Author Archives: sandy

The in-game currency exchange rate was one-to-ten.

One game coin equaled ten RMB.

The little dumpling sat stiffly on the bed, her round, stubby fingers frozen midair, unable to react for a long time.

She wanted to quit the game right then and there, log into the forum, and sincerely submit her “valuable suggestions” to the developers.

Back on the menu screen, the daily sign-in icon flashed brightly.

Qian Yuan tapped it.

【Congratulations! You have successfully signed in and received: Gacha Coin ×1, Star Coin ×10!】

Her mood lightened a little.

She didn’t know what the Star Coins were for, but she had also received a gacha coin. The game had mentioned earlier that these could be used in the capsule machine lottery.

She tapped 【Capsule Machine】.

A translucent machine appeared in the room, plastered with cute, girly stickers. Inside, colorful glowing balls crowded together. Qian Yuan inserted the gacha coin into the slot and twisted the heart-shaped knob.

A ball rolled out of the chute.

【Congratulations! You obtained: Steamed Bun Lamp ×1!】

Qian Yuan: “…?”

After eating steamed buns for days on end, she was speechless.

The little lamp landed in her palm.

It was shaped like a steamed bun sitting on a double-tiered tray, soft and white, with a smiling face drawn on top. Qian Yuan stared at it and felt it looked suspiciously like her in-game avatar’s face.

On the first tray was a spoon-shaped lamp switch. Beside it, tiny letters showed the model of the built-in battery.

She placed the lamp on the desk.

【Ding~ Congratulations! You’ve found an effective way to increase Comfort! Buying more furniture for your child will greatly boost Comfort~】

A system message popped up. She checked the quest log and saw Comfort had indeed risen by 5%.

After diligently cleaning both the room and the bathroom, Comfort settled at 60%.

So simply tidying wasn’t enough—she needed more furniture.

Spending money was out of the question.

Qian Yuan sternly reminded herself, then suddenly remembered: following Cen Han to school required 20 stamina points. That meant she could use stamina to leave the room.

Since he wasn’t home, why not explore other game areas?

But how much stamina did she have?

She opened 【Profile】.

【—— Player Info ——
Nickname: Thousand-Paper-Crane
Birthday: January 15
Level: 1 (0/100)
Stamina: 10/10】

Ten points.

The little dumpling hopped off the bed, waddled to the iron door, and placed her hand on the handle.

【Please select your destination.】
【Junkyard (5 stamina total)】
【Street 19 Convenience Store (10 stamina total)】
【Newbie Tip: Unlock more storylines and gain EXP to level up, which will open more locations!】

The junkyard or the convenience store?

She had exactly 10 Star Coins, enough to visit the store and at least buy Cen Han some food.

The screen blurred. The ground beneath her shifted. Suddenly she was standing on a desolate planet.

Stars stretched endlessly above, dusty crates flashed past her vision—then her short legs touched solid ground again.

Qian Yuan blinked.

She was inside a small convenience store.

Shelves crowded the space so tightly there was barely room to walk. By the glass door sat a counter, behind which was a chubby-browed shopkeeper dumpling, reading news on his tablet with full concentration.

No other figures were inside. Qian Yuan curiously glanced at his screen, then wandered the aisles.

The setting was futuristic, but the shelves held a mix of strange, interstellar items alongside familiar modern objects. Yet she quickly noticed: the only food was nutrient fluid. No snacks, no drinks, nothing else.

The fluids came in three grades: low, medium, and high. With her meager funds, she could only afford low-grade—five RMB per bottle.

She bought two with her 10 Star Coins, reassuring herself that daily check-ins could at least guarantee Cen Han two meals a day. Maybe the developers weren’t that cruel.

【Dingdong~! Purchase successful: Low-Grade Nutrient Fluid ×2. Delivery robots will ensure safe arrival at the protagonist’s home!】

With her stamina spent and Cen Han not home, Qian Yuan logged off.

Meanwhile, the school bell rang. Break time was over.

The Imperial Modern History teacher entered the classroom, his gaze drifting idly, then fixing on the very last desk with pinpoint accuracy.

The desk was battered, covered in black graffiti, one leg crooked. Among the neat rows of new desks, it stood out like a sore thumb.

But the boy sitting behind it was even more conspicuous—not in a regular chair, but in a wheelchair.

The class buzzed with noise, but his head stayed bowed, as though none of it touched him.

The teacher, refined in demeanor, gave him a glance filled with disdain before quickly looking away, as though even one more look was unbearable.

“Cen Han, no homework. Get out.”

The room fell silent.

Cen Han’s fingers twitched.

Everyone knew the history teacher despised him, always inventing excuses to throw him out. Some had even seen the teacher toss his notebook into the recycling bot, then casually turn to chat with others.

But on this planet, no one would defend him.

Cen Han lifted his eyes briefly, offering no argument. His cold gaze swept over mocking faces, then he wheeled himself out.

It was winter now. His thin clothes couldn’t block the biting wind. His lips were blue. Still growing, his body demanded food, but he hadn’t eaten all day—his stomach burned with hunger.

He licked his cracked lips, pressing a hand to his stomach, knobby bones stark under dry skin. The pressure reopened a cut from that morning.

The dull ache became the best distraction from hunger.

People passing in the corridor threw him looks of scorn. He didn’t bother to look back.

Inside the classroom, Tang Zhenzhen, seated by the window, finally couldn’t resist glancing outside.

He sat there, profile exposed: sharp nose, defined jawline, lips perfectly shaped—the same dazzling features she remembered.

But the eyes hidden by his long bangs, the faded clothing, and the wheelchair all spoke of his downfall.

Tang Zhenzhen swallowed hard and jerked her gaze back to her screen.

Her desk mate whispered, “Zhenzhen, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “N-nothing.”

…

After the last class, Cen Han wheeled himself out of the academy.

“Look, that’s Cen Han.”
“Freshmen, you seen him yet? The traitor’s son.”
“Word is, his eyes and legs were ruined by radiation three years ago. Poetic justice, right?”
“Why’s he still coming here? If I were him, I’d just hang myself somewhere. Oh wait—that’s how his mom died, wasn’t it?”

From the crowd, a stone flew, striking his hand on the wheel. His motion faltered, veins bulging.

Tang Zhenzhen, not far away, clenched her teeth.

The impulse to act flared, but quickly snuffed itself out before she could move.

“Zhenzhen, why are you staring at that cripple?” her desk mate asked. “Didn’t you used to be classmates with him before he transferred here? Don’t tell me you…”

“Don’t—don’t say nonsense!”

She panicked, clapped a hand over her friend’s mouth, and darted glances around. Luckily the noisy school gate hid their words. “I don’t know him at all.”

Her friend grinned. “Relax, I’m kidding. I know you’d never pity someone like him.”

Tang Zhenzhen’s fingers curled as she nodded stiffly.

By the time they finished talking, Cen Han was gone. She parted ways with her friend, adjusted her scarf nervously, and slipped into a narrow alley leading to the slums.

Few at the academy knew he lived at the very end of the slums, but she did—her father had delivered things to him before.

The imperial capital had once been free of radiation, drawing people from across the galaxy. But with overcrowding came chaos, and the slums were born. After the radiation disaster three years ago, most residents fled, leaving it desolate.

That made it safer for her—no one would see her meeting him.

She jogged ahead, driven by guilt and impulse, heart hammering in her ears.

The wheelchair’s outline came into view. Cen Han leaned down, fishing keys from his side bag.

“Cen Han!”

Panting, she called his name. He turned slightly, messy bangs parting just enough to reveal dark eyes, slanted and sharp.

Her reflection shimmered in his pupils.

She had never dreamed of this moment. She looked at him with pity, pulling out her history notes.

“You missed class today,” she said softly. “I wrote down the key points, you…”

Her words froze.

The rust-stained iron door shut in her face.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Qian Yuan’s finger froze midair.

The little boy in the wheelchair clearly didn’t want to open the door, but the pounding from outside grew heavier, rattling the iron door with each blow, laced with vulgar curses.

He let out a long breath, put the contact-like device back into his eyes, wheeled himself over, and unlocked the door.

The iron door swung open. A huge, burly dumpling figure loomed outside.

Qian Yuan shot up from the floor, ran behind Cen Han’s wheelchair, and peeked out with wide eyes, secretly observing.

The man looked like a middle-aged brute, with a scraggly beard, tattered clothes patched in several places, shoes with gaping holes, and messy hair. He looked more like a beggar than anything else.

He didn’t seem to see her either. Jabbing a thick finger at Cen Han’s forehead, he barked,

“Cen Han, I found a few crates of low-grade nutrient fluid at the junkyard this morning, and now they’re gone. Did you steal them?”

Qian Yuan frowned.

…That gesture was so rude.

Cen Han’s fingers twitched slightly. He raised his eyes and said in a low voice, “I didn’t.”

It was the first time Qian Yuan had heard him speak.

His voice wasn’t childlike or cute at all—it was deep and adult, which clashed strangely with his chibi appearance.

“Didn’t?” The man sneered, teeth grinding. “One of my boys saw you hanging around the junkyard this morning. You must’ve had your eye on my stuff then!”

As he spoke, he shoved Cen Han’s wheelchair hard.

The wheels spun out of control, slamming against the wall with a dull thud. The boy’s body jolted. His voice grew colder: “I said I didn’t—”

“Then what’s this?!”

The man tore open the cardboard boxes stacked by the stove and held up a bottle filled with strange green liquid. He roared, “You dare steal from me?!”

“That’s mine.”

Through clenched teeth, Cen Han said each word: “The day before yesterday, I bought it at the convenience store—”

The man barked a laugh like he’d heard the most absurd joke. “Bought it? You cripple, who’d sell anything to you?”

Cen Han fell silent.

The diary window, still open, updated in real time.

【November 3rd, 12:30 PM】
【Cen Han was slandered.】
【Cen Han is furious.】
【Cen Han refuses to speak. He won’t reveal who sold it to him.】

Reading the lines, Qian Yuan’s eyes darted between the two, her dumpling face scrunching up.

If she guessed right, this was a scripted event—designed to raise affection.

It was only a game, but seeing that nasty brute berate Cen Han, while Cen Han sat in silence, lips pressed thin, Qian Yuan bit her lip.

…The scene dredged up some unpleasant memories of her own.

The man gripped the nutrient bottle tighter, ranting and cursing with no end, spitting out every insult imaginable. Qian Yuan could only listen. In the chibi boy’s black, round eyes, it was as if a spark had lit.

In reality, she’d been powerless before. But here—in the game—she could do whatever she wanted.

Past and present overlapped. She surged forward, little fists clenched, and brought them down squarely on the man’s head.

“Duang!”

Like a hammer striking a whack-a-mole target. The man didn’t even notice.

Qian Yuan: “…”

This game was bizarre. Before unlocking interaction, she could touch anything and anyone in the game world—but nothing could touch her. She could push the wheelchair, but when the man shoved it, it passed right through her instead of crushing her against the wall.

