She simply refused to acknowledge him.
The banquet featured a vast variety of dishes, and Song Yin sat in a corner with Jiang Zuilan, eating heartily.
She cast an inadvertent glance at the person sitting in the very center of the hall.
Previously, she hadn’t known that Helan Tan was the Young Master of the Medicine Sect. Now that she knew, her emotions remained unchanged. She didn’t feel a surge of surprise, envy, or disgust; instead, her first instinct was to check her own cultivation level.
She simply suspected: was his cultivation boosted by medicine? He couldn’t be a “medicine jar,” could he?
If her dual cultivation partner was a “medicine jar”—someone whose cultivation was a fraud built on pills—wouldn’t that be a hollow bubble? If she absorbed it, she might suffer a backlash.
Fortunately, after a thorough internal check, she found she had completely absorbed his Primordial Yang. Her cultivation had increased steadily and solidly, without any signs of backlash. It seemed his cultivation was earned through hard work; there were no downsides to dual cultivating with him.
At the center table of the banquet sat the highly respected elders of the Immortal Alliance, with Helan Tan seated right beside them.
Song Yin asked curiously, “Why does the Medicine Sect have such a high status?”
Jiang Zuilan tore into a succulent, soy-braised duck leg. “Because the Medicine Sect is the Immortal Alliance’s biggest sponsor. Because their Sect Leader can refine Heaven-grade pills. Because the disciples refine both medicine and poison. And because too many people beg them for medicine—giving a pill to a sect elder is a massive favor. In the cultivation world, far too many people owe the Helan family.”
“Our Master is the one who should be at the head table!” Song Yin said, unconvinced.
“Just eat,” Sikong Lan said briefly.
“Our Master does indeed belong at the head table,” Jiang Zuilan swallowed the duck meat, her chopsticks moving swiftly to debone a fish and place the meat into Song Yin’s bowl.
As the only powerhouse in the cultivation world with a Soul Transformation level, Sikong Lan absolutely had to be given a seat of honor.
However, once she sat there, one person would come to offer a toast, another would ask for an autograph, someone on the left would want guidance on sword techniques, someone on the right would rush over for a sample of her calligraphy, a neighbor would ask if she’d grace their child’s first-birthday feast, and another would try to pre-order a peerless divine weapon. It was far too annoying.
But if she brought two demon cultivators with her, it was a different story.
Others feared demon cultivators. In the deeply rooted perceptions of the cultivation world, people still believed that demon cultivators were uncontrollable. Naturally, they didn’t dare share a table with her. Using the excuse of taking care of her disciples, Sikong Lan could occupy a private table and eat and drink in peace without any burden.
Jiang Zuilan stuffed a crab-roe soup dumpling into Song Yin’s mouth. “The two of us are just Master’s excuses to avoid socializing. Hurry up and eat.”
The meal lasted from dusk until nightfall.
Wangyunduan had a tradition of offering a grand prize. After every meal, disciples from various sects would compete for it.
Miles away, high up in the clouds, there was an archery target protected by a formation. Disciples needed to shoot an arrow to break the formation.
The prize consisted of one hundred thousand spirit stones and a precious magical artifact. The disciples weren’t just competing for the prize; they were fighting for fame, fortune, and prestige.
While everyone else went to watch the excitement, Sikong Lan, accompanied by Jiang Zuilan, also went to observe the ceremony.
Song Yin remained in the banquet hall. She had caught sight of a young outer-sect disciple who was clearing the tables.
The boy looked to be about sixteen, delicate and shy, wearing a blue robe. He had been punished by his senior sword-cultivator brothers to do chores. He moved nimbly, clearing dishes from the tables.
Seeing that he was handsome, Song Yin lifted her skirt and skillfully wove through the tables to call out to him.
Suddenly, she crashed into a wall—blocked by Helan Tan, who had appeared out of nowhere.
“Ouch.” Song Yin rubbed her nose, which had bumped against his chest. She looked up with a frown and saw Helan Tan.
Her expression shifted. The young disciple had already walked far away with his tray of dishes.
“Why are you ignoring me?” Helan Tan asked softly.
With no way to escape, Song Yin had to face him reluctantly. She adjusted her expression, feigning a pitiful and innocent look.
“Fine, I lied to you. I’m actually the second disciple of the Qunxian Sect.”
Helan Tan remained silent; he had already known this.
Seeing him stay quiet, Song Yin reached out and tugged at his sleeve, shaking it gently. “I just didn’t want my Master to know. I was afraid she would punish me.”
