When Ji Yunlai heard that strange voice, he almost thought he was hearing things.  

What was that? How could something invade his consciousness? After all, he was a Human Immortal!  

Yet the information that followed left him utterly shocked.  

His divine sense unhesitatingly invaded the Dao Seed, only to find that the previously empty grand hall now contained a new program.  

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

The program’s logic resembled something like Siri, Apple’s personal virtual assistant. It processed user queries and requests by integrating various databases. Simply put, it was…  

He asked with his divine sense, “How were you created?”  

The voice, eerily similar to his daughter’s, slowly replied:  

“When you were 25 years old, you began developing a basic talisman seal-assistance comparison system, improving wards in the process. You kept adding foundational seals, optimizing calculations, and refining the system. Later, search-and-compare functionality was added, and you set the activation command as ‘Mingyu,’ which became the system’s name.”  

“And then? How did the system evolve?” Ji Yunlai had a vague idea, and it aligned with his actions after arriving in this world. As a youth, hadn’t he left home to study talisman seals? To him, talisman seals were akin to the source code of the universe. If he could, he’d undoubtedly create his own programs—even in a world without computers, he wouldn’t let that stop him.  

“Hundreds of years later, you attempted to simulate the entire functioning of the Heavenly Dao, optimizing and organizing its structure. Due to the immense computational load, your soul couldn’t bear it, and you put the project on hold. After becoming a Human Immortal, you recoded the Mingyu System and placed it into the Dao Seed for independent operation. A hundred years ago, you retrieved the Mingyu System, leaving only an auxiliary system to continue simulating incomplete parts of the Heavenly Dao. Once completed, the auxiliary system automatically shut down.”  

The voice provided a simple explanation, accompanied by a display of the system’s evolution through its database.  

There’s no answer more direct than data. Ji Yunlai took just a single breath to review it all, instantly understanding the sequence of events.  

Back when he was around 25, he had discovered many fragmented talisman seals, either from ruins or a junkyard. He spent considerable time studying and comparing them, eventually identifying some patterns. To save time, he developed a program akin to a simple editing tool to batch-complete the broken seals.  

After completing them, he likely earned some money and bought other talisman books, gaining access to new seal knowledge. He then rewrote his program, upgrading it from a basic tool to something akin to Photoshop plus CAD. This enhanced functionality not only allowed him to restore and compare seals more comprehensively but also let him simulate and test ward designs directly in his head, saving significant time and resources.  

Later, perhaps after earning even more, he grew dissatisfied with ward simulation alone and began experimenting with seal-based calculations for cultivation techniques. It was akin to receiving a luxury renovation blueprint for a complex, only to trim down the budget and keep the essential framework.  

In simple terms, he modified advanced but incomplete techniques into something usable, adapting them to his spiritual roots for easier cultivation.  

As his cultivation advanced and his knowledge deepened, he accumulated more seals and further optimized his algorithms. The mental assistant program in his head evolved again, becoming capable of independent calculations, essentially giving him the effect of having two brains.  

However, 600 years ago, his talisman studies seemed to hit a dead end.  

The logical patterns displayed an extreme sense of cold and unfeeling mechanics. Programs that once ran solely in his head were now extracted and operated externally through new methods.  

“Father, is something wrong?” Ji Mingyu noticed his gaze and asked curiously.  

Ji Yunlai was about to speak when the Dao Seed’s voice interjected:  

“Connection to Mingyu mainframe failed. Server not found. Please reconnect.”  

He suddenly remembered a phrase he had once seen written in his 983-year-old Ji Yunlai Final Notes:  

“By the way, you can create artificial intelligence here. Once you remember this, you might not want to do it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you—I’ve already made one before.”  

It was precisely this note that made him, upon awakening and desperately seeking his memories, refuse to revisit his past.  

So, was his daughter Ji Mingyu the artificial intelligence he could never locate? Was the program in the Dao Seed just a plugin for her?  

Impossible! Mingyu was so lively, with real flesh, blood, and spiritual roots. She adored him wholeheartedly as her father. How could she be fake?  

Pressing his temple lightly, Ji Yunlai smiled and said, “It’s nothing. This is a master-recognizing Dao Seed. See if you like it.”  

“A master-recognizing Dao Seed? Did you make another new type?” Mingyu’s eyes sparkled as she immediately dove her divine sense into it, only to exclaim and cover her mouth in shock.  

Oh my heavens, Father! Just how big is this Dao Seed?!  

Ji Mingyu hesitated before shaking her head. “Father, I can’t accept this. It’s too vast.”  

It was said that the fields of Peak Master Tu of Shennong Peak covered a thousand acres, but compared to what her father was giving her, it was nothing. And she didn’t farm—what use was such a huge expanse to her?  

“It’s already yours,” Ji Yunlai said gently, stroking her head. “From now on, the outer sect’s rice will be your responsibility.”  

“But…” Ji Mingyu tugged at her father’s sleeve, her face a picture of dismay. “I don’t know how to farm!”  

She was a young lady who couldn’t tell wheat from rice, after all!  

“There are people inside who will handle it,” Ji Yunlai reassured her, patting her head again. “As long as you’re willing, release spiritual energy into this world, and all the expert masters inside will be at your command.”  

The spiritual energy had only been sealed by him. This newborn world, rich in spiritual energy, was perfect for his daughter.  

Such an adorable daughter—one was more than enough for him.  

Ji Mingyu, overwhelmed by her father’s unexpected love and care, clung to him, unwilling to let go. She was beyond ecstatic.  

Feng Qingxiu watched quietly from the side. On the one hand, he was happy that his master was expressing more emotions and bonding with his daughter. On the other, he felt a subtle, repressed sense of neglect, struggling against the urge to join in.  

The white camellia flower beside him extended its branch to pat him comfortingly.  

Naturally, Feng Qingxiu plucked a few petals to chew on. The camellia flower had calming and blood-staunching effects—exactly what he needed to steady his mind.  

The camellia flower twitched slightly, silently rolling a pebble with its root.  

Meanwhile, Ji Mingyu continued chatting with her father until dusk. Outer sect rules required everyone to return to their rooms by nightfall. Reluctantly, Mingyu prepared to leave.  

Seeing her unwillingness, Ji Yunlai escorted her back and told Xiao Qing to rest early.  

The gentle voice saying “rest early” made Feng Qingxiu’s heart pound wildly. Nearly having another nosebleed, he quickly plucked a handful of petals to staunch it.  

Obediently, he cleaned up, bathed in the hot spring, and went to bed.  

Ji Yunlai’s cultivation allowed him to travel swiftly. In less than an hour, he returned to find a smooth pebble half-buried under the stone table, with only a trace of it visible.  

He picked it up, smirking at the poem inscribed on it: “As If Yesterday”

Skin like jade, fragrant as the soul.  

If not a dream, I’d forsake the world for this.

Tsk. Xiao Qing is getting bolder, Ji Yunlai thought.  

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

If you don’t want it to stay in a dream, then come here yourself.  

He chuckled, pushed open Xiao Qing’s door, and saw him sleeping peacefully, his handsome face calm and composed. The sight stirred something in Ji Yunlai’s heart.  

He leaned closer, glanced at the pebble in his hand, and then, in one swift motion, grabbed Xiao Qing’s collar. As Xiao Qing’s eyes snapped open, startled and flustered, Ji Yunlai pressed his lips to his.

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Mountain Patrol Bureau. 

The dim bronze doors creaked open, and a sliver of long-awaited light pierced through the darkness of the prison, falling on his handsome, pale face.  

Qiu Yuansheng calmly watched as several elders and senior disciples from the Pill Peak entered one after another.  