Was that a bug? Or just player protection?

No time to dwell on it. Her eyes caught the man still holding the nutrient bottle. An idea struck. She lunged forward, twisting the cap open.

“Pssht—”

A sharp hiss. The liquid sprayed out like a jet, soaking the man’s head.

“Fuck—!”

The low-grade nutrient fluid worked like an even harsher hair dye. It clung to his messy mop, dripping everywhere, leaving him a dripping green mess.

He swore, grabbing a rag to wipe his head. But it was the same rag Qian Yuan had used earlier to clean the dust. Still filthy, it exploded in a cloud of grime, making him sneeze repeatedly.

Qian Yuan heard Cen Han give a short laugh.

She couldn’t help but smile too, a knot in her chest loosening slightly.

“What are you laughing at, cripple!”

Shamed by his ridiculous state, the man’s face twisted in rage. His eyes bulged, ready to beat Cen Han.

Qian Yuan’s heart leapt. She frantically searched for something to use as a weapon.

But Cen Han’s voice cut through, calm and cool.

“You’re applying for a new job, aren’t you? Yelling at me won’t matter. But if you hit me, that’ll be different.”

The man panted, nostrils flaring. Qian Yuan clutched the desk clock, watching him carefully.

He did seem to hesitate. With one last curse, he shouldered the boxes and stomped away, slamming a foot into Cen Han’s wheelchair as he left.

The chair tipped sharply. Qian Yuan instinctively reached to steady it, but Cen Han caught himself on the desk.

The room grew quiet again.

Qian Yuan turned to him.

The faint smile from earlier was gone. His face was blank, eyes fixed ahead.

After a long pause, he rubbed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

【Cen Han is confused.】
【Cen Han sinks into depression again.】
【Cen Han doesn’t want to live anymore.】

Qian Yuan’s hands shook.

…What kind of storyline was this?!

She stared in disbelief. Cen Han lowered his hands, eyes staring into empty space, his voice low.

“Who are you?”

He said it casually, like an ordinary question. But the diary updates went wild.

【Cen Han is deeply depressed.】
【Cen Han falls into despair.】

—What was happening?

Had she made the wrong choice?

Though he couldn’t hear her, Qian Yuan watched his beautiful eyes turn red, rubbing at them stubbornly, on the verge of tears.

Before she could think of a fix, Cen Han lowered his head, stuffed the book into the pouch on his wheelchair, and rolled out of the room.

Qian Yuan, near despair herself, tried to follow—but bounced off an invisible barrier.

【Cen Han is heading to the academy. Requires 20 stamina points. Your stamina is insufficient~】

…Oh.

So he was going to school.

Qian Yuan let out a shaky breath.

Alone in the little room, she sat on the bed.

More muddy tracks stained the floor—the wheelchair marks, she realized. On the other side, green splatters from the nutrient fluid were still sticky—that part was her doing.

She checked the quest.

【Current Comfort: 40/100】

Her progress had fallen back.

After that heavy scene, she didn’t feel like cleaning anymore. Sitting at the bed’s foot, she replayed the man’s words in her mind.

Cen Han’s life was terrible.
He was truly disabled.
His status was precarious.
And that brute said no one would sell him anything.

…And he had stolen Cen Han’s only food.

Qian Yuan seethed.

She’d only meant to play casually. But after seeing this, her heart ached for him.

Nutrient fluid—if she remembered right, in this interstellar setting, it was people’s daily food.

Cen Han lived in a tiny, shabby room, wearing faded clothes. He clearly had little money.

With his food taken, what would he eat now?

Her mood sank, until a thought struck.

She looked at her stubby little legs.

This was a game. Money could solve everything.

Her fingers twisted the quilt nervously.

She herself was broke—yet here she was, worrying about feeding a game character.

Still—

“Games always have first-time top-up bonuses…”

Her eyes lit up. She muttered as she opened the menu.

【Recharge Rewards】 sat quietly on the list.

First-time purchases were usually the best deal. Cheap, with big bonuses. If it was only a small amount, she could manage.

She tapped the bundle and found it.

【First-time Bundle: Recharge 10 Energy Stones to receive a deluxe starter pack~】

…10.

That wasn’t much. Ten yuan, she could handle. Relieved, she smiled faintly, finger hovering to buy—then froze.

Slowly, she pulled back. Her chibi avatar rubbed its eyes with a fist.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes again, then looked once more.

Qian Yuan: “…”

The price for 10 Energy Stones—the so-called starter bundle—was 100 RMB.

Oh, god.

Qian Yuan was utterly shocked.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Qian Yuan’s eyes widened bit by bit.

The bright smiling face of her in-game character could not possibly reflect what she was feeling right now.

A little dumpling figure, just like hers, sat in a wheelchair and came rolling in from the door.

This little dumpling looked different from her avatar—more detailed, less round and puffy, with distinct facial features.

Qian Yuan leaned closer.

Black hair hung smoothly against his cheeks, a little too long, partially covering his pitch-black eyes. Under the outer corner of his right eye was a tiny tear mole.

His eyes slanted upward, his brows were thick and dark, his gaze distant and cold, giving off an unapproachable air. Yet like Qian Yuan’s character, he had no nose, and his mouth was just a thin line. That lack of definition softened the gloom, leaving him looking instead rather tsundere and cute.

—But that wasn’t the point.

Qian Yuan stared in shock as the little figure pushed the wheels with his stubby arms, entered the room, and placed something from his lap onto the desk.

He didn’t seem to see her… Well, of course. The interaction feature wasn’t unlocked yet.

This was a child who couldn’t use his legs.

Was he disabled? Or was it a temporary injury requiring the wheelchair?

The PV hadn’t mentioned this at all…

Qian Yuan silently watched. The boy rolled to the bed, used his short hands to push himself up, and moved onto it.

His legs remained limp, unmoving, as if completely devoid of sensation.

The supposedly cute, healing game had suddenly veered wildly in an unexpected direction.

Qian Yuan stood frozen a moment. She watched him lie down, eyes closed, exhausted. She quietly stepped closer, intending to pull up the blanket for him.

But before her hand touched it, his eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright, hands patting wildly across the bed.

What was he doing?

Startled, Qian Yuan drew back, puzzled.

His legs didn’t move. After patting the bed, he used his hands to inch himself to the foot, reaching about in all directions. That was where the pile of clothes had been—clothes Qian Yuan had folded and placed neatly in the cabinet.

His fingers brushed only air. His expression changed drastically. Quickly, he dragged himself to the edge, stretched out a hand, groped around until he found the wheelchair, and climbed back onto it.

Qian Yuan’s eyes widened again. A sharp guess pricked her heart.

…No way?

She followed him to the desk. He picked something up, lowered his head, and pressed his palm over his eyes. When he lifted it again, his sight no longer wandered blindly—his gaze locked straight on the bed.

The next instant, he pressed his lips tight, tiny fists clenching on the wheel.

Qian Yuan swallowed.

Her game child seemed not only unable to walk… but also unable to see.

A disabled protagonist wasn’t unheard of. The “tragic but beautiful” archetype was always popular.

But seeing such a soft, chubby little figure in a wheelchair, blind eyes staring blankly—even knowing it was just a game—Qian Yuan’s feelings grew complicated.

His frown deepened. He turned the wheelchair toward the bathroom. With him gone, her eyes fell back on the desk.

There were two new things there: a rectangular case resembling a glasses case, and a small name tag.

She leaned in.

It looked like a student ID tag, listing the academy name and his personal information. Skipping over the student number, her eyes stopped on the name.

【Cen Han】

His name was Cen Han.

His birthday was December 25.

December 25—that was Christmas. It was only early November now, so his birthday was about two months away.

Qian Yuan pulled her gaze away.

In two months, she might not even still be playing this game.

The sound of a cabinet opening came from the bathroom. She crouched down, opening the cabinet where she had put the clothes.

The wheelchair rolled across the floor. The boy came out, his dark eyes—just as she’d hoped—landing on the opened cabinet.

He stared at it, unblinking, fists tightening, face growing paler.

Qian Yuan’s heart jumped.

What was happening? What was wrong with him?

A sudden thought struck her. She quickly opened the diary.

It only began recording after she’d first entered the game, updating every thirty minutes, but each entry was written in real time.

【November 3rd, 11:30 AM】
【Cen Han didn’t pay attention in class.】
【Cen Han finished his homework at the academy.】
【Cen Han was bullied by classmates.】
【Cen Han went home for his lunch break.】

【November 3rd, 12:00 PM】
【Cen Han arrived home.】
【Cen Han lay down on the bed.】
【Cen Han felt something was wrong, got up to look for his clothes.】
【Cen Han discovered changes in his room. He was shocked.】
【Cen Han couldn’t believe what happened and fell into deep depression.】

Qian Yuan skimmed quickly, pausing on “was bullied by classmates.”

She tried to piece it together.

So, he saw what she had done and became depressed.

…

………

Was that reasonable??

Qian Yuan felt her worldview crack.

Fact: This was a raising sim.
Fact: The system’s first quest was to improve the child’s living comfort.

So she, the dutiful player following system prompts, had diligently cleaned his filthy room.

And the result was—the child became depressed.

Why!!

She was baffled.

What were the developers even thinking?

The boy wheeled around, seeming too restless even for a nap. He quietly closed the open cabinet, removed the thing from his eyes, and sat staring blankly at the desk.

Qian Yuan noticed—it looked like contact lenses.

But if it was just bad vision, he wouldn’t have been groping blindly.

Her head spun with questions. She opened the game menu again and tapped “Check-in.”

【Your online time hasn’t reached one hour yet. Check-in is currently unavailable~】

Qian Yuan: “…”

This was ridiculous.

The boy sat dazed at the desk. Staring at his dark little head, Qian Yuan suddenly had a thought.

Maybe the game secretly had an affection system. And since her affection with him was still too low, she couldn’t complete the task.

If so, to raise affection…

She walked up and tried poking his cheek.

But his skin didn’t feel soft like she expected.

And he had no reaction.

Did even poking require unlocking the interaction feature?

Cleaning made him sad, but without raising comfort, she couldn’t finish the quest.

She was stuck on the beginner mission. Frustrated, she bit her lip. Finally, she grabbed the rag again and wiped dust off the stove.

A noise slipped out.

The boy whipped his head around.

His eyes were dark, empty, the lenses gone. Yet he stared straight at her.

Qian Yuan froze.

The little figure began to tremble.

“…No way.”

Qian Yuan was bewildered, dropping the rag in a panic and opening the diary.

【Cen Han is extremely afraid.】
【Cen Han trembles with fear.】

…Afraid?!

Qian Yuan was stunned.

Wait—wait!

She thought she understood.

He discovered changes in his room. Fell into depression. Then terror.

“Fear” was the key.

If she were at home, suddenly realizing her clothes had been moved, then hearing strange noises in the room…

It made perfect sense. The little chibi’s soft fist striking his palm even seemed to affirm her deduction.

