Think about it—could a single glass of wine dissolve such a large amount, or was his tongue numb?”

Wen Yuchi’s lips curved slightly, his gaze shimmering with a sly glint, like the faintest note of a string causing Lu Pingfeng’s heart to resonate.

“So… Dr. Kong didn’t die from the pills I returned.”

Lu Pingfeng’s hand left Wen Yuchi’s throat, and he stepped back, sitting on the small coffee table.

“I’m not a detective, nor am I responsible for solving cases or making assumptions,” Wen Yuchi murmured.

But in truth, Wen Yuchi had already revealed the truth to Lu Pingfeng.

For Dr. Kong to drink wine containing such a high dose of the drug, he must have done so willingly, perhaps with intent.

Whether he wanted an excuse to punish his wife or experience a taste of madness didn’t matter to Wen Yuchi or Lu Pingfeng anymore.

“Actually, when I arrived at the crime scene and first saw the blood on that wall, I was captivated. They were complex, unrestrained, like a vast flood,” Lu Pingfeng said.

Wen Yuchi shrugged with a smile, “Every time I dissect a human body, I find the organs, blood vessels, muscles, and even the fat to be intricate and subtle—a masterpiece by the Creator.”

We each, in our own fields, set aside human emotion to objectively appreciate the beauty within.

Lu Pingfeng’s shoulders lowered slightly, his entire posture relaxed.

All the absurd details carved into his heart seemed to smooth out.

Outside, lightning continued to flash and thunder boomed, rain pouring down, obscuring the world.

Yet, in this small apartment, Lu Pingfeng felt as though he’d experienced a tidal surge of moonrise and sunset, seeing the reflection of another soul in the ebb.

Wen Yuchi sat up slowly, lazily ruffling his hair, his tired eyes gleaming with clarity, “Mr. Lu, I’m a forensic pathologist; I speak with corpses. I only believe the facts they reveal.”

“So I won’t be so presumptuous about you… You can step into my world without worry.”

“I’m a painter. I converse with death, and I only believe in the certain beauty of death,” Lu Pingfeng said to Wen Yuchi with a smile.

And you, you exist outside of death.

You may not have arrived in formal attire, but you’re everything I’ve dreamed of.

“Coffee?”

After a short nap and a slight “scare” from Lu Pingfeng, Wen Yuchi was now three parts awake. He walked to the kitchen, touched the kettle, finding it lukewarm.

“Though I don’t have the elegance of hand-brewed coffee, this jar is still the aristocrat of instant coffee.”

Lu Pingfeng walked over, took the large glass jar from Wen Yuchi’s hand, and placed it back on the shelf.

“What you should be drinking isn’t coffee, but milk.”

“I’d like to have some instant noodles, but the power’s out now!” Wen Yuchi complained.

Lu Pingfeng turned and walked toward the door. Wen Yuchi raised his hand slightly. “Come on… Because I don’t have hand-brewed coffee, you’re going to leave without even saying goodbye?”

Who would’ve guessed that Lu Pingfeng instead brought over a small box from the shelf by the entrance.

“Pastries.”

Wen Yuchi tilted his head slightly. “Don’t tell me it’s red velvet cake in there.”

“Why? Do you feel nauseous at the sight of red velvet cake because you found traces of it in a victim’s stomach?”

“Then you’re underestimating me. I’ve handled countless victims, with every possible food in their stomachs. If that alone made me nauseous, I’d probably live on nutritional supplements.” Wen Yuchi opened the box and found various flavors of Swiss rolls inside.

He casually took a piece and took a big bite. The sweetness was just right, soft and delicious, instantly soothing his empty stomach.

As Wen Yuchi reached for a second piece, the cue sounded that the scene was finished. 

Everyone on set snapped back to reality from their engrossed viewing of the scene.

This scene had been incredibly immersive.

When Lu Pingfeng first appeared, he created an almost suffocating tension. Gu Xiaowei’s performance was different from the audition, bringing a duality to the character.

Standing by Wen Yuchi’s sofa, he treated him with gentle restraint, but the moment he grabbed Wen Yuchi, the aura of aggression and killing intent was instantly unleashed.

At this moment, Luo Yu was holding the box of Swiss rolls, stuffing the last bite into his mouth, and casually holding up another piece to Gu Xiaowei’s mouth. “Want some?”

Before Gu Xiaowei could answer, the director shouted over the megaphone, “Eat, eat, eat! Who said you could eat the props?! Who told you that one take means we’re done filming?! Everyone, get back into position! Swiss rolls, replace them! One more take!”

Luo Yu, looking baffled, held the Swiss roll and tried to figure out the best angle to put it back.

But Gu Xiaowei walked over, pressed down his own collar, raised Luo Yu’s wrist, and bit into the Swiss roll right in front of the director.

The bustling set fell silent.

Sheng Yunlan widened his eyes as he looked at the two of them, picking up the megaphone to shout, only for the staff to quickly reassure him, “There’s more! Plenty of Swiss rolls left!”

Gu Xiaowei continued to eat the roll from Luo Yu’s hand, slowly, finishing one side before turning to the other side.

From Luo Yu’s angle, it almost looked like he was kissing with the Swiss roll. Each time his heart would leap, carefully avoiding Gu Xiaowei’s lips yet secretly hoping he might actually touch them.

Gu Xiaowei’s eyelashes were long; when he lowered his eyes, he seemed gentle, and when he looked up, he was inexplicably captivating.

So close now… Admiring beauty is a natural instinct, Luo Yu thought, as he watched Gu Xiaowei lick off the cream from the corner of his mouth with a flash of subtle red hue, feeling his heartbeat speed up.

Fine, Gu Xiaowei—whether you’re deliberately approaching me or just being friendly, I’ve decided I’ll do as I please.

With that last bit of roll in his hand, Luo Yu took advantage of Gu Xiaowei’s distraction to push it all into his mouth, letting his fingers briefly brush against him.

That fleeting softness made Luo Yu’s heart tremble.

He could feel Gu Xiaowei’s lips pressing down a bit, perhaps afraid the roll might fall, or maybe to keep Luo Yu’s fingers there a moment longer.

But whatever the reason, Luo Yu avoided his gaze, turned, and handed the pastry box to the crew.

“Sorry, we ate the props. Could you add two more pieces?”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Sure thing, no problem.”