“Yuan Sheng,” the lead elder’s expression was both grave and tinged with anger, “Elder Yan has said many things to me, but I do not believe them. I came here to hear your explanation.”  

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

“Thank you, Master, but there’s no need.” Qiu Yuansheng replied earnestly. “Elder Yan is not a person prone to falsehoods, as you know. It is I who have failed you and the teachings you have imparted to me over the years. Please take care of yourself and do not let your disciple’s failures disturb your Dao heart.”  

“What exactly happened?” another senior member of the Pill Peak frowned and asked. “They claim you were responsible for what happened to Qingdi Peak all those years ago. That’s impossible. At the time, you had only been promoted from the outer sect for twelve years, merely a Foundation Establishment disciple. How could you have accomplished such a thing? If someone is framing you, Pill Peak will ensure justice is served.”  

“Indeed,” another elder interjected. “When you joined the outer sect, you were just a seven-year-old boy. The lower school is extremely harsh, yet you rose step by step. How could you have done something like this?”  

None of them could believe it.  

Qiu Yuansheng was the most talented and capable disciple Pill Peak had ever seen since its establishment. His behavior was impeccable, and under his leadership, Pill Peak had flourished. Why would he betray them? What external force could offer him more than Kun-Lai?  

Qiu Yuansheng smiled faintly. “You flatter me, my dear senior uncles. But as for what happened back then—though not entirely—half of it was indeed my doing.”  

His words caused the elders, who had always regarded him with affection and high hopes, to turn pale.  

Not wanting to cause further trouble, Qiu Yuansheng began recounting the events of the past:  

“My fate was peculiar from birth. The moment I was born, my mother died, and an epidemic swept through the city. I was abandoned by my family and left to die in the wild, only to be rescued by the Great Xuan High Priest.”  

“Did he coerce you?” one elder asked in a low voice.  

“He did not,” Qiu Yuansheng replied with a smile. “He only taught me strategy and the art of grand schemes but never any cultivation methods. He praised me, saying, ‘Even in ten thousand years, Great Xuan might not produce another prodigy like Ah Sheng.’”  

“And that’s why you remained loyal to him?” asked the elder who had entered last, his voice low and bitter.  

“Not quite. He sent me to Kun-Lai early on,” Qiu Yuansheng said, recalling those days with indifference. “Back then, he said, ‘My cultivation techniques are outdated. You should study in Kun-Lai to make the most of your talents. In twelve years, when you come of age, you can decide whether to follow me or stay in Kun-Lai. Observe with your eyes, judge with your heart. If Kun-Lai proves worthy, remain there. If I prove worthy, you may inherit my legacy. Choose once, and there will be no turning back.’”  

“So,” the lead elder’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, “you decided Kun-Lai was unworthy?”  

“No,” Qiu Yuansheng said calmly. “Kun-Lai is wonderful, but it’s a bit too peaceful for my tastes. Following the High Priest offered a more exciting chance to overturn the heavens.”  

“The Qingdi Peak incident—was it his idea?” the elder demanded, his voice shaking with anger as he clenched his fists. “What did the peak master ever do to you?”  

“Twelve years after my arrival at Kun-Lai, I ascended the mountain. At the time, Pill Peak was still part of Qingdi Peak’s alchemy lineage. The High Priest wanted to visit Kun-Lai, but with the Sect Leader around, he naturally couldn’t come.” Qiu Yuansheng chuckled, as though reminiscing about a fond memory. “The peak master did nothing to me. But the moment I stepped onto Qingdi Peak, I saw flaws everywhere—so many that my hands itched to poke at them.”  

Smack! A heavy slap landed on his face. The elder trembled with rage. “All those people on Qingdi Peak who died back then—just because your hands itched? What kind of person are you?!”  

Qiu Yuansheng casually wiped the blood from his mouth and sighed. “I was young and reckless. I wanted to test a plan to incite war with the spirit demon tribes. It was just a casual scheme of mine, but the High Priest, with his Human Immortal-level status, helped me arrange everything. Imagine, as a mere Foundation Establishment youth, being able to manipulate the lives of so many with ease—is there anything more intoxicating in this world?”  

“Your talents are extraordinary, and your elders cared deeply for you. Did you feel no guilt as you betrayed them?” another elder shouted.  

“At the time? None at all.” Qiu Yuansheng paused to think before continuing. “My emotions are shallow. The only attachment I’ve developed over the years is to the trust you’ve shown me. That’s why, when you came to ask, I’ve laid everything bare. Even when Qingnu tortured me, I didn’t say a word.”  

He figured that whether he spoke or not, Qingnu would torment him anyway—so why bother?  

“Are we supposed to thank you for that?” The elder, once proud of his promising apprentice, felt his fury almost disrupt the circulation of his own spiritual energy. Swallowing a medicinal pill, he steadied himself.  

“That won’t be necessary,” Qiu Yuansheng said candidly. “Apart from that incident, I truly admire Kun-Lai and have never caused further trouble.”  

If he’d discovered the Kun-Lai internet earlier, perhaps he would’ve stayed and avoided these grandiose schemes—but the world doesn’t deal in what-ifs.  

The elders’ expressions didn’t improve. One finally said heavily, “Tomorrow is your public trial. Are you aware of that?”  

“I am,” Qiu Yuansheng nodded. “During the trial, I will confess everything. I won’t allow anyone to think I was falsely accused. Consider it a small recompense to Pill Peak.”  

“Do you have anything else to say?” the lead elder, his anger now dulled by sorrow, asked.  

“There’s a rabbit fur doll in my room. If my ashes are recoverable, please bury it with me.” Kneeling solemnly, Qiu Yuansheng bowed deeply. “Thank you all for the care you’ve shown me over the years.”  

To die was no big deal—he wasn’t particularly attached to life, whether his own or others’.  

“Foolish to the extreme!” an elder roared, stepping forward to slap him again. The senior disciples of Pill Peak stood frozen, their idealized image of Qiu Yuansheng utterly shattered, until the guards from the Mountain Patrol Bureau came to escort them all out.  

The bronze doors shut, and the dark prison returned to silence.  

Qiu Yuansheng rubbed his dislocated jaw, carefully resetting it with a sigh. Getting beaten was tolerable, but the lack of network access was truly unbearable.  

*

Zhaoyue Peak, the Sect Leader’s residence.

Ji Yunlai received an invitation to attend Qiu Yuansheng’s public trial. The Qingdi Peak incident would finally reach its conclusion. Reflecting on the twists and turns of the matter, he felt the treachery of the world keenly and recognized that Kun-Lai still faced many perilous roads ahead.  

He was no longer the sixteen-year-old he once was. The well-being of Kun-Lai’s 30,000 cultivators now rested on his shoulders.  

Leaving Kun-Lai wasn’t an option—not just because of the network.  

He had realized that besides organized expeditions, disciples needed to venture out independently to hone their skills.  

“Xiao Qing.” He called out to his apprentice, who was diligently working on assignments at the stone table next to the white camellia bush. 

Xiao Qing, in a blue robe with white trim looked really beautiful, Ji Yunlai thought to himself, mentally checking it off.

“Master?” Feng Qingxiu looked up at him, his expression serious and upright, as if he wasn’t dealing with the assigned tasks from his master, but rather making some major decision.

He’s really good at acting, Ji Yunlai thought. Who was the one who pinned me down last night in the Sealing Demon Palace within my sea of consciousness? Recalling his performance from last night, Ji Yunlai tried to discern any trace of the fox tail in his apprentice’s eyes.

Feng Qingxiu remained calm, letting his master gaze at him. The look in his eyes was obedient and earnest, full of admiration, with no hint of anything different to be found.

