How could Yu Sang‑sang possibly grasp Sword Sovereign Qingyan’s state of mind? Now, clarity had dawned upon her. She understood why he had brought her back to Lingxiao Sect, and she knew she carried the taint of the baleful *li xiao* aura. The rest was simple: cultivation. As long as she remained human, she could not abandon herself to despair. All the more so here, unlike the aura‑thin lands of Dayu.
Lingxiao Sect stood in the heart of Zhongzhou, where spiritual energy was most abundant. Qingyan’s domain was the finest ground within the sect, and the aura there was especially vibrant. She had sensed it before.
When she first stepped into Lingxiao Sect, even the spiritual energy quietly flowing in her dantian grew livelier, surging in abundance. That kind of comfort—pores opening, body and mind refreshed—would be wasted if she didn’t enter seclusion to cultivate. So, when a puppet led her into a bare meditation chamber, she thanked it and sat upon the single futon inside.
The chamber was small, plain, without adornment—only that futon on the floor, seemingly ordinary. Yet the moment she sat down, her heart grew tranquil, her mind clear. Obviously, the futon was no common object. Her eyes sparkled as she shifted upon it… Truly, the domain of an immortal‑ranked sovereign was wealthy indeed.
Though she herself was well‑endowed—not only with treasures from the game but also the heirlooms of the Jing clan—she still felt Sword Sovereign Qingyan possessed no shortage of precious things. She almost wanted to cling to his golden thigh.
From her bracelet, a phantom phoenix cautiously poked out its tiny head. Seeing that they were far from Sword Sovereign Qingyan, the phoenix grew bold again! It craned its neck, eyeing the futon as a great treasure, straining to bite at it, bean‑sized eyes round and gleaming, as though determined to drag the futon into the bracelet. Such thriftiness, such hoarding instinct—truly a miser’s spirit.
Yu Sang‑sang’s mouth twitched. She felt compelled to correct her phoenix’s worldview.
“From good people, we don’t steal. From bad people, we won’t spare even a single hair.”
Later, when she stripped Yu Xiu and his ilk of their treasures, they would be left crawling. But as for Sword Sovereign Qingyan—best to forget it.
Lowering her head, Yu Sang‑sang sighed at the pitiful phoenix tugging at the futon’s edge and gazing up at her. “If you can’t beat them, don’t steal from them.” Even if she tied herself together with this seemingly useless phoenix, they wouldn’t amount to more than a single pinch of the Sword Sovereign’s fingers. Better not to covet his treasures—unless she wanted a beating.
The little phoenix froze, glanced down at its soft, fluffy body, and let out a tiny sigh. Reluctantly, it released the futon and nuzzled her fingers instead.
“It’s all right, don’t worry about me.” Yu Sang‑sang’s gaze softened as she lifted a finger to gently stroke the phoenix’s small head. Its bean‑sized eyes narrowed in delight, clearly content.
Yu Sang‑sang smiled. Though the phoenix’s origins were strange—it had appeared in that nightmare, crashing into her arms, and then remained after she woke—she felt an inexplicable closeness to it, unable to muster any wariness.
“You… what exactly are you?” she murmured.
Why only a phantom, without a true body?
Why had it appeared in her nightmare?
What did those terrifying scenes mean?
And why had she heard the system’s chime, calling that place the ‘Land of Fallen Gods’?
Yu Sang‑sang did not know what the Land of Fallen Gods truly was. But within it, she had indeed obtained a cultivation method—and this phoenix’s shadow had appeared. There had also been that surge of searing, negative emotions, so strange in itself. And ever since that day, she had never again heard the game’s system prompts. Even when facing the obvious “final boss” that was Sword Sovereign Qingyan, there should have been some notification—“You have discovered XX”—yet the system remained silent. As if it didn’t even count the Sword Sovereign as a major figure!
Yu Sang‑sang trembled with indignation on his behalf. Under her drifting gaze, the phoenix shrank its head and whimpered, retreating into the silver bracelet.
Yu Sang‑sang didn’t drag it back out. She steadied her mood, drew out handfuls of spirit pills, and sank into cultivation. The *Supreme Purity Record* she had gained from the nightmare was already mastered to perfection.
Once she entered the meditative state, her primordial spirit slipped into mystery. She could feel the abundant aura of heaven and earth gathering, coursing through her meridians, nourishing and widening them, transforming the energy within her dantian. The gathered aura thickened, turning to mist, then condensing into droplets of liquid.
Yu Sang‑sang felt something evolving in her mind, as though breaking through a thin barrier—fragile as paper. In her dantian, the spinning droplets shattered it with ease. When that thin prison broke, her spirit surged. Whistling streams of aura converged upon her. Her body, already at full capacity, absorbed the aura effortlessly. Now, with the vigorous aura pouring in, her meridians expanded and solidified once more. More energy coursed through them, flowing into her dantian. The droplets gathered into a small lake, and soon, more and more accumulated—until they filled her entire dantian.
Her dantian gave a strained, compressed sound—then suddenly expanded outward, opening into a broader inner world. More spiritual liquid poured in, filling the enlarged space once again to the brim. Only when her dantian could no longer expand, saturated with liquid aura, did Yu Sang‑sang snap her eyes open. She felt a deeper closeness to heaven and earth. Raising her finger, she sensed a spark of potent spiritual light at her fingertip—and her eyes widened.