This raising sim wasn’t like any other. With this logic, his emotions actually made sense.

But she still needed to finish the quest. And without interaction unlocked, how could she make him accept the presence of this unknown little dumpling?

Qian Yuan sighed, sitting against the wall, cheeks in her palms, staring at the diary.

【Cen Han told himself, “None of this is real.”】
【Cen Han gradually calmed down.】
…
【Cen Han began reading.】

She turned, surprised to see him pull a book onto the desk, fingertips brushing the pages.

…He was surprisingly adaptable?

From the diary entries, he seemed to have fixed school hours. Now he was home on lunch break. Once he returned to class, she could use the chance to finish the quest.

And once interaction was unlocked, she could finally raise him properly.

With her plan made, she glanced at the time and prepared to log off, waiting until he went back to school.

But just as her finger reached the “Exit Game” button, the heavy iron door rattled with urgent pounding—bang, bang, bang.

The boy’s head jerked up. His fingers clenched the page until the thin paper crumpled.

A coarse, hoarse voice barked from outside, thick with impatience:

“Cripple, open the door!”

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Rong City had finally welcomed winter. The north wind howled, and falling snowflakes gradually laid a soft white carpet across the ground.

Heavy curtains kept out the wind and snow. A small warm orange lamp glowed by the bedside, illuminating the little mound huddled beneath the soft quilt.

The phone under the pillow buzzed nonstop, waking Qian Yuan. Blinking sleepy eyes, she reached in and fumbled for it.

The guild chat had already exploded with more than 99+.

【Cherry】: I woke up this morning completely shocked—this is the first time in my life I’ve ever seen snow in Rong City!

【He Shang】: Same here, I couldn’t believe it! It’s already trending online! I was going to queue for some morning games, but once I opened the curtains, I shut off my console right away.

【He Shang】: With such a beautiful day, brothers and sisters in Rong City, let’s go get hotpot together!

This guild was one Qian Yuan had joined back in middle school. The group wasn’t big, and most members were from Rong City, getting along pretty well. Someone had @’d her to come out and join, her fingers hovered over the keyboard, sleepiness gone.

But before she could type, another message popped up.

【Universe’s Number One Pharmacist】: What, someone wants to invite @Thousand-Paper-Crane to eat? Did you all forget what she said at the beginning of the year when we tried to arrange a dinner?

【Universe’s Number One Pharmacist】: [image.jpg] [bomb] [bomb]

This “Pharmacist” was the only other pharmacist in the guild besides Qian Yuan, and perhaps because of the overlap, he often picked little fights with her.

Qian Yuan tapped away the @ notification and opened the image.

It was a screenshot of a chat—

【Thousand-Paper-Crane: Not going. Not hungry this year. Maybe a few years from now we’ll eat together.】

Qian Yuan: “…”

She remembered this. That New Year she had tried drinking for the first time, just one little cup and she was drunk. Someone had @’d her in the group chat, but her finger couldn’t hit the right keys, so she used speech-to-text, slurring.

Because she was drunk and mumbling, the phone transcribed that nonsense line.

The phone’s pale light reflected on her fair face. Seeing she wasn’t replying, the others soon dropped the topic, moving on to happily debate which hotpot restaurant in Rong City was best.

Looks like no dungeon runs today.

Qian Yuan closed Penguin app, got out of bed, washed up, then went into the kitchen to steam a bun and an egg, settling at the table.

The food would take a while, so she idly scrolled the gaming forum on her phone.

This forum was niche, free of spam or ads. The games recommended by users were usually good—she had discovered quite a few hidden gems there.

There weren’t many new posts on the homepage. One title caught her attention:

【VR Raising Game sincerely invites players to participate in closed beta testing, with game PV and beta code attached】

Coming across someone here looking for testers was a first for her. After all, forum users were picky. Average-quality games would be ripped to shreds, while well-made games always had players scrambling for test spots.

Curious, Qian Yuan clicked in.

Several replies had already piled up below. Some said the modeling looked detailed and the graphics nice, but the art style was too childish—and the character to raise was a boy.

Since most forum users were male, Qian Yuan glanced through the row of replies like “Why is it a son? I want to raise a daughter!” and scrolled up to open the PV video.

The PV wasn’t long, about a minute. It didn’t show any storyline, but the art leaned toward cute and healing. A few function showcases revealed that this was a raising sim: you could interact with the child, feed him, change clothes, and watch him grow up.

Qian Yuan sometimes played casual games to pass the time. After watching the PV, she quietly saved the closed beta code.

She got up to open the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk.

Her tripod had broken during the last shoot. That tripod was one she had bought back when she had just graduated high school—cheap and flimsy. Sending it for repairs wasn’t worth it.

She had her eye on a carbon-fiber tripod by Manfrotto, but it was pricey—about three to four thousand yuan.

Four thousand yuan…

Qian Yuan sighed.

Weighed down by life’s burdens first thing in the morning, she finished her bun and egg, then lay back on the bed, heavy-hearted, and reached for the VR headset sitting on her nightstand.

By 2050, virtual reality technology had left a bold mark in modern history. With just a headset, you could enter virtual worlds anytime, anywhere.

This headset had taken her a long time of scrimping to afford, costing almost as much as her best camera.

She entered the beta code, loaded the game, ticked the user agreement, and registered an account.

A mechanical voice rang in her ears.

【Please create your character.】

…A raising game requires you to create your own avatar?

Her thick lashes fluttered in confusion, but she entered the face-customization screen as prompted.

Her eyes widened slightly.

Nowadays, most face editors in games looked realistic—no plasticky feel, still pleasing.

…but this one seemed a little different.

In the empty space under her feet, her consciousness stood to the left. In the middle was a floor-length mirror, and on the right sat a simple wardrobe.

The wardrobe only had two sections. One held clothes, the other…

“Is that a mask?”

Qian Yuan murmured, walking over and picking one up.

Painted on it was a smiling face. Its round black eyes lacked a nose, and its mouth was just a simple upward curve.

【Face · Smile】
【Face · Sad】
【Face · Mischievous】
……

She looked over at the row of clothes hanging nearby.

【Skin · White】
【Skin · Blue】
【Skin · Pink】
……

Qian Yuan muttered to herself: “…This character creation system is really so simple and crude.”

She picked a smiling face for herself, then grabbed the plainest white outer garment and stood before the floor-length mirror.

The character’s body wasn’t human-shaped but a glowing little lump, with a bun-like face, short arms and legs, soft and pale all over, topped with a big smiling face.

If a sprout had been stuck on its head, it would have looked just like one of those once-popular kaomoji emojis.

At first glance, it was actually kind of cute.

Qian Yuan’s eyes curved as she smiled, satisfied, and clicked “Create.” Another pop-up appeared in front of her, asking her to fill in nickname and birthday.

Once she finished, the game began to load, and several starter guide boxes popped up before her eyes.

【Log in every day to check in! The gacha coins you earn can be used in the capsule machine lottery~】

【Complete main quests to unlock more features. Go check out the quest list!】

【The diary records your child’s daily activities truthfully—remember to observe carefully!】

【You regain one stamina point every ten minutes. Leveling up increases max stamina by five! Work hard to complete missions~】

A dim, unlit scene slowly came into view.

It was a shabby, cramped room. A small single bed was shoved into the corner, beside it an old, battered desk scarred with scratches, with a storage cabinet underneath.

Across from the bed were a stove and sink, basic kitchen equipment, with a few cardboard boxes lying nearby. Directly opposite the bed stood a small door.

The in-game child wasn’t in the room.

Qian Yuan walked over and pushed the door open to peek inside.

Behind it was a bathroom. Sink, toilet, and shower crammed together, with a little stool sitting in the shower stall.

She closed the door and hesitantly looked around, puzzled.

She had played plenty of raising sims, but this was the first time she had seen such a shabby starter room.

…Why did this child’s life seem even more miserable than hers?

On her wrist was a virtual game watch. When she pressed it, a glowing screen popped up before her eyes, displaying rows of icons.

Many features were grayed out, but quite a few were still active.

【Profile】
【Quest List】
【Daily Check-in】
【Recharge Rewards】
【Capsule Machine】
【Diary】
【Exit Game】

The quest icon blinked insistently, catching her eye, so she clicked it to check.

【Main Quest: Please improve your child’s living comfort~!

Current Comfort: 30/100

Goal: Comfort 70/100

Reward: Unlock interaction feature, EXP ×50, Star Coins ×10.

Note: Buy a one-time clear pass to hire a robot and instantly complete this quest!】

Qian Yuan: “…”

This game was pushing players to spend money right from the start?

She felt a vague sense of unreliability.

The room was very dark. Heavy curtains blocked the only window above the desk, letting in just a faint, hazy glow from the corner. Unable to find a light, she walked over and pulled the curtains open.

Outside was a narrow alley. Luckily, the apartment block opposite wasn’t tall, so it didn’t block much sunlight.

A digital clock sat on the desk.

【11:30】

The game’s time seemed synced with real life.

Turning back, she inspected the room in the daylight.

It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Dust coated the floor along with odd muddy footprints, filthy everywhere. The quilt on the little bed was unmade, tossed in a heap in the corner, with a few faded clothes strewn at the foot.

The stove showed little sign of use—no greasy stains—but was covered in a thick layer of dust. The only clean place in the whole room seemed to be the desk.

Qian Yuan frowned and whispered, “This child doesn’t seem very hygienic…”

The PV had promised a cute, healing aesthetic, but starting the game with this mess was not at all what she expected.

Still, with most of her guildmates off at a dinner gathering and not enough people for dungeon runs, she had nothing else to do.

Besides, she hadn’t even seen the protagonist yet.

The room was small, easy to clean. She checked the bathroom, found a rag in the cabinet under the sink, soaked it, wrung it out, and began scrubbing the floor.

The floor was filthy. She had to rinse the rag a dozen times before it was finally clean.

【Current Comfort: 40/100】

Just cleaning the floor raised comfort by ten points!

Encouraged, she folded the quilt and tidied up the clothes at the bed’s foot. With no wardrobe, she folded them neatly and, after a moment’s thought, placed them in the cabinet under the desk.

Inside were a bunch of books. She glanced at one title.

【Introduction to Intelligent Mecha】

Mecha? Was this game’s setting in the interstellar era?

After tidying the bed, comfort reached 45/100. She was about to tackle the kitchen area when she heard a noise at the door.

It sounded like wheels rolling across wood, then the faint click of a key in the lock.

Qian Yuan’s eyes lit up. She straightened, looking toward the tightly shut iron door.

The door swung open. Bright sunlight streamed in, flooding the room.

A wheelchair was the first thing that came into view.

…A wheelchair?

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

The aura of the demon seed disappeared.

Nowhere in the cultivation world could his traces be found again.

“Could it be that some reclusive great power slew this demon seed and chose not to leave a name?” many people muttered.

Xue Wuya tracked down the last place Xue Zhongyu had been, but from there all clues were cut off.