Director Sheng then picked up the megaphone and called out, “If you two dare eat the props again, believe me, I’ll shoot this scene until morning! Let’s see if you’ll keep eating then!”

Luo Yu folded his hands together in an apologetic gesture toward Director Sheng. “So sorry! So sorry! It tasted so good, couldn’t stop after one bite.”

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Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure

Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure CH 127 Once Entering The Master’s Door, Respect The Teacher And Honor The Way

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Hearing about that famous martial arts classic, once wildly popular and responsible for making countless stars, Ji Yunlai showed little emotion. He merely curled his lips slightly and asked, “Does your teacher dislike master-apprentice relationships?”

Ji Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat. She was puzzled but carefully relayed what she had heard from her outer sect mentor.  

As Ji Yunlai listened, he combined it with his own knowledge and began to understand the reasoning.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

The culture of this world wasn’t much different from the China of his previous life, with various schools of thought akin to Confucianism, Taoism, and Yi studies. During the reign of the Great Xuan dynasty, the state endorsed the Yongdao philosophy—a school similar to Confucianism—which thrived as the dominant ideology while others declined. However, when Great Xuan fell, the High Priest burned all the Daoist scriptures in the capital. With the empire’s collapse and loss of fortune, Yongdao also declined. Small states rose, conflicts broke out across the Central Continent, and the Daoist sects retaliated. No country dared to revive Yongdao, fearing another catastrophic extermination like Great Xuan’s.  

Nowadays, only a few small vassal states in the Western Continent still attempt to cultivate using the methods of fortune-based practitioners. However, their limited reserves of fortune make breakthroughs exceedingly difficult. While several major nations were tempted to experiment with such methods, they ultimately dared not test the limits set by Kun-Lai, the sovereign of the Western Continent. Thus, for now, these remain mere thoughts.

Still, Yongdao had influenced the world for millennia, embedding its principles deeply in society. Among these was a strict emphasis on respecting teachers and maintaining moral codes.  

The master-apprentice relationship was considered even more sacred than familial ties. While parents provided blood ties, a master offered lifelong mentorship, often lasting hundreds or thousands of years. Moreover, masters bestowed the ultimate grace of teaching disciples how to transcend reincarnation. Betraying one’s master was seen as a grave offense, and even the strictest masters were never faulted—if you couldn’t accept it, you were welcome to leave immortality behind.  

This respect for teachers and moral codes was far stricter than in Ji Yunlai’s previous world. Disrespecting a teacher made it nearly impossible to establish oneself in the sect.  

After Ji Mingyu finished explaining, she hesitantly asked, “But Father, doesn’t someone like Peak Master An thrive in Kun-Lai despite being so disrespectful toward her teacher? Among all of Kun-Lai, no one seems to be less respectful than her.”  

Ji Yunlai chuckled softly, casting a meaningful glance at his apprentice, who was pretending to know nothing. “Perhaps there are others even less respectful.”  

Feng Qingxiu blushed deeply, heat rising to his ears, which made Ji Yunlai’s heart stir with fondness.  

“So, my roommate’s ‘The Return of the Condor Heroes’ only got her a scolding. Her earlier work, ‘The Legend of the Condor Heroes’, was actually pretty good,” Ji Mingyu said, sharing details of her life with a lively expression. “She wrote it before joining the sect to earn money. When she entered the outer sect, she handed out about a dozen copies for us to read. Father, would you like to see it?”  

Ji Yunlai smiled and shook his head, declining his daughter’s offer. Back on Earth, he had already seen these stories turned into television dramas countless times and had no interest.  

“Oh, by the way, someone recently posted this book online, and it’s sparked quite a controversy,” Ji Mingyu said, tugging at her father’s sleeve with a hint of mischief. “A lot of people are saying that Yang Guo marrying his master is outrageous and ungrateful, demanding the author be expelled from Kun-Lai for such immoral ideas. I think that’s an overreaction. Father, could you intervene and make sure they don’t go overboard, please?”  

Having shared the same classes, she felt a connection with her roommate and didn’t want a fictional story to ruin her life. For many in the Western Continent, the Dragon-Phoenix Selection was their only chance to change their destiny. Those who failed often resorted to drastic measures, let alone those expelled for something like this.  

“Of course,” Ji Yunlai agreed, raising an eyebrow and nodding. Then he asked, “Didn’t I confiscate your access to the web? How did you hear about this?”  

Of course, she had secretly bought web time and saw it there—though she’d never admit that. Instead, Ji Mingyu replied pitifully, “I overheard it while my teacher was scolding someone.”  

Ji Yunlai patted his daughter’s head, not exposing her lie.  

After all, she had been cautious not to reveal her identity in online discussions, which was already considerate. Besides, denying the main system access to the internet might have been a bit excessive.  

Ji Mingyu beamed with satisfaction. As they approached the outer sect, she noticed the peach trees in her courtyard were laden with fruit. Tugging at her father’s sleeve again, she said, “Father, come to my room and sit for a while. These flat peaches are from a seedling I snatched from Shennong Peak. They’re delicious.”  

Ji Yunlai nodded and followed her into her courtyard with his apprentice in tow.  

The camphor wood house was nestled among the peach trees, with its lower level serving as a hall and the upper level as living quarters. A small staircase led to the second floor, and green moss had grown on the wooden steps, indicating they hadn’t been used in a long time.  

Feng Qingxiu’s expression brightened as if recalling something, while Ji Mingyu’s face reddened. She glared at him angrily and said, “What’s wrong with not using stairs in the outer sect?”  

What was so special about this little seducer? Ji Mingyu fumed internally. All along the way, her father kept glancing at him, seemingly fascinated. Could those rumors on You Jia’s forum about their master-apprentice relationship be true?  

Impossible. That must have been You Jia’s baseless speculation. Tomorrow, she would ask Uncle Yan to ban him for ten years!  

Feng Qingxiu, also blushing, replied softly, “I haven’t used stairs in years either. In the outer sect, anyone who uses stairs is seen as pathetic.”  

Indeed, everyone preferred flying or scaling walls. While the houses looked similar, and occasional missteps happened, hitting intruders out only provided amusement. Using stairs, however, invited scorn—Look, someone’s using stairs! Must’ve broken their leg!  

As they spoke, a dainty girl peeked out from an upstairs window. Spotting the group below, her eyes lit up. A white ribbon unfurled beneath her feet, and she descended gracefully, like a celestial maiden, her floating sleeves stirring autumn leaves into the air. To a mortal, it would seem like a goddess had descended.  

