“Master, you want me, a fish, to climb a tree?”
Jiang Zuilan stood under the toon tree, looking up at the tips of the branches with great difficulty.
Didn’t they agree on teaching students according to their natural talents? What sense did it make to force a mermaid from the deep sea to climb a tree?
Sikong Lan stood under the tree with her arms crossed. “I’m letting you challenge yourself.”
She didn’t seem to care. “It’s such a short tree. What is there to be afraid of?”
Ling Yi and Zhan Zhaozhao shook out a tarpaulin net, each holding one side beneath the tree, ready to catch the falling toon buds.
Jiang Zuilan was still hesitant. “But with my strength, I might easily snap the whole thing.”
Ling Yi comforted his disciple, “If you break it, I’ll pay for it.”
Sikong Lan shot him a glare, and he immediately corrected himself. “…I’ll only pay for one branch. You must gauge it well and control your strength.”
To prevent Master and Master’s Husband from arguing again, and for the sake of the sect’s harmony, Jiang Zuilan gritted her teeth and climbed the tree.
She worked hard to pick the toon buds. The leaves and branches she brushed against fell like raindrops, scattering everywhere—except they didn’t land on the tarpaulin. Instead, they all landed precisely on Sikong Lan.
Sikong Lan looked up calmly. “Jiang Zuilan, do you have an issue? If you do, you can just say it.”
Jiang Zuilan was trembling, her hand still straining toward the tender buds. Plop. A seedling fell, once again landing vertically right on top of Sikong Lan’s head.
Just as Sikong Lan took a deep breath, preparing to scold her, Jiang Zuilan scrambled to grab a branch. Her fish tail emerged, tightly coiling around the tree trunk as she cried out piteously, “Master, I can’t get down!”
Song Yin’s assigned task was to make fermented bean curd, but she didn’t know how.
She cupped her face in her hands. “Let’s give the dirty and tiring work to Zhan Zhaozhao.”
“Fine,” Jiang Zuilan agreed. She had just been hauled down from the tree by the scruff of her neck by Master and was currently using a wooden clip on her nose while washing the toon seedlings.
Song Yin beckoned Zhan Zhaozhao over like she was calling a puppy. “Do a good job. If you do, Senior Sister will reward you with something nice from the Shenbing Pavilion.”
The Shenbing Pavilion specialized in selling high-quality weapons, housing all the world’s divine armaments—sabers, swords, daggers, Emei piercers, bows, and brass knuckles. The prices were exorbitant, the quality was top-tier, and the craftsmanship was superior.
The Shenbing Pavilion was a chain business with branches all over the cultivation world. Flags bearing its name fluttered on the central streets of every major city. The daily turnover at its counters was enough to buy a small sect; it was filthy rich, wealthy enough to rival a nation.
Previously, Zhan Zhaozhao had told his senior sisters that he lacked a weapon.
Zhan Zhaozhao studied equipment cultivation. As a new initiate, he only knew how to make small, trifling things, and he often craved the divine weapons used by other sword and saber cultivators.
Everyone suggested to him, “What’s so hard about that? Just go to Master. Master knows how to do everything.”
Sikong Lan was indeed the number one equipment cultivator in the world. At the time, she happened to be experimenting with new weapons and immediately forged a very powerful one, handing it to him casually.
The weapon was a peerless divine artifact, but it was very uncomfortable to use. Zhan Zhaozhao couldn’t handle such a lethal tool and ended up breathless every time he used it.
Carrying the saber, he complained to Master, “It’s good for fighting, but it’s not comfortable to use.”
Sikong Lan was surprised. “Why care about comfort? Isn’t it enough that it kills efficiently?”
Clearly, the logic of the strong was not something Zhan Zhaozhao could grasp. Therefore, he still longed for a weapon that fit him well.
Zhan Zhaozhao had inherited Ling Yi’s talent for cooking and was an excellent cook. He quickly got the hang of the task Song Yin gave him.
Though there were many accidents along the way—for instance, when the tofu was left to mold, Jiang Zuilan thought it had gone bad.
Jiang Zuilan, carrying a bundle of washed toon seedlings with a wooden clip on her nose, happened to walk by.
“What is this? I can smell it even with my nose clipped. I’ll help you throw it away.”
Splat. Jiang Zuilan casually tossed the results of his work.
Zhan Zhaozhao even tried to innovate, starting from moldy beans, but he ended up making sauce instead. He had no choice but to start over.
Although these accidents delayed them quite a bit, fortunately, Song Yin’s arrays were exquisite. She used an array to accelerate the process, finishing the task on time. The resulting fermented bean curd was dense, soft, and smooth.
True to her word, Song Yin took Zhan Zhaozhao to browse the Shenbing Pavilion.
Inside the shop, gold sparkled and divine treasures radiated light. Whether it was custom patterns or exotic forbidden curses, every weapon was perfectly presented.
There was no price too high to pay, and no divine weapon that couldn’t be made.
Song Yin let Zhan Zhaozhao pick whatever he wanted.
“Wow, Senior Sister, can I really pick anything?” Zhan Zhaozhao’s eyes lit up. He tugged on his Second Senior Sister’s sleeve, feeling worried.
