Chapter Seventeen: Speaking Ill Behind One’s Back

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If forming a core marks a cultivator’s true entry into the world of cultivation, then reaching the Nascent Soul stage is the sign of transcending mortal flesh. Cultivators at the Nascent Soul stage possess lifespans and constitutions that ordinary people could never hope to match.

When Pingtian Daoist learned that Kongmingzi, so young, had already attained such cultivation, he too was astonished. The sect leader split his spiritual sense to examine closely and realized Lin He was not exaggerating. Only then did he realize he had just knocked unconscious a prodigy unseen in a thousand years...

Pingtian Daoist glanced at Lin He, who seemed hesitant to speak, realizing he was probably being silently blamed for his lack of discernment. He felt deeply embarrassed.

Outwardly maintaining the stern demeanor of a sect leader, he had already begun to fret inwardly. He coughed twice, announced the suspension of the competition, and then immediately flew off, claiming he needed to consult the former sect leader about urgent matters, leaving Lin He with a mess to handle.

“The sect leader has important business with Elder Changyan. I will oversee the rest of the newcomer competition. All disciples, go change your clothes and reconvene in one hour,” Lin He declared solemnly, dismissing the crowd of drenched disciples. Once they were gone, he quickly summoned a crane and carried both Ling Xiaozi and Kongmingzi back to Xinglin Peak.

“Take Kongmingzi inside first. I’ll brew a decoction to harmonize his spiritual energy,” Lin He instructed Ming Shuang.

Ming Shuang nodded, hoisted his little uncle onto his back, and headed toward the house Lin He had indicated. The room was free of incense, filled instead with a fresh fragrance of myriad flowers and immortal herbs. On the wall opposite the door hung a large calligraphy scroll and an enormous gourd.

The little uncle was settled onto the bed. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, looking for all the world like he was simply asleep. Unfortunately, no matter how many times Ming Shuang nudged him, he showed no sign of waking.

Lin He selected several fine immortal herbs—all previously harvested from Kongming Peak, now to be used entirely on Kongmingzi. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was a case of the wool coming from the sheep’s own back.

He prepared the medicine according to Kongmingzi’s constitution and spiritual roots and sent a young attendant to fetch spiritual spring water, only to be told that the supply had been used up the previous day when Lin He had made Ice-Skin Jade-Bone Cream, and the cranes hadn’t yet brought a new batch up the mountain.

Gazing at the large chest of beast cores contributed by his fellow disciples, Lin He fell silent. True immortal medicine must be paired with natural spring water infused with the essence of heaven and earth—but for now, that water was unavailable. If necessary, water condensed by a water spiritual root cultivator’s power could serve as an inferior substitute, but at the moment, there was neither spring water nor a water spiritual root cultivator.

Lin He pondered hard, then suddenly had an idea. He said to the young attendant, “Quick, go call Ling Xiaozi here. Tell him you need his help to treat his beloved little uncle.”

The attendant dashed off and soon returned with Ming Shuang, breathless from running.

“Ling Xiaozi, I have a challenging task for you,” Lin He said seriously. “Cultivators with ice spiritual roots can perform water techniques. See that water vat by the wall? Go fill it to the brim.”

Ming Shuang looked around the walls of the pharmacy several times and only found a vat as large as a sumo wrestler.

“You mean this one?” The poor, unpaid laborer Ming Shuang asked, shivering as he pointed to the giant vat.

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Seeing Ming Shuang’s troubled expression, Lin He went over, patted his shoulder, and said earnestly, “Just think—your little uncle caused so many of our fellow disciples to catch cold. They’ll all come to me for medicine soon. As his beloved nephew, you ought to help remedy his mistake. The first step is to fill the vat so I can brew the medicine.”

It was true enough. The very first spell Ming Shuang had learned upon arriving here was to condense water and soak the wooden door, and then, together with his little uncle, had electrocuted Ling Qixi into a charred mess for pounding on the door. Even now, Ming Shuang felt a bit guilty about that. Ling Xiaozi’s strange appeal to the heroine was certainly a troublesome thing.

