Ch 55: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

After confirming their master-disciple relationship, Yue Fubai didn’t rush to teach Mu Xing anything.

Instead, he asked:
“What’s your view of demonic cultivators?”

Mu Xing thought for a moment, then answered based on what the original body had heard from rumors:
“Bad, evil, bloody.”
In short—not good people.

But then he added, “Master isn’t.”

If Yue Fubai hadn’t said so himself, no one would think he was a demonic cultivator.

Yue Fubai smiled and said:
“You’re both right and wrong to say that.”

Mu Xing lifted his gaze to him.

Yue Fubai thought his little disciple’s eyes were exceedingly beautiful. He had always loved beautiful things, and his side had never lacked for lovely women, yet no pair of eyes had ever been more striking than this child’s.

He rubbed Mu Xing’s soft hair and said:
“Demonic cultivators… we cultivate the demonic path. What’s evil isn’t the word ‘demon’—it’s the many cultivators who practice it.”

Mu Xing said nothing.

He wasn’t truly a child, after all—his comprehension was far beyond the average—but he had never heard the things Yue Fubai was saying, so he only focused intently, listening.

Yue Fubai didn’t want to speak too deeply to a child.

After a moment’s thought, he explained:
“In terms of techniques, righteous and demonic cultivators practice methods with no essential difference. The difference lies in the ‘Dao’ one chooses to follow.”

“What is Dao?” Mu Xing asked.

He assumed it would be an abstruse topic.

But Yue Fubai only smiled.
“For us demonic cultivators, ‘Dao’ is simply what you love.”

“Righteous cultivators follow the will of heaven, suppressing all desires. Once they build their foundation, they stop eating, stop seeking pleasure, live in restraint, striving to appear like some imagined ‘immortal.’

But we demonic cultivators—our path is our own heart’s desire. We do as we will. Why should we care about heaven’s will?”

Yue Fubai snapped his folding fan shut, lowered his head, and looked at his new disciple.
“Do you understand what I mean?”

Mu Xing thought for a while, then nodded:
“I understand. But by that logic, there’s nothing wrong with cultivating the demonic path. If that’s so, why are there so many bad stories about demonic cultivators?”

“Because desire is endless.” Yue Fubai said calmly. “For a demonic cultivator, the greatest opponent isn’t heaven—it’s oneself.”

He gave Mu Xing an example.

There were two demonic cultivators who both craved power.

One hid his identity and entered a mortal dynasty. Through the imperial examinations, he advanced step by step into officialdom, and eventually became a high-ranking minister, holding sway over the court.

“Decades mean little to cultivators,” Yue Fubai said. “But isn’t that path terribly slow?”

So the other chose a shortcut.

He used sorcery to bewitch the emperor. The emperor made him national preceptor, second only to the throne, obeying his every word.

In just one month, he became one of the most powerful men in the realm.

But naturally, there were those who opposed him.

Loyal ministers spoke out, upright officials denounced corruption.

In the eyes of a cultivator, mortals were ants. How could he endure it?

He eliminated all who resisted him, reveling in the thrill of absolute power—those who opposed him died.

Within ten years, the once-prosperous empire had become a ruined mess, the people suffering in misery.

Mu Xing pondered deeply.

Yue Fubai didn’t rush him, leisurely sipping his tea.

Suddenly Mu Xing came to.
“Having great power but indulging every desire and whim… That must be why demonic cultivators have such a bad reputation?”

Yue Fubai clapped his hands.
“My disciple is indeed clever!”

Mu Xing’s eyes sparkled as he looked at him.
“So, Master—what is your Dao?

Is it loving beauty? Fine robes? Music, painting, poetry? Elegance?”

He rattled off a list.

Yue Fubai tapped him lightly on the head with his fan.
“For me, I only wish to be a wealthy man of leisure.”

Mu Xing thought about it.
Wasn’t Yue Fubai already exactly that?

“What about me then?” he asked, beginning to consider seriously.

Yue Fubai smiled faintly at the sight of the little boy wrinkling up his round, soft face in thought. At last, he stretched out his hand. In his palm appeared a scroll tied with red cord.

With a casual flick, the scroll unfurled in midair.

Mu Xing stared in surprise. Before he could react, a force pulled him into the painting.

Yue Fubai smirked.
“If you can’t figure it out on your own, let your master help you.”

In the bustling city of Yangzhou, the wealthy Mu family welcomed a newborn son.

Mu Xing blinked in confusion.
Did I reincarnate again?

