Tianyun Mountain, Qunxian Sect.
Two girls, one boy, and a cat.
Two young women were vigorously swinging shovels. The girl in pink on the left was tall and slender, while the girl in yellow on the right was curvaceous and charming. A massive pit had already been dug, burying a man up to his waist.
A gray cat stretched, lazily curled its tail, and walked past the pit without a second glance.
Zhan Zhaozhao rested his hands on the edge of the pit. His face was somewhere between a boy and a young man, still possessing a touch of lingering innocence. With bright eyes and a trusting, naive expression, he asked his two senior sisters, “Is this method really going to work?”
“Of course!” The girl on the right stopped shoveling, wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, and gave a sweet smile. “After all, Master dotes on you the most.”
When she smiled, the entire courtyard seemed to brighten. Her sharp canine teeth and radiant features exuded an irrepressible charm. Zhan Zhaozhao stared blankly, a sudden resolve blooming in his heart—he felt he would go through fire and water for her.
“Stop using your charm spells on him.” The girl on the left spoke coldly. She tossed a shovelful of dirt down, and the cold sand hit Zhan Zhaozhao square in the face. He shuddered and snapped back to his senses.
He gave his second senior sister, the succubus, a resentful look, thinking that his third senior sister was the one who truly cared for him.
“How much is he even worth?” Jiang Zuilan, the third sister, remarked. “He’s not worth the spiritual energy it takes to use a charm spell.”
Jiang Zuilan smoothed her pink robes and continued at a leisurely pace, “Master and her Dao companion have been broken up for two days now, and she left us in his care.”
She glanced toward the kitchen, where a man was slumped over a stone table. He was drinking alone, staring at the moon with a melancholy air, eight fox tails visible behind him. She considerately cast a soundproofing barrier over the area, pretending not to hear the faint, heartbroken sobs of their “Master’s Husband.”
“Currently, we don’t know Master’s whereabouts, but we can create an opportunity.” She continued digging the hole to bury her junior brother. “If your life is in danger, Master will definitely return!”
Their Master wore a jade bracelet with five emerald leaves. If anyone on Tianyun Mountain were in mortal peril, the corresponding leaf would light up.
Song Yin, the second disciple, leaned on her shovel to slack off for a moment. She smiled as she filled in the dirt. “Exactly. So, we’ll bury you here without food or water for a few days. Once your life is at risk, we’ll be able to find Master.”
“Brother, don’t worry. We will definitely remember you.”
Zhan Zhaozhao was already buried up to his chin. As he stuck out his tongue to spit out the dirt, he gave an earnest reminder: “If it doesn’t work, you must remember to dig me out before I starve to death!”
“Relax, Junior Brother. We have other backup plans running simultaneously to lure Master back.”
Third Sister Jiang Zuilan added, “For example, I’ve run up several hundred thousand in gambling debts.”
Second Sister Song Yin giggled, “Heehee, and I’ve kidnapped a few young disciples from the Immortal Alliance.”
The Great Desert.
Wind and sand filled the sky. In the distance, the setting sun was as red as blood, casting a crimson hue over the howling sandstorms that gathered into tornadoes.
On the second floor of an inn, a woman in black sat by the window.
She was as beautiful as a goddess from a painting, her expression stern and dignified. Her dark green hair ribbon tightly secured a high ponytail. She wore a black dress with narrow cuffs and dark green bracers adorned with bamboo leaf patterns. On her fair wrist was a jade bracelet with five green leaves.
She sat as still as a cluster of dark bamboo.
But upon closer inspection, one could see her hand trembling slightly.
Sikong Lan took a deep breath and checked the stack of bills in her hand once more. It was thick enough to be bound into a book. The stack on the left belonged to the eldest and third disciples. In black ink on white paper, the details were written out in neat small seal script.
The Eldest, Song Miao: Destroyed one grotto-heaven of the Shanyun Sect. Compensation: 50 million spiritual stones. Plucked several hairs from the Ancestor’s beard. Mental distress fee: 800,000 spiritual stones…
The Third, Jiang Zuilan: Demolished a local fabric store. Compensation: 5,000 silver taels. Destroyed 200 acres of private fish ponds. Compensation: 8,000 silver taels…
An even thicker stack belonged to Sikong Lan herself.
