Yi Xiannian was dead.
Like a floating kite with a snapped string, his slender figure collapsed with a loud crash, a great mansion falling into ruin.
In front of the Renqing Sect stood ninety-nine stone steps. A large pool of dark red blood splashed high, hitting the stone lions before the main gate and slowly spreading down to the first step, staining the green moss red.
Yi Xiannian, the eldest disciple of the Renqing Sect, possessed mediocre talent, practiced evil arts, betrayed his master, destroyed his ancestors, and murdered the Sect Leader. Everyone had the right to execute him.
The people of the immortal realm had been long enraged but dared not speak, having suffered under his tyrannical rule for far too long.
His master, Lan Yibai, placed righteousness above personal feelings, severing his life with a single sword stroke and reclaiming the Renqing Sect into his own hands.
At this point, the cultivation world was about to usher in a brand-new era.
……
The bright sun hung high in the sky, and inside the gates of the Renqing Sect was a scene of thriving prosperity.
“Yi Xiannian.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
The scent of pear blossoms filled the tip of his nose, and Yi Xiannian’s cheek sank into something soft, his vision turning stark white.
The voice coming from beside his ear was indifferent, making his heart skip a beat involuntarily.
The first thing he realized was wrong was his hands.
He twitched his fingertips. The next second, the soft fabric on his face was brushed away, allowing him to see the full appearance of those hands.
Yi Xiannian’s pupils shrank sharply.
They were far too tender, even a bit rounded, with only a thin layer of callus at the webbing between the thumb and index finger.
He had clearly just taken a nap during recess, yet upon waking up, he was inexplicably kneeling on the ground.
, Yi Xiannian, seventeen years old, a completely ordinary high school student in the 21st century.
After years of burying his head in studious hard work, a thick layer of callus had long since covered his middle finger joint, merging into a part of his body.
Yet now, it was gone.
Yi Xiannian looked up in confusion, subconsciously wanting to push up his glasses, only to reach into thin air.
What met his eyes was a room full of tree shadows falling upon a mottled bamboo chair. The wooden window bore a dark color aged by time, and standing in front of the window was a tall figure dressed in a plain white robe, resembling a jade-carved Buddha statue.
Outside the window, a branch of pear blossoms extended inside, trembling lightly as it bore half-bloomed flowers, matching the immortal perfectly.
Yi Xiannian sat kneeling on the ground, staring in a daze.
Being a young youth with thin skin, a faint scorching heat rose on his cheeks.
Flustered, he lowered his head and caught sight of the garment on the ground. He hurriedly picked it up, but felt something amiss the moment he touched it.
, This was clearly a piece of pure white, narrow-sleeved silk inner garment.
Yi Xiannian’s hand trembled, and that inner garment fell back onto the ground with a rustle, blatantly brushing past the immortal’s robe.
The boy’s face flushed bright red on the spot.
In his panic, Yi Xiannian leaned his head forward to look toward the immortal’s neck, only to be caught by a pair of eyes as deep and cold as an icy pond.
The beauty lightly parted his thin lips: “Reflect at the Cliff of Repentance for three days.”
The immortal’s features were gorgeous to the point of being sharp, yet the coldness exuding from his entire body suppressed this vivid beauty, revealing an inviolable majesty that permitted no desecration.
Immediately after, like grabbing a little chick, he tossed Yi Xiannian over to the Cliff of Repentance and turned to leave.
*
As the morning light dimply emerged, the fog at the bottom of the Cliff of Repentance was about to disperse. A youth sat kneeling in front of the stone wall, his back straight.
His face was like sculpted jade, with clear contours that were not overly sharp, the lingering childishness added a touch of warmth and gentle elegance, naturally giving off a very reliable impression.
His eyes were clear and bright like a small fish, with a lighter pupil color filled with amber light, currently lost in a serious state of stupor.
His lips were ruddy, pursed into a stubborn line.
The youth frowned slightly, his eyes reflecting the surging sea of clouds in the distance, seemingly pondering over some difficult problem.
He remembered now.
In the final moment before he fell asleep lying on his desk, he faintly heard the wind-breaking sound of the desk behind him slamming a book shut, accompanied by a gnashing, resentful sigh.
“……What kind of terrible ending is this!”
Because he shared the exact same name as the big villain in that book, the good-natured Yi Xiannian had already been teased by every single person who had borrowed that book.
In the last second before falling fast asleep, he was still secretly celebrating that he finally wouldn’t have to hear any content regarding that book for a short period of time.
As the wind at the Cliff of Repentance brushed past his forehead, Yi Xiannian’s heart turned as dead as ashes.
He was certain that he had transmigrated into the multi-male-lead (“buying stocks”) novel that his classmate behind him had been reading, which featured a irresistibly attractive master.
The master, Lan Yibai, was a youthful genius who emerged in a white robe and shocked the entire cultivation world, a textbook example of an unreachable, high-and-mighty flower.