“Truly worthy of being my apprentice,” Ji Yunlai smiled faintly. “Mingyu has arrived. Go and bring her here.”

He needed to build a good relationship between his daughter and Xiao Qing. After all, it wouldn’t be long before they might become a family… Watching Xiao Qing nod and leave, Ji Yunlai elegantly picked up the tea cup that had been set aside, taking a gentle sip.

This was the tea Xiao Qing hadn’t finished… It tasted bitter. When he lifted the cup, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Inside the cup were white camellia petals, known for their ability to clear heat, detoxify, and stop bleeding. How much nosebleed had Xiao Qing suffered to drink this early in the morning?

He extended a finger, lightly tapping some spiritual rice into the few missing petals of the camellia flower and cheerfully said, “Thank you for your hard work.”

The flower moved slightly, and the flower head gently rubbed against his palm in an affectionate manner.

Soon, Xiao Qing returned with Ji Mingyu.

“Father!” Ji Mingyu, wearing a yellow robe and skirt, rushed over like a yellow oriole and leapt into her father’s arms.

“Mingyu.” Ji Yunlai stood up to catch her, noticing that his daughter seemed to have grown a little taller. After comforting her for a while, he invited her to have a seat.

Ji Mingyu nodded vigorously, chattering on about various matters happening in the sect, both big and small. For example, how the newcomers didn’t know her true identity and thought she was just a pretty face; how some of the juniors of the elders who knew her identity were secretly competing with her; and how a young girl with many wild ideas had written a wonderful book and become her friend. However, Ji Mingyu couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something a little strange about this friend, among other things.

Ji Yunlai listened quietly, until he noticed his Dao Seed silently floating to Ji Mingyu, at which he froze.

Ji Mingyu also paused for a moment, easily picking up the Dao Seed, which only the Sect Leader was able to touch. She asked, “What’s this, Father?”

“This is…” Ji Yunlai was about to explain when the Dao Seed suddenly sank into Mingyu’s palm and turned into a faint imprint. At the same time, he heard a soft voice, similar to his daughter’s, in his mind.

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

“Main system activated, Mingyu 1.0 Auxiliary System booting up. Dao Seed world simulation and Dao law calculation beginning. Please issue simulation instructions, Mingyu main system!”

What? Ji Yunlai looked up at Mingyu.

Mingyu, looking at the mark on her palm, innocently glanced at him and asked, “What’s wrong, Father?”

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When Ji Yunlai returned to Kun-Lai Mountain, he almost had the illusion that he had come to the wrong place.  

This time, he had left the mountain in person for half a month because of Xiao Qing. During his absence, the entire Kun-Lai was gloomy and lifeless. Cultivators moved hurriedly as if lingering too long would result in being robbed.  

However, this atmosphere completely vanished the moment he returned.  

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

The mournful expressions were instantly blown away by the joyous exclamation, “The internet is back!” Kun-Lai transformed in a flash, as if leaping from the depths of winter into the warmth of spring, compressing several months of change into an instant.  

Ji Yunlai fell into deep thought—was life truly impossible without the internet?  

But he had no time to dwell on it; he was soon overwhelmed by a flood of issues. The peak masters and elders all gathered in the main hall of Kun-Lai, ostensibly to welcome him back but in reality to hold a complaint assembly.  

In the half-month he had been away, Kun-Lai had faced numerous problems.  

The most significant issue stemmed from everyone converting their spiritual stones into credits on the Net Charm, causing a severe shortage of circulating spiritual stones in Kun-Lai. As a temporary measure, the remaining elders established a borrowing system, allowing individuals to withdraw on credit to get by for now.  

Meanwhile, the external laborers—spirit demons and unaffiliated cultivators—who lacked the Net Charm accounts had amassed a large amount of spiritual stones, earning handsomely. However, disputes arose over unfair profit distribution, escalating into major conflicts. Since these incidents mostly involved foreign spirit demon cultivators and the Mountain Patrol Bureau was already short-staffed, the situation spiraled out of control. It eventually engulfed nearly all the external spirit demon cultivators. Only the intervention of several Kun-Lai elders managed to restore order.  

Now, almost all the spirit demon laborers who acted as transportation, dug mountains, delivered goods, fed spiritual beasts, or collected garbage and debris had surrounded Qingnu Peak. Thankfully, there were only a few deaths, though many were seriously injured.  

This left Kun-Lai severely lacking spirit demon laborers.  

“Assign minor tasks to outer disciples as part of external fieldwork lessons,” Ji Yunlai said calmly, seated at the center of the hall. “Distribute these tasks and offer a small amount of academic credit to those willing to take them. Have Yimeng Qingnu heal the few old transport turtles to restore order.”  

Kun-Lai had hundreds of peaks, each far apart. Without transporters, low-level disciples would spend most of their time traveling.  

“Understood,” the elder in charge nodded and took notes before reporting another major issue.  

Recently, Shennong Peak experienced several fraud incidents. Some disciples had used high-quality lower-grade spiritual stones to impersonate mid-grade ones, leading to significant crop failures in spiritual fields when these were used for farming. The resulting shortages of spiritual rice disrupted supply, leaving Kun-Lai unable to meet demands.  

Fields sustained solely by spiritual energy required normal growing times, but using spiritual stones could greatly accelerate the process, turning a yearly harvest into a monthly one. However, spiritual grains were sensitive to impure energy, which could lead to diseases. Worse, this polluted the fields, requiring months of downtime for purification and filtering.  

Typically, only higher-level cultivators, who could afford high grade seeds and spiritual stones, used spiritual stones for farming. Shennong Peak’s “landlords” primarily supplied basic spiritual rice to outer disciples, especially those recruited in the past year or two. And these fields were the most majorly hit during this period.

“Can’t others grow rice?” Ji Yunlai asked.  

“The rest are growing high-grade crops, like Yin-Yang Blood Rice, Spirit Mushroom Millet, and Moon Vegetables. Harvesting them early would be a significant waste,” an elder replied cautiously.  

“How much rice is needed?” Ji Yunlai inquired.  

“The allocation for this month has been fulfilled. Next month, we’ll need 11 million pounds worth,” the elder quickly reported a figure that would shock other sects.  

Kun-Lai’s spiritual fields produced an average yield of 700 pounds per acre—another jaw-dropping statistic to outsiders, though normal for Kun-Lai, where spiritual energy acted as fertilizer.  

“I’ll handle it,” Ji Yunlai said, nodding. After all, his Dao Seed was nearly ready, complete with ample labor inside it. This would be no problem.  

The elders were impressed and continued reporting other issues.  

Recently, someone maliciously memorized and distributed pirated copies of a few popular low-level cultivation insights from the Net Charm. This severely infringed on the rights of the original authors. The chaos of the past ten days made enforcement difficult, and nearly everyone now had a copy.  

Insights varied in quality, and the comprehensive interpretations of low-level techniques by high-level experts weren’t always superior to the lifetime understandings of lower-level cultivators specializing in a single method. Hence, some insights for low-level techniques had more subscriptions on the Net Charm than those by high-level cultivators (as the latter weren’t always comprehensible or applicable).  

Now piracy was rampant. Several original authors had even knelt at Zhaoyue Peak for two days, awaiting the Sect Leader’s judgment.  

“Track down the source. Anyone involved in pirating will be fined threefold,” Ji Yunlai said coolly.  

“But most are low-level disciples who can’t afford to pay,” another elder stepped forward hesitantly.  

Kun-Lai had a well-known saying: “Qi Condensation ants, Foundation Establishment dogs, Golden Core monkeys roam the streets. Nascent Souls are finally human, but only Demigod and Synthesis cultivators can truly feel enliven.”

