After returning from the expedition, Kun-Lai was abuzz with activity, as everyone focused on processing the gains from the journey.

Places like the Ghost Ruins, Qingqiu, Yuntian Domain, Cloud Capital, and Nine Abysses were perilous regions that were nearly impossible to reach without an expedition. Thus, the rewards were immense. For instance, the stockpile of elixirs alone was enough to meet the sect’s needs for decades—without even counting the spiritual fields cultivated by each peak.  

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The trade section on Kun-Lai’s network was particularly lively, with posts refreshing so quickly that even a Nascent Soul cultivator’s divine sense could barely keep up. The activity spilled over into other sections, which became inundated with trade-related posts.  

Feng Qingxiu also earned a substantial income and spent every spare moment browsing the network. His goods were high-quality and reasonably priced, drawing so many buyers that the line for him extended to the foot of Zhaoyue Peak.  

However, this behavior inevitably left his master, Ji Yunlai, feeling a bit neglected.  

Still, Feng Qingxiu carried on as he pleased, leaving Ji Yunlai to wonder what had upset his little apprentice. Lately, even the dreams they shared seemed to have stopped.  

Could it be because of that playful nibble on his ear and then not continuing after during their journey back last time? 

Ji Yunlai thought it was unfair—after all, it was Feng Qingxiu who pushed him away, saying it was too conspicuous in broad daylight. How could anyone have seen them when they were surrounded by clouds he had summoned himself?  

It wasn’t his fault that he adored seeing his little apprentice’s aggrieved and pitiful expressions.  

But recently, even teasing him didn’t provoke much of a reaction.  

“Xiao Qing…” Ji Yunlai approached his apprentice, who was engrossed in the network again.  

“Don’t bother me. If I don’t sell off these Ghost Ruins items you caught for me, they’ll die and lose their value!” Feng Qingxiu scowled at him, evidently growing resistant to his master’s antics after being teased so often.  

“Are these trivialities more important than your master?” Ji Yunlai pinched the tip of his apprentice’s ear.  

“You’re not going anywhere,” Feng Qingxiu replied coolly, not even looking up before continuing his work.  

Something felt off.  

Ji Yunlai tried to divine the reason for Feng Qingxiu’s unusual behavior, but such matters couldn’t be divined. Puzzled, he pondered further.  

Just why was Xiao Qing unhappy?

Just then, the great ward of Zhaoyue Peak flickered, signaling a visitor. It was Luo Chi, using the token Ji Yunlai had given him to request an audience.  

After recognizing Luo Chi’s talent in divination techniques, Ji Yunlai had allowed him occasional visits for guidance. Seeing that Feng Qingxiu still ignored him, Ji Yunlai waved his hand to let Luo Chi in.  

Luo Chi entered in resplendent attire, exuding elegance and poise befitting a true heir of an illustrious sect. Compared to him, Feng Qingxiu—though equal in status—seemed less composed and confident. This was unsurprising, as Luo Chi had spent centuries as a core cultivator in two major sects, with an upbringing far above the ordinary.  

Luo Chi greeted Ji Yunlai with perfect courtesy before beginning his inquiries. His questions were well-prepared and thoughtful, skillfully maintaining an engaging atmosphere despite Ji Yunlai’s sparse replies.  

If any passerby were to see this, they would surely exclaim in admiration: “What a noble gentleman! His jade-like purity fills the ears, and his crown shines like the stars.”

Meanwhile, a white camellia flower silently observed, occasionally prodding Feng Qingxiu with a branch.  

Feng Qingxiu emitted a wisp of black smoke, glanced briefly at the pair, and returned to his browsing.  

The camellia flower poked him again.  

Feng Qingxiu pushed it aside.  

Annoyed, the flower whipped him with its branch.  

Feng Qingxiu abruptly stood, causing Ji Yunlai to glance over in surprise. Without a word, the apprentice strode to his room, shut the door, and slapped a talisman onto it.  

“Brother Feng is…” Luo Chi’s expression shifted subtly, though his tone remained polite.  

“Nothing,” Ji Yunlai replied, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He quickly dismissed Luo Chi, intending to check on his apprentice later.  