The Wantong Bank truly lived up to its name. Even though she was this far from the sect—so far that even her own Dao companion didn’t know her location—the bank had still managed to track her down. The spirit pigeon delivering the debt notices had landed precisely on her windowsill, mission accomplished.
When she first took the bills from the pigeon’s yellow claws, she had thought it was a long “let’s get back together” essay from Ling Yi. She had been prepared to ignore it, determined not to let her heart waver again.
But when she saw the astronomical figures, her heart skipped a beat anyway.
Holding the bills, she began to silently curse the ex-partner she had broken up with three days ago. That wretched Ling Yi—he really was a fox spirit. She hadn’t realized her daily life was so expensive.
Sikong Lan was a sword cultivator. Early in her cultivation journey, she realized that her path was quite costly. This was normal; no sword cultivator was cheap to maintain. Ling Yi had told her it didn’t matter—he could make money. Sikong Lan had agreed with him: the cost of maintaining her sword would be the primary expense, while they would be frugal and casual with other daily costs. At the time, Ling Yi had smiled and agreed.
And so, Sikong Lan had spent Ling Yi’s money on her precious sword with a clear conscience—feeding it spiritual stones, weaving sword tassels, giving it the best of everything. As for the food, clothing, and shelter for herself and her disciples, she let Ling Yi handle it, as long as they were kept alive.
She never touched the sect’s finances and had no concept of them. A few days ago, after breaking up with Ling Yi, she had left and continued spending according to her usual standards, thinking it was no big deal. It wasn’t until today, when she overspent and the bank’s debt collectors found her, that she looked at the itemized bills and realized how much her lifestyle actually burned through money.
One Biluo Thousand-Thread Dress: 2,000 spiritual stones. But she always wore that fabric; her wardrobe was full of it! No other material felt as comfortable or ethereal.
One cup of Pale Lotus Jade Tea: 3 silver taels. That was just her mouthwash tea! Why was it so expensive? The large-leaf tea next door was only one copper coin for a whole bowl!
One serving of Penglai Immortal Fruit Pastry: 50 spiritual stones. That could buy ten banquets at the restaurant across the street! Hadn’t Ling Yi said this stuff was worthless and could be eaten casually? She usually ate half and threw the rest away to feed the fish!
Her face remained expressionless, but her slender fingers gripped the bills so tightly they trembled.
Sikong Lan had transmigrated into this cultivation world. She had been born here and had lived in this world for a long time. In her past life, she was an orphan with no special skills other than being an absolute genius at studying. She had zipped through a specialized program for gifted youth and ended up with three PhDs and two Master’s degrees—enough diplomas to play a game of cards with.
In her previous life, her familial ties were weak, and her faded emotions had long been forgotten. After transmigrating, she used modern wisdom to navigate the path of cultivation with unparalleled success.
Chemistry, Metallurgy, Medicine, Electrical Engineering, Mathematics.
Sword Cultivator, Tool Refiner, Healer, Talisman Master, Array Master.
She was omnipotent.
As a PhD in Chemical Engineering and Metallurgy, the artifacts Sikong Lan refined using scientific ratios were invincible and efficient. Tool refiners across the world scrambled to imitate them, and a single piece was worth a thousand gold pieces.
Mathematics was the realm of geniuses. A math PhD could identify the core of an array at a single glance. Using math to cultivate made her an unbeatable Talisman and Array Master. When her array flags unfurled, she was invincible under the heavens.
Though she only had a Master’s in Medicine, it was more than enough. With the support of modern medical knowledge, she understood that while a cultivator’s self-healing was far beyond normal, the meridians and acupoints remained the same. Life and death were decided by a single silver needle.
She also had a Master’s in Electrical Engineering. Combined with her top-tier Lightning Spiritual Root, her sword moved like a dancing dragon of lightning. Purple electricity flashed, sweeping away all obstacles.
Furthermore, she combined sword cultivation with array cultivation. With a spirit within the blade and myriad transformations controlled by lightning techniques, a single sword became a God-Slaying Array. One strike could divide into thousands, cutting through dawn and dusk, reversing yin and yang.
Sikong Lan was the number one person in the cultivation world.
She had founded the Qunxian Sect on Tianyun Mountain and taken in four direct disciples. Ignoring the thousand-year tradition that only humans could cultivate, she insisted on recruiting four disciples who were half-demons.
The Eldest, Song Miao: A cat demon with an incredible feel.