He felt like he had forgotten something, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t recall it.

The little young master was the family’s youngest child, born beautiful and clever, cherished by everyone in the household.

Raised with silk and delicacies, he grew pampered and adored until the age of ten.

One night, lying down to sleep, he heard a voice ask:
“This life of wealth and splendor—do you like it?”

The boy immediately nodded.
“Of course I do.”

But before long, the Mu family offended the powerful, and their fortune collapsed.

The servants scattered, and the pampered young master was sent to the old country estate, where he not only had to fend for himself but also care for his ailing mother.

He didn’t show any discouragement. Since he could read and write, he went to the village scholar’s home to copy books, saving up the small pay he received to buy good food to nourish his family.

Outside the painting scroll, Yue Fubai looked at his little disciple, who could accept poverty so calmly, and silently crossed out another option in his heart.

Mu Xing knew the only way to improve his family’s circumstances was through study. He worked diligently, and at fifteen he passed the provincial exam as a juren. Three years later, at eighteen, he became the youngest top scholar (zhuangyuan).

Riding on horseback through the streets as the zhuangyuan, countless young maidens tossed flowers and handkerchiefs his way. With a lift of his head, he met several bright, hopeful gazes.

“Is there a girl you favor?” the voice at his ear asked again.

Mu Xing’s eyes turned slightly blank. He shook his head:
“No. Romance is so troublesome, so complicated.”

Yue Fubai: “…”

Time kept moving forward.

The young zhuangyuan won the emperor’s appreciation. In only a few short years, he rose rapidly through the Six Ministries. Barely past twenty, he was already a trusted confidant of the throne.

But Yue Fubai, sitting in his chair, frowned.

This disciple of his had a truly strange temperament.

This painting scroll was a magic tool of his. The caster could create an illusion, and those drawn into it would be guided to reveal their truest desires.

It was also a common method demonic cultivators used to help their disciples discover their own Dao.

Yue Fubai had already arranged for the boy to experience all the things mortals most longed for: wealth, beauty, power…

Yet Mu Xing accepted them readily, but showed no particular fondness. When he lost them, he showed no regret.

Yue Fubai even slipped in temptations along the way—music, painting, rare skills, indulgences of every kind.

Still, Mu Xing had no strong attachment to any of them.

Yue Fubai wasn’t anxious. He kept arranging “lives” for his disciple.

Mu Xing’s ailing mother finally could hold on no longer.

Though he did everything he could, even bringing in an imperial physician, he was powerless.

At her passing, his expression was sorrowful as he held the funeral.

During the funeral, the strange voice asked him again:
“Do you feel unwilling?”

Mu Xing replied blankly:
“Why should I?”

“Unwilling that human lives are so short, unwilling that you couldn’t keep the one you wished to keep.”

Mu Xing stood in stunned silence for a while, then said softly:
“Mother left with a smile. I did all I could. I have no regrets.”

Yue Fubai: “…”

He slowly sat straighter.

Mu Xing’s “life” continued.

Because of mourning obligations, Mu Xing had to resign from office and spend three years in filial piety for his mother.

He withdrew from court and returned to his hometown.

The hometown had lovely mountains. On clear days, he often went walking there.

One day, he saw a hunter dragging home a silver wolf.

The wolf wasn’t dead yet, blood flowing, golden eyes staring at Mu Xing with pitiful pleading.

Mu Xing couldn’t bear it:
“This silver wolf is pitiful.”

The hunter retorted:
“My lord, you pity this wolf—but do you pity me? If I don’t hunt this wolf and sell its pelt for silver, my whole family will starve!”

Mu Xing said no more.

Months later, wandering the mountains again, he heard a terrible cry.

It was the same hunter, his shoulder clamped by a mighty silver wolf. He was screaming under the wolf’s fangs.

Seeing Mu Xing holding a sword, the hunter begged for help:
“My lord, please drive this beast away! It’s the mate of the wolf from months ago!”

But Mu Xing did not move.

He quietly watched the hunter die under the wolf’s claws.

The silver wolf gave him one steady look with its golden eyes. Without a word, it dragged away the corpse, just as the hunter had done months before.

A voice asked him:
“Why not save him?”

Mu Xing gazed at the wolf’s lonely back.
“Months ago, I did not save the silver wolf. Why should I save the hunter today?”

The voice said:
“The hunter killed for his family’s livelihood. He had reason.”

Mu Xing said:
“The wolf avenged its mate. It also had reason.”

The voice pressed:
“But the hunter… was human.”