Luo Chi bowed, then got up and left.

From start to finish, every gesture was impeccable.

Once Luo Chi departed, Ji Yunlai approached Feng Qingxiu’s door and knocked.  

No response.  

Although the door was no obstacle to Ji Yunlai, its presence symbolized the apprentice’s firm stance. Sighing, he left reluctantly, returning to his room to brood.  

What could be wrong? He missed his little apprentice, especially the version of him from their dreams.  

As he was lost in thought, footsteps sounded outside.  

The door opened.  

Ji Yunlai, resting on his bed with his head propped on his hand, turned to see his apprentice standing there. Moonlight cast half his face in sharp relief, enhancing his cold, otherworldly aura.  

But Feng Qingxiu didn’t bring bedding this time. Instead, he strode forward, pushed Ji Yunlai down, and leaned over him.  

Ji Yunlai was stunned by the uncharacteristic forcefulness. The usual timid caution was gone, replaced by the blazing intensity of a red-hot iron branding him to his core.  

That night, the experience was vivid, surpassing even the most pleasant dreams he had shared with his apprentice.  

Locks of black hair intertwined, fingers interlocked—like the ethereal clouds above yet as fiery as a tidal wave, one surge surpassing the other, one wave overwhelming the last.

That night’s Xiao Qing made him truly understand what it meant to be hard as a rock.

…Simply perfect.

*

Morning sunlight crept over the mountain peaks, illuminating the blooming white camellia flower adorned with glistening dew. 

Ji Yunlai rose leisurely, dressing piece by piece with a contented expression. Realizing his apprentice likely had unfinished work, he quickly added a search function to the network interface, saving Feng Qingxiu the trouble of scrolling through endless pages.  

It was a simple task, completed within moments.  

Just then, a rustling sound came from the bed.  

“Awake, my apprentice?” Ji Yunlai turned with a soft smile, his face radiant in the morning light. “Are you feeling unwell?”  

Feng Qingxiu froze momentarily, his cheeks turning crimson as the blush spread across his face, making him look especially endearing. Ji Yunlai’s heart skipped a beat; he almost pulled him back into bed.  

But Feng Qingxiu quickly shook off his embarrassment and sighed. “Not unwell, just… I feel like my cultivation is insufficient and might have disappointed you.”  

“You underestimate yourself,” Ji Yunlai reassured him with a gentle smile. “Your will is as unyielding as steel, capable of enduring a thousand trials. I’m very proud.”  

Feng Qingxiu, buoyed by the praise, hesitated before humbly replying, “You flatter me, Master. Even steel melts into molten iron under the heat of your fire.”  

“Your master has a thousand years of experience over you,” Ji Yunlai teased, pinching his apprentice’s chest. “You’re more than enough.”  

“…” Feng Qingxiu lowered his head with a shy smile, his earlier grievances dissolving into a gentle warmth. “As long as you’re satisfied, Master.”  

In that moment, nothing else mattered—neither rules nor conventions, only the smile on his master’s face.  

Once one steps into the depths of a master-apprentice relationship, everything else becomes secondary.  

As long as they were together, it was enough. More than enough.  

“Why are you crying, Xiao Qing?” Ji Yunlai asked, startled as he embraced his apprentice.  

“It’s nothing…” Feng Qingxiu glanced at the tears streaming down his face, puzzled. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m so moved, so happy?”  

He glanced at the window, noticing the camellia flower dripping dew as if it too was crying.  

“Maybe I ate too many petals,” Feng Qingxiu quipped, donning his robes as the sunlight illuminated his strong, healthy frame. “It’s strange—almost as if past regrets have vanished.”

Ji Yunlai was about to speak when the ward transmitted a message—it was Luo Chi, showing up early again.  

As he was about to let him in, Xiao Qing pressed down on his hand with a furious look. “Now can I ask you why you’re treating him so differently?”  

Letting him freely enter Zhaoyue Peak—this was a privilege even Mingyu didn’t have!  

“He has impressive abilities and is of great use to me,” Ji Yunlai said, patting his apprentice’s head. Then, as if realizing something, he smiled. “Xiao Qing, you really overthink things…”  

Haven’t you noticed why he dresses up like a peacock every day?!  

