Ch 131: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

ARC 8: I Heard I’m the Immortal Cultivation Male Lead’s Substitute

“Young master, you should wake up now.” Someone called softly by his ear.

Mu Xing was drowsily awakened, dressed, and had a cold towel pressed to his face. He shivered instinctively and woke up fully.

Beside him was a woman with her hair in a bun, her expression gentle. Seeing he was awake, she smiled kindly. “Young Master Yu, later you’ll need to go to the qin room to practice. In an hour, this old servant will come fetch you. After you finish learning how to blend incense, you’ll go to the main peak to accompany the Peak Master for a meal.”

Mu Xing didn’t like the way this woman looked at him, but since the original memories hadn’t yet come to him, he could only act half-asleep and remain silent.

The old woman helped him wash his face, praising happily, “Our little Master Yu is truly handsome, just like a celestial child by an immortal’s side.”

As she spoke, she took out a cinnabar brush, seemingly to mark a dot between his brows.

Mu Xing turned his head away. “I don’t want it.”

His voice was soft and childish. Looking down at himself, he realized he was only a five- or six-year-old child.

The woman’s expression shifted slightly, though her smile remained. Her tone grew firmer. “Young Master Yu, be good. With this dot you’ll look even more beautiful, and the Peak Master will be pleased.”

Mu Xing pushed away her hand as she reached again, staring at her and enunciating slowly: “I don’t want it.”

The old woman looked stunned for a moment, then lowered the brush, speaking gently again. “Alright, since Young Master Yu doesn’t want it, we won’t. Your senior brother is already waiting outside. Go on now.”

Mu Xing was led out the door. Only then did he realize he was living atop a mountain.

The scenery was beautiful, misty with spiritual energy.

Outside stood a tall youth in white robes, a long sword at his waist. Hearing movement, he turned with a smile. “Xiao Yu has come…”

He paused. “Why don’t you have the cinnabar mark between your brows today?”

Mu Xing found it strange.

Why was everyone so insistent about putting a cinnabar dot on his forehead?

Was it really so beautiful?

He said, “I don’t want it.”

The youth’s smile disappeared. “Don’t want it? Xiao Yu, what has senior brother taught you? Don’t forget, it was Master who saved you. You look so much like Xiao Yu (T/N: another Xiao Yu), this is fate. You must take Xiao Yu’s place and be filial before Master.”

Mu Xing froze.

Those words felt like a hidden switch. Memories finally flooded in, along with a tardy, fading light orb.

A young official, with his wife and child, was traveling to his new post when they were attacked by bandits. In the chaos, they only had time to hide their six-year-old son, Mu Xing, under the carriage.

The poor child watched his parents killed before his eyes, fainted from terror.

It happened that Xue Wuya, Peak Master of Crescent Moon Peak of the Taixu Sect, passed by. He rescued the boy and slew the bandits with a single sword.

After bringing the child back and washing away the blood, Xue Wuya discovered: the boy’s features bore seven parts resemblance to his only son, Xue Zhongyu, who had been abducted by demons the previous month and whose fate was unknown.

The child awoke with no memory. Xue Wuya pitied his youth and loss, and because of his resemblance to his son, took him in as a disciple.

This should have been the boy’s fortune.

But reality was otherwise.

Xue Zhongyu had been brilliant since birth, adorable and precocious. At three years old, he could already compose poetry. Sweet-tempered, gifted with a single spiritual root, a prodigy in cultivation—everyone on Crescent Moon Peak cherished him as a treasure.

When demons attacked Crescent Moon Peak, Xue Zhongyu’s fate became uncertain. For the entire peak, it was a devastating blow.

At that time, the lookalike child appeared.

Xue Wuya pitied him, but every time he saw the boy, he thought of his son. His heart was torn, his attitude always cold and hot by turns.

The rest of Crescent Moon Peak, however, completely treated him as Xue Zhongyu’s shadow.

They dressed him in lavish red and purple, jade belts and golden crowns, like a noble heir of the mortal world, because Xue Zhongyu had liked it.

They made him study music and become a qin cultivator, made him learn incense craft, because Xue Zhongyu had liked it—even though the boy had no talent for it.

His caretaker, Granny Wang, had once cared for Xue Zhongyu. Every day she would dot his brow with cinnabar, because Xue Zhongyu had liked it.

Whenever he protested, he was persuaded or ignored.

They told him he was ungrateful—Master saved his life, and he couldn’t even make this small sacrifice.

They told him if he didn’t imitate the young master, Master would grow tired of him, and Crescent Moon Peak would no longer accept him.

His existence’s meaning was only to live as another’s replacement.

At six years old, having just lost his parents, with no memory of his past, Crescent Moon Peak was the only place he knew. He feared abandonment.

So he tried to follow their wishes—learning the qin, blending incense, wearing the cinnabar mark every day.

Even his new name was the homophone “Xiao Yu.”

Soon, all of Taixu Sect knew: Crescent Moon Peak had a new junior disciple, one who resembled little Zhongyu by nine parts out of ten.

And the boy secretly rejoiced—because when he followed Granny Wang’s instructions, they cared for him, asked after him warmly. Even Master often called him over kindly, speaking with affection.

He was the most favored young master of the entire Crescent Moon Peak.