“Am I truly a genius?” She pulled a small mirror from her bracelet, happily admiring her own face. Her features, nourished by spiritual energy, looked fresher and more radiant. It wasn’t bragging. But to condense qi into liquid after such a short time of cultivation, and then break through straight into the Foundation Establishment stage—surely that counted as genius?
From the travel notes Old Wang had given her, she knew ordinary cultivators at the Qi Refining stage found breakthrough extremely difficult. They needed to prepare many auxiliary elixirs—like Foundation Establishment Pills—to catalyze advancement. Some, unlucky, had to attempt the process several times. Others had to spend long years tempering themselves at the Qi Refining stage before they could even hope to build a foundation. Compared to that, Yu Sang‑sang’s effortless advancement was remarkable. At the very least, far superior to Xianzhu, who in the stories only managed to reach Foundation Establishment with the help of several senior brothers.
After a moment of vanity in the mirror, Yu Sang‑sang stretched, her joints loosening comfortably. She rubbed her stomach. Cultivators at the Foundation Establishment stage could already subsist without food, no longer feeling hunger. But she was still greedy for good flavors, craving something delicious. She thought of coaxing the puppet attendants into cooking for her once she emerged, and with that cheerful thought, she closed her eyes again to consolidate her cultivation. Only when she felt her dantian stabilized did she leave the meditation chamber.
Outside, the sky was still filled with rosy clouds, the immortal scenery unchanged. The domain remained quiet, with no sign of activity.
Yu Sang‑sang spotted a puppet tending lush flowers and trees not far away, and happily went over to help. She was used to doing chores, so it felt no different.
The puppet—clearly not one of the “sister” types—paused, then drew a pair of silver scissors from its sleeve and handed them to her.
Yu Sang‑sang twitched her lips at the sight: the scissors looked like two silver flood dragons entwined together. So under Sword Sovereign Qingyan’s command, even the tools for gardening were high‑grade spiritual artifacts? She couldn’t help feeling that even with the game’s resources at her back, she was still losing. But then again…
With a crisp *snip*, Yu Sang‑sang easily cut through a branch, marveling aloud at how handy the tool was. Just a touch of spiritual energy, and trimming flowers felt as effortless as cutting through a neck…
When Yin Mingjing descended in a streak of light upon the domain, what he saw was a lively young girl, cheerfully wielding the twin‑dragon shears, snipping away among the blossoms—darting and gliding with grace. Because she was enjoying herself, she even hummed a little tune to the puppet beside her.
The puppet, usually dull and expressionless, quickly produced a gardener’s robe—an enchanted garment capable of resisting spirit swords—and handed it to her.
The girl cradled the treasure, eyes crinkling with joy, and worked even harder.
To prevent this diligent little gardener from accidentally shearing the thousand‑year Fire‑Feather Immortal Tree bald, Yin Mingjing gave a discreet cough.
The happy girl poked her head out from behind a bowl‑sized crimson blossom. Seeing him, her eyes lit up. “You’re back?”
Yu Sang‑sang hurried to return the scissors and robe to the puppet. But the puppet waved her off, refusing to take them, and shuffled away toward another part of the garden.
“Keep them. With your cultivation, they suit you well enough.” Yin Mingjing studied her for a moment, surprised. He had been away for over a month, and the girl who had not yet reached the peak of Qi Refining when he left had now advanced to Foundation Establishment. He wasn’t worried about her rushing ahead with a hollow foundation. After all, this was Qingyan’s domain. His master might be aloof, but he would never ignore a child who earnestly cultivated. Her breakthrough meant her state was stable. So he let the surprise pass. She looked about sixteen or seventeen—an age when gifted youths often reached Foundation Establishment.
He smiled and congratulated her. Seeing her eyes shine even brighter as she clutched the scissors, he rummaged in his storage ring and laughed. “These spirit tools are things my master forged out of boredom. He made plenty. You needn’t feel uneasy about keeping them. In fact…” He drew out a beautiful palace gown and handed it to her. “Sang‑sang’s advancement to Foundation Establishment is a joyous occasion. Congratulations.” Yin Mingjing was a man of propriety—even offering a gift.
Yu Sang‑sang saw that the gown was exquisite yet not ostentatious, perfectly suited for a young girl. She politely said, “You should keep it…”
“I’ve no use for it.” Yin Mingjing sighed. “Once, I slew a demoness who preyed on mortal men…” He trailed off, then continued vaguely, “…her storage bag was full of these dresses and ornaments. Rest assured, they’re all brand‑new, never worn.”
That demoness had just left the tailor’s shop, delighted with her purchases, when he cut her down. As a man, he couldn’t wear such things, though they were all top‑grade magical garments. Now that there was someone who could, it wouldn’t go to waste.
Hearing this, Yu Sang‑sang solemnly accepted the palace gown, gazing with respect at the chief disciple of Sword Sovereign Qingyan. No wonder he was the Sword Sovereign’s first disciple. Even his corpse‑looting skills were identical. Equally frugal, equally thrifty.