Zhan Zhaozhao lay by the edge of the pit, sipping rice water.
The layer of dust covering him had been washed away by a cleansing spell, but his face remained ashen and his strength depleted. Even the rice water had to be fed to him spoonful by spoonful by his third senior sister.
When he was finally dug out, Zhan Zhaozhao had already fainted from hunger. Opening his eyes, he let out a weak groan: “Has Master… come back?”
He was certain Master had seen his life-link token flickering and had rushed from a thousand miles away to save him. Truly, Master’s affection for him was profound.
“Mhm.” Jiang Zuilan didn’t look at him, simply nodding.
To preserve the boy’s pride and to hide her and her second sister’s blunder, Jiang Zuilan didn’t mention that Master had tracked them down via the bills. They had completely forgotten that their fourth junior brother was still buried.
Jiang Zuilan’s appearance contrasted sharply with her personality; her face was perpetually pale and sickly. When feeling guilty, she would put on an especially frail act, her voice soft and full of comforting trust: “Junior Brother, you have performed a great service.”
“As long as… Master… is back.” Zhan Zhaozhao closed his eyes peacefully. His sacrifice had been worth it.
Jiang Zuilan quickly finished filling the pit and popped a medicinal pill into his mouth. She then brought over the minced meat and millet porridge that Ling Yi had simmered on the stove, feeding him spoonful by spoonful to help him regain his strength. The meat was finely diced, and the aroma of the rice was thick and fragrant.
“What’s wrong with the Fourth?” Sikong Lan poked her head out of her room after hearing the commotion.
“He’s in deep cultivation,” Jiang Zuilan replied.
Sikong Lan kept her hands tucked inside her sleeves. She had changed her clothes into a pale green and light gold gossamer outer robe paired with a long dress made of celestial silkworm silk.
She gave a noncommittal hum. Her fourth disciple was a bit dim-witted and indeed fond of “wandering Taoist” cultivation methods, such as slamming his back against large trees, hanging his neck from branches, or jumping into frozen lakes in winter. It was entirely possible he had buried himself on a whim.
Seeing a figure lingering in her corridor, Sikong Lan leaned lazily against the door and spoke: “I don’t allow exes into my room.”
Ling Yi stopped in his tracks. This time, he really wasn’t looking for an excuse to see her. He gestured helplessly with his wide white sleeves.
“The cat food I was simmering on the stove is gone.”
He had specifically simmered some dried mice, chopping them finely and stewing them until they were soft and tender, fearing the cat wouldn’t be able to chew them.
It wasn’t a major issue. Sikong Lan turned back into her room and pulled the carved wooden door shut. “Go make another batch.”
Ling Yi watched the door close decisively, feeling quite bitter. At his feet, the fat cat was rubbing its massive head against his pant leg, thumping against him repeatedly.
He reached out with a long arm, scooped the fat cat into his embrace, and stood motionless before the door. His tall, elegant silhouette was cast against the wood as he spoke softly: “My lady, the cat seems to have lost weight. Could you help me see what it likes to eat in the kitchen?”
Simultaneously, his hand quickly squeezed the cat’s belly through its fur. The cat let out an unwilling meow.
“Let it starve,” Sikong Lan’s lazy voice drifted out. “It has enough strength to pluck the beard of the neighboring ancestor; I think it has plenty of energy to spare even after starving for a few days.”
“By the way,” she added, remembering something. “Let them pay off all their debts themselves. You are not allowed to take them on.”
Ling Yi stood for a while, certain that she truly had nothing else to say. His eyelashes drooped in disappointment.
That afternoon, Song Yin returned to the sect.
She wore a glittering gold silk brocade dress paired with a bright red shawl. Holding a pear-white, twenty-four-rib oil-paper umbrella, she drifted down from the clouds, humming a song. The clouds turned a soft pink around the radiant glow, and cherry blossoms from some unknown high branch drifted onto her hem like a goddess descending from the ninth heaven.
The singing was harsh and grating to the ear. She was born charming and moving, yet possessed such a terrible voice.