Yet he did not give up. From then on, the Crescent Moon Peak master entered the mortal world, becoming a guardian who slew demons and upheld the Way.

Mu Xing was the only one who knew the truth. Though the little orb of light had no practical use and could only live within his sea of consciousness without appearing, it always had hidden ways of knowing things beyond ordinary understanding.

It told Mu Xing: Xue Zhongyu had been captured by the demons. The demon princess Jiang Ling had sealed Xue Zhongyu’s true body inside the Demon Clan’s holy sword, Burning Heaven.

“The Demon Clan’s holy sword?” Mu Xing suddenly recalled. “The very relic that, in the original storyline, Xue Zhongyu killed Princess Jiang Ling for?”

He had heard of Burning Heaven’s reputation. It was said to be the Demon Clan’s greatest relic, the weapon of the very first Demon King.

“These two are truly something,” Mu Xing thought, finding fate a strange thing. “In the original plot, Xue Zhongyu killed the princess who loved him wholeheartedly, just to obtain Burning Heaven. In this life, he is sealed within Burning Heaven by that same princess. You could say he got exactly what he deserved.”

For Xue Zhongyu, this should be even more unbearable than being killed outright.

*

With Xue Zhongyu sealed away, Mu Xing’s greatest threat was removed.

But his daily life did not really change. He continued cultivating on Medicine Peak, tending to medicinal fields and studying new pills, occasionally keeping an eye on movements of the Demon Clan.

Once the little merfolk learned to speak and transform their tails into legs, their range of activity expanded greatly.

Yao Wushi explained to outsiders that he had simply accepted two new registered disciples. Though he also liked the two adorable little ones, he was used to being a hands-off master, only teaching personally when he felt like it. For the most part, the two merfolk were taught in turns by their two senior brothers and sister.

Of course, they remained closest to Mu Xing, who was the first person they had ever seen after hatching.

In the mountains, time passed quickly, and the leisurely days on Medicine Peak flowed by for decades.

Eldest brother Li Xuanyao had fallen in love with a senior sister in the sect and spent his days pondering how to win her heart.

Second sister Yu Hongyao had become famous across the cultivation world—she was a master of poison, even her spiritual power carried venom, striking fear into her peers.

Mu Xing himself had smoothly advanced to the Nascent Soul stage years ago. A Nascent Soul cultivator was considered a true powerhouse anywhere in the cultivation world. As for the “parasite” of the demon seed within him, it had long since been completely eradicated during his Core Formation tribulation.

The two little merfolk had grown into a young man and young woman. But as they matured, their longing for the sea grew stronger, despite already being Golden Core cultivators able to draw water with their own power. Their hearts yearned for the ocean—their true home.

After discussion with Yao Wushi and the others, Mu Xing decided to return them to the sea.

He took the two merfolk southward, following the sea winds. Along the way they passed through many cultivation sects and mortal lands, until they finally reached the edge of the ocean.

Before them stretched endless blue.

At first, the two merfolk were delighted, but soon confusion clouded their faces.

Their souls had led them here, guided by their yearning for the sea. But… where was their homeland?

Mu Xing remembered the secret realm Yu Hongyao had mentioned. That place had once housed a civilization, but the only life remaining there had been two unhatched eggs. And according to Yu Hongyao, when they left, the secret realm’s mechanisms had triggered and destroyed it.

Their former homeland might already be gone.

Mu Xing sighed, removed the green-skinned gourd from his waist, and tossed it into the sea. It grew into a great gourd boat.

With the two merfolk aboard, he searched the ocean for days. Finally, at a beautiful sunset, he found a lovely island.

From his storage bag he took out seeds of all kinds of spirit herbs. Planting them in every corner, he summoned a spiritual rain. Plants and flowers sprouted in abundance, carpeting the island in life.

“From today onward, this shall be the merfolk’s home,” Mu Xing said with a smile, watching the two youths run happily through the blossoms. “You are its masters. Give it a name.”

Yin answered without hesitation: “The island where merfolk live—let it be called Shark Island.”

Shark Island.

The words struck Mu Xing’s mind like lightning.

He froze in place, staring at the flourishing island, at the two beautiful merfolk, then back at the sinking sun painting the sea in radiant gold.

The scene was hauntingly familiar, as though he had stood here countless times before, watching this same magnificent view.

Then it dawned on him.

“The merfolk world I once reincarnated into, the scene I saw within the sacred artifact—could the Sea God the merfolk worshipped have been me all along? Were Yin and Lan the ancestors of the merfolk?”

No wonder.

No wonder Shark Island lay far across the sea, never approaching human lands, yet the merfolk spoke the human tongue and knew human ways of living.

No wonder that when he first entered the sacred land of the merfolk, he felt an inexplicable sense of intimacy, and the holy artifact immediately clung to him.

He had once guessed that the so-called “Sea God” in the merfolk’s words was a cultivator, but he never expected that this cultivator would turn out to be himself.

“So this world and that world are actually the same timeline, only at different points. That place is just a very, very long time from now?”

Mu Xing found it all truly wondrous.

He laughed softly. “If I live long enough, wouldn’t I be able to meet those old acquaintances again?”

But he knew this was only a jest. Cultivators were not immortal. Even if one ascended to immortality, it was uncertain what awaited. Mu Xing himself had never seen what the Immortal Realm was like.

And in the merfolk’s world, cultivators no longer existed at all.

Now, such mighty sects as the Taixu Sect and the demon clan—what had happened to them?

Had they all ascended?

Or had some calamity struck, draining the world’s spiritual energy until all cultivators perished?

Mu Xing stayed with Yin and Lan on Shark Island for a time.

Then he decided it was time to return.

Though Yin and Lan were reluctant to part, they knew Mu Xing was not a merfolk. The sea was not his final home.

With teary eyes, they watched him leave.

Mu Xing wandered the mortal world for decades, even opening a teahouse. He paid little mind to running it—each day he would simply order a pot of tea, sit by the window, and listen to travelers from all corners recount their stories.

Senior Brother Li Xuanyao finally won the beauty’s heart, and Medicine Peak celebrated a grand wedding. Mu Xing went back to attend.

Xue Zhongyu never managed to leave the demon clan. It was said that Princess Jiang Ling harbored a beloved in her heart, though no one had ever seen him. From the light orb’s tone, Mu Xing gathered that Xue Zhongyu seemed to be suffering quite miserably.

Later, in a secret realm, Mu Xing obtained a treasure said to be left behind by an immortal.

He spent eight years refining it into a true artifact, but when he saw the finished piece, he only smiled.

He brought the pearl to Shark Island and entrusted it to Yin and Lan.

This pearl would shield Shark Island, protecting it from the ravages of the outside world.

Faintly, he felt he had grasped something profound. Returning to Medicine Peak, he sought out a secluded chamber and began a long retreat.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Next

Xue Zhongyu felt that in the countless years of cultivation history, there had never been a demon seed as miserable as himself.

Before even reaching Foundation Establishment, he was already hunted by both the immortal and demonic paths.

His grand plan to stir up chaos hadn’t even begun before it dissolved into a dream.

Now, all that mattered was figuring out how to scrape by under the endless pursuit. That was Xue Zhongyu’s short-term demonic dream.

As a demon seed, even without a physical body he could exist in an incorporeal state. But in that form, he had no way to conceal the demonic aura radiating off him.

The only way to cover his aura was to possess someone else’s body.

Cultivators were out of the question—their senses were sharp, and no matter how carefully he hid, there was always the risk of being discovered. Besides, with Taixu Sect’s bounty now in effect, every sect was on high alert. If any disciple acted oddly, they would be immediately restrained and reported.

Demons were also unsuitable. That thought came from pure instinct: he felt he had to stay as far away from the demons—and from that little girl Jiang Ling—as possible.

That left only mortals.

At first, he possessed mortals recklessly. But unable to restrain his cravings, and underestimating how fragile mortal bodies were, he ended up killing several of them.

And once there were corpses, cultivators immediately came sniffing around, forcing him to flee in a panic.

After nearly being cut to mist several times, Xue Zhongyu finally understood. He became cautious.

Now, he carefully picked his hosts, cautiously entered their bodies, made sure not to damage them, and even had to convincingly play their roles without acting too differently from their usual selves.

Xue Zhongyu sprawled on the bed, eyes vacant like a salted fish without dreams. “I’m tired, I’m really tired. Youhuo, why is it that I, a dignified demon seed, have to live so pitifully?”

Youhuo thought for a moment. “It all started when you botched the possession stage. To explain properly, we have to go back to when you ran from the Demon Realm to Crescent Moon Peak—”

Seeing it really intended to analyze things, Xue Zhongyu couldn’t bear it and cut him off. “That’s not what I want to hear. Youhuo, aren’t you supposed to have lived tens of thousands of years? Isn’t there any method to get me out of this situation? Do I really have to keep—”

He gestured at himself: patched old clothes, lying on a broken bed with a missing leg, looking utterly wretched.

“Do I really have to keep playing this pitiful role, living like a rat in the shadows?”

“What else then?” Youhuo considered. “You could always leave this weakling’s body, step out proudly, and announce to the immortals and demons alike that the demon seed is right here!”

“And then what?” Xue Zhongyu asked eagerly. “Do you have a way to make me powerful, or a way to get me out of this mess?”

“No.” Youhuo’s tone took on rare gentleness. “But you could die standing, with dignity.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

Youhuo’s voice returned to its usual eerie chill. “In any case, ordinary methods can’t kill you. At most, you’ll die once and revive, just weakened. But since both immortals and demons know the demon seed’s nature, faking death won’t fool anyone.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

He was so angry he gasped twice, eyes bulging, chest tight until his vision went white. For convenience, he had chosen to possess the illegitimate son of a large household, tucked away in a remote courtyard where no one paid much attention.

The boy wasn’t only unloved, but also frail from birth, barely hanging on to life.

With Xue Zhongyu’s outburst, the body nearly gave out on the spot.

It took a long time before he steadied himself again.

Bitterly, he sat up and slapped the threadbare quilt. “Which side are you even on? Youhuo, do you want me to die so you can find a new master?”

Youhuo sighed regretfully. “Demon seeds don’t come by easily. I waited over three thousand years for you. Finding a new master isn’t realistic.”

Xue Zhongyu: ? Did you just admit you thought about it?

That made him even angrier.

The courtyard gate was knocked on. Xue Zhongyu had no desire to answer, but the intruder didn’t wait for his response—just pushed the door open.

A cocky little servant strode in, carrying a food box, and shouted loudly, “Sixth Young Master! Here’s today’s lunch, I’ve brought it for you.”

“Sixth Young Master?”

Silence.

The servant glanced around, muttering, “Shouting this loud and no answer… he didn’t die, did he?”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

His expression twisted.

Youhuo said gravely, “Calm down. Right now Taixu Sect hates you more than anyone. Don’t make a fuss. You’ve seen Xue Wuya’s sword. How many strikes do you think you could withstand?”

