Sand Town.
The scorching sun hung high in the sky, its glaring light dazzling to the eyes.
The scalding, hot sand was like a wok of boiling oil, frying and searing every pair of feet that trod upon it. As a gust of yellow wind swept past, tens of thousands of sand grains crept along the ground with a rustling noise, sounding like a snake shedding its skin.
Dozens of footprints were imprinted onto this boundless yellow desert, only to be quickly smoothed away by the wind. Everyone was parched, their minds heavy and dazed, as though their vital energy had been drained dry by the vast wilderness.
“Someone fainted again! Senior Brother Fang, Senior Brother Fang!”
Along with an exclamation, the crowd snapped back to alertness instantly. Walking at the very front of the procession, Fang Wenjie knitted his brows tightly and rudely shoved aside the onlookers, raising his voice to shout, “Get out of the way! What are you all crowding around for? Keep moving!”
Once the onlookers dispersed, his brow furrowed even deeper. Looking down at the frail, young disciple on the ground, he delivered a kick with his foot. Realizing the young disciple was indeed truly unconscious, he said coldly, “Who knows him?”
Someone answered timidly, “He seems to be called Jiang Xing, from the Sword Peak.”
From the Sword Peak.
A trace of disdain flashed across Fang Wenjie’s eyes. The sect really accepted any tom, dick, or harry nowadays; even the Sword Peak had stooped so low as to take in such useless trash of a disciple.
Fainting cold before even reaching the mission location—if he were to face actual demons, he’d probably pass out even faster.
“He got heatstroke. Feed him some water, and you two drag him along.” Fang Wenjie casually dropped a couple of cold instructions, turned around, and walked away with hasty strides.
His mission was merely to lead the new disciples to take part in the demon-slaying trial; their life or death had nothing to do with him. Even if this trash were nursed back to life now, he would definitely fail to survive the upcoming demon-slaying trial anyway. Dead either way, so why waste time?
The red sun settled into the west, and the rosy dusk painted the desert in a boundless golden-red. The sun quickly sank into the continuous sand dunes, welcoming a cool, round moon.
Jiang Xing was awakened by the cold.
His body was stiff and numb, as if he had been dead for a while. He opened his eyes in a daze, and what entered his vision was that pale moon.
He knitted his brows and took a light breath, only to inhale a mouth full of choking, coarse sand.
“Cough, cough…”
Hearing his voice, the person beside him abruptly leaned over, their tone incomparably excited, “You’re finally awake!”
Jiang Xing looked blankly at the person. Their features were barely decent, wearing a jade hairpin of superb quality on their head, a longevity lock forged from pure gold around their neck, and a shiny, heavy gold bangle on their wrist. They wore a waist-bound Daoist robe patterned with faint lotus motifs made of quite fine fabric. Their entire body reeked of the aura of a nouveau riche.
What was going on? Wasn’t he dead? How could someone in the Underworld have such terrible taste in clothes?
Looking around, the area was filled with resting disciples, their faces exhausted, leaning crookedly against the mud walls of tile houses to sleep.
Seeing him staring blankly, the other person hurriedly handed over a gourd, “Drink some water. You came down with heatstroke during the day. Sand Town truly lives up to its reputation; including you, over a dozen people have suffered from heatstroke today.”
Sand Town.
Jiang Xing’s eyes widened slightly. He abruptly sat bolt upright and scrutinized his surroundings carefully. Not only the nouveau riche in front of him, but every single person around him was wearing uniform Daoist robes with faint lotus patterns including himself.
In disbelief, he lowered his head to look at the Daoist robe on his body, reaching out a hand to stroke the subtle patterns on it.
This was the Daoist robe of the Wuwang Sect. Back then, the Ancestor of the Wuwang Sect rose to fame in a single battle by using the move “Formless Lotus” to wipe out tens of thousands of demonic cultivators. Later, the Ancestor personally passed this move down to the protagonist. But that brain-dead protagonist thought the Formless Lotus could easily harm the innocent, so he never used it again…
That wasn’t the main point—the main point was that he had actually transmigrated into a book!
The Great Dao Has No Demons, a brain-dead book featuring a brain-dead protagonist. Calling the male lead, Zishu Bai, a “spirit pearl” was being polite; to put it bluntly, he was just an insufferable, ultimate saint. No matter who ran into trouble, as long as they shouted, “Zishu Bai, help me!” he would scamper over eagerly to slave away for them like an ox or a horse. Even without a reward or a word of thanks, and even if he ended up covered in injuries after slaving away half the day, it didn’t matter—as long as he felt he had helped someone, he’d be happy. Day in and day out, no one knew what he was foolishly giggling about.