In the past, Jiang Zuilan, as a mermaid, had tried to use her racial talent to teach Song Yin to sing, hoping to use a beautiful voice to swindle a few more “sucker” cultivators. However, she discovered it was a lost cause. Song Yin couldn’t sing a tune because she simply couldn’t hear the tune to begin with.
Fortunately, this minor flaw didn’t hinder Song Yin’s grand plans. She was beautiful and radiant, loved to say sweet things, and possessed high cultivation; she still managed to wrap male cultivators around her finger.
Song Yin’s goal was to become the most powerful succubus in the world. Unfortunately, her nature was too picky. She was so critical of her kidnapped prey that she never truly took their primordial essence.
As a succubus, her natural way of cultivation was dual cultivation. However, firstly, her Master, Sikong Lan, taught her to maintain a human heart as much as possible and not let desire conquer her. Secondly, she was a perfectionist who could only “consume” those who were the most handsome and perfectly suited to her tastes.
The good news was that she had finally opened for business two days ago, feasting for two days and two nights straight. A succubus’s cultivation could advance a thousand miles in a single day.
Song Yin landed on the mountain peak, closed her umbrella, and gave Sikong Lan a sweet smile: “Master~”
Looking at her, she was glowing with health, her almond eyes were bright and shimmering, her skin was even more delicate and fair than before, and her expression was one of total satisfaction. Checking her cultivation, the Lower-grade Golden Core bottleneck that had been stuck for so long had loosened; she had leaped to the Middle-grade Golden Core stage.
Clearly, she had feasted well.
“What did you do to him?” Sikong Lan asked, looking up.
Jiang Zuilan added nervously, “You didn’t suck him dry, did you?”
“Of course not,” Song Yin’s eyes curved into crescents. “I was very good to him. I sent him back.”
Seeing that her disciple had come out on top in this encounter, Sikong Lan said no more.
“Let’s eat.” Sikong Lan gestured toward the stone table with her chin. “I have things to discuss after dinner.”
As soon as those words were spoken, everyone knew something major was likely happening. Five people and one cat sat around the stone table. Clusters of blue lotuses floated in the air, layered upon one another.
Jiang Zuilan whispered, “Will you see that man again?”
Song Yin picked up her porridge and shook her head. “Impossible. I’m a succubus! A succubus is meant to feast on many, many people. If I only look for one person, what kind of powerful succubus would I be?”
“I’m going to find more people and take more primordial essence.”
The Inn.
Helan Tan snapped his eyes open. His head was heavy and throbbing again; he didn’t know how long he had been asleep. Rubbing his forehead, he looked around—it was the same room he had stayed in two days ago. That succubus had actually packaged him up and sent him back again.
He quickly pulled open his clothes to check his body.
His neck was covered in red hickeys, there were bite marks on his collarbone, and further down, his chest was ringed with teeth marks. The marks were deep and red, interspersed with blood scabs. Especially the mark left by her sharp canine; it was deep. He could even recall the involuntary shudder that surged through him when that tooth grazed his chest.
His wrists, waist, legs… there were marks everywhere.
It wasn’t a dream. He had indeed spent two days tangled with her in that cave.
However, he remembered that after one bout of passion as the dawn light hit the orchids, just as he had finished cleaning up and dressing, he was knocked unconscious by a fragrant powder from her sleeve. The last thing he heard before passing out was:
“We’re finished now. Don’t remember me. I’m going to find my next target; if we meet again, we have to pretend we don’t know each other.”
Helan Tan’s hand gripped his blue collar tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. That little succubus was truly meticulous.
Helan Tan gritted his teeth slightly. Since she dared to say such things, he wouldn’t pretend to know her next time either. Hmph, that was his plan anyway. All he needed to do now was refine the Clarifying Pill.
He took a deep breath and went behind the screen to wash. While undressing, he carefully inspected every piece of clothing, searching inside and out, but there truly wasn’t a single trace left by her. No letters, no sachets, no gifts, not a single word. Even the lipstick stain on his collar from when she leaned into his embrace had been wiped away by her magic.
He threw the clothes far away, out of sight, out of mind. A moment later, he took them back, turning the fabric over to carefully check for letters, tokens, or markings in the seams. Indeed, there was no message at all.