“Senior Sister, did some young master spend his entire fortune to pursue you? If you don’t like him, I won’t spend this money. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
“Senior Sister, if we can’t afford it, forget it. You can’t leave me here to work off the debt later!”
Song Yin waved her hand dismissively, telling him to relax. “Don’t worry, I have influence. The Shenbing Pavilion will give me the weapon.”
Just as she said, she walked up to the counter and boldly handed over a blue crystal card.
When the receptionist saw the card, their attitude immediately became respectful. People bowed to serve them along the way, serving tea and water in a display of supreme hospitality.
In the end, Zhan Zhaozhao chose a weapon—a Heaven-grade item called the “Heaven-Measuring Ruler.”
Song Yin tapped the blue card. The receptionist packed the weapon into a golden box and presented it with both hands, a fawning and eager smile on their face. They escorted the two all the way to the door. “Take care, and we look forward to your next inspection.”
Zhan Zhaozhao held his new weapon, his eyes beaming. “Senior Sister is so generous!”
“How can our Senior Sister be so good to me!”
Song Yin lifted her head proudly, signaling him to keep it low-key.
Just then, they ran into Sikong Lan and Jiang Zuilan, who naturally heard Zhan Zhaozhao’s endless, flowery praise.
“What?” Jiang Zuilan asked, puzzled. “Don’t you know? The Shenbing Pavilion is our family’s.”
The Shenbing Pavilion was the property of the Qunxian Sect, and the manager was Ling Yi.
Sikong Lan glanced at the box.
Oh, just a regular defective product, sold at a high price again.
Because the “fox spirit” (Ling Yi) was quite unscrupulous and could sell the weapons Sikong Lan casually created for astronomical prices, the Shenbing Pavilion’s revenue had steadily remained in the top three of the cultivation world’s businesses for a hundred years.
So, for Song Yin to take something from the Shenbing Pavilion was just moving money from the left hand to the right. She had earned Zhan Zhaozhao’s praise for nothing.
By the rocks where the withered vines intertwined.
The first two dishes had both received the dragon’s praise.
“Not bad,” the Dragon Breath said, nodding slowly.
“Both have brought back memories. What is the third dish?”
For the third dish, everyone who had come to attempt the challenge before thought it surely had to be a rare delicacy from the mountains or the sea, so they had put all their effort into cooking.
A True Lord had made “Nine-Fold Eel”—crispy on the outside, tender and fragrant on the inside; a Fairy had made “Jade Dew Cold Frost Sliced Fish” with exquisite plating; an equipment elder had found a thousand-year-old crab and made “Hibiscus Crab Egg Custard,” concentrating luxurious ingredients into a single pot.
But they had all failed. None had gained the Dragon Breath’s favor.
Sikong Lan steadily lifted the cover.
On the tray was nothing but a porcelain plate, a small bowl, and a spoon. Inside was a bowl of sweet tofu pudding.
“On the day your grandmother planted the toon tree for you, you slept for the whole afternoon. Your family members came and went, but they were very quiet, unwilling to wake you. They were simply happy to see you.
“I think they hoped you could always have such peaceful and worry-free afternoons.”
Sikong Lan looked back at the Azure Dragon, neither humble nor arrogant.
According to the biographies in the Listening Wind Tower, it was said that the Azure Dragon wanted to eat because it was a glutton.
But in reality, it wasn’t because it was a glutton. It was because its power and body had reached a point where they could barely be maintained.
It could not see, and it could not speak; it only had a faint sense of taste left.
With its remaining sense of taste, it wanted to remember home one last time.
Before it was a bowl of extremely simple tofu pudding. Yet, the Dragon Breath’s eyes turned red as tears fell.
Even dragons can fall into ruin, and even the spiritual energy of heaven and earth can vanish.
But home would always exist in its mind.
A happy childhood, a youth of upheaval, and a middle age of destitution.
It was happy as a child. Those memories of home, playing with parents and siblings, arguing over trivial matters like whether tofu pudding should be sweet or salty—the final point of those memories condensed into a bowl of pure white, smooth, sweet tofu pudding.
During most of the wretched and painful moments of its life, it was reminiscing about the sweetness from the very beginning.
Whether grand or ordinary, as long as it’s worth remembering, it’s enough. Don’t obsess over the later gains and losses.
Sikong Lan said calmly, “Your mother might not have been unaware that it would be difficult to recover the spiritual energy. When she saved you, she was just saving you, out of instinct. She hoped you would be healthy and happy.”
The dragon swallowed the sweet tofu pudding in one gulp, its expression finally one of relief.
The Dragon Breath completely vanished. On the cliff, where it had once coiled, a yellow flower bloomed.
The vine fell, fluttering down into Sikong Lan’s hand.
Sikong Lan put the vine away and asked, “Where is Song Yin?”
“Gone to eliminate a demon.”
Song Yin had taken on a mission.
The missions issued by the Immortal Alliance were categorized into four grades: Heaven, Earth, Mysterious, and Yellow. Heaven-grade was the hardest and rarest, yielding the most points. Heaven-grade was worth 100 points, Earth-grade 50, Mysterious-grade 10, and Yellow-grade 1.