The Second, Song Yin: A sweet-looking succubus.
The Third, Jiang Zuilan: A mermaid with immense strength.
The Fourth, Zhan Zhaozhao: A mascot she kept for fun.
As the founding ancestor, her reputation was illustrious. Sikong Lan could do everything except make money. No one who spent their previous life finishing five degrees would have time to learn how to turn a profit. And no one in this life who became the strongest sword cultivator while raising four troublemaking disciples would ever get the chance to save anything.
The money was entirely managed by her Dao companion, Ling Yi. He was responsible for earning it, while Sikong Lan was responsible for leading the disciples in spending it. She knew she had no money, so when the breakup happened, she left the disciples with Ling Yi for the time being. Mostly, she didn’t want to deal with their sudden debts.
Facing the bills, Sikong Lan’s dark eyes remained calm. What must come, would come. She would never admit defeat, and she would certainly not spend her ex’s money. At worst, she would take on some demon-slaying missions; even a poor sword cultivator could work hard to earn a living.
She would not get back together with Ling Yi. The mistake he made this time was too big; she couldn’t forgive him easily.
As evening fell, someone approached from the depths of the desert. He was an exceptionally beautiful man. The wind caught the black veil of his bamboo hat, revealing a fleeting, stunning glimpse of a face—narrow fox eyes that sparkled like gems, a small red mole at the corner of his eye, a straight nose, and thin lips.
He was tall and elegant. Tucked under his left arm was a fat cat, its tail curled as it dozed. His right hand held the hand of a young girl in pink, who barely reached the jade pendant at his waist and was currently munching on a candied hawthorn stick.
At the edge of the desert stood a few inns, their red lanterns swaying wildly in the yellow wind.
“In such a vast desert, there should be more shops,” the girl remarked.
“Oh?” the man asked patiently. “What kind of shop would you like to open, Little Third?”
Jiang Zuilan, who had used a transformation spell to look like a young girl, thought for a moment. “There are no fish in the desert, so people must really want to eat fish. I’ll open a shop that sells fishing gear.”
Ling Yi laughed, his voice sounding like spring water falling on cold jade. “Not bad. You have the same business mind as your Master. Go and play.”
Jiang Zuilan was a healer who had inherited Sikong Lan’s medical skills. Her hobby was opening shops, and all the money she earned from saving lives was invested into businesses she found promising. Currently, her net worth was negative.
Ling Yi was actually grateful for his disciples’ ability to rack up debt. Otherwise, he never would have thought he could use the bank’s bills to find Sikong Lan’s location.
Sikong Lan stepped out of the inn, sword in hand, exuding a cold, murderous aura. Clad in black with a green sword, she looked like a weapon ready to strike. She asked the waiter if there were any demon-slaying missions nearby.
This was the edge of the desert, and not far away was a town where there should be plenty of bounty missions. She didn’t think taking a mission as a Sect Leader was beneath her, nor did she feel that using her Transformation Stage cultivation to subdue small town demons was overkill. After all, slaying demons was helping people, and doing good deeds was its own reward.
It certainly wasn’t about the money.
The waiter tossed a gray rag over his shoulder, looking quite troubled. “There’s a flower-thief.”
“Tell me more,” Sikong Lan said, immediately gripping her sword, ready to eliminate the pest for the people.
“Word is, it’s a female thief. She specifically picks out handsome young men, and once she finds one, she hides them in a cave. It’s terrifying!”
Sikong Lan’s expression soured instantly. Though her face remained stony, her lips tightened in visible frustration. She put her sword back.
“Never mind,” Sikong Lan said, sitting back down, her interest gone. “Perhaps in a few days, she’ll return the person herself.”
The waiter was puzzled. “How does the guest know that?”
Sikong Lan just rubbed her black porcelain bowl and said nothing more. It was because of her “good” disciple, Song Yin—a succubus who looked sweet but loved to kidnap young men. Being a succubus, she was extremely picky; her prey had to be young, handsome, highly cultivated, and morally upright. She had yet to find one who met her standards, so she kept kidnapping and releasing them, back and forth.
Sikong Lan checked the bounty price; her second disciple was worth quite a bit. She began to wordlessly calculate how to contact Song Yin without revealing her own location, tricking her into turning herself in so Sikong Lan could collect the bounty before immediately letting her go.