Ji Yunlai was briefly reminded of old television scenes, feeling a wave of nostalgia—A thousand years have passed already. 

“Sister Mingyu, is this your elder brother? You’ve never mentioned him,” the girl asked shyly, bowing her head with a bashful expression.  

Ji Mingyu’s face darkened slightly. “This is my father.”  

The girl froze, then quickly bowed again. “I am Bai Ruolan. Greetings to the inner sect immortal.”  

Because of her background, Ji Yunlai gave her an extra glance.  

Seeing this, Bai Ruolan enthusiastically produced fine wine and set out cups, preparing to entertain the guest. Ji Mingyu initially wanted to drag her away and lock her up, but seeing her father’s silence, she forcefully signaled Feng Qingxiu with her eyes.  

Hey, say something!

Feng Qingxiu looked at the young girl, frowning but remaining silent. If the master acted this way, there must be a reason.  

Ji Yunlai had already seated himself at the stone table in the courtyard. The girl, slightly excited, took a seat across from him and began recounting various stories she had heard. Casually, she mentioned an ancient scroll she had seen as a child, which recorded tales about the rise and fall of the Great Xuan dynasty. The scroll contained detailed accounts of ruins, though she couldn’t verify them since the Central Continent was so far away. Her descriptions of the ruins’ locations were extraordinarily precise.  

Ji Yunlai listened quietly. After the girl’s voice became hoarse from talking, he asked indifferently, “What was the name of that book?”  

The girl froze. She was about to claim she had forgotten, but the distant, night-like gaze from his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. Unable to lie, she stammered nervously, “Kun-Lai… It was called ‘Kun-Lai’.”  

Ji Yunlai nodded and sighed softly. “I see.”  

So, the book he had been worried about described such distant stories?  

The girl nodded vigorously.  

Ji Yunlai gave a faint smile and said, “No need to worry. Kun-Lai is no longer what it once was. The hardships of studying in the outer sect are real—pursuing the proper path is what truly matters.”  

This was his way of offering her guidance, considering their faint connection as people from the same world.  

Ji Mingyu, however, had never seen her father treat a stranger so kindly. Feeling a bit uneasy, she glanced at Feng Qingxiu.  

Feng Qingxiu quietly reassured her, “Mingyu, you know Master’s temperament, don’t you?”  

The girl, captivated by the smile, completely ignored his advice and eagerly tried to come up with more topics. Seeing that he seemed to enjoy stories, she began recounting another one she had heard.  

“The scroll I mentioned earlier isn’t the most extraordinary story I know. My favorite is another one,” she said, recalling a story she had once read with confidence. “That story is called ‘Slaying Immortals’!” (TN: that is the literal translation. The actual title is “The Legend of Chusen”.)

The moment she said this, Ji Yunlai remained indifferent, thinking back to how much he had enjoyed that book in the past. But Ji Mingyu flew into a rage and slapped the girl across the face, leaving her dumbfounded. Feng Qingxiu’s face also darkened, and his sword energy surged threateningly, though he ultimately restrained himself from striking.  

“Never mention the words ‘slaying immortals’ again,” Feng Qingxiu said coldly. “Under Western Continent law, all are protected by the Human Immortal. Do you have multiple lives to waste, daring to speak of ‘slaying immortals’? Master, let us leave.”  

To the people of Kun-Lai, the Human Immortal Xing Dao Master was revered as a god. The laws of the cultivation world were their sect rules. In any of the three great sects, merely uttering those two words could result in her death a hundred times over.  

With that, he grabbed Ji Yunlai’s hand and disappeared.  

*

Why am I always stuck with dumb teammates? Ji Mingyu thought furiously, failing once again to retain her father. Shooting a glare at her roommate, she turned and left.  

The young girl, feeling wronged, burst into tears. After a while, though, she felt a hint of relief—at least she hadn’t told this story to Senior Brother Qiao. Next time, she’d familiarize herself with sect taboos before choosing a story. Perhaps she could rename it… “Not Becoming An Immortal”?  

But recalling the advice from the elder moments ago, she hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to work hard, but the competition in Kun-Lai was simply too fierce. Out of the 100,000 disciples selected in the Dragon-Phoenix Selection, only about 3,000 remained. She was doing her best, but everyone here worked even harder, pushing themselves relentlessly—she just didn’t have that kind of drive.  

The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she became. In her previous life, she had been just an ordinary high school student studying the humanities, who loved reading novels. She didn’t know anything about metallurgy or statecraft. Her only advantage was her vague recollection of these stories. If she couldn’t make use of them, she’d be indistinguishable from the masses… Even becoming a farmer at Shennong Peak required passing exams first!  

*

Meanwhile, Feng Qingxiu, still holding his master’s hand, felt the cold wind blow against him and snapped out of his thoughts.  

The hand in his grasp was soft, smooth, and warm, its heat seeping into his very core. His heart skipped a beat, and he was about to let go when his hand was held in return.  

“Xiao Qing, this is the first time you’ve taken the initiative, isn’t it?” Ji Yunlai whispered softly into his ear.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Feng Qingxiu’s face flushed with embarrassment, but he didn’t pull away. “That person offended you, Master. I acted impulsively.”  

“Was it truly impulsive?” Ji Yunlai’s free hand brushed against Feng Qingxiu’s ear. Seeing the bright red flush creeping down his neck, he chuckled softly. “Xiao Qing, how will you demonstrate Kun-Lai’s respect for one’s teacher in the future?”  

Like today—by being a little more proactive. Understood? 

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In-Progress, Top Dupe

Top Dupe CH 086 Control Part 1

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Jiang Yinchuan planned to independently produce dramas and movies in the future. Some roles were impactful but had few scenes, often requiring a search among extras at the set, which was time-consuming and didn’t always yield good results.

Luo Yu had suggested that there were quite a few seasoned actors among the extras. Although they might look ordinary, their lines and expressions were no less skilled than those of formally trained actors. They could be signed for long-term collaboration; as long as they acted sincerely, they could be cultivated into “golden supporting actors,” which would also reflect the company’s strength.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Jiang Yinchuan decided to adopt Luo Yu’s suggestion, and the first “golden supporting actor” he had in mind was Brother Long.