This meant that Qi Condensation disciples in Kun-Lai are like ants, easily crushed underfoot. Foundation Establishment cultivators fare slightly better, but they still live hand-to-mouth. Golden Core cultivators are like monkeys—barely able to feed themselves adequately. Only upon reaching the Nascent Soul stage can one truly be considered a person, capable of having a career and no longer troubled by resource scarcity. As for Demigod and Synthesis stages, well, those are Kun-Lai’s true leaders.

Deduct from their Net Charm accounts, leaving the balance in the negative,” Ji Yunlai said calmly. “They surely won’t remain like this forever.”  

“Understood!” The elder retreated back into the crowd.  

The remaining group continued reporting various matters, large and small, striving to make the Sect Leader understand that he couldn’t leave so casually. Their words carried subtle resentment, hinting: This time you left in such a rush without even saying goodbye or giving us a return date. We’ve been overwhelmed without you. And after all this waiting, it turns out you came back on the flying peak just to accompany your young apprentice? Seriously? Let me tell you about the Great Xuan Emperor, who ruined his empire over a beauty—you mustn’t let personal matters overshadow the greater good!

Feng Qingxiu, standing off to the side, felt his ears redden slightly. Ruining an empire over a beauty… I mean, I’d love to be thay beauty, but that’s just something for my dreams…

Ji Yunlai glanced at his apprentice, who wore an expression of mock guilt, as if to say, I’m sorry, but I’m not changing—deal with it. His heart itched faintly. Lately, he’d been caught up in various matters, leaving little time to rest. He really should take a proper nap soon. His apprentice had been so diligent, even burning a rare stick of dream incense last night, only for him to be dragged away by these people to listen to their incessant chatter. They had caused him to leave his poor apprentice alone for days, and now they dared to talk about priorities?  

Do they even know what the greater good is?

While half-listening, Ji Yunlai’s thoughts wandered. The Net Charm was initially intended as a tool for learning and sharing insights. To boost enthusiasm, he had even enabled features like recharging, withdrawing, and tipping. Over time, disciples began using it for money transfers, appreciating its convenience—no need to worry about the quality of spiritual stones or scams. Eventually, everyone started depositing their stones into the Net Charm system and stopped carrying any physically.  

Convenient? Certainly. But seeing the aftermath of his brief absence, Ji Yunlai realized: if someone were to raid Kun-Lai, the disciples would probably surrender without resistance, as long as they were assured their accounts remained intact.  

Unacceptable!

After everyone finished their reports, Ji Yunlai spoke coolly: “Starting today, the Net Charm will only operate for six hours daily. I hope you won’t indulge too deeply; cultivation remains the foundation of our existence.”  

The elders and peak masters were shocked, protesting vehemently.  

“Sect Leader, your apprentice gets to use it every day!” A few senior figures from Sword Peak were present, and You Jia, tagging along, loudly voiced his dissatisfaction. “It’s unfair!” Feng Qingxiu had sold him most of his Net Charm time after all.  

Ji Yunlai remained unruffled. “If you’re my apprentice, then you’ll also enjoy the same benefit.”  

But if you’re not my apprentice, don’t even try to argue.

He turned and left, gesturing for his apprentice to follow.  

*

The outer sect.

Ji Mingyu finally breathed a sigh of relief. The network’s back online—Father must have returned!  

She had never missed her father this much before.  

Beside her, Ye Han also exhaled in relief. The days without the internet were torture. Mingyu had taken to bullying him daily—teaching him advanced materials with impossible deadlines, and punishing him harshly when he couldn’t keep up.  

Fortunately, his roommate Yuan Lie was a quick learner, and Ye Han had managed to avoid Mingyu’s wrath by copying Yuan Lie’s answers on several occasions.  

“Mingyu, are we still studying today?” Yuan Lie asked cautiously.  

“No, I’m going to see Father!” Ji Mingyu proudly displayed a report card full of perfect scores. “See this? For all those people who accuse me of riding on my father’s coattails—look at this! I’m just as much a genius as Yang Fuyin!”  

She was going to request for praise from her father!

“Congratulations,” Ye Han said with a look of envy.  

“Congratulations,” Yuan Lie added, though his expression carried a hint of something else other than envy. Hesitating, he asked, “Miss Mingyu, can I come with you? I’d just like to see where the Sect Leader lives—I won’t go inside.”  

“Absolutely not!” Ji Mingyu huffed. “Do you think just anyone can meet my father? Focus on your studies. Maybe when you reach the Demigod or Synthesis stage you can think about it!”  

Even Nascent Soul cultivators didn’t have the qualifications to request an audience with her father.  

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

She had grown tired of people trying to use her to get closer to him.  

Still, as she gazed into the distance, a strange feeling crept over her. This time, her father seemed to have brought something back with him. She couldn’t explain it, but it felt… like a part of her.  

How odd.  

I’ll ask Father about it when I see him. 

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Feng Qingxiu kissed gently, his calloused fingers tracing over the delicate collarbones beneath him as if unlocking a secret mechanism. With practiced ease, he slid the robes aside. He even found himself silently thanking Senior Brother Yang for his guidance—those books on dismantling various robes had proven unexpectedly helpful, and he remembered every detail clearly.  

In his mind, two little figures began to argue. One shouted, Go for it! Don’t miss this chance! The other cried, No, stop! This is against the natural order and morality—you still have time to back out.

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

The expanse of exposed skin below him was pristine and supple, so dazzling that Feng Qingxiu found himself both licking and caressing it. The two disheveled bodies writhed on the solemn Yin-Yang diagram, and he suddenly felt a warm sensation at his nose—he had a nosebleed.  

Why would he have a nosebleed in a dream?!  

Feng Qingxiu felt aggrieved, but his master beneath him finally couldn’t hold back and let out a soft laugh.  

“Xiao Qing, you’re tickling me,” his master said gently.  

No man could resist in such a situation, and Feng Qingxiu pounced.  

*

A day later, the two masters of Zhuiyun Peak were still nowhere to be seen.  

“Senior Brother?” Bai Shuixian and Yan Zhao, eager to catch up with their senior brother, gathered some trivial matters as an excuse and ascended Zhuiyun Peak under the guise of delivering reports. Unlike the formidable wards guarding the Sect Leader’s residence on Zhaoyue Peak, there was nothing here to stop them.  

However, from afar, they spotted their senior brother napping at a stone table beneath a tree. They exchanged a look of mutual puzzlement.  

Not even Synthesis, much less those at the Human Immortal stage, would normally fall asleep, especially not in a place lacking protective wards.  

“Could it be that Senior Brother doesn’t want us to disturb him?” Bai Shuixian whispered to Yan Zhao.  

Yan Zhao thought it was likely and, with a glint of mischief, devised a plan. Lowering his voice, he said to his junior sister, “I heard that An Xian has been bored lately and forcing others into sparring matches.”  

“Indeed. Poor Qiao Qiao, as her apprentice, can’t escape all those debts she owes. He’s been chased mercilessly every day,” Bai Shuixian sighed empathetically. “He hasn’t received a Dao Disc. We should suggest he go to the outer gates to gain experience. It’s about time he joined a peak officially.”  

“But her instincts are terrifyingly accurate,” Yan Zhao murmured, sighing again. “If this keeps up, she might just destroy a flying peak in one of her matches.”  

“Do you think the Sect Leader has developed any new sword techniques over the years?” Bai Shuixian asked in a low voice.  

“Definitely,” Yan Zhao nodded. Sending out a divine consciousness to locate An Xian, he sent her a message: An Xian, it seems the Sect Leader is teaching his apprentice some new sword moves.  

After sending the message, he nodded at his junior sister, and the two discreetly retreated.  