“I’m not strong enough yet…” Feng Qingxiu started to make an excuse but suddenly froze. Then he stretched out his hand with a surprised expression. “Master, my cultivation… something feels off.”  

*

Southern Continent, Great Yan Kingdom, Haijing.  

This bustling coastal city remained as lively as ever, with humans and spirit demons coexisting in harmony. As the largest trading hub between the West Sea spirit demons and Kun-Lai, its prosperity attracted merchant ships from the central, southern, northern, and eastern regions, traveling thousands of miles to reach its shores.  

From time to time, fire eagle transports came and went. If Luo Chi were present, he could have seen the city’s rising fortune, resembling a massive dragon’s head enveloping the entire Haijing. Beneath the dragon’s head, it extended into the sea, its claws and tail unseen.  

Suddenly, the dragon’s aura trembled. From a bird’s-eye view, it seemed as if an enormous sea dragon was struggling violently, shaken by an invisible giant hand.  

Both the water and land portions of Haijing quaked simultaneously. In the central palace, a massive jellyfish in the water transformed into a handsome man and gazed into the distance.  

“The South Sea Eye is trembling,” the man, now in human form, said to the void. “That place is the heart of the sea dragon vein. If it isn’t calmed, it will trigger volcanic eruptions across the South Sea. While we water spirit demons can survive…”  

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The eruptions would create monstrous tidal waves, engulfing everything along the coast. Haijing and Great Yan would become a vast swamp.  

“To disturb the Sea Eye… it would take the power of a Great Sage or a Human Immortal,” a lazy voice drifted from the void. “We’ll need to hold it off for a while to buy Kun-Lai time to send reinforcements.”  

“You can’t hold out for long. Be cautious. And if worse comes to worst, you don’t have to remain the King of Great Yan. Come underwater to the West Sea and be my queen,” said Shui Wusi, the West Sea Demon King. 

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Kun-Lai Mountain, Zhaoyue Peak.  

After teasing Xiao Qing, Ji Yunlai brought Luo Chi over.  

“You can see fortune, so you should also understand the art of celestial divination, correct?” Ji Yunlai asked.  

“A bit,” Luo Chi, the great treasure-seeking rat, replied somewhat nervously. His cheeks flushed slightly. Born with a heavenly eye, he was an extraordinary talent suited to cultivating Taiqing Sect’s True Explanation of the Great Profound Seeing of the Divine. However, not only had the sect’s ancient Human Immortal personally captured him, but he had also offered significant benefits to persuade his grandmother to allow him to study their cultivation method. Even so, his family insisted he remain loyal to Jietian Dao while dabbling in external teachings.  

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“Explain it to me,” Ji Yunlai said coolly.  

This wasn’t an issue. Luo Chi rarely got the chance to speak directly with the Xing Dao Master. Since what he had learned was mainly from the Taiqing Sect, sharing it wouldn’t affect his family’s allegiance.  

*

He talked for three days and four nights. By the end, even someone with Luo Chi’s cultivation level was parched.  

“Then let me try. Can you pinpoint this person’s exact location?” Ji Yunlai’s interest grew when he heard Luo Chi say that advanced celestial divination could easily locate people of similar cultivation—a skill even he lacked. It seemed Luo Chi truly possessed exceptional abilities. No wonder the Taiqing Sect went to such lengths to secure him. Ji Yunlai stretched out his hand, retrieving a strand of Yang Fuyin’s hair from Taiyi Peak, thousands of miles away.  

“I’ll try. Last time I was caught, my thousand-year-old tortoiseshell was confiscated,” Luo Chi said cautiously, pulling out a few ancient copper coins that bore signs of frequent use.  

Ji Yunlai thought for a moment before reaching into the air and pulling out a tortoiseshell. “Use this.”  

Luo Chi hesitated, blushing as he accepted it. Being an expert in tortoiseshells, he was stunned the moment he touched it. “Heavens! This… this tortoiseshell… it must be at least a hundred thousand years old! How is this possible?”  