When Brother Long received the invitation to sign, he was overwhelmed with joy and deeply grateful to Yinchuan Culture for the opportunity. This renewed his motivation for acting.

He shared Luo Yu’s sword dance video, sincerely praising, [Though I’m just a rough guy, it doesn’t stop me from thinking this dude is truly cool!]

Han Yang, after watching the video, called Jiang Yinchuan again to confirm that, after the filming of “Beast and Rose”, and a short Olympic-themed series, Luo Yu’s schedule would be open afterward for the drama he was planning.

“Don’t worry, when have I, Jiang Yinchuan, ever broken a promise? Luo Yu is also very trustworthy! But the main focus now is for Screenwriter Hua to hurry up with the script, isn’t it?”

Since *”Counterattack” aired, Jiang Yinchuan’s phone had nearly exploded with calls. Everyone could see that Luo Yu was already popular and would only become more so. Any more waiting, and it would be years before his schedule would open up.

When dealing with reasonable people, Jiang Yinchuan would respectfully listen to their proposals.

As for those who relied on past collaborations to demand that Jiang Yinchuan assign Luo Yu to their projects, Jiang Yinchuan had one attitude: “Luo Yu is not just a company actor; he’s also a founding shareholder. I can’t dictate where my shareholder goes—he decides for himself.”

On the other hand, Ou Juntao’s concerns were entirely different from Jiang Yinchuan’s.

He had just watched Luo Yu’s sword dance—so powerful and beautiful, as if the blade could cut through the night breeze. Each turn, each swing of the sword, stole sight and heartbeat alike. That taut waistline, full of energy…

Ou Juntao swallowed; he couldn’t resist replaying it over and over, his mind filled with endless thoughts.

But Gao He’s call disrupted everything.

“Chairman Ou, after watching Luo Yu’s sword dance video, the director of the “Wolf Smoke” crew consulted with the producer and investors. They want to replace He Mu and cast Luo Yu as the young general. They’re very firm about this.”

Every time Ou Juntao heard the name “He Mu”, his head throbbed.

“And then?”

“Jiang Yinchuan’s side refused, due to scheduling conflicts.”

This was the only bit of good news.

“Did He Mu really injure his back on the wire stunt?” Ou Juntao asked coldly.

“I heard… it was because the female lead, Ai Cheng, has been a fan of Luo Yu recently. She’s been watching Luo Yu’s videos during breaks and recommending him to others when not filming. This stirred the whole crew into watching “Counterattack”, and He Mu got into a quarrel with her, saying some unpleasant things, which led Ai Cheng to give him the cold shoulder.”

Ou Juntao’s fingers turned white from clenching, “Are these two idiots? Go and tell He Mu that if he doesn’t get back to filming immediately, he shouldn’t bother accepting any more jobs! Doesn’t he realize his resources are deteriorating? And Ai Cheng—if she likes Luo Yu that much, tell her to ask Jiang Yinchuan if he’d take her on!”

Previously, Ou Juntao had indulged He Mu, hoping he’d get conceited and make things difficult for Luo Yu.

But now… with just one “Counterattack”, Luo Yu had gained incredible attention. And with “Counterattack” not yet finished, “Storm” was already scheduled for release. With these two dramas airing consecutively, Ou Juntao could imagine that the Yunwen Award for Most Popular Supporting Actor would likely go to Luo Yu this year—or, at the very least, he’d be nominated. And there was the professional Kirin Award, where Luo Yu would almost certainly receive a nomination.

At 10:20 PM, Luo Yu and Gu Xiaowei’s van pulled up in front of the youth apartment complex.

The surroundings were quiet; the light from the streetlamp illuminated the ground, bright yet giving off an eerie emptiness.

Luo Yu’s cheek was gently patted, and Gu Xiaowei’s voice sounded beside his ear, “We’re here, wake up.”

“En…” Luo Yu sat up, just about to rub his eyes when Gu Xiaowei caught his wrist, “Don’t rub. Smudging your eye makeup will mean more touch-ups.”

Only then did Luo Yu fully wake up. When he looked up, he met Gu Xiaowei’s gaze.

The light from the streetlamp filtered in through the window, and though Gu Xiaowei’s features were backlit, they didn’t carry the cold detachment of his sleepwalking performance.

Instead, there was a kind of warmth that melted the darkness.

Luo Yu stifled a laugh, “You know… tonight, you’re supposed to choke me in this scene. Being so considerate now, I’m wondering if you’ll even be able to go through with it.”

Gu Xiaowei paused slightly.

He knew very well that his current state of mind was his own; all the tenderness was genuinely for Luo Yu.

He found that he hadn’t fallen into character but had, in fact, retained his sense of self.

“Gu Xiaowei? Teacher Gu? Classmate Gu?” Luo Yu leaned closer, noticing Gu Xiaowei’s silence and looking worriedly at his expression.

The next second, Gu Xiaowei suddenly reached out and gripped Luo Yu’s throat, his Adam’s apple lightly bobbing under Gu Xiaowei’s palm as he reacted in surprise.

In that moment, Gu Xiaowei felt an illusion of control over this person.

“Do you think I won’t be able to choke you?” Gu Xiaowei lowered his gaze and looked at him.

Luo Yu’s hair was slightly disheveled, framing his eyes as he looked back in slight bewilderment, evidently not expecting Gu Xiaowei to suddenly strike.

Gu Xiaowei leaned closer and closer, his gaze growing colder, until his waist was sharply pinched by Luo Yu.

“Ow…” Gu Xiaowei let go of Luo Yu, leaning back against the van door.

“Ha, I finally succeeded once.” Luo Yu rubbed his own throat, “And you call that choking? You’re not even intimidating. Now, this is how you pinch.”

Luo Yu opened the van door with a flourish, the night breeze noticeably absent.

He deliberately swaggered past Gu Xiaowei as he stepped out.

The air seemed compressed by some invisible force, frozen and motionless.

The crew had already entered the apartment complex; inside, a model apartment represented Wen Yuchi’s “home.”

Ye Shengyi followed Luo Yu into the elevator, holding a makeup case.

After waiting a moment without seeing Gu Xiaowei enter, Luo Yu asked, “Where’s Teacher Gu?”

“He seems to still be in the van.”

Luo Yu frowned, wondering if his joke had unsettled Gu Xiaowei. Was Gu Xiaowei staying in the van to prepare emotionally? Luo Yu thought about going to check on him.