Even though he had achieved nothing in the way of the zither, and though he possessed a proper water-wood dual spiritual root, after ten years of cultivation, he had only just barely reached Foundation Establishment.

Even though he could not tell those complex spices apart, and every time he sat in the incense chamber, he was in utter torment.

Yet he clung greedily to that warmth.

But what is stolen never lasts long.

Ten years later, Xue Zhongyu returned.

The young master in splendid robes and golden crown, with a cinnabar mark between his brows, a sixteen-year-old Golden Core cultivator, radiant and proud.

He was constantly dragged out to be compared with Xue Zhongyu.

In terms of looks, his features were not as striking as Xue Zhongyu’s, and he was ill-suited for gorgeous attire.

In terms of bearing, he had spent years cautiously guessing at others’ preferences, disguising himself as another person, and could not compare to the proud and spirited Xue Zhongyu.

In terms of cultivation, he was nothing but a “waste” who had barely built his foundation despite Crescent Moon Peak’s abundant resources. How could he compare with a sixteen-year-old genius?

He was compared into the dust.

He watched as those who had once doted on him now gave all their care and affection to Xue Zhongyu, leaving only disdain in their eyes when they looked at him.

Even Granny Wang, even the senior brothers and sisters—clearly they were the ones who had insisted he imitate Xue Zhongyu for ten years, yet now, they coldly told him: you must not imitate your little junior brother.

If not his little junior brother, then who was he supposed to imitate?

After ten years of being someone else’s shadow, he no longer knew what he truly liked, what he truly was.

Xue Zhongyu was full of hostility toward him.

And on Crescent Moon Peak, the little junior brother who had been lost for ten years and returned was regarded as a priceless treasure. His preferences were Crescent Moon Peak’s preferences.

If the little junior brother disliked him, then he was forbidden from appearing before the little junior brother.

He was hidden away like a shadow unfit to be seen.

Half a year later, people of the Demon Realm came to take revenge—because though Xue Zhongyu had indeed been abducted back then, he had not been mistreated.

He had become the playmate of the Demon Lord’s only daughter. Because the demon princess liked him, he had never suffered grievance.

He grew up alongside her, childhood sweethearts. But he used her affection to steal the Demon Realm’s treasured divine sword, Burning Heaven. When he escaped, the sacred ground’s formation collapsed, and to save himself, he pushed her out to take the injury for him.

The demons came for vengeance, carrying the Demon Lord’s command: if you see Xue Zhongyu, kill him on the spot.

The original body, looking so similar to Xue Zhongyu, was mistaken by the demons as the culprit and died in the snow.

At that time, he was still carrying carefully chosen gifts, meant for his master and senior brothers and sisters—because he had finally made up his mind to leave Crescent Moon Peak, to leave the Taixu Sect, to go down the mountain to a place where no one knew him or Xue Zhongyu, to start over and learn to be himself.

But he never had that chance.

*

After seeing the whole plot, Mu Xing had yet to react, but the light orb was already furious.

“What is this? This is too much! Just watching makes me angry!”

It flared, flickering as if about to short-circuit. “Everyone on Crescent Moon Peak is sick, and that Xue Zhongyu is even worse!”

Mu Xing nodded in deep agreement. “Truly seems like they’re seriously ill.”

“Little junior brother?” A young man looked at the small child standing there blankly, his gaze showing a trace of impatience.

This child had wasted such a face, stupid and clumsy, far inferior to Xiao Yu.

Mu Xing did not miss that look. He spoke, saying something unrelated to the previous words: “Second senior brother, last night I had a dream. I think I remembered something.”

The man before him was Crescent Moon Peak’s second disciple, Qi Xiubai.

Qi Xiubai frowned. “What are you talking about? The zither lesson is about to begin. If you don’t go now, you’ll be late.”

Mu Xing went on as if to himself. “I remembered. My name is not Xiao Yu. My parents gave me a name. My surname is Mu, and my name is Mu Xing.”

Qi Xiubai’s eyes flickered. “You’ve already entered the path of cultivation. All things of the mortal world are past. Xiao Yu sounds nice enough…”

His words suddenly cut off, because the little child before him was looking at him steadily.

The gaze was no longer timid and uneasy, but calm and tranquil, like a deep pool.

“I don’t think it sounds nice,” Mu Xing repeated. “I like my own name.”

He suddenly turned, taking small steps. “I’m going to find Master!”

His arm was seized, Qi Xiubai said impatiently: “What are you making trouble for? Master is so busy, how could he have time to see you? Now be obedient and come with me to the zither room.”

Mu Xing forcefully shook off his hand.

“If Second Senior Brother wants to go, then go. I know the way to the main hall.”

If earlier he had only seen the general plot, now Mu Xing could clearly sense it: Qi Xiubai had never respected him. His patience and gentleness were a façade.

And that gentleness was probably only because of this face that resembled Xue Zhongyu’s.

Mu Xing lowered his lashes.

Unfortunate.

The original boy had been timid, craving this false affection.

But he held it in contempt.

He ignored Qi Xiubai’s cold face and walked steadily toward the main peak.

Qi Xiubai stared at him in shock for a while, but in the end did not force himself on a child.

He didn’t go to the zither room either, but followed Mu Xing with a cold expression.

He wanted to see what exactly this child intended to do.

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