Helan Tan was direct: “Give me your voice-transmission code.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My Master won’t let me,” Song Yin used Sikong Lan as an excuse.
In truth, the sect had never explicitly said they were enemies of the Medicine Sect.
Helan Tan frowned. He knew his uncle and Sikong Lan had a long-standing feud, but he didn’t know the specifics.
Song Yin was already showing a bit of impatience. This slight furrow of her brow broke her innocent disguise. She looked like a heartless little cat who had grown bored of a ball and was crouching on the windowsill, wanting to bolt outside.
Helan Tan didn’t dare press her for the code further, so he changed the subject. “Is there anything you want to bid on while you’re here?”
Song Yin had only come to accompany Sikong Lan and hadn’t planned on buying anything.
Hearing his words, she thought for a moment. Her curiosity had indeed been piqued by the gossip pamphlets. “I want to know why the eighth lover of the Demon Princess is an Immortal Sect brother. I don’t know who bought that piece of information.”
“I bought it.”
Helan Tan didn’t know why he had bid on it at the time. Perhaps it was because he had seen her leaning against the headboard reading stories, and he thought she might like it. By the time he realized what he was doing, he had already bid on several sets of clothes and the gossip news.
Helan Tan handed her an unopened “Sound-Transmission Conch.”
It was a seashell that faded from pale gold to white, sealed with a golden talisman. Inside was the information sold by the Listening Wind Pavilion.
Song Yin stared at the conch, but her hands stayed tucked in her sleeves.
Helan Tan explained quickly, his eyes flickering unnaturally to the left for a moment. “I… I haven’t been to an auction in a while and needed to spend to maintain my premium membership. The price was right, so I bought it, but it’s useless to me. You take it.”
Song Yin had no moral qualms or sense of obligation; if there was food, she ate it.
Since he offered it and put it that way, she would happily accept it.
She swiftly grabbed the small conch and stuffed it into her bag. “Mhm! Thank you!”
Helan Tan then handed her all the clothes he had bid on as well. “These too. They’re useless to me.”
He held them out before Song Yin with both hands. Several sets of clothes were neatly folded, revealing gold and silver threads, peacock feathers, and lotus-silk gauze through the layers.
Song Yin took them. “Alright, I’ll help you get rid of them.”
He breathed a small sigh of relief. From a distance, cheers could be heard; someone had already attempted to take the prize.
Song Yin grew anxious. She wanted to go see her Master’s moment of glory.
She patted her full rabbit-shaped bag, hurried past Helan Tan, and sped toward the clouds.
Song Yin poured a cup of tea for her Master.
Sikong Lan had other plans for this prize. She wanted the hundred thousand spirit stones, but she also wanted to subtly demonstrate her Soul Transformation strength.
Her power was currently unstable. If she kept it hidden for too long, it would inevitably arouse suspicion. She felt she could maintain her Soul Transformation state tonight, so it was better to take the initiative and show her hand to dispel any doubts.
The archery target was miles away, flickering in the clouds. The bullseye was only the size of a copper coin, requiring excellent eyesight just to see it.
The bow was named “Overlord.” It was a divine weapon weighing a hundred pounds.
The so-called “feather arrow” was truly just a single white feather. A feather could not withstand much force, was difficult to aim, and was incredibly light. It required precise control to shoot a feather from a bow. The target miles away was tiny, swaying in the wind, and protected by an attached formation.
Many disciples had already tried, and all had returned in defeat.
Some couldn’t even draw the bow; some had their feather arrows fly only a few inches before landing on their own feet; some couldn’t see the target at all. Some passed the initial stages but couldn’t break the formation on the target.
Dissatisfied murmurs rose from the crowd, saying that if Wangyunduan couldn’t afford to give away the prize, they shouldn’t host the event. They claimed the difficulty had been increased on purpose this year, calling it stingy—wondering why they were in business if they couldn’t part with a hundred thousand stones.
“If Wangyunduan can’t afford to play, they should shut down early. Don’t use us for entertainment.”
“Purposely increasing the difficulty? Interesting. They’ve lost all shame just to save a bit of money!”
“A hundred thousand prize? That’s something we’re supposed to get. I bet the judges have already set it aside for their own pockets!”
The judges of Wangyunduan were panicking as well. This year, the difficulty had indeed been increased. Several managers each had their own ideas, and they hadn’t expected the combined result to be this difficult.
The top bosses had come up with these wild ideas, but it was the employees who had to endure the insults. The spit from the cursing disciples was practically flying into the judges’ faces.