But if Gu Xiaowei was truly getting into character, interrupting him would ruin his focus.

“We’ll go up first. My scenes is up first,” Luo Yu said.

This was Luo Yu’s first time seeing Wen Yuchi’s “home.” It was clear the crew had put in effort. Being close to the resort, moving equipment and shooting was easy, and the layout matched Luo Yu’s imagination.

Upon entering, one could see a fabric couch with several wrinkled shirts and jackets strewn across its back, fitting Wen Yuchi’s lifestyle as a forensic pathologist who often worked late—returning too exhausted to tidy up.

In front of the couch was a small, round coffee table, unlike the large, modern glass tables in the resort villa; this one looked affordable, something you might find at Ikea.

Opposite the couch was a modest TV.

Adjacent to the living room was an open kitchen. On the counter was a cup rack with a few mugs hanging, and a knife set was by the stove.

The camera positions were set, and adjustments were underway.

Luo Yu lay on the couch, testing out the spot, as the lighting crew fine-tuned the lights.

Everything was ready, but the thunderstorm hadn’t yet arrived.

Director Sheng signaled to film Wen Yuchi’s return home.

Ye Shengyi adjusted Luo Yu’s makeup, and with the director’s approval, Luo Yu went to the door. He closed his eyes, gathering his emotions, took a deep breath, and slipped into Wen Yuchi’s state.

Wen Yuchi was still in the clothes he’d worn for the luminol test at Lu Pingfeng’s villa, visibly weary.

The sound of a turning lock broke the silence as Wen Yuchi opened his apartment door and casually nudged it shut.

The camera zoomed in to reveal that the door didn’t fully close, leaving a dark sliver, as if it led to another world. Perhaps an eye or a claw would emerge from the gap. But after a few seconds, it simply remained the same.

Wen Yuchi’s first action was to turn on the light. With a “click,” the whole room was bathed in a soft, warm orange glow.

He walked slowly to the sofa, instinctively picking up the clothes draped over it. He might have intended to tidy them up, but after taking a deep breath, he put them down again.

His stomach growled, so he went to the kitchen, lifted the kettle, and turned on the tap. While waiting for the kettle to fill, Wen Yuchi tilted his head back and closed his eyes, looking like he could fall asleep standing up.

Only when water began to overflow from the kettle did Wen Yuchi snap back to awareness.

He quickly turned off the tap, poured out the excess water, set the kettle on its base, and finally, the water began to boil.

Taking advantage of the break while the water boiled, Wen Yuchi returned to the sofa and sank down onto it. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and as the hum of boiling water filled the room, he slowly rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

This sense of exhaustion was portrayed so realistically.

Without a single line, he drew the audience into Wen Yuchi’s weariness.

After a quiet few seconds, a faint glow appeared in the distance outside the window, followed by distant thunder.

The long-awaited storm had finally arrived.

The sound of heavy rain grew louder in the distance, and flashes of lightning and thunder came closer and closer.

The previously stifling air finally began to flow.

“Good! Get ready for the next scene! Quick, quick!” Sheng Yunlan shouted.

“Where’s Teacher Gu? Lu Pingfeng’s scene is about to start!” The scene manager called out through a megaphone.

“Teacher Gu is here! He’s just outside the door!”

Luo Yu continued lying on the sofa, motionless, as if the bustling activity around him had nothing to do with him; he had truly fallen asleep.

His face tilted slightly to the side, a strand of hair clinging to his cheek, and the distant thunder did not cause his eyelids to flutter even slightly.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Sheng Yunlan was very pleased with Luo Yu’s state; this was not just acting but a professional dedication that ensured the consistency of his posture between scenes.

Gu Xiaowei had already arrived at the door. This scene was one they had rehearsed during the audition.

Who knew what kind of surprise these two might bring after working together for a few days? The whole crew was anticipating it.

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Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure

Sect Leader Is Under Great Pressure CH 126 One Sword Against Ten Thousand, All Returns To Dust

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The Golden Crow floated atop the clouds, idly preening its feathers. Its plumage shimmered like gold, radiant and dazzling. Lowering its gaze, it noticed a small crow, painted gold, staring up at it with awe and admiration.  

The Golden Crow vaguely remembered seeing this little crow during its last visit to Kun-Lai but hadn’t expected it to cultivate so quickly.  

Kun-Lai really was full of treasures. In a few decades, it would be time for another expedition, likely targeting its territory this time. It figured it was wise to start preparing early.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Ancestor, you’ve arrived?” Several fire eagle spirit demons flew up from various parts of Kun-Lai Mountain, greeting the ancestor respectfully. Carefully, they lit some premium tobacco, placed it in a pipe, and handed it to the elder.  

“Hmm, I’m here,” the Golden Crow Great Sage took a deep puff and nodded, its voice harsh and grating, like the clash of rusted metal, causing a painful ringing in the ears.  

“Didn’t we send you tobacco and spiritual rice just last year? You finished it all already?” One fire eagle, looking slightly aggrieved, muttered, “Ancestor, earning spiritual stones isn’t easy for us. Please use them sparingly.”  

“Insolent! What’s wrong with using your resources?” The leading fire eagle smacked the complainer’s head with its wing. “Speak like that again, and you won’t be coming back!”  

“Enough with the theatrics,” the Golden Crow exhaled smoke, waving dismissively. “This visit isn’t about these little luxuries. I’m here on official business.”  

“What official business?” The lead fire eagle stretched its neck, eager to gather information it could sell later for profit.  

“None of your concern. Leave the offerings and go!” the Golden Crow commanded with a wave.  

The fire eagles retreated sheepishly, leaving the Golden Crow to ponder as it hovered above the clouds.  

Its reason for being here was straightforward: it was acting as a mediator. After all, its relationship with Kun-Lai wasn’t bad.  

Back when Kun-Lai was first established, Ji Yunlai had organized its initial expedition. Lacking experience and unfamiliar with the terrain, the Xing Dao Master personally ventured into the Outlands to gather information about the area. Along the way, he naturally wiped out numerous great spirit demons, including one fateful clash with the Golden Crow itself.  

It had lost miserably—nearly reduced to a bald crow.  