Helan Tan lay expressionlessly in the bath barrel, letting the water submerge his face. She was a truly calculating succubus.
He buried himself in the water, continuing to think about the Clarifying Pill.
The Medicine Sect was a prestigious and influential sect in the cultivation world. The current Sect Master was Helan Haowen, Helan Tan’s uncle. Helan Haowen was a world-renowned master of medicinal cultivation. The title and reputation of a medicinal cultivator were strictly tied to the grade and quantity of the pills they refined.
Medicines were divided into four grades: Heaven, Earth, Mysterious, and Yellow.
Yellow-grade medicines only treated minor injuries or added a decade or so of cultivation. Mysterious-grade medicines could regrow severed limbs and add a century of cultivation per pill. Earth-grade medicines were rare; some could bring the dead back to life for a brief moment, some helped one break through to the next realm, and some added a hundred years of lifespan. Once they appeared, thousands would fight for them. For most medicinal cultivators, refining one Earth-grade pill in their lifetime was enough to secure wealth and fame forever.
And Helan Haowen could refine two types of Heaven-grade pills. One was the Marrow-Cleansing Spirit-Opening Pill, which could directly purify a talentless spirit root into a high-grade cultivatable one. The other was the Bodhi Enlightenment Pill, which allowed one to briefly obtain Transformation Stage cultivation and a body tempered like lightning. He was the undisputed number one medicinal cultivator.
Unfortunately, he had never been able to refine his third type of Heaven-grade pill: the Heaven-grade Clarifying Pill. This was a Heaven-grade medicine recorded in the Medicine Sect’s secret manuals. Many of the medicines in the manual had been lost to time, and some of the raw materials no longer existed in the world.
Helan Haowen had spent his life pursuing the Heaven-grade Clarifying Pill. This medicine had two layers. The first layer could dispel a succubus’s charm. After successfully verifying the first layer’s efficacy, adding five more ingredients could achieve the second layer’s effect, allowing a person to instantly attain enlightenment, leaving nothing in the world to confuse them.
Alas, succubi had almost vanished from the world, so he had no way to test the medicine’s efficacy. If Helan Tan wanted to surpass his uncle’s achievements, he had to refine a Heaven-grade pill. The Heaven-grade Clarifying Pill was his best choice.
By chance, he had met a succubus.
Qunxian Sect.
Spiritual energy in the hot spring pool drifted around like blue glowing fireflies. Two or three clusters of six-layered, three-hundred-petal blue lotuses floated around the stone platform. On the table were several enticingly colored dishes: sweet and sour spare ribs, braised chicken wings, pan-fried small yellow croaker, and glazed pagoda pork.
And a bowl of charred, charcoal-like pumpkin porridge.
Sikong Lan crossed her arms. “Ling Yi and I have technically broken up in name for now. Whose cooking are you going to eat?”
The four disciples, chopsticks in hand, froze.
“Don’t say such things in front of the children,” Ling Yi rubbed his nose. “It’s not good for their psychological growth.”
Sikong Lan frowned, her gaze sweeping unkindly over the four of them. Each one had grown up perfectly fine—they were full of energy when it came to causing trouble. Her gaze landed on the eldest disciple, Song Miao. The fat cat arched its back, its long fur bristling, then pushed its chopsticks aside and squatted at the corner of the table to lick its paws, pretending it wasn’t hungry yet.
She shifted her gaze to the second disciple, Song Yin. Song Yin flashed a sweet smile, her chopsticks picking up a piece of fish, then a piece of the pumpkin charcoal. She stirred them around in her bowl without taking a bite. “How would I know which one Master made and which one Master’s Husband made? In my eyes, every plate is good and every dish is delicious!”
A slight smile appeared on Sikong Lan’s brow.
The third disciple, Jiang Zuilan, looked weak, but her chopsticks moved like a whirlwind. She inhaled the food—chicken wings were swallowed bones and all, and half a bowl of pumpkin porridge disappeared. She was completely impartial.