Even if the other party was a villain who had once bullied and verbally abused him, Zishu Bai would still step in to save them regardless of past grievances, and after being stabbed in the back, he could still charitably forgive them with a compassionate heart.
This fool made Jiang Xing’s liver ache with rage. Other people’s power-fantasy novels were about killing monsters to level up: My treasure is mine, your treasure is also mine, and if you look at me the wrong way, I’ll kill you. Zishu Bai’s power-fantasy novel was: Killing monsters is for saving people, it doesn’t matter if there’s no reward, your treasure is yours, and if you really want my treasure, I’ll give it to you as a gift, and I’m really sorry for making you upset.
And the only reason Jiang Xing had managed to read through this book was entirely because he projected himself into the villain’s perspective. Every time he saw the villain bully Zishu Bai, he couldn’t help but clap his hands and cheer, desperately wishing the villain would hurry up and kill Zishu Bai.
If that damn saint could endure it, then let him keep enduring it—he deserved to suffer!
Projecting into the villain’s perspective instantly turned this book into a true power fantasy, clearing every single meridian in his body.
He never expected that one day he would transmigrate into this trashy book. Since that was the case, he was naturally going to hang out with the villain. Only the villain could live comfortably; following Zishu Bai around, he probably wouldn’t even get a meal to eat.
Jiang Xing coughed forcefully, his throat burning as if sliced by a knife. He took the gourd and moistened his throat, “What’s your name?”
The other person looked at him in surprise, “Didn’t I tell you yesterday? My name is Yan Zhun, a disciple of the Talisman Peak. I even carried you on my back all the way today.”
Talisman Peak—that was even more of a nobody, weak beyond measure. Aside from throwing talisman papers and drawing arrays, it was useless.
Jiang Xing swept a glance up and down at Yan Zhun, mentally concluding that this person was nothing more than cannon fodder extra. Yet with a tone full of gratitude, he said, “Thank you, Brother Yan. When I fainted, did Senior Brother Fang tell us to start forming teams?”
From the moment he heard Yan Zhun say this was Sand Town, Jiang Xing had guessed which plot point this was the very first demon-slaying trial after the protagonist entered the sect.
The Wuwang Sect was one of the four major sects, so the newly recruited disciples numbered as many as a thousand. Consequently, many different demon-slaying trials were set up, and Sand Town was merely one of them.
And in Sand Town, surrounded by vast golden sands, there was a type of demon called Sky Bugs. They moved in swarms and fed on human flesh. The new disciples participating in the trial could form teams on their own to eliminate the demons, with a maximum of three people per group. Even so, half of the disciples still died in Sand Town, showing just how perilous the trial was.
The sect wouldn’t care about the disciples’ lives or deaths; only by surviving could one officially enter the sect. Even so, people still crushed each other trying to squeeze into the Wuwang Sect every year. Everyone hoped to become a cultivator of the Wuwang Sect, after which they would enjoy a meteoric rise and skyrocketing fame. Even if one were merely an outer disciple, carrying the title of the Wuwang Sect would place them a cut above others.
“Team formation won’t start until tomorrow. Have you thought about who you want to team up with?” Yan Zhun looked at Jiang Xing expectantly, his eyes practically screaming Pick me! Pick me!
Jiang Xing silently shifted his gaze away and said calmly, “I haven’t decided. I’ll get to know a few more people first before seeing.”
This was a matter of life and death; standing in the wrong line meant losing his life, so he naturally had to consider it seriously.
Yan Zhun was a bit disappointed, but didn’t ask further. He looked worriedly toward the vast night sky and murmured softly, “If I had known earlier, I really shouldn’t have chosen the Talisman Peak back then. Who would be willing to team up with a Talisman Peak disciple…”
So you know you’re weak, huh.
Jiang Xing glanced at him, staring at that gold bracelet on his wrist, and suddenly a thought crossed his mind. “Besides, I heard that this year’s trial is exceptionally perilous. At least half the people will die. Brother Yan ought to find a reliable person to team up with.”
Yan Zhun’s eyelids twitched, and a sudden wave of fear washed over him. “Who did you hear that from? Is it true? Oh no, what should I do then? I can’t carry heavy loads with my shoulders or lift things with my hands, and I run slower than others doesn’t that mean I’m doomed to die?!”