A hundred thousand years—surely it belonged to a Great Sage. How could it be so casually handed over?  

Ji Yunlai said indifferently, “I borrowed it. Use it. I’ll return it later.”  

He just hadn’t informed the old tortoise about borrowing it yet.  

Luo Chi trembled slightly but still focused on the task. After performing intricate calculations, his forehead split open, revealing a cold golden eye that carefully examined the tortoiseshell. Moments later, information poured into his mind.  

“The owner of this strand of hair is near the Eye of the South Sea, close to the Empty Void. Though in peril, they will survive. However, they seem entangled in trouble and unable to escape,” Luo Chi reported seriously.  

“Thank you. You’ve done well.” Ji Yunlai analyzed for a moment and found that Luo Chi’s information was 90% accurate. He patted Luo Chi on the shoulder, impressed. Luo Chi’s value was becoming clear—returning him was no longer an option.  

Being praised, Luo Chi’s heart pounded like a drum. He was elated but couldn’t help noticing something strange: the apprentice standing beside the Xing Dao Master seemed very unhappy. 

Also was it his imagination, or were their fortunes so intertwined that they couldn’t be separated?  

As these thoughts swirled, Luo Chi reluctantly handed the tortoiseshell back. He truly didn’t want to let it go—it was the finest treasure he had ever touched. “Could I borrow this for a few days?” he asked hopefully.  

“Ask him,” Ji Yunlai said with a wave of his hand. In a blink, Luo Chi found himself standing before a massive cloud tortoise… without its shell.  

The tortoise, scarred and burned, gazed despondently at the sky. When its enormous eye shifted to Luo Chi, who was clutching the shell, he froze in place.  

*

Beneath the Nine Abyss 

A silent stream flowed slowly along its banks.  

The water was murky and yellowish, while the skies on both sides displayed an eerie sun and moon simultaneously. The light from this shore seemed unable to reach the far bank.  

Under the sunlight, the riverbanks of this shore were overgrown with wild grass. On the far bank, countless flowers bloomed without roots or leaves. Occasionally, a petal would drift into the river, only to dissolve instantly without a trace.  

A man in azure robes stood quietly amidst the wild grass, his gaze serene as he looked toward the other side. His refined face was incomparably elegant, and his starry eyes held a trace of sadness and relief. A drop of blood fell to the grass, vanishing as though absorbed by paper.  

After a long time, the blood slowly gathered in his palm, forming a tiny human figure. If a Kun-Lai disciple saw this, they might have drawn their sword at once.  

“Dying feels… unpleasant,” Qiu Yuansheng murmured, rubbing his neck as if in lingering fear. “Peak Master An’s sword spanned millennia, slicing ten thousand pieces of flesh from me before finally granting a swift death. Only in that moment did I realize I didn’t truly want to die. And that feeling of being melted in the River of Forgetfulness… I’d rather not remember.”  

“It’s good that you’ve finally found something to fear. It’s a step forward,” the High Priest said with a faint smile, studying the tiny figure in his palm.  

“I thought you didn’t care about me anymore,” Qiu Yuansheng replied with a smile.  

“You are my apprentice. How could I not care?” The High Priest spoke warmly. “But there was a trace of the Xing Dao Master’s divine consciousness in your soul. It only left when you entered the River of Forgetfulness.”  

“So you had it all planned out. What’s next?” Qiu Yuansheng tilted his head. “Don’t tell me we’re still targeting Kun-Lai. You won’t get anything out of the Xing Dao Master.”  

The High Priest fell silent for a moment before sighing softly. “We’ll have to think of another way. But even if I don’t act, someone else will. In the competition for fortune, there’s no room for mercy, Ah Sheng.”  

“I understand,” Qiu Yuansheng nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.”  

“Interested in paying Ziyun Dao a visit?” the High Priest asked gently.  

“I’m not particularly interested, but I’ll go,” Qiu Yuansheng replied, excitement flickering as he guessed, “Have you prepared a new body for me? Are we targeting Ziyun Dao?”  