Xue Zhongyu: “…” It was the harsh truth—he couldn’t even take half a strike.

From the room came a weak reply, “I’m here. Just leave it.”

The servant thumped the box onto the ground, pouting. “So you’re not dead. Next time, answer quicker. I’ve got meals to deliver to the other young masters, I don’t have time to waste.”

His footsteps faded away.

Xue Zhongyu sat cross-legged on the bed to cultivate.

That arrogant servant had humiliated him so openly. One day, when he regained his strength, he would surely—gurgle.

Xue Zhongyu froze, then clutched his stomach.

Now that he was in this frail body, its hunger was his hunger too.

Hungry.

With his pride, he naturally refused to eat this meal.

But…

Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.

He really was hungry.

Youhuo said quietly, “Go eat. Forcing yourself to hold out—you’re the one who suffers.”

In the end, Xue Zhongyu gave in to the instincts of the body.

He wobbled to his feet, went into the courtyard, and opened the food box.

A few breaths later, he cried out in grief, “They didn’t even give me meat!”

Youhuo: “…”

Its gaze fell dark and quiet on its master, all its ambition and grand hopes blown away like smoke.

No saving him. Just let it be.

*

Three years later, Junior Brother Mu of Medicine Peak successfully formed his core, and when he crossed his tribulation he stirred up a heavenly phenomenon, shocking the entire Taixu Sect.

A fourteen-year-old core formation cultivator—even if Mu Xing had been low-profile before, his reputation spread from Taixu Sect throughout the whole cultivation world.

At that moment, Xue Zhongyu—who had just managed to scrape by in another body and was searching for a second vessel—“…”

After all these years, with nothing but grief and rage, and feeding off countless stray thoughts of the mortal world, he had finally reached foundation establishment.

Hearing the news, he felt tangled and resentful: “If—if only Crescent Moon Peak had shown some backbone back then, not let Medicine Peak take him away. Right now, the prodigious golden core cultivator would be me.”

A teenager reaching core formation. If he had reached that realm, he could choose a new vessel again. Just imagine how wonderful that would have been.

Youhuo murmured, “Don’t think too much. Lately demons have been showing up often in this area. I suspect they’ve already found us.”

Xue Zhongyu: !

*

Another three years.

Xue Zhongyu was cornered in a back alley by a group of cloaked figures.

This body was a poor scholar, stubborn and pedantic, not liked by others.

After seizing him, Xue Zhongyu hadn’t dared to overdo things. Even so, relying on his own cleverness, he managed to be accepted by his neighbors and scraped a living copying texts to feed himself.

Sensing danger, he tried to flee, but his retreat was already blocked.

These people—clearly not mortals.

The leader pulled down her hood, revealing a face as stunning as a peach blossom.

Xue Zhongyu felt she looked familiar. When he saw those faintly violet eyes, he suddenly realized: “Jiang Ling?”

Jiang Ling giggled sweetly. “So many years apart, yet Brother Yu still remembers Ah Ling. Ah Ling is so happy.”

Xue Zhongyu felt nothing but dread.

He swallowed and said softly, “Ah Ling, all these years, Brother Yu has missed you.”

Jiang Ling said, “Ah Ling has missed you too. Ah Ling watched you every day, saw you trapped in that frail body, bullied by others, saw you working so hard copying books.”

A chill crept down Xue Zhongyu’s spine. He stared at her in horror.

The beautiful girl before him smiled sweetly: “Brother Yu, don’t be afraid. Those who bullied you, Ah Ling already killed them.”

Inwardly, Xue Zhongyu thought, “After a few years apart… how has she gotten even more deranged?”

Youhuo nodded in approval, satisfied: “Now that’s more like a demon.”

Xue Zhongyu forced a smile. “Ah Ling, you were watching me?”

Jiang Ling laughed with delight. “Yes, I found you long ago. But I knew Brother Yu is very good at running away. Even if I caught you, you’d escape. So I just had them follow you. I had to think of a way to keep you by my side.”

“Now Ah Ling has found a way.”

Xue Zhongyu’s skin crawled.

The next instant, his chest turned cold.

A blood-red longsword pierced his heart without warning.

He tried to abandon the body, but the sword emitted a strange suction. His true self turned into black mist, dragged into the blade and sealed.

He didn’t know what this sword was, but once his true self entered, it was like plunging into an endless inferno, his very soul seared with burning pain.

He let out a scream, staring in terror through the sword at Jiang Ling’s smiling face—

“This is the Holy Sword Burning Heaven. Brother Yu must know it, right? I know you like it very much. I searched so long to find this method.”

“Locked inside Burning Heaven, you’ll never escape again.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Sandy: Ahh so she’s reborn

Merman?

Mu Xing tried hard to recall the original plot settings. Did this world even have merfolk?

There had been no mention of them.

His sleeve was tugged. The newborn little merman, barely bigger than an adult’s palm, looked up at him with bright, watery eyes, mouth opening and closing.

Mu Xing had once been a merman himself—he knew what this meant. The little one was hungry.

He froze. Merfolk usually lived on Shark Island and loved to eat small fish. But on Medicine Peak, there were no fish to feed them.

His gaze swept around and fell on the shards of the pure white eggshells. Picking up a piece, he held it out.

The little merman wasn’t picky—his chubby hands clumsily grasped it and began crunching away.

The second egg soon cracked open as well. As expected, another small merman emerged.

Mu Xing carried the two little ones to see Yao Wushi.

Yao Wushi, upon seeing these two with human torsos and fish tails, clicked his tongue in wonder. “I have never seen such peculiar beings.”

He reached out to check their meridians, but the tiny merfolk grew frightened and burrowed into Mu Xing’s arms.

Mu Xing quickly stroked their soft curls, soothing them gently. “This is my master, not a bad person. Don’t be afraid.”

Reassured, the little ones calmed down enough to let Yao Wushi hold their hands.

Yao Wushi chuckled. “Do I really look like some terrible monster?”

But despite his words, his touch was careful, afraid of hurting them. After a long moment, he marveled: “Innate single water spiritual roots. I can feel it—the water element is more active around them by several folds. Born cultivation talents.”

He studied them intently. “Human bodies with fish tails, meridians like humans, and excellent talent. Could this be a new race never before discovered?”

He summoned Yu Hongyao.

She was startled when she saw the two, and even more so when she learned they had hatched from the spirit beast eggs she’d given to her junior brother.

Sensing the matter wasn’t simple, she recalled carefully. “After we entered the secret realm, we were transported to a strange place—it should have been underwater. There were grand ruins, countless deadly traps and mazes. Many cultivators fell there. There weren’t any magic treasures, just mountains of jewels and gold.”

She glanced at Mu Xing. “That chest I gave you came from there.”

As she spoke, one of the merfolk in Mu Xing’s arms began whimpering weakly, struggling without strength. Its little mouth opened with a pitiful cry, and tears slid down its cheeks. Before they even touched the ground, they turned into round, lustrous pearls.

“…His tears turned into pearls?” Yu Hongyao gasped.

Clearly, this world had no legends of merfolk.

Mu Xing was confused at first, then quickly understood. “They need water.”

He summoned spiritual energy, and a gentle rain formed above, falling over the little ones.

The moment the water touched them, they stopped crying and happily blew a bubble.

Mu Xing sighed in relief, but when he looked up, he found Yao Wushi and Yu Hongyao staring at him intently.

“Little junior brother, how did you know they needed water?” Yu Hongyao asked.

Mu Xing pointed at their tails. “Just a guess. You said they were found in an underwater secret realm, and they have fish tails. I thought maybe they were like fish. Fish can’t leave water for long, so I tried. And it worked.”

The reasoning was sound, and the two said no more.

Yao Wushi then asked, “What do you plan to do with them?”

These two clearly looked human—it wouldn’t be right to treat them as spirit beasts. But Mu Xing himself was only a boy of ten. Could he really take care of two children?

Even Yao Wushi, usually a hands-off master, found it excessive.

But after a pause, Mu Xing said softly, “Disciple thinks… I’ll raise them for now.”

“Can you?” Yao Wushi frowned. “You’re still a child yourself. My advice is not to let others know about them yet.”

Mu Xing lowered his head. Warm images flashed through his mind, and he smiled. “They seem very well-behaved. I’ll try. If I can’t manage, I’ll ask Master for help. When they’re older, I can even teach them cultivation.”

“Hmph. I’ve no patience for raising children,” Yao Wushi scoffed.

Yu Hongyao, meanwhile, was almost coveting them with her eyes, hands itching with excitement. “Junior brother, when they grow a little sturdier, you can bring them to me—I’ll help care for them.”

Not now, though. They looked too fragile. If anything happened, she’d never forgive herself.

So Mu Xing brought the little merfolk back to his small courtyard.

He set up a formation and dug a wide pool where they could soak and play.

When Li Xuanya heard, he came to visit. Mu Xing quickly realized his tall, imposing senior brother was a complete softie for children—because the very next day, he arrived with an armful of toys.

Specially carved by craftsmen: hollow wooden ducks, fish, kittens, puppies, painted in bright colors, every edge smoothed so they wouldn’t scratch the merfolk’s delicate skin.

The two little merfolk clearly loved those colorful little toys, clutching them tightly and refusing to let go.

As the little merfolk grew older, Yu Hongyao also began visiting every day.

Ever since one time she discovered that the little merfolk loved shiny things, each visit she would scatter a handful of gold and jade. The bottom of the small pool was soon layered with glittering jewels, and under the sunlight the rippling water refracted rainbow-colored light, dazzlingly beautiful.

The little merfolk had gentle temperaments, cheerful every day, growing up delicate and lovely like celestial children. Whoever saw them couldn’t help but like them.

Without a doubt, Mu Xing was no longer the most adored little one in the sect.

On the entire Medicine Peak, only Lingbao wasn’t very pleased.

More than once, Mu Xing caught sight of Lingbao standing by the water, baring its teeth at the two little merfolk to scare them. But the little merfolk only thought Lingbao was playing with them, happily patting the water and splashing Lingbao all over.

*

Compared to the joy on Medicine Peak, Xue Zhongyu’s days were undoubtedly far more painful.

He no longer thought about finding any opportunity from Mu Xing—he only wanted to survive.

Not long ago, Xue Wuya emerged from seclusion.

The Crescent Moon Peak master, a sword cultivator, came out radiating murderous intent. After delegating his peak’s affairs to a few senior disciples, he descended the mountain with his sword, killing intent surging.

He wanted to slay the demon.

He had fallen to a heart demon; unless he killed Xue Zhongyu, his cultivation could never advance again.

Even without the heart demon, he bore a deep blood feud against this demon seed. His dao companion, his “child,” all were gone.

If it were only Xue Wuya, it would still be manageable. A cultivator at the Nascent Soul stage was formidable, but with the Netherfire hiding his demonic aura, Xue Zhongyu could barely evade him—albeit in a wretched state.