The fourth disciple, Zhan Zhaozhao, hesitated. His chopsticks hovered between the glossy chicken wings and the black-gray pumpkin. Finally, they trembled and stopped over the pumpkin porridge. Just as his shaking hand was about to take a bite, he slumped and dropped his chopsticks on the table.
His voice trembled: “Master, I love you. But my sense of taste and my will to survive love Master’s Husband.”
Sikong Lan rolled her eyes, picked up a chicken wing, and tossed it into his bowl. “Eat, you coward.”
Once they were full, Sikong Lan produced an invitation made of thin jade from her robe and spread it on the stone table.
The Great Competition of the World’s Number One Sects was to be held next spring. The Qunxian Sect was the center of attention. As the only sect that exclusively accepted demon cultivators, the decennial Great Sect Competition was about to begin. The entire cultivation world was watching to see what achievements this unconventional sect could display and what rank it would achieve.
In the Great Sect Competition, the participating sects would be evaluated on four major aspects: Reputation, Wealth, Intelligence, and Martial Power.
Sikong Lan surveyed the circle of disciples.
Clearly, the second, Song Yin, had kidnapped immortal disciples everywhere to take their primordial essence, ruining their Reputation. The third, Jiang Zuilan, specialized in investing in obscure shops, squandering their Wealth. The fourth, Zhan Zhaozhao… ha, he had zero Intelligence. And unfortunately, Master Sikong Lan’s cultivation was unstable, making it difficult to maintain their Martial Power.
The future of the Qunxian Sect looked bleak—truly bleak.
“Do you have anything to say?” Sikong Lan kept her arms crossed, tilting her head to scrutinize her disciples.
Song Yin poked her index fingers together, blinked, and said in a sugary voice: “Master~ I have a way! Each of us should just enter what we’re best at. For example, I’ll compete in Intelligence, Little Third in Martial Power, the Fourth in Reputation, and Eldest Brother can be a beckoning cat—meow meow meow—to compete in Wealth.”
The logic was sound. Song Yin wasn’t stupid, Jiang Zuilan could fight, and Zhan Zhaozhao was warm-hearted.
Sikong Lan sneered. “You think I didn’t think of that?” She extended a finger, her hand adorned with the five-leaf jade, and pointed to the rules at the bottom of the invitation. These scores depended on two numbers: the highest score and the average score. “So every one of you must practice. No slacking off.”
Song Yin lowered her head, looking very aggrieved. “How did my reputation lower the score? I’ve only ‘eaten’ one person so far!”
Jiang Zuilan blew on the white mist rising from her tea. “Second Sister, you might not know, but after you threw those people away, they obviously couldn’t say you didn’t ‘eat’ them. That would hurt their own reputation too much! So they all said you did.”
Song Yin: “Hmph! I’m going to sue them! I’ll take it to the Immortal Alliance for ruining my name!”
In the sect evaluation, not only the disciples but also the Master and Elders were within the scope of assessment. Among them, the Wealth score compared the sect’s foundation—for example, their “bottom of the chest” treasures.
Ling Yi, having been ignored for too long, offered a gentle reminder: “Regarding the Wealth score…”
“I don’t spend an ex’s money,” Sikong Lan said decisively.
Ling Yi: “Then I’ll go to the Immortal Alliance and sponsor this competition in my name.”
“I don’t want any ‘backdoor’ favors from an ex.”
Ling Yi rubbed his tea cup, hoping he could repair his relationship with his Dao companion before the competition. Otherwise, he might be removed from the Qunxian Sect’s records.
“It’s fine, Master,” Jiang Zuilan comforted her, offering a cup of hot tea. “There’s still half a year. We’ll focus on finding the medicine, searching everywhere for those ingredients. Just think of it as a spring outing.”
Could the Fourth’s low intelligence be saved? Unknown. Could the Third’s greed be cured? Not likely. Could the Second’s lust be restrained? Impossible.
At the very least, the only thing that could be saved was Sikong Lan’s peerless Martial Power.
Sikong Lan placed the jade invitation on the table, finalizing the decision with a crisp sound. From this day forward, the Qunxian Sect would take the search for medicine as their mission, beginning their “outing”… no, their trial.