Ch 57: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Yue Fubai had lived free and unrestrained for centuries, but after taking his very first disciple, it was as if he suddenly had something tying him to the mortal world. His care for Mu Xing was painstaking and wholehearted.

Because Mu Xing’s spiritual roots had been damaged, his spiritual power often flowed unevenly during cultivation. Yue Fubai, with his deep reserves, would every three days pour his own spiritual power into Mu Xing’s body to nourish and repair his meridians. He also supported this with all kinds of rare treasures of heaven and earth, slowly mending his disciple’s roots.

If word of this got out, no one would believe it.

A cultivator’s spiritual power was immeasurably precious—how could anyone spend it so recklessly on another person?

Even more unthinkable: a cultivator’s meridians were vital. To let another person’s spiritual energy enter without any defenses was courting disaster. If that person harbored the slightest malice, the consequences would be unimaginable.

But Yue Fubai, moved by the attachment of taking his first disciple in hundreds of years, gave Mu Xing all his affection. And Mu Xing, utterly ignorant of the unspoken rules of the cultivation world, felt nothing amiss.

Then came cultivation itself.

At first, Yue Fubai had planned to consult some of his infrequent “wine-and-meat” friends on how to teach a disciple.

But before he could, Mu Xing revealed staggering talent—no matter what technique he learned, his progress was breathtaking.

Yue Fubai decided at once: his little disciple was a genius. And geniuses could not be measured by ordinary standards.

So he stopped asking others for advice and simply taught Mu Xing by pushing him to his limits.

Aside from cultivation, he insisted Mu Xing also learn the refined arts—poetry, music, painting, calligraphy. After all, how could a disciple of Yue Fubai be a boor with no taste for elegance?

Fortunately, Mu Xing had the accumulated knowledge of his previous lives, and his natural gifts were extraordinary. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge—everything Yue Fubai poured into him, he not only accepted but mastered with grace.

Most importantly, even with all these “extras,” his cultivation speed never slowed.

Foundation Establishment in three years.
Core Formation in six.

At sixteen years old, he was already a Core Formation cultivator—a rarity across both righteous and demonic paths.

And unlike the great sects’ direct disciples, nurtured since birth with the finest resources, Mu Xing had only begun cultivating at seven. Worse, his spiritual roots had been destroyed and had to be painstakingly repaired, deliberately delaying his Core Formation.

One day—

Mu Xing was speaking with Yue Fubai when he suddenly sensed something.

Yue Fubai smiled:
“Ah, an old friend has come to visit.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a black-clad figure appeared in the hall.

With a single glance, Mu Xing’s heart tightened—the man radiated a suffocating aura of blood and slaughter, so intense it nearly became tangible. For an ordinary person, even looking at him once would have shattered their spirit.

The man’s eyes gleamed faintly with bloodlust. He looked past Yue Fubai, fixing directly on Mu Xing.

Mu Xing felt as though a ferocious beast had locked onto him. His spiritual energy stirred instinctively, ready to defend at a moment’s notice.

Yue Fubai frowned:
“Heibai, you’re frightening my good disciple.”

At once, the crushing pressure lifted from Mu Xing’s shoulders.

The black-clad man withdrew his aura and looked strangely at Mu Xing.
“So this is the precious disciple you’ve been hiding from us?”

With the pressure gone, Mu Xing could study him properly: sharply defined features, undeniably handsome but deathly pale, eyes dark as ink with occasional flashes of ominous scarlet.

Unlike Yue Fubai, this man looked every bit the image of a demonic cultivator.

Yue Fubai had been annoyed at his uninvited entrance, but once his disciple was mentioned, his annoyance vanished.

“What do you mean, ‘hiding’? My Xingxing just devotes himself to cultivation. He has no time for the gaudy temptations of the outside world!”

He turned to Mu Xing.
“Disciple, this is an old friend of your master’s. He follows the path of slaughter—not exactly a good man, but strong. If you meet tough opponents out there, just invoke his name.”

Mu Xing understood at once—this was one of his master’s allies.

He bowed respectfully.
“Junior Mu Xing greets this elder…”

He hesitated—he couldn’t just call the man “Old Heibai,” could he?

The black-clad man forced a smile.
“The world calls me Lord Wuchang.”

Mu Xing quickly followed:
“Greetings, Uncle Wuchang.”

Yue Fubai scoffed from the side:
“What ‘Lord’? You’ve killed so many people they call you Wuchang the Reaper!”

Though he teased, Mu Xing was no longer the ignorant child of nine years ago.

In nine years, he had learned much of the world.

Wuchang Jun—one of the nine grandmasters of the demonic path. A cultivator who entered the Dao through slaughter, his combat prowess was among the highest of the Nine.

As for reputation… he surpassed the other eight.

Because this senior cultivated slaughter, he enjoyed killing.

He was like a walking inspector of the cultivation world—righteous or demonic, any who committed crimes feared falling into his hands.

But such pickings were far too few to sustain his path of slaughter.

So every hundred years, Wuchang Jun would seal his memories and powers, reincarnating into the mortal world. Each time, he emerged as a harbinger of bloodshed, leaving rivers of corpses in his wake.

His most infamous feat was thirty years ago, when he reincarnated as a general during a time of chaos. In a single campaign, he buried 400,000 enemy soldiers alive.

His ferocious reputation was well-earned.

Mu Xing thought: So it’s him—that explains why the aura of blood and slaughter around him is so strong.

Wuchang Jun stared at Mu Xing for a long moment before finally turning to Yue Fubai.
“This is really your disciple?”

Yue Fubai’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean by that?”

Wuchang Jun said coldly, “If you told me the boy standing before me was a disciple of some great immortal sect, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Instead of taking offense, Yue Fubai raised his brows proudly.
“You think so too? I agree. My disciple’s bearing is a hundred times more transcendent than those so-called righteous sect disciples.”

Wuchang Jun’s face stayed cold.
“Is that something to be proud of?”

“How is it not something to be proud of?” Yue Fubai shot back. “Those righteous sects—grandmasters as numerous as clouds, disciples in the tens of thousands—and yet none of them produce a student as outstanding as mine.”

For once, Wuchang Jun had no retort.

Then Yue Fubai casually extended his hand toward him.

Wuchang Jun frowned.
“What do you mean by that?”

Yue Fubai smiled lazily.
“My disciple is meeting you for the first time today. Isn’t it only proper you give him a meeting gift?”

Wuchang Jun’s expression darkened.
“…If I recall correctly, nine years ago you swaggered into my place and forced me to hand over a top-grade artifact as a meeting gift for this very same disciple.”

Yue Fubai looked at him in mock shock.
“You still remember something from nine years ago that clearly? Can’t you be a little less petty?”

Wuchang Jun: “…”

“And besides!” Yue Fubai said righteously. “That time was to celebrate my receiving a beloved disciple. This time it’s for my precious disciple himself. Entirely different matters!”

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