But those hunting him were not only Xue Wuya.

The demon clan was after him too.

When it came to sensing demonic aura and using underhanded tricks to hunt prey, ten Xue Wuyas couldn’t compare to the demon clan.

And yet, Xue Zhongyu had a strange feeling: several times, the demons were about to discover his whereabouts, but then passed by as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t even know whether they had truly noticed him or not.

But whenever he recalled being Xue Zhongyu, the slave ring on his ankle, and the dense aura of darkness surrounding Princess Jiang Ling, he was certain—he must never fall into the demon clan’s hands.

He still couldn’t understand why Jiang Ling’s temperament had suddenly changed, why she had tried to kill him.

Were demons all so fickle and capricious?

But he had no courage to ask. The way Jiang Ling had smiled so sweetly, so cheerfully, while clasping the slave ring onto him—had left him scarred.

A premonition grew inside him: he must never fall into Jiang Ling’s hands.

The consequences would be unbearable.

What he did not know was that the demons had indeed noticed him—but because someone had ordered them to pretend otherwise.

“Brother Xiao Yu, are you very frightened now? Panicked and unsettled?” In a luxurious palace, a beautiful young girl showed an innocent yet cruel smile. “Like a pitiful little mouse, darting about in hiding, exhausted from fleeing the hunter’s gaze, unable to rest for even a moment.”

She sighed softly. “So pitiful.”

Lifting her gaze toward the distance, she murmured, “Go on and play by yourself for now. Once my formation is complete, I’ll personally come fetch you back.”

In a bustling mortal marketplace, a middle-aged man wearing a straw hat and ragged clothes suddenly shivered.

It was Xue Zhongyu, hiding as a mortal to avoid Xue Wuya’s pursuit.

The chaotic mortal auras, the crowds, and the filth perfectly masked his own presence.

—Though it was hard on the nose. Sniffing the sour stench from who-knows-where, Xue Zhongyu thought blankly.

*

When the two little merfolk Yin and Lan turned one year old, they finally learned to speak. Their very first word was to Mu Xing, calling him “Mother.”

Mu Xing: “…”

Because of that, Li Xuanyao and Yu Hongyao laughed at him for a whole month.

Until one day, while the two little merfolk were blowing bubbles in the pool, they suddenly sank to the bottom with a plop, then paddled back up with their short limbs.

Mu Xing then noticed—their fish tails had turned into two chubby little legs.

This immediately drew Medicine Peak’s great master Yao Wushi and his two disciples rushing over. They stared in astonishment at the little merfolk’s legs, which soon reverted back into tails.

Over the next few hours, they watched as tails turned to legs, then back to tails again—like some sort of game.

Clearly, the little merfolk could not yet control this ability.

Yao Wushi was intrigued, teasing them for a while, before recalling something. “Junior Brother Xue came back briefly, said that demon seed is extremely cunning. Taixu will soon issue a bounty.”

Once a bounty was issued, it meant the sect and that demon seed would be locked in a fight to the death.

Anyone—whether providing the demon seed’s whereabouts or slaying it—would receive an immense reward from Taixu Sect.

Yao Wushi said, “Junior Brother Xue’s heart demon has become a grave threat. To prevent his fall to demonic ways, the demon seed must be killed as soon as possible.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Xue Zhongyu: ?

A bad feeling rose in his chest, but he forced a smile. “Ah Ling, what are you saying?”

Princess Jiangling smiled innocently at him. “I can cut off the chain, but the slave ring on your ankle was refined personally by my father. No one can remove it except him. Don’t worry, it won’t affect your daily life or your cultivation. It’s just… you can’t leave me more than ten zhang away. Otherwise, the slave ring will drain your spiritual power until you’re sucked dry.”

She covered her chest, pretending to be terrified. “So scary!”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

He almost couldn’t hold his smile. “Ah Ling, why would you put something like that on me? Don’t you trust your Brother Yu?”

Princess Jiangling said, “Of course I trust you. But what if something like last time happens again?”

She frowned, her face twisting with venom. “Those hateful Taixu Sect cultivators barged in and stole my Brother Yu away.”

Then she laughed again. “Now it’s fine. Even if they steal you, either they send you back, or you die.”

She giggled. “My Brother Yu, even if you die, you can’t be taken by anyone else.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…” What kind of twisted freak was this?

Endless black evil intent poured out from the little girl before him. Honestly, if it weren’t directed at his own body, absorbing it would have felt pretty good.

He said to Youhuo, “This demon princess really is a born demon.”

Youhuo nodded. “Indeed, much more reliable than you.”

It sighed. “Why didn’t you reincarnate into the demon race? Then you could openly commit evil without any guilt.”

Xue Zhongyu: Sorry to disappoint you.

To soothe this clearly unstable little princess, Xue Zhongyu obeyed her almost completely.

But even so, even with the slave ring on him, there were always several Golden Core stage guards around to prevent any chance of escape.

Such a huge commotion, and the demons had brazenly snatched someone away. Naturally, the news couldn’t be hidden.

Far away on Medicine Peak, Mu Xing heard that it was the demon princess who had seized him. He paused. “This one really is persistent.”

In the original storyline, there wasn’t much detail about Xue Zhongyu and the demon princess—just one sentence about how they had been childhood sweethearts with deep affection.

Perhaps the little princess really did like Xue Zhongyu.

But this wasn’t in the original story, and this time Taixu Sect clearly wasn’t going to endure it again.

Led by Crescent Moon Peak’s master Xue Wuya, the sect sent out five peak masters, dozens of Nascent Soul elders, and over a hundred Golden Core elders, all charging into the demon realm to demand his return.

For years, the cultivation world had been relatively peaceful.

Though the human and demon races were ancient enemies, both sides had an unspoken agreement not to start wars lightly. For Taixu Sect, a major human immortal sect, to act like this naturally drew widespread attention.

But once the reason was known, most people understood. After all, Crescent Moon Peak’s master only had one son. You kidnapped him once and weren’t satisfied, and now you kidnapped him a second time?

That was stomping on Taixu Sect’s face twice over.

Who could tolerate that?

For something like this, of course, it had nothing to do with a Foundation Establishment disciple like Mu Xing. But Medicine Peak’s senior brother Li Xuanyao also went to the demon realm, so Mu Xing still paid attention to the outcome.

It was said that the little princess refused to release him. After days of stalemate, she suddenly relented.

The unconscious Xue Zhongyu was handed back to Xue Wuya.

The slave ring hid beneath his skin when inactive, so Taixu Sect didn’t notice it. No one paid attention to the strange smile on the princess’s face.

“Brother Yu, that sword hurt Jiang Ling so much. You must not have ever tasted the pain of death, right? You should savor it well.”

Not long after Taixu Sect left the demon realm, Xue Zhongyu suddenly woke up. His face turned pale as he tried to rush back to the demon realm—only to be restrained firmly.

Xue Wuya barked, “Xiao Yu, what are you doing? Do you still want to return to that witch’s side?”

Xue Zhongyu opened his mouth, but no words came. His dantian was empty, and even spiritual voice transmission didn’t work.

A chill ran through him. Jiang Ling wanted him dead.

But why?

He had indeed felt overwhelming evil intent and killing intent from her, but never aimed at him—because in her eyes, all he had seen was love.

His spiritual power had long since been drained. Now, the slave ring on his ankle was steadily sucking away his life itself.

In an instant, the boy’s black hair turned ashen gray.

Xue Wuya’s face changed drastically. “Xiao Yu!”

Xue Zhongyu cursed inwardly. Urged on by Youhuo, he forced himself to give up this body despite his reluctance.

Xue Wuya flew forward and grabbed his hand, about to speak, when suddenly an extremely evil aura burst from his son’s body.

He looked down in shock, only to see the boy’s eyes had turned pure black, without any whites.

“Fool. That demon princess planted a slave ring on me. If I’m more than ten zhang away from her, I won’t survive.”

Xue Wuya’s eyes widened in horror. He shouted sharply, “You’re not Xiao Yu! Who are you?”

Xue Zhongyu tilted his head, showing his usual well-behaved smile: “Of course I’m Xiao Yu. Father, how can you not recognize me? I am Xiao Yu, and I am also a demon seed. I hadn’t planned on exposing my identity this early, but unfortunately, this body has had its life drained by the Spirit Slave Ring and can’t survive anymore.”

“Master, watch out!”

Xue Wuya was pulled back by the disciple behind him.

The delicate, pretty child before them suddenly exploded, his figure shattering as a huge cloud of black mist burst out of his body and scattered in all directions.

Xue Wuya’s eyes nearly split, blood rushing from his chest as he coughed up a mouthful and fell to his knees.

*

On Medicine Peak, Mu Xing was stunned when he heard the news.

“Demon seed?”

Linking it to the plot and everything before, he suddenly realized: no wonder, no wonder the people of Crescent Moon Peak had all seemed under some strange stupor earlier—turns out Xue Zhongyu really wasn’t human.

He was a demon seed, born from endless evil.

No wonder he could bewitch people’s hearts.

And he had disguised himself so perfectly.

This time, if it hadn’t been for Princess Jiang Ling’s cruelty, Xue Zhongyu wouldn’t have been forced into exposing his identity and abandoning this perfectly matched vessel.

Mu Xing thought of the Demon Princess who, in the original plot, had been used by Xue Zhongyu and even died as his scapegoat. Though he didn’t understand why she was so ruthless this time, for Xue Zhongyu, it was retribution—he had taken her life in one lifetime, she took his in this one. Balance.

The one most devastated was undoubtedly Crescent Moon Peak’s master, Xue Wuya.

His only son turned out not only to be a demon seed by nature but was also the very cause of his own Dao companion’s death from exhaustion.

It was said that Xue Wuya’s hair turned half white on the spot, and upon returning to Crescent Moon Peak, he immediately shut himself away in seclusion.

He had fallen into heart demons.

At this time, Mu Xing didn’t understand much about demon seeds, until his senior brother Li Xuanyao explained to him in detail.

Li Xuanyao looked at him with concern: “Little junior brother, I suspect you’re that demon seed’s target.”

Luckily, the little junior had come to Medicine Peak, leaving the demon seed with no opening. If he had stayed at Crescent Moon Peak… Li Xuanyao didn’t even dare imagine the outcome.

Yu Hongyao was more straightforward: she directly handed Mu Xing another storage pouch.

Mu Xing: “?”

Yu Hongyao: “All life-saving things. That demon seed most likely chose you as his vessel. A vessel is hard to come by—he won’t easily give up. If you run into danger, just pull these out and throw them.”

Mu Xing peeked inside—it was full of poison pills, talismans, and one-use defensive artifacts. Easily hundreds of items.

He couldn’t help saying: “This is too precious.”

Yu Hongyao: “That’s why you need to train well. Once you become a strong cultivator like Master, the demon seed won’t be able to touch you. If you’re no longer in danger, I won’t need to waste so much on you.”

Mu Xing: “…?” Was that logic?