Later, due to an incident, his vital energy was severely damaged, turning him into a sickly person. He retreated into the Renqing Sect to ignore worldly affairs and focus entirely on raising his four disciples.
Among the four disciples in the sect, almost every single one hid their true capabilities.
The second disciple, Chen Erluo, was of human imperial bloodline abandoned in the wild, the third disciple, Jiang Sanli, was the future commander of the Demon Race, and the fourth disciple, Lin Siyu, was the next leader of the Demon-Beast Race.
As for Yi Xiannian, the eldest disciple of the sect, he was merely an ordinary human whom Lan Yibai had kindly picked up and raised.
Yi Xiannian gradually developed improper thoughts toward his master. As puberty hit and desires budded, he often stole his master’s close-fitting clothing to seek comfort.
Single-handedly, he managed to drag down the status and coolness of the other four love interests.
Guarding his hopeless love, Yi Xiannian dared not cross the line, conscientiously acting as a qualified eldest disciple in the sect.
He cultivated diligently and assisted in managing the sect, receiving praise both inside and outside the door.
Even though he had some peculiar little hobbies, Lan Yibai turned a blind eye to them.
Unfortunately, Yi Xiannian was merely an ordinary human, his talent naturally could not compare to the other junior brothers who possessed hidden abilities, and Lan Yibai’s attention was naturally drawn away by the other disciples.
Up to this point, it was still within an acceptable range.
However, the subsequent plot accelerated so wildly that even the author couldn’t recognize it.
As the disciples grew stronger, an undercurrent of forced love and possessiveness toward their master surged.
Yi Xiannian saw this in his eyes and felt hatred in his heart.
His mind had long since warped, he stubbornly believed that it was because he lacked strength that he couldn’t gain his master’s special favor. Consequently, he took forbidden drugs, cultivated dark arts, and walked down a twisted path. His cultivation exploded rapidly, leading the Renqing Sect to grow and expand all the way.
He came to dominate the cultivation world.
Yi Xiannian’s name resounded throughout the Three Realms. He forcibly married his master and made Chen Erluo, who held the noble position of Human Emperor at the time, his chief steward.
However, Lan Yibai was extremely disappointed in Yi Xiannian. Unable to gain the love he craved, Yi Xiannian blackened completely, wanting the Three Realms to be buried with him.
In the end, he was stabbed to death with a single sword stroke by his own master. The demon king was executed to the applause and cheer of the world.
Yi Xiannian’s expression gradually grew heavy.
“Eldest Senior Brother, time to eat.”
Interrupting his thoughts, a carved-jade-like little child walked over from afar, put down a food box, and spoke in a milky, childish voice.
Yi Xiannian lowered his eyes, inside the bowl were plain boiled tofu cubes, with the outer edges fried to a crisp in burning oil.
The child put effort into lifting his head, grinning as he made eye contact with Yi Xiannian, yet his round, dark eyes were cold, making Yi Xiannian’s heart quiver slightly.
Lin Siyu, Lan Yibai’s youngest disciple, and the future Lord of the Beast Realm.
The most clingy and unreasonable loyal-dog love interest, who held Master in the palm of his hand while being ruthless and cruel to everyone else.
Completely devoid of morality.
Yi Xiannian could tell that Lin Siyu was not close to him at all.
This sweet, precious posture was just an act.
Seeing that Yi Xiannian didn’t move, Lin Siyu pouted his small mouth, “Senior Brother Chen burnt the tofu again. It tastes so bitter.”
Yi Xiannian suddenly reached out, grabbing Lin Siyu’s lotus-root-like arm and lightly squeezing it, it was chubby and felt extremely soft to the touch.
The snow-white inner robe draped under the blue outerwear slid down with his movement, flowing like mist.
Lin Siyu’s eyes instantly lit up, burning bright like candlelight, “Doesn’t Eldest Senior Brother find me annoying? You don’t even want to pay attention to me.”
As he spoke, a bit of grievance surfaced in his voice.
Yi Xiannian’s heart softened. He tentatively opened his arms, slowly bringing Lin Siyu into his embrace.
His idea was very simple: right now, Lin Siyu was just a child, nothing more.
By the time Yi Xiannian expressionlessly swallowed down the bitter tofu cubes in one gulp, the little wolf cub in his arms had already found a comfortable spot to nestle in.
Beast-race shape-shifting during childhood was still unstable, Lin Siyu looked no more than five or six years old, an age where one would fall asleep the moment their head touched anything.
Yi Xiannian couldn’t hold back, he spread his palm and stroked the fur once. The fur in his palm was fluffy, and he curled his fingers in satisfaction.
“Yi Xiannian.”
The voice was not loud, but it carried the icy currents from high above the heavens, piercing through the stagnant air.
An inexplicable sense of pressure ensued.
Yi Xiannian swiftly retracted his hand and hid it behind his back, his eyes catching a figure dropping from the sky.
The wind lifted strands of hair as Lan Yibai stepped down an invisible staircase, silently landing in front of the youth.
Yi Xiannian raised his head, bumping right into those deep, completely temperature less eyes.