Sure enough, in less than a breath’s time, An Xian shot toward the Sect Leader’s courtyard like a streak of white lightning, arriving with a crash.  

The divine senses of a Human Immortal were razor-sharp, and the Kun-Lai Sect Leader woke instantly. Without moving from his spot, he raised his head, his hand still supporting his chin, and looked at her with calm detachment.  

An Xian gasped, realizing she had been set up, but before she could explain, she got what she wanted—a firsthand demonstration of the Sect Leader’s new sword technique.  

It took Qingnu a long time to extract the screaming Peak Master An from the stone she had been embedded into. Her excitement over gaining another Synthesis-level patient practically had her skipping as she walked. Meanwhile, Yan Zhao and Bai Shuixian, who had narrowly escaped a similar fate, quietly went to settle An Xian’s medical expenses with Qingnu.  

“Senior Brother seems really unhappy,” Bai Shuixian whispered to Yan Zhao.  

“Indeed. But he seemed fine earlier,” Yan Zhao frowned slightly. “Do you think we interrupted a pleasant dream of his?”  

“Does he even dream?” Bai Shuixian doubted it. “Human Immortals have such strong self-control that they rarely dream.”  

“Either way, let’s keep our distance for a while,” Yan Zhao said, taking their trivial matters with him as he turned to leave. Bai Shuixian quickly followed.  

*

When Ji Yunlai woke up, he noticed that Xiao Qing in his room had also stirred.  

Xiao Qing glanced around cautiously, then used an incantation to destroy his undergarments before retreating back into the covers, seemingly attempting to return to the dream.  

After rolling around for a while, he appeared disappointed when he failed to reenter the dream. Sighing, he began to tidy himself and wash up.  

Unfortunately, his shadow seemed to have returned to normal, betraying none of his thoughts.  

Even so, Ji Yunlai caught subtle clues: Xiao Qing’s fingers occasionally moved as if wanting to touch something. After washing up, he stood in place, silently dazed, his face occasionally flushing red. He would then recite a calming mantra to quell certain physical reactions.  

Several times, he seemed ready to open the door but hesitated, retreating as though his master outside was a terrifying beast.  

Tch. So bold when invading my mind and sharing divine communion, yet now acting so timid and obedient? Ji Yunlai found this quite disappointing.  

Still, Feng Qingxiu didn’t linger in his reverie for long. Within moments, he exited his room, tidy and composed, bowing with polite yet familiar deference to greet his master.  

Ji Yunlai observed him calmly.  

Across from him, Xiao Qing’s face was one of innocent obedience, as if nothing had happened.  

Such impeccable acting! Ji Yunlai scoffed internally. “How are your studies progressing recently?”  

Feng Qingxiu immediately stepped forward and presented his recent work, allowing his master to review it.  

As expected, there were no issues. His talent for learning talisman seals was such that it felt more like revisiting what he already knew.  

After examining the final diagram, Ji Yunlai asked, “Do you have any difficulties with your studies?”  

Feng Qingxiu hesitated slightly before responding, “Master, it seems that my cultivation has increased again.”  

Ji Yunlai extended his divine sense and frowned. He already knew that after Xiao Qing’s body had been tempered by demonic energy during the previous crisis, even though the energy had been sealed again, his body had undergone a fundamental transformation. Like a river channel widened by a flood, his cultivation surged forward, his Golden Core now pristine as crystal and on the verge of advancing to the Nascent Soul stage.  

Suppressing it further was no longer an option—it would be like trying to stop a baby ready to be born.  

“Then face the tribulation,” Ji Yunlai said, knowing resistance was futile. “The Forty-Nine Heavenly Tribulation won’t pose much of a challenge for you. Find a place to break through on your own.”  

The Forty-Nine Tribulation was a minor hurdle for those advancing to the Nascent Soul stage. Barring extreme bad luck, Kun-Lai disciples typically passed without incident.  

“Yes,” Feng Qingxiu replied, bowing before leaving.  

*

Kun-Lai Mountain.  

It had been nearly ten days since the Sect Leader left.  

The mountain was in disarray, its inhabitants pale and haggard. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a ghostly realm of the walking dead.  

“Ugh, another day wasted standing in line! What a waste of precious time!” A frustrated cultivator carrying a sack exclaimed, his expression so bitter one might think he intended to swallow the seemingly endless queue stretching down the mountain.  

“Can’t Shennong Peak open more windows for buying rice?” another cultivator grumbled. “Do their rabbits just eat without working?”  

“Keep your voice down. Don’t let them hear you,” a low-level cultivator warned anxiously.  

“What if they do? Look at how long it takes them to count a few hundred spiritual stones!” The grumbler raised his voice, “Let me count instead. I dare you!”  

A young cultivator dressed in robes embroidered with rice stalks emerged from the grain hall. His expression gentle, he reassured the crowd, “Please don’t worry. Shennong Peak consumes a large amount of spiritual stones, and this situation was unforeseen. There is enough rice for everyone, but many have been buying in bulk recently.” 

“No choice, really. Who knows how long the Sect Leader will take to return? If we don’t want to queue up too long, we have to buy a little extra,” a nearby cultivator sighed.  

“Exactly. Back when we had the Net Charm, transactions were instantaneous—even thousands of exchanges could be settled in seconds. Even if you ran out of spiritual stones, you could schedule trades on the Net Charm at a set price and time to exchange later,” said a cultivator in robes embroidered with rice ears. “Now everyone has to carry heaps of spiritual stones around. Higher-grade ones require change, medium-grade ones need discounts, and then there’s calculating stone quality differences before storing them. Honestly, we’re short-staffed.”  

“If we were that good at math, we’d have joined the Taiyi Peak by now!” someone quipped.  

“You don’t even have it the worst,” said a cultivator with medicinal herbs embroidered on his robes. “Counting all the spiritual stones at Qingnu Peak? That’s enough to make us medical cultivators cry.”  

“Serves you right for being so greedy!” a disciple from the Sword Peak scoffed.  

“Dare to leave your name?” the Medicine Peak disciple retorted.  

“What? Are you going to blacklist me? I don’t believe it. Kun-Lai also has the Pill Peak; you’re not the only game in town!” the Sword Peak disciple snapped.  

“You probably can’t afford Pill Peak’s pills either,” the medical cultivator said coolly. “The poverty of Sword Peak is far more famous than its swords.”  

This broadside sparked immediate conflict, and as tempers flared, disciples tried to cut in line, escalating the chaos.  

Nearby, a Mountain Patrol Bureau cultivator, accustomed to such scenes, stepped in with a flurry of blows, forcing the disciples back into an orderly queue.  

“Why didn’t you detain the troublemakers today?” someone whispered nearby.  

Without answering directly, a Mountain Patrol cultivator with a wolf-tooth club smiled and replied, “The Mountain Patrol Bureau’s prison filled up two days after the network outage. The higher-ups now say for Foundation Establishment and Qi Condensation troublemakers, just beat them up and let them go.”  

Foundation Establishment and Qi Condensation juniors, after all, couldn’t stir up too much trouble.  

“Don’t Golden Core cultivators get special treatment? No queues, right?” another cultivator asked curiously.  

“These past days, there’ve been high-level cultivators selling unauthorized cultivation insights everywhere—not to mention bootlegged Nascent Soul insights sold at a discount,” the Mountain Patrol cultivator said, shaking his head. “It’s absolute chaos, like a demonic festival.”  

“Right,” a Medicine Peak disciple added gloomily. “Recently, many cultivators have succumbed to Qi deviation, claiming they can’t calm their minds without the Net Charm. They try to meditate forcibly and end up with their true energy flowing astray. Even on our peak, a few impatient disciples have run into problems. We’re so short-staffed we had to ask Yuzhi Peak to help with acupuncture…”  

“How could you do that?” a sword cultivator exclaimed, horrified. The thought of temporary workers doing their acupuncture made the hairs on his back stand up. It was bad enough dealing with the Medicine Peak; now this?  