Jiang Xing got a headache from his noise and lowered his voice, “Don’t panic. I have a piece of inside news here. Is Brother Yan willing to buy it to hear it?”
Hearing this, Yan Zhun froze slightly, then leaned forward as if grabbing onto a life-saving straw, “I knew it! For you to enter the Sword Peak while being so weak, you must have connections above. Whatever inside news it is, go ahead and spill it, I have plenty of money.” Saying that, he slipped the gold bracelet off his wrist and shoved it into Jiang Xing’s hand.
Jiang Xing, “…”
He stuffed the bracelet into his breast pocket with a touch of dissatisfaction, then waved his hand at the other party.
Yan Zhun leaned his ear forward, only to hear Jiang Xing lower his voice and say, “Tomorrow, go look for a person named Zishu Bai. He is a disciple of the Sword Peak, exceptionally talented and kind-hearted. He will definitely agree to team up with you.”
Hearing his words, Yan Zhun nodded half-comprehendingly and repeated in a low voice, “Zishu Bai, Zishu Bai. Fine, I’ve remembered it. Thank you.”
Jiang Xing considered himself to have pointed out a clear path for him, accepting his thanks with a clear conscience. After all, for cannon fodders like Yan Zhun, Zishu Bai had saved plenty—he certainly wouldn’t mind one more.
He shifted his body, found a comfortable angle, and likewise leaned against the coarse mud wall to close his eyes and rest.
Jiang Xing had made up his mind.
Tomorrow, he was going to join the team of the villain, Qin Shangyan. Although Qin Shangyan was described in the book as vicious and ruthless to the extreme, he liked this kind of personality—at least he wasn’t as saintly, hypocritical, and sickening as Zishu Bai.
Staying with Zishu Bai for even a single moment made him want to vomit. Let alone forming a team even if he died, he would never go look for Zishu Bai.
Early the next morning, Jiang Xing was awakened by the heat.
The desert had a unique environment of freezing cold nights and scorching hot days. The temperature difference was too extreme, and a moment’s carelessness would lead to illness. Fortunately, his current body was not overly frail, so he managed to escape unharmed.
The sky had fully brightened. Upon hearing the command, the disciples filed out of the tile houses one after another, standing in formation in an open field. Fang Wenjie casually gave a few instructions regarding the mission requirements and then left.
Slay all the demons before nightfall and protect the fleeing commoners—that was the entire content of the trial.
Jiang Xing raised his eyes to look at the new disciples left in place, at a loss for what to do, and began looking for his target with a clear goal.
Pushing through the crowd in front of him, he looked around for Qin Shangyan’s figure, when he suddenly heard a familiar voice.
“You’re Zishu Bai! That’s wonderful, I’ve finally found you!”
Jiang Xing’s footsteps paused slightly. Following the voice, he looked toward that person, and sure enough, it was Yan Zhun, who had been worrying last night about no one wanting him.
And opposite Yan Zhun stood a tall, upright, otherworldly, and striking figure with his back turned to Jiang Xing. Although his face couldn’t be seen, one could tell at a glance that he was by no means an ordinary person.
“You know me?”
The voice was clear and deep like a sudden spring, gentle and clean, making one’s mood inexplicably settle into peace.
Jiang Xing saw excitement written all over Yan Zhun’s face as he excitedly grabbed the other person’s wrist, speaking incoherently like he had just met a savior, “It was your friend who told me to come find you! He said you’re an extraordinarily good person, kind-hearted, and would definitely team up with me to protect my safety, and wouldn’t let me suffer even a tiny bit of injury even if you died!”
He definitely hadn’t said that last line.
The corner of Jiang Xing’s mouth twitched slightly, and he looked away with utter disinterest.
“My friend?”
“Yes, his name is Jiang Xing.”
Abruptly hearing his own name, Jiang Xing stumbled violently on his feet, fleeing the scene as fast as if he were being chased by a ghost.
Not far away, the sword-bearing youth turned his head slightly as if sensing something, looking curiously at Jiang Xing’s retreating back, his thick eyelashes trembling softly.
Jiang Xing.
He didn’t know him at all.
Withdrawing his gaze like a dragonfly brushing the water, Zishu Bai slowly looked toward Yan Zhun in front of him, who was full of hope. His expression still held a bit of confusion, but after a long while, he merely let out a soft smile, “So that’s how it is. I will do my utmost not to let down his trust.”
Though they were complete strangers, the other party trusted him so deeply; he was very happy.
Grandma had said that meeting is fate.
Thinking about it, they must be very fated.