Still, he was touched by Yu Hongyao’s kindness.

Remembering something, he carefully pulled two items out of his pouch.

They were the two spirit beast eggs Yu Hongyao had given him that day. But now, the once flawless shells were covered in fine cracks like spiderwebs, as though just a touch would make them shatter.

Undeniable life force spilled out from them.

Mu Xing asked: “These spirit beasts must be about to hatch. Senior sister, do you want one?”

Yu Hongyao, usually the cold domineering type, took two steps back in a flurry, eyes wide: “N-no, better not. I’m afraid if I take it, it won’t even get the chance to be born.”

Mu Xing: “…”

Yet Yu Hongyao couldn’t help stealing another glance, clearly liking it, but she still said: “You raise them. I’ll just come visit when I have time.”

Mu Xing couldn’t help but smile: “Alright then. When they hatch, I’ll tell you right away.”

That day came quickly.

In meditation, Mu Xing suddenly heard the faintest cracking sound.

He immediately pulled out the two eggs and placed them on a warm fur carpet.

Sure enough, one had a piece of shell the size of a fingernail already fallen away.

It was like a signal—both eggs began to stir, rustling and rocking under his gaze as more fragments fell off.

Finally, Mu Xing caught sight of a patch of blue fur.

Blue?

He wondered—was it some bird-type spirit beast?

Until a tiny, tender white hand stretched out of the shell.

A hand?

A person?

Mu Xing froze, eyes widening as that hand, no larger than his own finger, flailed clumsily. Soon, another hand pushed through.

Then came the head.

Mu Xing was completely dumbstruck.

Soft little blue curls, blue eyes, a delicate, fair little face.

This was a person.

He wondered in confusion: can people also be born from eggs?

The tiny figure, pale and tender, opened its eyes immediately after hatching. Upon seeing Mu Xing, it gave a happy smile and even waved at him.

Mu Xing hesitated before carefully reaching out and lifting the little one out of the broken shell.

A glint of silver-blue flashed before his eyes.

Below the child wasn’t two little legs, but a plump, tender silver-blue tail. So familiar.

A merman.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

In other words, if things continued like this, his face that looked so similar to Mu Xing would slowly grow apart, becoming less and less like him.

If even their resemblance disappeared, what he was after would become even harder to achieve.

Xue Zhongyu was unwilling.

Especially when he saw how outstanding Mu Xing was.

Every so often, news would spread through the Taixu Sect that Mu Shidi had once again refined an elixir of exceptional quality, causing disciples to scramble for it.

Cultivation progress wasn’t widely publicized, but Youhuo seemed able to sense Mu Xing’s realm—it was the kind of cultivation speed that would shock anyone if word got out.

Hearing this only made Xue Zhongyu’s desire grow stronger. With such talent, if it could become his…

Would he still have to be oppressed day after day by the lunatics of Crescent Moon Peak, forced to train?

He was a demon seed, not some ordinary cultivator. This kind of cultivation path wasn’t meant for him.

His thoughts spun quickly, his body heavy with fatigue, and he fell asleep.

It felt like he had barely closed his eyes before he was awakened by a voice urging him.

Before him was the gentle face of his second senior brother, Qi Xiubai.

Qi Xiubai smiled the elegant smile Xue Zhongyu used to like the most. “Shidi, time to get up and practice swordsmanship.”

Xue Zhongyu: …

Devouring the talent of the vessel could wait no longer!

His most perfect plan of imprinting his shadow upon Mu Xing was no longer viable. It was nearly impossible now to make Mu Xing bear the mark of “Xue Zhongyu.”

As a demon seed, he instinctively knew how to take what belonged to others. Since one method wouldn’t work, he would use a more brutal one.

Kill Mu Xing.

Devour his blood and spiritual power.

This method was far less perfect than inheriting a vessel’s talent through a substitute, but he had no other choice.

Only then could he erase this vessel and select another.

Youhuo cruelly reminded him, “But young master, Mu Xing is always on Medicine Peak. You don’t have any chance to act.”

Xue Zhongyu’s voice grew dark. “I don’t believe he can stay on Medicine Peak forever.”

Youhuo spoke even more mercilessly. “Even if he leaves Medicine Peak, you are not his match.”

This was why young demon seeds had to hide, never revealing themselves to anyone.

Because—at this stage, they were truly weak.

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

Shame and anger boiled up. “Youhuo! Whose side are you on? Can’t you stop pouring cold water on me?”

Youhuo’s voice was faint. “I also wish I had a master who was clever and powerful… but do I have a choice?”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

When I become strong, I’ll lock this damned thing somewhere no one can ever see it again. Let’s see who you talk your nonsense to then!

*

At last, Xue Zhongyu earned a day of leave for his supposed good behavior.

He said he wanted to visit Mu Xing on Medicine Peak. Xue Wuya and the others were delighted—his mindset was like a failing son finally taking the initiative to spend time with a top student.

When Xue Zhongyu found Mu Xing, the boy was lying in the courtyard of a small building, basking in the sun.

Afternoons on Medicine Peak were always radiant. Mu Xing lay on a recliner padded with a soft blanket, his body sinking into it. A fluffy spirit beast was sprawled across his stomach. On the small table beside him lay an open book, two plates of spirit fruits, a plate of snacks Li Xuanyao had brought back from town, and a pot of fragrant spirit tea. A small array was inscribed on the pot to keep the tea perpetually at its best temperature.

It was comfort and leisure itself.

Nothing like what Xue Zhongyu had imagined!

He thought of how he was forced to rise at dawn and practice swordsmanship without rest. Given Mu Xing’s rapid cultivation progress, shouldn’t he also be spending every moment training?

What was this?

Then, seeing Mu Xing’s young yet elegant face, Xue Zhongyu’s heart burned even more.

He was a demon seed, the embodiment of all desires. His nature was greedy. Whenever he saw something beautiful, he instinctively wanted to claim it.

“Mu Shidi!” He forced down every stray thought and called out cheerfully.

Mu Xing opened his eyes from his nap. Seeing him, he didn’t even bother to move, speaking with little courtesy: “You disturbed my rest.”

Xue Zhongyu puffed up his cheeks. “I’m sorry, alright? What are you doing here?”

Mu Xing: “Sleeping.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

It was clear Mu Xing had no interest in talking to him.

His eyes shifted to the book lying facedown on the table. “What’s this? A cultivation manual?”

Mu Xing curled himself deeper into the cushion, unwilling to move. “Oh, just a storybook my senior brother brought back from town so I wouldn’t get bored.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

Some senior brothers brought novels and treats for their juniors.

Others only dragged them out of bed at dawn to practice swordsmanship!

“So unfair.”

Mu Xing glanced at him in surprise. Only then did Xue Zhongyu realize he’d muttered his thoughts aloud.

Mu Xing already knew the matter anyway. Xue Zhongyu had always been sociable in the sect, often going out on missions with others. Now that he was rarely seen, people asked questions, and it wasn’t hard to find out that his father had forced him into strict cultivation.

Mu Xing thought for a moment and then spoke plainly. “If your cultivation progressed as quickly as mine, your senior brothers wouldn’t be forcing you either. In the end, it’s because your talent isn’t good enough, and you’re not diligent enough.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

You’re this good-looking, so why do you have such a venomous mouth?

If he weren’t scheming something, he would’ve already stormed off.

Truly too much!

But not only did he stay, he even had to put on the act of being upset but not completely angry, even praising Mu Xing: “Then why do you cultivate so fast? Do you have some secret? My father and senior brothers always say heaven rewards diligence. For you to achieve so much in cultivation and alchemy, you must have worked very hard, right?”

Mu Xing casually replied: “Oh, not really. I’m not hardworking at all. When I want to cultivate, I cultivate. When I don’t, I just lie here in the sun like now.”

He lazily smiled while stroking the spirit beast’s fur: “The reason I cultivate so fast and make such good pills is entirely because I was born with talent.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

He wanted to laugh along with Mu Xing, but he couldn’t.

Expression stiff, he excused himself.

Mu Xing watched his figure disappear, then shook his head.

The orb of light collapsed inside his sea of consciousness hesitated for a long time before softly saying: “He bears ill will toward you.”

Mu Xing nodded: “I know.”

Orb: ?

In this life, Xue Zhongyu hadn’t shown Mu Xing any malice, right?

Mu Xing picked up the storybook he’d been reading halfway through and said leisurely: “I’ve already shown my impatience and dislike so clearly, yet he, a pampered second-generation immortal brat, still endured it and even smiled at me.”

“It’s either he’s got something wrong with his head, or he wants something from me.”

“However you look at it, the latter is more likely.”

As he spoke, his expression shifted slightly.

He pulled something out of his storage ring: the two spirit beast eggs Yu Hongyao had given him. Just now, one had moved.

Looking closely, the white jade-like shell had a crack as fine as a strand of hair, so tiny it was nearly unnoticeable.

Mu Xing’s heart surged with joy and anticipation: they’re about to hatch? He wondered what kind of spirit beasts they would be.

*

Xue Zhongyu practically gritted his teeth returning to Crescent Moon Peak.

He snorted coldly: “If not for Crescent Moon Peak’s incompetence, that talent would already belong to me.”

Forcing himself to be patient, he began making careful plans. If he couldn’t find an opening through Mu Xing, then he’d look for one through Medicine Peak.

But before he could act, a “surprise” dropped straight onto his head.

*

Crescent Moon Peak’s little junior brother had gone missing again!

They said it was the work of the demons, because the scene was saturated with heavy demonic aura.

Upon hearing the news, Mu Xing raised his brows: “Wish him luck.”

Meanwhile, the inexplicably ambushed and knocked-out Xue Zhongyu, waking to find himself surrounded by dense evil thoughts: “…”

For a moment, he didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased.

Youhuo said inside his consciousness: “Actually, coming to the Demon Realm isn’t bad. You were useless at Crescent Moon Peak anyway. Here, at least there’s plenty of malice to absorb. It doesn’t help much, but drop by drop adds up, and eating more will boost your strength a little.”

It sighed: “Though slower, you can live much longer this way. Live long, eat more malice, make up quality with quantity, reach Golden Core, then find another host body to start over. It only costs you some time.”

Xue Zhongyu hated this tone. He snapped: “At this pace, by the time I reach Golden Core, who knows what realm Mu Xing will be in!”

Youhuo was surprised: “Do you still want to compare cultivation speed with him, my little master?”

It paused, then sincerely advised: “I’ve read through the entire Taixu Sect library. Mu Xing’s cultivation speed ranks among the top ten geniuses in all of Taixu’s ten-thousand-year history. But your progress? Maybe a few hundred every decade.”

“Better to be realistic.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

“Brother Yu!” a clear voice interrupted his incoming outburst.

A beautiful young girl looked at him joyfully: “It’s been two years, Ah Ling has missed you so much. Did you miss me?”

Xue Zhongyu glanced down at the chain locked around his ankle, then gave her a dazzling smile: “Of course I missed Ah Ling too.”