“Indeed. Yuan Dao Master of the Taiqing Sect wants our help. Be careful. Summoning your soul from the River of Forgetfulness has angered the Yellow Springs. If you die again within a hundred years, your soul will truly scatter into nothingness,” the High Priest warned.  

“Understood,” Qiu Yuansheng replied solemnly.  

The High Priest nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on the strange sun and moon in the sky. “Ah Sheng, this rare phenomenon of day and night sharing the sky will soon pass.”  

“Then let it pass,” Qiu Yuansheng said indifferently. “An opportunity missed isn’t an opportunity.”  

“Coincidences often come in such moments. It was under these skies long ago that I captured his soul,” the High Priest murmured. “That celestial technique cost me a millennium of cultivation.”  

Qiu Yuansheng knew whom he was talking about. Only the Xing Dao Master could have made the High Priest suffer such a loss.  

“Back then, he didn’t seem capable of what he’s achieved today. Alas, one wrong decision turned us into enemies,” the High Priest said softly, his smile tinged with regret. “A thousand years in one day. To see this celestial alignment again would take another thousand years.”  

“Or perhaps ten thousand. Those on the far shore may already be…” Gone? Qiu Yuansheng thought but didn’t voice aloud.  

“If that’s true, it would be a release,” the High Priest sneered, looking toward the opposite bank. “But no, our Kun-Lai survivors have been turned into living pillars to sustain the Great Xuan dragon energy. They are immortal and undying, only allowed to emerge when one life is sacrificed for another.”  

The High Priest himself had escaped from that hell and knew the truth all too well. Only after a Crown Prince of the Xuan Dynasty is born will the Xuan Emperor search within the forbidden land for a remnant clan member whose fate aligns with the crown prince’s. A spell will then be cast to make them the crown prince’s guardian.

Qiu Yuansheng shuddered but quickly steered the conversation away. “The Taiqing Sect targeting Ziyun Dao—so they’re finally making their move?”  

He had heard from the High Priest that the human race, after a thousand years of recuperation and growth, now showed signs of resurgence. The dragon vein was rising. Back then, the establishment of the Great Xuan Dynasty was due to that certain individual who was born in response to the dragon vein of heaven and earth. After defeating Kun-Lai, the leader of the Four Great Sects from ten thousand years ago, they absorbed the dragon energy accumulated by Kun-Lai over millennia, which led to their prosperity.

“Naturally. The Xing Dao Master’s Western Continent has already formed its own dragon vein. If the Yuan Dao Master of the Taiqing Sect wants to secure their inheritance, he can’t stand idly by. The human race’s fortune—how could he let it go?” the High Priest said, raising his head. “For now, I must work with him. Still, there’s a fine line between too much and too little… Let the clan wait. After all, what’s another thousand years after ten thousand?”  

That old man who took in Ji Yunlai, he too was a remnant of the Kun-Lai sect that escaped ten thousand years ago. But looking at things now, it’s hard to say which side fared worse.

“The human race’s dragon vein—where will it settle this time?” Qiu Yuansheng asked eagerly, certain it would bring yet another storm of blood and chaos. “Also, High Priest, if everything relies on fortune, then aren’t our struggles laughable?”

He wasn’t much of a believer in such matters.

“The Eye of the South Sea, near the Empty Void. As for your second question—Ah Sheng, fortune is merely an external force. Only those with intelligence can wield it,” the High Priest said, a hint of disdain flickering in his eyes. “Otherwise, when the Great Xuan Dynasty drained the human race of a thousand years of fortune, it wouldn’t have met its demise through backlash. Similarly, even when the Xing Dao Master suffered the heavenly backlash of fortune in those days, he was able to rise from an abyss of no return, rebuilding the world anew. Fortune may grant temporary peace and prosperity to a person or sect, but without the wisdom to wield it properly, there will come a day when it must be returned.”

“I see,” Qiu Yuansheng nodded vigorously. “Your apprentice has learned.”

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

“Be careful on this journey. Let me remind you once more: this is your last life. Don’t treat things as carelessly as you have before—be cautious in everything,” the High Priest warned. “This time, your life is no dream.” 