As she sat there planning, a storyteller’s gavel struck nearby, and the surrounding guests were instantly drawn into a vivid tale. The storyteller began to recount the legend of the Qunxian Sect.
The story began a hundred years ago during the corrupt Chen Dynasty. A century ago, Sikong Lan was a princess of the imperial family, spending years in a temple built specifically for the royal family to pray for blessings. But one day, by chance, she saved a spirit fox intended for sacrifice.
Rumor had it that the fox had nine tails and its heart’s blood could cure a hundred poisons, which was why the imperial family had imprisoned it. The princess was supposed to be the executioner, but she fell for the sacrifice. She saved the spirit fox before the sacrifice and broke free from the royal family’s control. Later, she eloped, encountered a miraculous opportunity on the road, and received guidance from an immortal. Sikong Lan achieved enlightenment, displaying extraordinary talent.
The whereabouts of the spirit fox were unknown. All that was known was that Sikong Lan’s cultivation soared. She mastered sword, talisman, array, medical, and tool cultivation, pointing her sword toward the gates of heaven. She became the first and only Transformation Stage cultivator in the world, with no rivals left.
Sikong Lan had challenged the twelve great sects. By her own strength, she fought them all. Transforming her qi into a sword, she split the sea with a single strike. In an instant, her sword intent blotted out the sun and made the mountains tremble. Her grace was unparalleled, standing alone at the peak of the sword’s path.
She became famous in a single battle, known as the number one person in the immortal realm. Sikong Lan was incredibly powerful but perpetually expressionless. Her likes and dislikes never showed on her face; others couldn’t fathom her inner thoughts and only sighed that she must be deeply calculating and old-fashioned. Such a “killing machine” terrified the entire cultivation world.
It wasn’t until she established her own sect on Tianyun Mountain—the first to ever accept demon cultivators—and began to cultivate her character while raising disciples that the cultivation world finally found some peace. At the same time, the Great Powers couldn’t help but wonder: what would become of a sect that accepted demons?
Sikong Lan sat at the very edge of the inn, holding a large bowl of coarse tea, listening as the storyteller grew more animated amidst constant applause and cheers. The tea in her bowl rippled with the noise.
Sikong Lan was distressed. How was she supposed to maintain her “omnipotent” persona? And why was this world so prejudiced against someone with a natural “resting stern face”? She just lacked expression; how did she become known as a cold-blooded killing machine?
Sikong Lan sighed inwardly and continued thinking of ways to make money. She picked up her sword, intending to go out and try her luck.
The inn was crowded, so Sikong Lan slowed her pace, weaving through the throng. Someone intentionally brushed past her, their veil fluttering. Sikong Lan was only on guard against handsome single men, fearing it was her shapeshifting fox-spirit companion. She had naturally lowered her guard against someone traveling with a child.
By the time they came face-to-face, it was too late to avoid him.
Ling Yi wore a bamboo hat and brushed aside the black veil with one hand. His fingers were fair and slender with distinct joints, like someone parting a beaded curtain to reveal a masterpiece of jade.
As the saying goes, a beauty is best seen under the lamp. It was now the twilight hour of magic. The inn’s lanterns were lit, and candles flickered on the tables, casting a dim, hazy glow. His veil was half-open, perfectly revealing most of his peerless face. His fox eyes were now mimicking the look of a puppy’s—glistening with moisture, a look of aggrieved sadness, the corners of his eyes tinged with red.
“You did that on purpose,” Sikong Lan said, unmoved, crossing her arms coldly. It was definitely intentional. He used a “beauty trap” right away. He had probably calculated exactly what angle to show, what percentage of his face to reveal, and carefully designed every movement.
“Hmm?” Ling Yi still held up his hat, tilting his head slightly. His eyebrows arched as his candlelit eyes stared at her intently, filled with surprise and confusion, as if he truly knew nothing and was waiting for her to enlighten him.
Sikong Lan didn’t criticize his beauty trap. She knew there were many other things Ling Yi had done on purpose—like never telling her how much she was spending, which allowed the “financially illiterate” Sikong Lan to leave a trail for the bank to lock onto her location.
Sikong Lan’s only flaw was her lack of contact with money. Last life she spent every day studying; this life she spent every day practicing. She truly had no time to make money. And the fox spirit’s ability to attract wealth was too strong; he had actually used money to fish her out.