Immediately, it had submitted, claiming it was all a misunderstanding. It even sent a few of its younger descendants to assist in scouting the surroundings. Realizing Ji Yunlai had a keen interest in rare resources, the Golden Crow enthusiastically pointed him to its nemesis’s territory, extolling the abundant resources there. It even suggested capturing some cloud turtles for their many uses. “They’re magnificent for display,” it had said, “and if you can’t afford to keep them, their meat is highly nutritious.”  

It also offered up his descendants as guardians for the household. “Just take good care of them. If you can’t manage, just return them to me.”

The Xing Dao Master did end up roasting the Dragon Turtle Great Sage from that territory, though it narrowly escaped death by surrendering in time. Still, the humiliation was enough for the Golden Crow to laugh about it for centuries.  

Since then, the Golden Crow had taken a liking to this Human Immortal, often visiting Kun-Lai with invitations to explore dangerous places like the Outer Heavens, the Abyssal Chasm, and the Blood Sea Nether Pool…  

Initially, Ji Yunlai had gone along a few times and gained some treasures. But later, he declined, claiming he was busy. A pity.  

As the Golden Crow mused, a figure suddenly stepped out of the void before it. Compared to its massive form, the figure was minuscule, but the chilling aura radiating from him was as oppressive as the breath of a northern sea Candle Dragon. The Golden Crow felt pinned in place, wondering if it had unintentionally provoked him.  

Ji Yunlai’s expression was cold, and sword energy slowly gathered between his fingers.  

“Disturbing Kun-Lai’s peaks—your reason better be sufficient.”  

“It should be,” the Golden Crow retreated a step, its expression shifting. “Don’t tell me I interrupted something important? I stayed far away, you could’ve just ignored me.”  

Just like before, it could attract the people of Kun-Lai to watch the spectacle. The fire eagles would come to collect viewing fees, even offering a chance to touch a golden feather for an additional charge. By the end of the day, the earnings would reach hundreds of thousands, enough to reward its descendants generously.  

It was better if it hadn’t mentioned this. As soon as those words were spoken, Ji Yunlai cast a faint glance in its direction and casually swung his sword.  

Compared to the Golden Crow, he was as insignificant as a mouse before an elephant.  

However, the moment the Golden Crow saw the sword swing, it immediately transformed into a strikingly beautiful woman with golden hair and golden eyes, exclaiming, “Don’t attack! I have legitimate business!”  

Even in human form, her voice remained the same, a grating, terrifying sound like rusty metal scraping together.  

She hurriedly explained that a few days ago, some human cultivators had come to her bearing a significant gift. They had asked her to approach the Lord of Kun-Lai and plead for the release of a disciple from the Taiqing Sect. They promised a generous reward if the mission succeeded.  

Although she hadn’t initially planned to come, the gift was too enticing to refuse. Besides, it had been a century since she last visited Kun-Lai or saw the Demon Qing, so she decided to drop by for a look. 

“By the way, where’s Demon Qing? Isn’t it always clinging to you?” she asked, peering around.  

“You’re surprisingly well-informed,” Ji Yunlai replied icily.  

“At our level, who doesn’t know everyone else’s business?” she said smugly. “Living for tens of thousands of years, it’d be disgraceful not to know a few things. If someone bothers you, just unleash Demon Qing. The two of you together—who could possibly resist?”  

Actually there didn’t seem to be many people who could resist him alone… maybe none at all. Honestly, it’s a mystery how he’s trained to this point.  

“They just wanted you to say that?”  

“And that if I help them get the person back from you, they’d offer me better rewards… But none of them want to deal with you, caw caw.” The Golden Crow let out two chuckles. “After all, a century ago in the Yuntian Domain, you almost dragged them all down with you.”  

For beings like them—Great Sages or Human Immortals—staying alive was always the top priority. Orthodoxy or bloodline lineage? As long as they were alive, those could always continue. But the Xing Dao Master was different. He was the type to take everyone down with him at the slightest disagreement. To say those Human Immortals weren’t scared of him—she wouldn’t believe it.  

As the human saying goes, “Don’t lean against a collapsing wall.” Why would they risk appearing in front of Ji Yunlai so easily?  

Ji Yunlai nodded, though he didn’t agree to hand over the person. Luo Chi had some strange aspects that needed further observation. Once he had more time, he’d take a closer look.  

“Alright, then, you do your thing. I’m going to take a stroll,” the Golden Crow said with a wave of her hand. “It’s been ages since I last visited Kun-Lai, and I want to have some fun before I head back. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my boundaries.”  

Kun-Lai always had plenty of things for her to buy. Her grandchildren had already prepared a stash of savings for her to splurge.  

She’d lived for tens of thousands of years and had only this one indulgence.  

Ji Yunlai coldly replied, “Leave. For the next three days, Kun-Lai will not receive any outside visitors.”  

“Caw? What did you say? That’s too—caw, don’t take out your sword, alright! I’ll leave now, I promise!” 

*

The next day, Kun-Lai’s main hall.  

The grand hall exuded a solemn and ancient atmosphere. Elders and managers from the various peaks and branches stood silently in their places. At the center of the hall, the seat of the Sect Leader remained empty. 

When Qiu Yuansheng was brought up, the main seat was still empty—as expected, he wasn’t important enough to keep the Sect Leader waiting.

Once everyone was present, the main seat was already occupied by someone sitting quietly.  

From the elders to the disciples, none of them noticed when or how the person arrived.  

Qiu Yuansheng respectfully greeted his elders and peers, then knelt calmly in the great hall.  

Yan Zhao, with a stern face, read out the charges against him: colluding with external enemies, framing fellow disciples, and plotting further disruptions on the flying peak. The accusations caused a stir among the uninformed disciples and managers present.  

Qiu Yuansheng openly admitted to all the charges, even adding further details. He clearly explained how he orchestrated the chaos back then, implicating several Human Immortals and Great Sages. Of course, it had been done with the help of the High Priest, but he had indeed been the one in charge. The High Priest trusted him, so he had worked hard to repay that trust.  

As for the Kun-Lai elders who also trusted him deeply—well, he offered his apologies.  

The surrounding disciples were outraged. Some even questioned why he showed no remorse or mercy.  

Qiu Yuansheng merely expressed regret, stating that a cold-hearted person naturally had no mercy to spare.  

Finally, he admitted that he had deliberately taught the beast blood cultivation method to the peak master of Qingdi Peak, Bai Liu, to intensify his inner demons and eliminate the last person connected to the events of that year. If not for a series of coincidences, no one would have ever uncovered his actions.  