This mission was an Earth-grade one. As soon as Song Yin saw the mission list update, she immediately used an array to teleport there, wanting to snatch the generous points. It was worth fifty points.
The opponent was a Three-Tailed Sharp-Blade Tiger Demon, wicked and stubborn, with a cultivation level equivalent to the Great Perfection of the Golden Core stage in humans.
Song Yin ascended the mountain. Her Pear Blossom Umbrella swung like the wind, and her exquisite arrays summoned golden chains to trap the tiger for a time. She was fighting above her level, so she sought stability, planning to slowly wear it down within the array.
Unexpectedly, a competitor appeared. The hum of swords vibrated through the mountain. Several sword cultivators were searching the area, clearly targeting this tiger and its significant points.
Judging from the invisible scouting array Song Yin had placed earlier, the newcomers were at least of the high-level Golden Core stage—higher than her. Song Yin had already finished most of the fight and spent a lot of energy; it would be easy for these people to swoop in and take the kill.
Song Yin gripped the handle of her Pear Blossom Umbrella, her knuckles turning white. She was anxious and didn’t want those high-level sword cultivators to steal the credit.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and upon opening them, decisively activated her innate charm ability.
In those beautiful, rounded almond eyes, the pupils instantly turned a deep, scarlet red.
It was only for a split second, but it felt as if a giant bell in the sky had been struck. The tiger demon’s head throbbed.
Song Yin’s tone was like cloying honey. “Good baby, go and ram into that rock yourself.”
The tiger demon only wanted to obey her. With one leap, it smashed itself against a giant boulder, blood splattering from its skull.
The mountain echoed with the sound of the tiger demon repeatedly and desperately slamming into the rock, seemingly feeling no pain at all.
“Good baby, take your own claws and slit your own throat.”
The tiger demon did as told.
Its claws were sharp and carried a potent poison. It cleanly severed its head—already a mangled mess of red and white—from its neck.
The massive head fell, with only a small bit of skin on the back of the neck still attached. Only after all signs of life vanished did its claws stiffen and drop.
Song Yin quickly delivered a final blow to end the battle.
Carrying the tiger’s head, she meticulously gathered her spoils of war. She was overjoyed; she would have a new tiger-skin coat!
Having obtained the point reward, Song Yin acted triumphantly. She deliberately carried her white Pear Blossom Umbrella and flew high above the mountain so those searching sword cultivators would see her.
She completely ignored their sour expressions, humming a song to herself as she flaunted her spoils.
Pink flowers from the clouds surrounded her goose-yellow skirt, making her look like a goddess from the nine heavens. She departed loftily, her voice echoing through the valley in a slow, lingering circle.
“Oh my, being an Array Master is truly wonderful. Everything is faster than for everyone else.”
Song Yin returned to the inn. She had just picked up a carved wooden comb to brush the fur on the tiger’s back, planning the style of her coat.
Suddenly, the world began to spin, and her vision went dark.
She abruptly remembered something.
To consolidate her cultivation faster after her dual cultivation, she had asked Jiang Zuilan for a jar of pills. Jiang Zuilan had developed the medicine specifically for her, targeting the constitution of a charm demon. After taking the medicine, her cultivation was indeed stable and solid, and her meridians were clear.
However, Jiang Zuilan had warned her that although the medicine was good, there was a taboo.
“Remember, within three hours of taking the medicine, you must not use your charm ability. Otherwise, there will be a small side effect.”
Jiang Zuilan had added, “But it’s not a life-threatening side effect, just a bit of a hassle. You’ll find out when the time comes.”
Song Yin trusted her good sister implicitly. If Jiang Zuilan said it wasn’t life-threatening, it definitely wasn’t.
She just didn’t know what the so-called “hassle” was.
Song Yin soon found out.
Her head was buzzing, her steps were weak, and all the strength had been drained from her body, leaving her soft and boneless, wanting only to find something to lean on.
Her whole body was weary and empty, yet she felt a faint, restless agitation. A continuous heat wanted to burst from within her.
The innate hunger of a charm demon had been triggered; she only wanted to find someone to devour. She wanted to grasp a warm body to embrace and then consume… just like the warm, reliable body she had during her dual cultivation.
Song Yin suppressed her gasps, trying her best to remain calm. Looking at the fabric on her chest, which was gradually darkening in color, she felt the uncomfortable dampness and stickiness against her skin.
Damn it.
She knew her constitution as a charm demon was special.
But it didn’t have to be this erotic, did it?
Song Yin’s breathing was ragged. She didn’t forget to stuff the tiger skin into her magical treasure to prevent anyone from taking advantage of her and stealing it. Then, with trembling hands, she reached into her bunny-shaped bag for medicine.
Today, she was wearing a goose-yellow dress. The lotus embroidery on her chest had already been stained a darker shade by moisture, and beneath the lotus, a faint scent of milk wafted out.
So hungry, so tired. If only there were some “food” to provide relief.
Knock, knock.
She suddenly heard someone knocking on the door.
Knock, knock. Two consecutive sounds. The knocking was neither too light nor too heavy.