“We didn’t want to either, but what choice do we have when the Sect Leader hasn’t returned yet?” the medical cultivator sighed.  

“Yeah, if the Sect Leader doesn’t come back soon, I won’t be able to buy herbs, and my half-refined pills will be ruined,” a disciple lamented. “Do you know how hard it is for a newcomer to gather materials for a full batch of pills?”  

“Why didn’t you prepare everything at once? That’s the rule,” another Medicine Peak disciple asked.  

“Herb prices fluctuate! Haven’t you ever waited online for herbs?” the Pill Peak disciple shot back.  

Typically, medicinal herbs deteriorated quickly once uprooted, making direct purchases expensive. “Herb waiting” involved monitoring for discounted herbs leftover from treatments or pill-making. Disciples often juggled watching their furnaces or patients while scanning the network for bargains. This method saved resources and reduced waste, benefiting both buyers and sellers.  

“True,” the Medicine Peak disciple muttered, thinking about his nearly empty wallet. “When will the Sect Leader come back~”  

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“Yeah, Sect Leader, please come back soon~”  

“We’re waiting for you~”  

The entire Shennong Peak was soon echoing with cries for the Sect Leader’s return, like a massive summoning ritual.  

Passing unaffiliated cultivators couldn’t help but feel a chill run down their spines. 

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After hearing the reports from his junior brothers and sisters, Ji Yunlai gained a general understanding of the situation. The shifting nature of this space meant that anyone unfamiliar with it could easily get lost, making it challenging to recover them.

He divined the situation, tapping into the heavens and earth for insight, and discovered that Yang Fuyin had ended up in the South Sea’s Nine Abyss.  

The South Sea regions were essentially within Kun-Lai’s sphere of influence. Yang Fuyin himself had frequently worked in Haijing City of the Great Yan Kingdom, crafting seafaring vessels. Calling it Kun-Lai’s backyard wouldn’t be an exaggeration. With Yang Fuyin’s abilities, as long as he didn’t encounter a Great Sage or a Human Immortal, he shouldn’t face any major problems.

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Ji Yunlai shared this information, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. 

Knowing the approximate location was reassuring since their Net Charm—Kun-Lai’s spiritual communication system—allowed for mutual tracking within ten thousand miles. It would be easy to pinpoint Yang Fuyin’s position once closer. All they needed now was permission to send a team from Kun-Lai to Haijing to retrieve him.

Yan Zhao instinctively took out his Net Charm to send a message, only to discover he couldn’t connect to the main network.

Could it be…? Yan Zhao abruptly looked up. “Senior Brother, did you come in your true form?”

Ji Yunlai gave a slight nod.

“Then what about Kun-Lai’s network?” Bai Shuixian’s expression turned pale.

“Right! Doesn’t that mean the entire network is down for several days?!” An Xian exclaimed in shock.

Ji Yunlai had the urge to slap this group of junior brothers and nephews who seemed to care only about the network. Casting them a frosty glance, he said coldly, “And what of it?”

“Um, Senior Brother,” Bai Shuixian stammered, barely able to breathe, “you’d better return quickly. There’s no major issue here…”

“Yes, yes, Kun-Lai is more important! Please, go back immediately, Senior Brother!” Yan Zhao fervently nodded in agreement.

“We don’t even know how Kun-Lai is holding up right now,” murmured You Bazhua, the eight-tentacle Deputy Peak Master, while nervously stroking the jellyfish perched on his shoulder. His tentacles twitched uncontrollably. “It must be in chaos.”

“Yes, Master, please return!” Even Feng Qingxiu, Ji Yunlai’s apprentice who had followed him here, earnestly advised him to leave.

Even his own apprentice was urging him to go! Did none of them want him to stay? Ji Yunlai, who had never stepped foot outside Kun-Lai before, was incensed. His face darkened. “The enemy has not retreated. We’ll wait a few days before making any decisions.”

“Please don’t!” This suggestion sent everyone into a panic.

“Yes,” Yan Zhao pleaded earnestly, “Kun-Lai must be in total disarray right now. Sect Leader, you need to return and take charge! If not, forget about an external attack—even a minor sect might be able to overthrow Kun-Lai entirely!”

The more they begged, the more displeased Ji Yunlai became. With a cold glance, he picked up his apprentice and vanished.

“What now?” Bai Shuixian anxiously clenched her fists.

“We have no choice but to end the expedition,” Yan Zhao said calmly. “Though we haven’t concluded our trade with the Wu clan or ventured north to the North Sea, the North Sea territories were already plundered by Haijing’s fleet a few years ago. We wouldn’t gain much even if we went. Plus, the North Sea is fraught with the dangers of magnetic sea winds. It’s better to return now. Besides, the spoils from this expedition are considerable—emptying the Ziyun Dao Sect’s thousand-year reserves in the Yuntian Domain nearly matches the gains from previous expeditions. Kun-Lai’s network outage would cause far greater losses if left unchecked.”

“Agreed,” Bai Shuixian nodded, and the other peak masters concurred.

Thus, the group left the Black Witchland territory, walking out of the ravines along a narrow path.

“By the way, An Xian,” Luo Chi finally snapped out of his admiration for the Kun-Lai Sect Leader’s majestic presence and, to cover his flushed cheeks, casually asked, “why did you call that Wu clansman a ‘blind bear’ earlier?”

“You mean him?” An Xian thought for a moment before replying, “This place is pitch black, and the Wu clan has lived here for tens of thousands of years. Their eyes have long since degraded; they rely on spiritual techniques to perceive the world. If they want to see something clearly, they have to get very close. Otherwise, they can only make out vague shapes and colors.”

That’s why he mistook Yang Fuyin’s voice for a woman’s.

“Will he hurt Xiao Yang?” Yan Zhao still felt a bit worried, having watched Yang Fuyin grow up.

“Don’t worry. Wu Zhan doesn’t strike first,” An Xian assured him. “When I came here back in the day, I fought him dozens of times. If it were you and your bad temper, you’d have killed me already. But he endured it without retaliating. Besides, his tribesmen are currently inside the Dao Seed. With that leverage and Xiao Yang’s knack for taking advantage of every situation, Wu Zhan will be at his mercy.”

Realizing their earlier rashness, An Xian glanced at the now-empty Black Witchland settlement. She had no intention of delving further into the secrets of the Wu territory.

“You must’ve been my punishment for past sins,” Yan Zhao coldly remarked, glaring at her.

“Don’t kid yourself,” An Xian retorted without hesitation. “You must’ve accumulated virtue in your past life. Out of the disciples, who else besides me has reached the Synthesis stage? None of the other elders’ apprentices can even beat their own master, let alone me.”

Bai Shuixian chuckled and added fuel to the fire, “Exactly, Yan Zhao. Back when we were picking apprentices, we all wanted An Xian. But you grabbed her and said you only needed one apprentice, refusing the others. You sure have great taste.”

When An Xian’s mischievous nature later became evident, the other junior brothers and sisters even held a celebration. Although her cultivation and combat skills were exceptional, her knack for causing trouble far surpassed them. Yan Zhao ended up spending so much on fines that he nearly expelled her from the sect. Only after she married Bai Liu, the peak master of Qingdi Peak, who took over paying her fines, did their strained master-apprentice relationship survive.

An Xian smugly nodded. “If I didn’t think you had good taste, I wouldn’t have followed you!”

Yan Zhao merely sneered. If this conversation continued, it would infuriate him to death.