After two hundred years as Dao companions, their rapport remained. Ling Yi only had to look at her eyes to know what she was thinking. He took off his bamboo hat, placed it on the table, and sat down beside her, as if he had already forgotten about the argument and the breakup. He acted as though they were just out for a stroll.
He very cleverly sat on the side closest to the door to prevent Sikong Lan from suddenly making a run for it. He said softly, “I’ve already paid back the money to the bank. Don’t worry.”
Sikong Lan replied, “We broke up. I don’t spend an ex’s money.”
The smile on Ling Yi’s face froze before fading. He lowered his head and whispered, “I only ever earned money because I wanted you to spend it.”
Sikong Lan held her tea, staring at the scar on his palm, saying nothing. Across Ling Yi’s palm and fingers was a horizontal wound, looking as though it had been left by gripping a dagger. The scar had scabbed over slightly, but because it was caused by a divine weapon, it healed slowly and painfully.
“Does your hand still hurt?” she asked.
Ling Yi’s expression shifted, as if either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would be the wrong answer. After all, the fact that he was injured was a mistake in her eyes. If he hadn’t been stopped in time three days ago, the divine weapon would have taken his heart’s blood.
He looked at Sikong Lan, reached out, and tugged at her sleeve, shaking it gently. “If I say it hurts, will you feel sorry for me?”
“No,” Sikong Lan said, putting her cup down heavily with a clack, making the green tea surface slosh. “It’s better if it keeps hurting so you’ll always remember.”
The third disciple, Jiang Zuilan, went upstairs and returned to the main hall, having shed her transformation and returned to her original appearance. She was a tall girl in a thin pink dress, looking thin and pale with a slight air of melancholy. Her expression was weak, yet her eyes occasionally revealed a detached indifference toward the world.
Sikong Lan looked her over. “Have you lost weight?”
“Really? That’s good then.” Jiang Zuilan acted out a bit more weak sorrow, using her long white sleeves to dab at her eyes as if wiping away tears. She said, “I’ll look more like a widow this way. I heard creditors won’t harass a widow, so I can delay paying back the money I owe.”
In truth, Jiang Zuilan had no intention of paying it back herself. She had other businesses she wanted to invest in and would continue to spend money endlessly. She just wanted to stall for time until Master and Master’s Husband stopped fighting; once Master’s Husband was happy, he would pay off all her debts.
Ling Yi was rich, generous, and doted on the children. Unfortunately, he was also “henpecked.” When Sikong Lan said she wanted to train the disciples’ self-sufficiency, Ling Yi truly stopped giving them money on the surface.
The Eldest, Song Miao, only cared about sleeping and didn’t care for gold or silver. The Second, Song Yin, was still busy kidnapping young men and likely wouldn’t have time to help her. The Fourth, Zhan Zhaozhao, was just a silly kid who couldn’t be relied upon. To fill her financial holes, Jiang Zuilan could only look to Ling Yi.
Jiang Zuilan’s gaze fell on the five-leaf bracelet on her Master’s wrist, and she had a vague feeling she had forgotten to report something. But it probably wasn’t important. Forget it.
“Won’t harass a widow?” Sikong Lan suddenly echoed.
Jiang Zuilan blinked, surprised by the sudden icy tone in her Master’s voice, and didn’t have time to respond.
She heard her Master snort. “Your Master almost became a widow three days ago.”
Jiang Zuilan: ?
Shocking gossip. Could this be the inside story of the breakup? She looked at the person beside her with a shocked and questioning expression.
Ling Yi: “…It wasn’t that serious.” He rubbed his nose awkwardly and reached for Sikong Lan’s sleeve again to beg for forgiveness, but she stood up and swept out of the room. Ling Yi’s hand froze in mid-air before he withdrew it helplessly, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure.
Sikong Lan returned to her room. Jiang Zuilan hurriedly followed and closed the door.
Sikong Lan lit a stick of incense and spoke only to Jiang Zuilan. Jiang Zuilan stopped trying to mediate and brought up another urgent matter, carefully asking about her Master’s future plans. “Master, the Great Sect Competition is approaching. What are our plans for the Qunxian Sect?”
A soundproofing barrier was raised.
Sikong Lan lowered her eyes. “I cannot stay in the sect openly for now, nor can I attend events as the Sect Leader. My cultivation… something went wrong half a month ago.”