Naturally, he was sentenced to the ultimate punishment. An Xian, the Peak Master of Sword Peak, personally begged the Sect Leader to let her execute the sentence herself to avenge her late husband.  

The Sect Leader agreed.  

*

“Why let him die so easily instead of condemning him to eternal torment?” Ji Mingyu asked her father afterward.  

“And let some protagonist release the sealed monster a thousand years later? That would be far too troublesome,” her father replied casually.  

“Protagonist?” Ji Mingyu asked curiously, while Feng Qingxiu, listening nearby, perked up with interest.  

Ji Yunlai casually shared some typical protagonist tropes: for instance, protagonists who discover sealed villains and, despite all warnings, can’t resist releasing them “just to see,” thus creating chapters upon chapters of drama for the author. Or protagonists who have a habit of rescuing people, sometimes sympathizing with a tortured villain and providing water and medicine, only to have the villain either become their lover or turn around and slaughter their entire family, sect, and friends—leaving the protagonist guilt-ridden. Whether the protagonist was male or female, he noted, depended on whether it was a romance novel or a webnovel-style story.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“No wonder,” Ji Mingyu nodded. “Hearing you say that, I don’t even feel like following my roommate’s story anymore. I’ll just help her print a few copies.”  

Ji Yunlai raised an eyebrow. “What story?”  

“She’s recently been writing a new book. I think it’s called “‘The Return of the Condor Heroes’?” Ji Mingyu shrugged. “She even wrote a romance between a master and apprentice. Word spread, and after half a month, it caused such a commotion that she got called in for a day-long scolding by the teachers yesterday.”

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In-Progress, Top Dupe

Top Dupe CH 085 New Love Overflowing Every Day Part 2

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After they walked away, Nie Yangchen finally moved from his spot.

Yan Jun patted Nie Yangchen’s shoulder, almost scaring the lights out of him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“N-nothing. Brother Yan, what did you want to say?”

“I just wanted to talk about acting skills and atmosphere. Didn’t you think Gu Xiaowei’s ability to create a mood is incredible? When he was just in makeup, he looked like a beautiful statue, but the moment the lights dimmed and he picked up the knife, he was terrifying!” Yan Jun said excitedly.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Nie Yangchen, however, knew that as long as he remained on set, Gu Xiaowei would likely continue to frighten him. All because that night, he had intentionally moved close to Luo Yu, making Gu Xiaowei, who was following Luo Yu, think he had feelings for him.

Nie Yangchen sighed. Admiring and envying their on-screen chemistry was one thing; he could respect their acting skills and wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up together. But there was one thing he wouldn’t do—Nie Yangchen had no desire to provoke Luo Yu.

Because he had someone in his heart.

And also because… Luo Yu wasn’t someone to mess with.

Nie Yangchen suddenly felt that Ou Juntao must have been incredibly lucky in those years; otherwise, how could he have managed to suppress Luo Yu for a full five years?

After collecting himself and unwilling to bear the weight of Gu Xiaowei’s gaze, Nie Yangchen quickly exited the villa and sat on the steps outside, smoking.

Someone sat beside him, legs long and stretched out—other than Gu Xiaowei, it could only be Luo Yu.

But Gu Xiaowei was still inside reshooting a scene.

“Did he scare you earlier? Sorry about that.” Luo Yu said.

With a wry, reluctant smile, Nie Yangchen shrugged. “It wasn’t you holding the knife and threatening me with your eyes. Keep your distance; I’m afraid someone might sleepwalk to my place tonight and, well, finish me off.”

“Yes, and we live in adjacent villas.”

Nie Yangchen nearly choked on his cigarette, “You know, you don’t always have to talk to show that you’re not mute.”

“Alright, then I’ll take back the apology.”

As Luo Yu was about to stand up, Nie Yangchen turned and asked, “If Ou Juntao offered you the lead role in a big project now but required you to never see Gu Xiaowei again, would you take it?”

After asking this, Nie Yangchen realized how absurd the hypothetical was. Luo Yu wasn’t someone who’d compromise for any role or project, especially with his keen choice in employers. If Ou Juntao dared to pressure Luo Yu, Jiang Yinchuan would likely tear apart the “big project.”

“Never mind, you don’t have to answer.” Nie Yangchen lifted his cigarette.

In the next second, his wrist was grabbed painfully, causing him to grunt.

The cigarette dropped from his hand, and looking up, he met Luo Yu’s cold, frost-like gaze. It was as if the frosty sea of an ancient glacial river had been frozen solid. Stunned, Nie Yangchen even forgot the pain in his wrist.

“I’d tell him this: say it again, and I’ll twist your wrist again, until you’re too scared to think of it.”

With that, Luo Yu released him, bent down, picked up the cigarette butt, snuffed it out, and returned it to Nie Yangchen.

“Your voice is important; don’t ruin it.”

Then, Luo Yu went back inside the villa to sit beside the director, watching Gu Xiaowei’s reshoots.

Lowering his head, Nie Yangchen grabbed his hair and laughed.

Luo Yu and Gu Xiaowei were truly something.

As the night shoot at the villa wrapped up, the cast and crew rushed to the youth apartments, which were already set up.

No one knew exactly when the storm they were hoping for would start. The sky was pitch black with no stars visible, like the night itself was pressing down on the car roofs.

The cameramen were eagerly setting up.

If they could capture real lightning, it would be ideal; otherwise, if the storm held off until midnight, they’d have to rely on post-production.

As usual, Luo Yu and Gu Xiaowei shared a van.

Gu Xiaowei still had his makeup on, head down, eyes closed; immersing himself in a role took a toll on his energy.

Luo Yu was also worn out, his earlier excitement from watching Gu Xiaowei act slowly fading as sleepiness set in.

The scenery outside remained unchanged; the more he looked, the more drowsy he felt.

At that moment, Gu Xiaowei reached over and pulled Luo Yu to lean on his shoulder.

“Get some sleep. Who knows when the storm will start.”

If it kept lingering like this, they might not shoot until one or two in the morning.

“En.”

Hearing Gu Xiaowei’s words, Luo Yu tilted his head and drifted into a deep sleep on his shoulder.

While Luo Yu slept, Xiao Qin and Ye Shengyi were excited beyond measure.