They returned to Kun-Lai with remarkable speed. Though the sky was completely dark, they found the sect’s defenses as vigilant as ever. After reassuring the disciples of each peak, they submitted their request to the Sect Leader at Zhuiyun Peak for approval to conclude the expedition.

Ji Yunlai, though aware of their intentions, ultimately chose not to oppose the decision after some thought.

He had a faint premonition that going to the North would be dangerous. The spiritual senses of a Human Immortal were rarely wrong, and since they had chosen not to go, he decided to leave it be.  

Was the web really that important?  

He truly couldn’t understand.  

Feeling irritated, he glanced at his silent apprentice nearby. After a moment, he let out a soft sigh and said, “The past few days have been full of upheaval. Go rest.”  

Xiao Qing nodded and left.  

Ji Yunlai, now in no mood to calculate anything about the Dao Seed or talisman wards, thought back to the recent events and felt slightly displeased. He propped his chin on his hand, resting against the stone table for a moment.  

*

Feng Qingxiu returned to his quarters, bathed in the hot spring, and then lay on his bed.  

He had no desire to meditate, his mind drifting back to the feeling of kissing his master earlier. His heart raced as if a fawn were leaping within it.  

Thinking about how his innermost feelings had nearly been exposed in front of his master, he both despised himself for having such thoughts and couldn’t help feeling a secret joy at his master’s tolerance.  

He vaguely understood his own feelings now.  

Though he couldn’t pinpoint when the pure admiration had shifted, the current him was certainly unworthy of his master.  

Even if his master chose to overlook his offenses out of their master-apprentice bond, it would undoubtedly change the way they interacted. Feng Qingxiu had always been clear about his goals, and until he was sure he could become better, he didn’t want to change things.  

So, it all came back to cultivation. Without strength, everything was an illusion. He would only become his master’s weakness.  

That was something he absolutely could not tolerate.  

Recalling the overwhelming power he had wielded in his demonic form, Feng Qingxiu frowned slightly but ultimately rejected the idea of relying on it. If he wanted to be with his master, the demonic form was absolutely out of the question. Deep down, he felt it was an enormous blessing to have been reborn as human. Changing that would be the true calamity.  

Once the demonic thoughts subsided, he resolved to focus on his cultivation. At the very least, as a mere Golden Core cultivator, he had no face to stand before his master and say, I love you. 

With this thought, he slowly closed his eyes. The day’s emotional turmoil had been overwhelming, and he needed to rest.  

However, after falling asleep, he found himself in a state of semi-consciousness, feeling as though something was calling to him. Rising from his bed, he looked around to find himself surrounded by a thick white mist, obscuring everything in sight.  

What was happening now?  

Feng Qingxiu’s heart tightened as he glanced around, only to see a grand and familiar hall in the distance. Its towering presence bore the characters “Sealing Demon.”  

This was the hall he had seen in his dream last time. So, was this another dream?  

He bent his finger backward—it folded like rubber, with no pain.  

Alright, it really was a dream.  

Skilled in navigating this scenario, he pushed open the doors and entered. The various celestial demons sealed within didn’t surprise him. He quickly walked toward the center of the hall. Just as he remembered, his master sat there, dressed in dark robes, his white hair cascading down. He was seated serenely on the Yin-Yang Tai Chi diagram in the middle of the hall, eyes closed, his left hand forming a mudra at his chest. He remained unmoved by Feng Qingxiu’s arrival.  

Recalling his actions during the last dream and the inappropriate things he had done, Feng Qingxiu felt his face heat up. But looking at his master’s refined and noble countenance, he hesitated only briefly before making a decision. In a dream, why should he restrain his feelings for his master?  

He carefully approached and knelt on one knee before his master, gently taking his hands and leaning in to kiss them.  

His master finally opened his eyes, gazing at him with a gentle expression that seemed faintly startled. But soon, his eyes lowered, as though silently permitting Feng Qingxiu to act as he pleased.  

“Master,” Feng Qingxiu softly murmured, pushing his master down onto the Yin-Yang diagram. He traced the contours of his master’s face with his lips, whispering, “I… I love you.”  

His voice was barely audible. Beneath him, his master raised a hand, caressing Feng Qingxiu’s face, but said nothing.  

Encouraged by the response, Feng Qingxiu couldn’t suppress his excitement. He trailed his kisses down the smooth, pearl-like skin of his master’s neck.  

His master glanced down at him but still did not speak.  

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Feng Qingxiu gently untied his master’s robes, leaning close to blow softly into his ear. “Master, may I continue?”  

His master’s gaze flickered, and after a long pause, he slightly turned his head away, his earlobes tinged with red.  

“Then… pardon my offense,” Feng Qingxiu said mischievously, lightly biting his master’s ear before kissing him again.  

He loved this dream—he truly, deeply loved it. 

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Ji Yunlai spent several days carving the intricate demonic sealing wards. 

Naturally, it wasn’t done in the pitch-black depths of the Nine Abysses but within his Dao Seed. After studying it, he realized this small world was rich in spiritual energy. However, that energy was being siphoned off to sustain the world itself, leaving no excess for cultivation or spirit demon entities. This significantly reduced the world’s energy consumption, allowing for a self-sustaining cycle. Moreover, it powered the defensive wards on the Dao Seed with an immense energy reserve, making it impossible for even divine or celestial forces to breach the Dao Seed within a few months. 

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To prevent any unexpected intrusions, Ji Yunlai sealed the Dao Seed’s entrance and exit, brought Xiao Qing to the surface of the sun, and focused on crafting the seal.

Removing clothes was a necessity, as the complexity of the wards required carving it at the level of inscribing 20,000 characters onto a grain of rice. Essentially, Xiao Qing’s skin was to be transformed into a demonic-sealing artifact, ensuring not a trace of demonic energy leaked out. The seal would also teach him to suppress and conceal his energy. Since his soul and body were legitimate reincarnations, this would prevent the Heavenly Dao from sensing the birth of a demonic entity, thereby averting a Heavenly Tribulation. 

For Ji Yunlai, the micro-carving itself wasn’t difficult, but when his hand brushed against Xiao Qing’s smooth, supple back, he couldn’t resist touching it a few more times. 

He noticed that Xiao Qing’s pale back trembled slightly and turned faintly red. 

Ji Yunlai felt guilty, slowing down his movements. When he moved to the area below the waist, his hands lingered too long in certain sensitive spots. Xiao Qing eventually grabbed his hand, firmly refusing further touches and insisting on doing it himself.

But how could that be allowed? 

Ji Yunlai lightly tapped his apprentice’s forehead, transferring the ward diagram directly into his mind, letting him know just how high the heavens were. 

However, to his surprise, Xiao Qing closed his eyes and, within moments, directed the medicinal threads to intricately spread across his body. The ward seemed to grow naturally, quickly sinking beneath the skin and disappearing. The dense demonic energy surrounding Xiao Qing, almost tangible before, also dissipated completely, merging into the ward’s lines.

Dressing himself meticulously and tying his long hair, Xiao Qing then knelt silently before Ji Yunlai. 

He had too many questions—about the shadow, the Xing Dao Master, and even himself. However, he knew it wasn’t his place to question his master. He only hoped for an explanation, though he wouldn’t force it if Ji Yunlai chose not to speak.

Ji Yunlai understood his apprentice’s meaning, and it made his heart ache to see how considerate Xiao Qing was. 

“In your previous life, you were my celestial demon, infatuated with me. Later, you reincarnated as you are now. What you saw earlier were simply remnants of emotional attachments.”

Even Ji Yunlai himself was unclear about many of these matters. The more he knew, the less he wanted to uncover what had happened. Whatever it was that had driven him—a naturally optimistic person—to seal away his own memories, it couldn’t have been anything pleasant. 