With more than half of the participating disciples already finished, not a single person had hit the bullseye. If zero people passed and no one took the prize, it would look terrible.
Wangyunduan was a massive enterprise; it wasn’t worth losing a century-old reputation just to save a hundred thousand spirit stones.
But if they changed the rules now, it would be unfair to those who had already tried. As the judges were agonizing over what to do, a voice rang out.
It was like a cold spring flowing down from a mountain rock.
“Is this prize limited to one person? Or is it given to anyone who hits it?”
The judge looked up and saw it was Sikong Lan.
He hurriedly said, “Anyone who hits it gets it.”
At this point, they didn’t dare limit it; they were desperate for someone to take it.
Sikong Lan nodded. “Good. Then I’ll try. That way, it won’t be considered stealing from the younger generation.”
The judge was overjoyed. “Please, after you!”
Sikong Lan remained calm and composed as she took the bow and the white feather.
There were whispers in the surroundings:
“Sikong Lan has been gone for a while.”
“Hah, aren’t peerless masters always like that? Elusive and mysterious.”
“I think her cultivation might have run into problems, and she’s afraid to show her face.”
Sikong Lan acted as if she hadn’t heard a word. The embroidered bamboo leaves on her sleeves looked elegant and serene; she stood as steady as a bamboo grove on a mountain.
The hundred-pound giant bow was drawn by her as easily as if she were brushing aside a flowering branch.
She stood before the target, facing the wind and the clouds, casually revealing the pressure of a Soul Transformation cultivator.
She held the bow, condensing her power into threads. Her Soul Transformation cultivation, which seemed vast enough to cover heaven and earth, manifested as precisely as a puppeteer’s strings, controlling everything down to the orientation of every fine fiber on the feather.
She could split mountains and seas, but she could also thread a needle.
In a fraction of a blink, the feather arrow crossed the void. The white feather was silent, like a wisp of cloud racing through a thunderstorm.
A direct hit.
With a resonant clink, the white feather pierced the center of the copper-coin target. The feather exploded, and every strand struck a key point of the formation. Almost at the exact moment of impact, the complex formation was solved as easily as a wooden puzzle in a child’s hands.
The judges were struck with awe. Some people nearby were even knocked down by the sheer pressure of her aura, landing squarely on their backsides.
Others started cursing under their breaths. Who had been spreading rumors that Sikong Lan had lost her cultivation? The moment she released her power, his hair had practically stood on end. Those rumors must have been spread on purpose so the rumor-monger could cozy up to Sikong Lan behind his back! What a malicious colleague!
The rumors collapsed instantly.
The entire cloud terrace remained silent as a grave, everyone filled with profound admiration.
Was this the legendary Soul Transformation stage?
After shooting the arrow, Sikong Lan left with an air of composure. Her tea was still hot.
Soul Transformation… truly terrifying.
Song Yin stood by her Master’s side, beaming with joy. If her Master had prestige, the Qunxian Sect had prestige, which meant she had prestige.
She stood by the table, looking rather triumphant. With her hands on her hips and her sharp little canines showing, she tried to maintain a polite facade, but her eyes were full of excitement as she heartedly accepted the praise from fellow cultivators.
Her raised eyebrows and bared teeth completely betrayed her smugness.
Cultivators came and went, some delivering gifts, others seeking Sikong Lan’s calligraphy. Song Yin responded to each one with a smile, her behavior proper and refined as she navigated the social rituals of declining and accepting favors.
Yet, she still hadn’t said a single word to Helan Tan.
Helan Tan watched her; she really was treating him like a stranger.
He thought: It’s okay. It’s because Sikong Lan is right there. She respects her Master deeply, so she’s ignoring me.
The relationship between the Medicine Sect and the Qunxian Sect was indeed difficult.
Having taken the prize, Sikong Lan didn’t want to deal with the scene any longer and swept her sleeves, departing gracefully.
Song Yin remained behind, still organizing the pile of gifts others had sent.
Helan Tan walked over, but before he could say what he wanted to give her, Jiang Zuilan stepped in to block him. She said politely, “We appreciate the Young Sect Master’s kindness. Our Master is merely visiting the Azure Dragon Province for leisure and has no intention of attracting attention.”
With that single step blocking him, Song Yin had already picked up the stacked boxes and walked away without looking back.
Helan Tan looked past the others at her retreating figure.
Even with her Master gone, she was still being very formal. She was cold to him in front of outsiders and left without a word.
Helan Tan finally understood.
It wasn’t that she was afraid her Master would find out. She simply refused to acknowledge him.