“Understood, I will be careful,” Qiu Yuansheng nodded. A hundred years. As long as he doesn’t die within these hundred years, he can still live recklessly. But within these hundred years, he truly must be careful.

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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.  

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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.”  

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“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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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.  

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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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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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How to scare my apprentice, how to pin down my apprentice… These questions aren’t really problems at all.  

Ji Yunlai discovered that pushing his apprentice down was just as easy as being pushed down by his apprentice.  

A gentle suck, tongues intertwining, a slow tease—his apprentice’s long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings, landing softly in his heart, tickling it.  

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That sweet satisfaction was far beyond what could be found in dreams.  

He could even feel the closeness of their hardness pressing together with ease.  

When their lips parted, a thin thread of saliva lingered between them.  

Ji Yunlai playfully tilted his apprentice’s chin, his chuckle tinged with mockery as he asked, “Dare to reenact what you did in your dream?”

The apprentice froze momentarily before his entire face turned crimson. Of course, he remembered what lay hidden beneath his master’s black robes—so sacredly beautiful, yet so intoxicating. Just the thought of it felt like savoring thousand-year-old fine wine, a drunken ecstasy.  

But he couldn’t determine whether this was a test, a challenge, or even… a confession?  

“Master,” he softly called, his tone laced with tender longing and a trace of smile. “Dream or reality, your apprentice is willing either way.”  

Ji Yunlai snorted lightly. “Then stop playing these little tricks!”  

He casually stuffed the stone back into his apprentice’s hand and turned to leave.  

Feng Qingxiu stood dumbfounded for a moment.  

When Ji Yunlai returned to his room, he finally lay down on his bed, propping his head up with one hand, a faint smile playing on his lips.  

Flirting and running away—what a thrill.  

Though the idea of taking Xiao Qing right then and there was tempting, he still had a shred of integrity. If anyone should make the first move, it ought to be Xiao Qing. After all, as the Master, Leader of the Sect, and an elder, how could he possibly lose his dignity by throwing himself at someone?  

If Xiao Qing truly wasn’t willing, forcing him would be wrong—it might leave a psychological scar.  

He’d given Xiao Qing a strong hint today. With his personality, he’d figure things out soon enough. After all, he’d been single for a thousand years—what’s a few more days?  

Ji Yunlai closed his eyes, preparing to drift into dreams.  

However, after a long while, Xiao Qing still hadn’t appeared. Dissatisfied, Ji Yunlai opened his eyes, extending his divine sense to see what was keeping Xiao Qing.  

The next second, he saw Xiao Qing holding a blanket, silently walking over.  

Ji Yunlai raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”  

“You gave me this stone, didn’t that mean I should come over?” Feng Qingxiu lifted his gaze, his expression a mix of unease and bashfulness. “Since that’s the case, I’ll comply. Please don’t turn me away.”  

Ji Yunlai was about to praise his apprentice’s attentiveness when he suddenly raised his head. “Wait here.”  

With that, he left abruptly.  

*

Outside Kun-Lai Sect, it was the dead of night, yet a vast golden radiance swept across the skies like a sunrise. In an instant, it reached within ten thousand miles of Kun-Lai, illuminating every mountain like daylight.  

Far away, an enormous golden crow wreathed in flames flew closer, its light illuminating all within its reach.  

Ji Mingyu walked out of her room, glancing at the distant golden crow. “Disturbing people’s sleep… how annoying.” She yawned and went back inside.  

“Wait, Sister Mingyu,” a girl of twelve or thirteen grabbed her sleeve, her voice crisp like an oriole. “Is that really a three-legged crow? The one shot down by Hou Yi?”  

“That’s a Great Sage of the spirit demon race with golden crow bloodline, living in the far west. He often comes here to trade using his Solar True Fire.” Ji Mingyu replied casually, thinking back to how one of the Seven Talents, Huang Wei, had fallen for the crow and aspired to become such a magnificent golden bird herself. Every morning, she would dye her black feathers golden.  

Seeing the young girl staring in awe, Mingyu returned to her room. She still had to continue exploring the Dao Seed given to her after all!

Her father had given her something extraordinary—within it, souls naturally cycled through reincarnation, practically forming an entire world. She needed time to familiarize herself with its functions.