Besides, the Xing Dao Master and Celestial Demon Qing were things of the past. Involving them now would only invite trouble. Ji Yunlai had no interest in playing a convoluted game of “you love me, I love you, but you don’t love the current me, and I love the past you, not the present you.” That would be too absurd.

“So… my earlier impropriety,” Feng Qingxiu hesitantly began, his voice uncertain, his eyes avoiding his master’s. “Was it influenced by my past life’s obsessions?”

Ji Yunlai didn’t know how to respond and felt a pang of sorrow. After a moment, he said expressionlessly, “Correct.”

Feng Qingxiu bowed deeply. “I promise never to repeat such offenses in the future—”

“Shut up!” Ji Yunlai cut him off coldly. “This matter is over. Do not bring it up again.”

Feng Qingxiu lowered his head. A strand of loose hair fell over his right cheek, and the mixture of grievance and slight relief in his expression made Ji Yunlai’s heart skip a beat. 

But remembering his earlier words, Ji Yunlai sighed. My apprentice, I wouldn’t mind if you repeated it. Do you know that?

After another sigh, Ji Yunlai realized he had been gone for too long. Anxious about Xiao Qing, he hadn’t sent any messages, and the people outside were likely worried sick. 

No matter. There’s plenty of time ahead—surely his apprentice wouldn’t run away. For now, it was time to leave.

*

Beneath the Nine Abysses, in the dark lands of the Black Witchlands, Kun-Lai’s members had already gathered.

There was the Sword Peak Master An Xian, Deputy Peak Master You Bazhua, Poison Peak Master Shui Wugou, First Elder Yan Zhao, Second Elder Bai Shuixian, and even Yang Fuyin. Among them were Kun-Lai’s Seven Talents and the “treasure-hunting rodent” Luo Chi, who had merely come looking for treasures. Incidentally, Luo Chi had been startled into a daze after being teased by the Sect Leader. Distracted, he wandered off course, unintentionally led astray by the Wu clan’s wards, and spent quite some time finding his way back.

The peak masters, upon receiving Yang Fuyin’s call for help, quickly convened and decided to descend for a closer look. 

Nothing was more critical than a matter involving the Lord of Kun-Lai. They couldn’t allow their sect leader’s spirit fragment to fall into the hands of outsiders under any circumstances. Upon arrival, they encountered Wu Zhan, the chieftain of the Wu clan.

Wu Zhan, a cultivator of considerable skill, claimed to have no idea what had transpired afterward. The distance was too great, he explained—what could he possibly do in a battle between Human Immortals? At the time, he could only retreat far away, using a Wu clan ward for protection. Later, he witnessed the Lord of Kun-Lai taking a young man into the Dao Seed, after which it sealed itself, rendering entry impossible.

This was just one side of the story. Kun-Lai’s people naturally didn’t believe him. More suspicious was that the Dao Seed, upon sealing itself, turned into an ordinary stone, a far cry from its previous radiant, holy appearance. An Xian took one look and outright refused to acknowledge it as Kun-Lai’s Dao Seed, accusing Wu Zhan of swapping it for something else like a thieving bear!

Yang Fuyin, an expert in wards, found the Human Immortal Dao Seed too profound to discern at a glance. Tilting his head slightly, he coyly asked the tall man beside him in a girlish tone, “Big brother, do you happen to have a way to get us inside? We’re in quite a hurry.”

Since this involved the sect leader, everyone temporarily ignored Senior Brother Yang’s strange behavior. Though some couldn’t help but glance at him curiously, no one exposed him.

“I cannot,” Wu Zhan shook his head. “This is a Human Immortal technique.”

“Then hand over the Dao Seed. We’ll study it back in Kun-Lai,” Bai Shuixian said coldly. “The rest of you, search the area thoroughly. Leave no stone unturned.”

Returning the Dao Seed was reasonable enough, but when Wu Zhan heard “search,” his expression shifted slightly. He sternly said, “This is Wu territory. You cannot search here.”

“You don’t have a choice!” Yan Zhao, already impatient, raised his sword in a burst of fiery frustration. Though it wasn’t meant to harm, the attack aimed to clear the obstacle in their path.

Wu Zhan remained composed, but his firm grip on his staff slammed it heavily into the ground.

The strange bear-headed staff emitted a thick black fog.

The surrounding darkness deepened, making it impossible for the cultivators’ spiritual senses to penetrate. Meanwhile, water seeped ominously from the ground.

“Careful! This area is filled with Netherwater. Even touching it can corrupt a cultivator’s soul,” Yang Fuyin warned. He had faced this ward before and knew its dangers.

The next moment, Wu Zhan appeared silently beside him, unaffected by the black fog. With a swift motion, he struck Yang Fuyin’s vital point on his shoulder. Yang Fuyin groaned lightly and collapsed.

Using the terrain, wards, and natural barriers to his advantage, Wu Zhan managed to fend off five opponents without faltering. His techniques were bizarre, and while they might have been less effective on open ground during daylight, they were amplified many times over in Wu territory.

An Xian, adept with blind sword techniques, was still hindered by her reliance on spiritual senses. Luo Chi had a lantern that could dispel fog and clarify the mind, but before he could light it, Wu Zhan entangled him with a straw rope imbued with ghostly energy, rendering him unable to move or even speak.

Thus, the Kun-Lai cultivators fought Wu Zhan for two days in his territory before Yang Fuyin finally exclaimed, “It’s done!”

Wu Zhan’s heart sank as he saw a sudden brightness pierce through the surrounding void.

The black fog receded entirely, and his instincts urged him to retreat to his clan. Gritting his teeth, he rushed to the altar, grabbed a glimmer of light, and fled toward the abyss.

The Kun-Lai cultivators would never let him escape; he was their best clue to the Sect Leader. 

However, Wu Zhan’s movements were eerily unpredictable, and he was far more familiar with the terrain. Bai Shuixian intercepted him but saw him take a sharp step back and reappear farther away, emerging from the fractured void near the waterfall.

The closer they got to the waterfall, the more fragmented and dangerous the space became. Like invisible blades, the spatial fractures could sever anyone not careful.

Just as Wu Zhan was about to leap into the waterfall, Yang Fuyin snorted coldly. The ward in his right eye locked onto Wu Zhan, flashing brilliantly.

At the same time, black light erupted from Wu Zhan, clashing with the ward. It seemed the ward would detach from him when Yang Fuyin suddenly lunged forward.

In the next instant, both Yang Fuyin and Wu Zhan vanished after the ward glowing on him flashed.

“Damn it!” An Xian shouted, “This cursed place connects to who knows which Nine Abyss opening! Xiao Yang, what’s the rush when you don’t even have a wife?!”

“What happened?” Yan Zhao, overwhelmed by the series of events, nearly had a breakdown.

“The Nine Abyss openings are scattered and fragmented, connecting to other Nine Abysses. Xiao Yang must have been too hasty and didn’t check if there were any cracks!” An Xian was panicked. “Last time—just a hundred years ago—I placed the Dao Seed here on the Sect Leader’s orders and accidentally stepped into a crevice. I ended up at the South Sea Nine Abyss opening and had to fight my way out!”

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

“Yang Fuyin is highly skilled and protected by artifacts. Don’t panic.” Bai Shuixian gritted her teeth. “The Sect Leader takes precedence. Search the area quickly for clues and figure out which Abyss Xiao Yang fell into. He’ll be fine.”

“Who won’t be fine?” A calm voice interrupted.

Everyone turned sharply to see a figure clad in dark robes standing quietly by the Dao Seed. His expression was serene, devoid of joy or sorrow.

“Sect Leader!”

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