Chapter 14

Last night, a light snow had fallen, and the mountain air was sharply colder.
On such a freezing morning, only a few dedicated souls remained on the plaza, persisting with their martial drills.
Dark pines carried snow on their branches, the flagstones gleamed with cold. Under the greyish dawn, a small figure practiced the Grappling Fist one move at a time, precise and focused. She was the youngest of all the morning trainees, a fact that drew no small amount of curious glances.
Wrapped in a comically puffy coat, her legs short and steps small, she didn’t have much physical strength to speak of.
Yet with each palm strike, punch, hook kick, or twist, her movements were unusually fluid and natural, like clouds drifting over a restless wind, or snow swirling in a storm. Just watching her was oddly soothing.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and clear, utterly focused, untouched by the world around her, as if she had stepped into her own tranquil universe. With every movement, an invisible current seemed to flow around her, threading through her slender frame.
Ye Hangzhou lounged on the rail nearby, clapped his hands and grinned, “Already found stillness through movement? That’s my junior sister from Xiaoyao Peak, alright.”
Mu Xue, lost in her practice, didn’t hear the chatter. This fist style was bold and dynamic, stretching muscles and bones, but in truth encoded with the mysteries of nature itself. As she moved, her breath grew long and steady, the world around her falling into profound stillness. All distracting thoughts faded; her heart was clear and luminous.
Mu Xue finished her set, took a few calming breaths, and smiled. She knew she’d gotten through the first step of “observing her mind and quieting her thoughts.”
Down the steps charged Ding Lanlan, cheeks puffed out in annoyance: “Xiao Xue! Since when do you sneak off here to practice? Don’t you see it’s just the rowdy boys running drills over here?”
She grabbed Mu Xue by the hand, trying to tug her away. “Come on, let’s go back.”
But she didn’t budge.
Normally so obedient, Xiao Xue just stood at the foot of the steps, looked up at her and smiled, shaking her head.
“Senior sister, I really think this technique suits me.”
Ding Lanlan stamped her foot. “We’re supposed to study supreme cultivation arts, what’s the use of learning these mundane martial stunts? Don’t tell me you want to be some hotheaded brawler, mixing it up on Tiezhu Peak or, heaven forbid, Xiaoyao Peak? Come with me, now.”
Of the girls their age, Xiao Xue was the youngest by several years, and always the most docile, always.
Only now did Ding Lanlan realize that her so-called obedience only lasted until she found something worth standing up for.
“No, senior sister. I want to stick with this a while longer,” Mu Xue said, shaking her head, tone resolute and unyielding.
Watching Ding Lanlan storm off in a huff, Mu Xue felt a little bad.
Plenty of people among their peers disliked Ding Lanlan, too brash, too quick-tempered, too bossy, they’d say. But Mu Xue had never minded her. All that arrogance was just bluster. Beneath it, Ding Lanlan was blunt in a good way and openly shared so many helpful tips and rules of thumb about cultivating and life in the sect, never stingy, always straight to the point.
Compared to those who hid knives behind cotton smiles, sweet on the surface but always plotting behind your back, Mu Xue actually preferred the simple, upfront types.
At breakfast, Mu Xue guessed she might be on her own, so she quietly picked up her plate and started hunting for a new seat.
In their usual corner, Ding Lanlan glared over at her, drumming her fingers on the table in utter exasperation.
When Mu Xue just stood there, tray in hand, not moving, Ding Lanlan finally snapped.
“Well? What are you doing, standing around like an idiot? You planning to eat with the boys now or what? Come over here!”
…Wait, was this how it was supposed to go?
This time, Mu Xue was genuinely thrown.
She’d braced herself to be isolated, only to find it didn’t happen at all.
For reasons she couldn’t name, this small kindness made Mu Xue unexpectedly happy. That is, until she realized the price.
Ever since they’d seen Cen Qianshan’s phantom in lecture, Ding Lanlan and the rest of her clique had started obsessing over two new storybooks: “Legend of Master Mu’s Tyrannical Discipline” and “The Heartless Snow Falls on Tender Qianshan.”
“Oh my god, listen to this part!” Someone flipped open a page, and four or five heads crowded close. “‘Cen Qianshan, forced into servitude, kneels on the ground, shame and defiance all over his face. Mu Xue’s gaze turns sultry as she grabs his chin, forcing him to look up: ‘All your defiance is pointless, give it time, you’ll be kneeling and begging me yourself.’”
“Wow, talk about power play. No wonder they call her the Demon Queen.”
The so-called “Demon Queen” Mu Xue looked up in confusion. “Huh?”
Eight hands shoved her aside at once. “Scoot, Xiao Xue! This is too spicy for you.”
“Wait, look at this!” someone squealed. “A maid brings water, only to find the tall, dazzlingly handsome lord forced into Mu Xue’s silk-draped bedchamber. At first, he tries to resist, but soon enough his cheeks flush red and he whimpers, ‘Master, spare me… spare Xiao Shan…’”
“The Demon Queen strikes again! She’s so wicked!”
“Why are there only four volumes? Just as it was getting good, ‘Cen Xiao Shan Crossdresses as a Flirtatious Beauty’, and now there’s nothing left!”
“I heard the newest book just arrived! They say the very first chapter has ‘Fun in Fuwang City, thousand mountains of passion beneath a snowy night’!”