But the Great Sage usually came to see her father. Was he here on some urgent matter?  

Although there wasn’t much need to get familiar with the Dao Seed, it seemed she already instinctively knew everything.

“I see,” the young girl glanced a few times but couldn’t withstand the pressure. Returning to their room, her mind was still unsettled. After a while, she couldn’t help but ask, “Sister Mingyu, you know so much. You must have grown up in Kun-Lai, right?”  

“Yes,” Ji Mingyu replied casually.  

“Then, that Senior Brother Qiao Long who came today, is he also from Kun-Lai?” the young girl couldn’t resist asking again.  

“Anyone who hasn’t passed through the outer sect schools isn’t a Kun-Lai person. The same goes for me, and for you too,” Ji Mingyu said, closing her eyes and continuing to study her new toy. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow is the Dao Scripture exam. You’ve already failed one subject, and if you don’t pass the retake, it’ll be troublesome.”  

The girl’s face turned pale, almost to the point of tears, and she stopped asking questions altogether. However, she couldn’t help glancing at Ji Mingyu’s breathtakingly beautiful face, filled with both envy and jealousy.  

She still didn’t understand how she ended up inside a novel. In her previous life, after barely passing her college entrance exams, she had stumbled across some chatter in a group chat about an unconventional stallion novel. Curious, she checked it out and realized the title was “Kun-Lai”. The story detailed a young man who destroyed sects, toppled empires, and eventually unified the human race under his dynasty, Great Xuan, with Kun-Lai as the ultimate antagonist.  

After an accident, she woke up as a newborn baby in a farming family in a small country in the Western Continent.  

When she first heard the name Kun-Lai, she was busy plotting how to cling to the protagonist’s coattails, how to cultivate immortality, and where to find secret treasures and opportunities.  

But as she listened to storytellers boasting about Kun-Lai, she realized that Great Xuan had long since perished, and Kun-Lai had returned to its former glory as the true ruler of the Western Continent—this plot wasn’t right!  

At the age of ten, she participated in the Dragon-Phoenix Selection and, upon seeing the magnificent and towering flying peak, finally realized this world was not to be trifled with. She became even more determined to cultivate immortality and return to her original world.  

Who would have thought that life in the outer sect would be so grueling!  

Every day was a choice between studying, cultivating, or sleeping—only two could be managed!  

If not for the daily supply of spiritual rice, she felt she might have already died of exhaustion.  

But some people had no issues at all, such as Ji Mingyu, her roommate. Ji Mingyu excelled at everything—photographic memory, applying knowledge creatively, and all as effortlessly as eating a meal. She even had spare time to tutor others like her fallback guy. Even if she occasionally skipped classes, the teachers of the outer sect would turn a blind eye and sometimes even help her.  

Despite all this, she herself was barely holding on.  

It was like taking the college entrance exam every single day!  

Yet giving up was unthinkable. Just the ordinary spiritual rice she had been eating for a few months had already transformed her skin to be like smooth jade, her breath fragrant, and her thinking more focused and agile. The basic cultivation techniques had allowed her to defy gravity within a month, letting her perform second- and third-tier jumps like a video game character.  

Immortality, true immortality—how could she give up on such a chance?  

Biting her lip, she whispered, “Mingyu, tomorrow can we go and meet Senior Brother Qiao? One of Kun-Lai’s peak masters comes to see him every day. I heard he’s already set to become the apprentice of Peak Master An from Sword Peak. He must have a promising future. Making friends with him could bring us great benefits.”  

Ji Mingyu chuckled softly but didn’t answer.  

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

AN: In the previous chapter, someone mentioned they didn’t understand, so here’s some clarification: Mingyu is a system that has followed the Sect Leader for nearly a thousand years. It was originally designed and refined by the Sect Leader and Celestial Demon Qing together. When the Sect Leader became a Human Immortal, his computational ability grew exponentially, rendering Mingyu unnecessary, so he “cut and pasted” it into a physical body, creating his daughter.  

As for why Mingyu has no memory of this, that’s Celestial Demon Qing’s fault. It will be explained later.

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