They had both seen today’s trending topic, #SwordDance#

Two hours earlier, Sister Cui had posted the video Gu Xiaowei captured of Luo Yu performing a sword dance on Luo Yu’s Weibo account as a thank-you for reaching six million followers.

Previously, Luo Yu’s performance on “Burn, Little Cosmos” had won him a huge fan base. People loved his gentle, caring personality, his well-toned physique, and long legs. His clips on the show were played endlessly, and now, with this sleek and dashing sword dance, his physical form and grace were showcased at their peak.

In “Counterattack”, Bai Ying’s character and his persona in the variety show are completely different, which left audiences marveling at his acting skills. Some viewers noticed hints that Luo Yu was professionally trained, with swift, sharp moves, and his sword dance made people exclaim at its elegance and style.

The video, recorded on a phone, showed Luo Yu throughout, making it impossible to use a body double, and all the flying and high jumps were performed by him, as his face was visible throughout. Even those who didn’t like him couldn’t accuse him of using effects or faking the video.

Comments kept piling up under the video, surpassing 100,000 in just two hours, and Luo Yu’s fan count was about to hit 6.5 million.

[My heart has been pierced by his sword dance!]  

[Luo Yu’s sword spin and turn was amazing!]  

[That airborne move felt like it was meant to pierce the moon! I’m swooning!]  

[He’s about to hit 7 million followers! We got perks at 6 million; 7 million needs perks too!]

What stunned netizens even more was a bit of dialogue at the end of the video between Luo Yu and the person recording the video.

“This sword dance was a performance I did for the film academy’s anniversary. I practiced hard back then, but unfortunately, my fundamentals have deteriorated over the years. I’d like to thank and apologize to my martial arts teacher, Mr. Chen Junhong, and Ms. Lin Hao, who choreographed this dance. Tonight’s performance is purely for entertainment and shouldn’t be taken as a learning example. To those who love martial arts or dance, I hope you’ll persist and pursue your passions resolutely.”

He then gave the camera a sincere bow.

When he looked up, he flashed a bright smile and walked over to the person filming, saying, “This performance is for you too.”

“Oh? You’ve dedicated it to too many people. I want a private one.” A cool voice, tinged with a smile, sounded in the video, clearer than Luo Yu’s voice, suggesting the speaker was the one holding the phone and recording.

[Wait, am I hearing things? Why does the person recording sound like Gu Xiaowei?]  

[You’re not hearing things! It IS Gu Xiaowei recording!]  

[Not only are you not wrong, but Gu Xiaowei is actually laughing!]  

[Is this Teacher Gu’s Photography 3.0? So basic! No lighting, no effects, not even captions!]  

[555~ Brother Gu’s Weibo is just cold business posts now! Only in Senior Brother’s posts can we hear Brother Gu laugh!]  

[So jealous of Gu Xiaowei! He got to watch Brother Luo’s sword dance live! Must’ve been even better than on video!]

First, fans of the variety show, then fans of Bai Ying’s character, and “Counterattack” enthusiasts shared the post. When Gu Xiaowei’s fans joined in, Luo Yu’s sword dance shot to the top of Weibo’s hot search, staying there for hours.

Xie Chang was also excitedly replaying the video while wearing a face mask. She not only shared it on her main account but was also posting wild, rainbow fart compliments on Luo Yu’s Weibo with a alternative account. Even her agent messaged her on WeChat, warning her to hold back a bit—if her alternative account got exposed, fans’ perceptions might shatter, and her “big brother” might get spooked.

But Xie Chang didn’t care. Luo Yu’s sword dance was so bold and dashing; she had to shower him in rainbow fart! What’s the point of having an alternative account if she couldn’t praise freely?

Cheng Fei, who was waiting at home for “Counterattack” to air, also came across it on his feed. He was thrilled and never expected Luo Yu to have such skills and talents. Those five years spent in low-budget web dramas were practically a waste! With these moves, even as a supporting guard or assassin in an S-level costume drama, he’d have broken out already.

Cheng Fei immediately shared it, commenting, [Bro, I’m impressed! Another skill unlocked?]

After the variety show, Jiang Muxing began to see Luo Yu as his idol, sincerely admiring how Luo Yu constantly exceeded fans’ expectations. Jiang Muxing even became inspired by him: after seeing Luo Yu ride a horse, he composed “Riding the Clouds”. Now, after watching Luo Yu’s sword dance, his muse was firing up again. Excitedly, he shared it, saying, [Bro, I want to write a song for you!]

Fans below begged him to write it immediately and release it tomorrow.

Li Shengyu also shared it, saying, [Man, you could carry an entire variety show by yourself!]

Girl group member Ai Cheng nearly jumped in the van after watching Luo Yu’s sword dance.

“He’s so handsome! I’ve never been this crazily in love with an actor! Before, I thought Luo Yu’s handsomeness was thanks to Bai Ying’s character. But seeing his sword dance, I know he’s even cooler in real life! I adore him! Every day, there’s more to love!”

She once again regretted ignoring Ye Shengyi before. If she’d added him on WeChat, she could’ve asked him for an autograph from Luo Yu or joined commercial events with him!

Pinnacle Sports also saw a small sales spike. After “Counterattack” aired, they sold 3,000–4,000 pairs of their ink-print sneakers without any promotion. But after Luo Yu’s sword dance video dropped, fans noticed he was wearing their sneakers during his high jumps and sword strikes. A few fan calls later, and sales broke 10,000.

As Luo Yu was filming, he hadn’t been keeping up with the online buzz. What he didn’t know was that, after “Counterattack” aired, many viewers also noticed Fang Qin’s portrayal of the trainee forensic scientist was naturally charming.

Jiang Yinchuan saw Fang Qin’s potential, noting that he had formal training, a sunny look, and, most importantly, a good attitude toward acting. After hearing praise from “Counterattack”’s assistant director, President Jiang decided to sign Fang Qin.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

When Fang Qin shared Luo Yu’s post, he wrote, [Giving a shoutout to my senior brother!], and his profile noted him as an actor with “Yinchuan Culture.”

Additionally, Brother Long’s acting also caught Jiang Yinchuan’s attention. Whether in TV shows or movies, it wasn’t only lead roles that mattered—supporting actors made an impact too. Many actors, despite not having large fan bases or high salaries, brought a sense of familiarity to the audience. People even felt, “If so-and-so is in this, it can’t be that bad.”

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