“…”
At six years old, the so-called Demon Queen felt seriously wronged by life. Every day she was forced to listen to ever-wilder rumors about herself and her “disciple.” After enough retellings, she almost started to doubt whether she really had done something lurid after all.
Life in the Sect continued, slow and orderly.
Every morning after the first bell, the peak masters or their chosen delegates took turns giving lectures. The curriculum was vast: alchemy, arts, artifact refinement, spirit plants, astronomy, history, stories of strange phenomena, endless subjects, something for everyone. Even older senior brothers and sisters sometimes sat in to listen, picking the courses they needed most.
With all the students, young and old, gathered together, the hall bustled with vibrant energy.
After lunch, there were no strict requirements: the little ones could work on their reading and writing, review lessons, or simply run wild and play to their heart’s content.
Delicious food, endless fun, classes that were lively and intriguing, no wonder the newest disciples slipped right into life here, adapting in no time at all.
They found pure-hearted, adorable peers, learned from wise and talented mentors, and were welcomed by senior brothers and sisters brimming with warmth and enthusiasm.
To Mu Xue, life here felt so unbelievably comfortable, she sometimes wondered if it could even be real.
Of course, now and then, something mildly annoying would pop up.
That day’s main lecturer was none other than Kong Ji, the Peak Lord of Xuandan Peak.
Kong Ji was a large, imposing man with a stern air and intense, penetrating eyes, though his hair was so thin it was gathered at the back in the slimmest ponytail. A scar marked his eyelid, harsh and visible. When he glared, the whole room seemed to freeze with the force of his presence.
Most cultivators would have erased the flaws from their faces using external alchemy or spells. Whether he didn’t care or actually favored the intimidating look, no one could say, but he’d left it untouched.
He took the podium and his voice boomed like a bell: “I don’t care what others have told you. Let me be perfectly clear: of all the countless Daoist paths, only the Guiyuan Sect’s Ninefold Golden Elixir is truly supreme. Now that you’ve entered our mountain, your duty is simple, heed your elders, focus on our sect’s fundamentals, and your time of enlightenment will surely come.”
“There’s nothing I despise more than the twisted Demonic Path, especially those wretched demonic cultivators. If I ever catch one of you dabbling in their foul arts…” He clasped his hands behind his back, making deliberate eye contact with each student, then snorted coldly. “Don’t blame me if my punishments get, shall we say, a little intense.”
A girl in class had recently gotten hooked on tragic love stories about demonic cultivators. She couldn’t help but pipe up, “But, Peak Lord Ding and Peak Lord Su both said that demonic cultivators can also…”
“Hm?” Kong Ji’s glare snapped to her. The poor girl shrank down, turtling her head into her shoulders and swallowing the rest of her words.
Kong Ji strode over to her with heavy steps and ordered her to hold out her hand.
The girl shakily obeyed, her fingers trembling.
CRACK. His ruler lashed across the palm of a twelve-year-old girl, showing zero mercy.
Three quick smacks, each with a sharp whistle, before the crying disciple begged for mercy and his ruler finally stilled.
Ding Lanlan slid her chair closer to Mu Xue in the front row and whispered, “Master Kong has actually been to the Demon Spirit Realm. There, he competed in alchemy with a demonic cultivator and became sworn enemies. He’s been holding that grudge for decades, no wonder he hates anything to do with demonics-”
She thought she was whispering, but when she raised her eyes, she saw Kong Ji’s icy gaze cutting across the crowd and landing straight on her.
“Think having family connections guarantees your seat in the Inner Sect? Can’t even bother to pay attention in class?” Kong Ji’s mouth was set in a grim line, deep creases framing his lips. “Stand up and answer. If you can’t, don’t blame me for embarrassing Peak Lord Ding’s name.”
Ding Lanlan had no choice but to rise to her feet.
Kong Ji produced a wooden medicine box from his storage pouch. When he opened it, layers cleverly slotted together, revealing what looked small from the outside, but inside was a marvel, countless tiny compartments, each with an array for preserving the freshness of the herbs within.
He drew out three spirit herbs. “Name them.”
Ding Lanlan studied them and relaxed, a stroke of luck, she recognized all three. “Worrywort, yellow shoot, and red thread.”
Kong Ji nodded, set them aside, and took out a small, lantern-shaped blossom.
Ding Lanlan was sure she’d seen it once, a rare spirit plant, but its actual name slipped her mind.
Her forehead broke out in sweat. Then, from the front, she caught sight of Mu Xue’s desk, where a page sat with three characters written large: “Linglong Flower.”
“Linglong Flower, that’s it! The spiny kind.” Ding Lanlan blurted out, quick as a flash.
Kong Ji’s face finally eased a little. After a nod, he put the flower away and produced a small crystal bottle filled with blue powder.
Ding Lanlan’s palms were clammy. Her eyes darted to Mu Xue again, sure enough, a string of small characters was scribbled at the edge of her paper.
“Fishbone, from the Fuhao Fish.”
Ding Lanlan took a shaky breath, forced a look of sudden inspiration, and said, “Ah, now I remember! That’s bone powder from the Fuhao Fish!”
To her shock, Kong Ji’s face spasmed with fury. Jaw clenched, he marched over, seized Ding Lanlan by the wrist,
“This is Doryn Fish. Only those filthy demonic cultivators call it Fuhao Fish. Speak! Where’d you learn that name?”