“Liar!” The girl’s bright smile vanished in an instant, her face turning cold as she glared at him. “You were living happily in Taixu Sect, I know that perfectly well. If I hadn’t sent people to capture you back, you wouldn’t have remembered me at all.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

From the girl before him, he felt thick resentment and a dark aura of corruption.

He put on a sorrowful expression: “Ah Ling, what do you want me to do? Those are my family. When I went missing, they were so worried, thinking I’d had an accident, thinking I was suffering in the Demon Realm.”

“I told Father when I returned that you treated me well.”

“I missed you very much. I only meant to spend a little more time with Father before coming to the Demon Realm to see you.”

The beautiful girl frowned, doubtful: “Really?”

Xue Zhongyu gazed at her tenderly: “Of course it’s true. Brother Yu would never lie to Ah Ling.”

Princess Jiang Ling’s face brightened with joy. Clapping her hands happily, she smiled sweetly and said: “I can never tell whether you’re lying or not, but even if you are, it doesn’t matter. Father said as long as we keep you chained here, you can’t go anywhere and can only stay in the Demon Realm to play with me, and that’s enough.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

He looked at Qi Xiubai in disbelief. “Senior brother, what are you saying? Do you not like me anymore?”

His eyes quickly filled with tears. “Do you think Xiao Yu is useless, and you like Junior Brother Mu who cultivates faster, isn’t that right?”

Qi Xiubai could never bear to see him cry.

His heart softened at once. He crouched down and carefully wiped his tears with a handkerchief.

Sensing his pity, Xue Zhongyu cried even harder and said, “You’re clearly my senior brother, why are you bringing up someone else? I won’t allow you to like Junior Brother Mu. I don’t want to like him either.”

In the past, he didn’t even need to cry—just pulling a sour face was enough to make everyone on Crescent Moon Peak revolve around him.

Qi Xiubai would always hurry to apologize and coax him. That was the cold thought of the malicious soul hiding inside Xue Zhongyu’s childish shell.

But things didn’t go as he wished.

Qi Xiubai did pity him, but he also felt that the junior brother seemed to be spoiled.

He lowered his voice to comfort him. “Xiao Yu, don’t cry. Senior brother didn’t mean anything else. I only think that since you have master teaching you hand in hand, and you can always ask me whenever you run into a problem, with such good conditions and your fine talent, it would be a pity to waste them.

“You need to grow up eventually.”

Xue Zhongyu: “…”

This script wasn’t quite what he imagined.

Through his tear-filled vision, he looked at Qi Xiubai. His eyes were clear, completely unaffected by the manipulations he had tried to stir.

How could this be?

A sense of unease crept into his heart.

He lowered his head in fluster, muttering softly, “I don’t want to grow up. Father and my senior brothers can protect me for life.”

Qi Xiubai, hearing this, felt tender affection but also thought: it can’t be delayed any longer.

They had spoiled Xiao Yu too much, and that’s how he developed this temperament.

Cultivators contend for fate itself—self-reliance is the true way.

As he continued to gently coax his junior brother, Qi Xiubai resolved inwardly: he must find a chance to speak with master, to ensure the junior brother focused on cultivating properly.

Meanwhile, Xue Zhongyu, pretending to cry with his head lowered, felt a chill rise up his back.

*

To Xue Zhongyu, these recent days had been nothing but ill-fated.

He had only been gone three years, yet everything had changed.

Crescent Moon Peak was no longer the one he knew.

The senior brothers there still treated this shell kindly and doted on him, but it was not the kind of indulgence he wanted.

What he wanted was that kind of love without principle, without reason, without limits.

If he wished them dead, they would die without question.

But now, these righteous cultivators all had clear eyes, and the effect of his manipulations of desire had become negligible.

These damn righteous cultivators!

He knew where the problem lay.

That Mu Xing of Medicine Peak—the “vessel” he had chosen.

When a demon seed chooses a vessel, it can devour the other’s fortune and strength.

The more people believed Mu Xing resembled him, treating Mu Xing as his substitute, the more he could siphon from him: talent, cultivation speed, luck, appearance—even lifespan.

When he discovered Mu Xing’s existence, he set up a scheme that caused the Mu family to be attacked by mountain bandits, letting Xue Wuya discover this child who resembled his supposedly dead son.

That was right when he had just gone missing, the time Crescent Moon Peak was sunk deepest in grief and longing for him.

And since he had built such influence there before disappearing, many already showed faint signs of demonic corruption.

Everything was perfect.

According to his plan, that mortal child would be taken in by Crescent Moon Peak. Those touched by demonic thoughts would obsessively look for “Xue Zhongyu’s” shadow in him.

Then he could effortlessly take everything from the child: appearance, fortune, talent—everything he desired.

But who could tell him why Mu Xing ended up going to Medicine Peak?

Once he went to Medicine Peak, he lost all connection with Crescent Moon Peak.

Medicine Peak disciples would never stake their lives over a missing Crescent Moon Peak disciple.

If it were only leaving Crescent Moon Peak, fine. But Mu Xing was outstanding.

He kept himself low-key, rarely descending the mountain even once in years, yet the disciples of Taixu Sect still came to know that Junior Brother Mu of Medicine Peak was a genius, gifted in both cultivation and alchemy.

Especially for many outer disciples who relied on sect tasks to obtain resources for cultivation—even with all his schemes, they still learned that Senior Brother Mu of Medicine Peak could refine low-grade pills of much higher quality than their peers.

Ten days ago, Medicine Peak delivered a new batch of pills to the sect’s pill house.

The sect’s pill house provided pills to all Taixu disciples at prices cheaper than the outside market and of slightly better quality.

And more than 80 percent of those pills came from Medicine Peak.

That was why Medicine Peak disciples were wealthy and untouchable.

Among the new batch were dozens of bottles of Barrier-Breaking Pills—astonishingly of near flawless quality! They were snatched up immediately.

At first, everyone assumed it was the sect’s alchemy masters amusing themselves, generously refining a few furnaces of low-level pills.

But one day, as disciples chatted idly, a Medicine Peak disciple proudly revealed: it wasn’t the elders who made them at all—it was Junior Brother Mu.

Junior Brother Mu, Junior Brother Mu again!

Everyone still remembered the Foundation-Building Pills he refined before!

So, even when the vast majority didn’t even know what this “Junior Brother Mu Xing” actually looked like, his name was already deeply etched into the minds of the disciples of Tai Xu Sect.

Every time the pill hall released new elixirs, countless people would rush in, demanding specifically those refined by Junior Brother Mu of Medicine Peak.

Just thinking of this made Xue Zhongyu furious: the stronger Mu Xing’s presence was in the minds of the disciples, the less he could siphon from him.

Between Mu Xing and Xue Zhongyu, no connection could be born.

The key was, once he had chosen a vessel, he couldn’t casually replace it. At least until he reached Golden Core stage, only then could he select a second vessel. The stronger he became, the more vessels he could choose, plundering others’ things to make himself more and more “perfect.”

The most hateful part was, recently the people of Crescent Moon Peak seemed to have lost their minds.

Half a month ago, Xue Wuya personally summoned him to the main hall, stating that starting the next day, he must be urged to cultivate properly and could no longer laze about.

The following morning, before dawn, Granny Wang dragged him straight from bed, forced him into a plain short robe he rarely wore, and delivered him to Shi Zhizhu.

One thousand swings of the sword.

Only after finishing could he eat breakfast.

This body of his was delicate and frail, his cultivation all dependent on absorbing others’ desires and taking shortcuts. He had never gone through such hard, basic training.

He resisted, acted pitiful, refused to cooperate—but the always indulgent Shi Zhizhu hardened his heart, coldly watching, forbidding him to leave or eat until the count was full.

From the day of his birth, by relying on his innate ability to manipulate hearts and desires, everything had always gone his way. When had he ever suffered such a thing?

This body was only ten years old, the age most intolerant of hunger. Standing there, for the first time, he felt the taste of pain and despair.

What’s worse, Shi Zhizhu had even prepared a pill for him, one that ensured his body had enough stamina and that hunger wouldn’t harm him—but it didn’t blunt his senses. Hungry was still hungry.

In the end, under Shi Zhizhu’s watch, not until the sun had set did he finally finish a thousand swings, dragging his aching limbs home.

Then, Shi Zhizhu told him, “Junior Brother, today was the first day, I allowed you some slack. From now on, your daily task, besides sword practice, also includes cultivation. Master will be waiting for you in the main hall.”

Xue Zhongyu nearly blacked out.

*

Mu Xing was completely unaware of what was happening on Crescent Moon Peak. He only vaguely felt that lately, life seemed much lighter.

Until more than half a year later, when he accidentally overheard a young disciple from Medicine Peak mention Xue Zhongyu: under the strict supervision of his father and several senior brothers, he was now cultivating diligently every day, with hardly any free time at all.

Since he was always being watched by one senior brother or another, he didn’t even have the chance to stir up trouble.

What’s more, he did have some talent. After being forced to cultivate for more than half a year, his realm, which had stagnated at early Qi Refining for over a year after returning, finally advanced to mid-stage Qi Refining.

The people of Crescent Moon Peak immediately concluded that their little junior brother really just needed pressure, and thus tightened their supervision even more.

Xue Zhongyu was nearly driven insane.

Every day he was forced to cultivate, the only people he saw were Xue Wuya, whichever senior brother was watching him, and Granny Wang, who looked after him—oh, but soon even Granny Wang would be gone.

Because Xue Wuya said he was no longer a small child, and at such an age it was too pampered to still need someone caring for his daily living.

Before, he could at least slip through crowds and draw on the evil thoughts in others. Now, even that opportunity was gone.

They even claimed his breakthrough was thanks to cultivation—nonsense! It was clearly because he had refined the evil thoughts he had absorbed earlier.

He complained endlessly to Youhuo every day, plotting how to escape this life.

“I’m sick of this. Even if I have to let Mu Xing off for now, I don’t want to stay on Crescent Moon Peak anymore.” Xue Zhongyu lay on the bed, too exhausted to move.

“This isn’t the life I want. If I’d known earlier, I should have listened to you and stayed in the demon realm instead of coming back.”

Youhuo murmured, “But if the young master doesn’t reestablish the connection with his vessel soon, it will only grow harder and harder.”

The crimson flame in the void flared larger, and before Xue Zhongyu appeared the face of his current shell.

It was a delicate face, as lovely as spring blossoms, but something about it was not quite the same anymore.

The people of Crescent Moon Peak noticed nothing unusual—after all, children always change as they grow.

But Xue Zhongyu instantly understood Youhuo’s meaning: without drawing enough energy from his vessel, the connection was slowly being severed, and even the face that had once resembled Mu Xing so closely was beginning to fade.

Perhaps at first, he had deliberately chosen a child who strongly resembled “Xue Zhongyu.”

But now, it was no longer Mu Xing who resembled him—it was he, stealing Mu Xing’s features.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