However, condensing a bit of water and filling such a huge vat were worlds apart. Under his uncle’s supervision, Ming Shuang had been diligently cultivating, and in the process, he’d discovered that creating ice was actually more stable and easier for him than condensing water alone. Despite his uncle’s lectures that producing ice was twice as hard as gathering water, with Ming Shuang’s ice spiritual root, he found that gathering both moisture and cold was easier than just gathering moisture.

“Senior Lin He, how about this—can I just fill your vat with a big block of ice?” Ming Shuang asked, forcing a laugh.

“If only you’d made me an ice block yesterday for the Ice-Skin Jade-Bone Cream, I wouldn’t have used up all the spring water,” Lin He replied, pursing his lips. “Move the vat to the sunniest spot in the yard, then make your big ice block.” He accepted Ming Shuang’s suggestion.

Ming Shuang did as instructed, with the attendant’s help, and placed the huge vat in the sunlight, then gathered spiritual energy to form a massive block of ice inside, as though the vat had been filled and then frozen solid.

Afterward, he returned to the pharmacy to find Lin He waving a clay pot at him, shouting, “Break off some ice for my pot. Let’s start brewing medicine for your uncle.”

They prepared the immortal herbs, added some ordinary water to the pot, and put Ming Shuang’s ice block in to soak. After a while, the pot sat atop the stove, but no matter how long it burned, the ice wouldn’t melt.

Lin He stared at it for a long time before rolling his eyes and asking, “Wait, have you formed your core?” Ming Shuang thought he detected a hint of frustration and annoyance in Lin He’s voice.

“Yes, I’m at the Golden Core stage now. Is there a problem?” Ming Shuang asked curiously.

“Nothing, except that ordinary fire can’t melt your ice block... Might need something extra,” Lin He replied, resigned, gathering a greenish spiritual energy in his palm. After a moment, he tossed a handful of green leaves and twigs into the fire.

Finishing this, Lin He’s annoyance was no longer concealed: “You kids these days, always forming cores and Nascent Souls, just to make trouble for me. Now I have to waste spiritual energy to make firewood—otherwise, even if the whole place burned down, your ice block wouldn’t melt.”

Is it my fault I’m a prodigy? If anyone’s to blame, it should be Ling Xiaozi—his looks attract the heroine, and his talent let him form a core so easily. Ming Shuang blamed Ling Xiaozi for everything and, counting up all the misfortunes, even felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Clearly, Ling Xiaozi’s vanity was rubbing off on him; in any case, it was all Ling Xiaozi’s fault.

“How impressive, Immortal Ling Xiaozi! I’ve heard from the other brothers on the main peak that ordinary people must cultivate for decades before they have a chance to form a core, and even then, success depends on luck.” The attendant, eager to smooth things over after hearing Lin He’s grumbling, quickly praised Ming Shuang repeatedly.

Lin He, displeased, retorted, “What’s there to praise? Don’t you know that pretty boys like him are always being targeted? One day, he’ll step out and get entangled with some troublesome romance.”

Pretty boy Ming Shuang thought of the original novel’s plot. Indeed, after Ling Xiaozi, such a promising young man, met Ling Qixi, his misfortunes began in earnest. Calling Ling Qixi a troublesome romance was not inaccurate. So, Ming Shuang resolved to keep his distance from Ling Xiaozi’s protagonist status—and his romantic disasters—hoping misfortune would eventually fade.

“Who’s getting targeted? Don’t make it sound like wild beasts fighting over a meal. Immortal Ling Xiaozi is talented and young, naturally admired by the immortals, unlike certain elders who do nothing and envy their juniors,” the attendant shot back, not missing the chance to land a veiled jab at Lin He.

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Lin He slammed the table and scolded, “How can you speak that way about the sect leader?! He might be idle and gossipy, but he’s a good man!”

The attendant, unimpressed by Lin He’s evasions, snorted and declared he was going to the back courtyard to sun the medicinal herbs, then left.

Clearly, Lin He and his attendant’s relationship was unlike that of other masters and servants. Even the fondly attached Ah Jiu would never dare overstep as this attendant did, let alone banter with his master.

“What’s your attendant’s name? He seems very close to you,” Ming Shuang asked after the attendant left.

Lin He was feeding the fire with spirit-wood, and as the mundane flames consumed the spirit-rich twigs, the ice block in the pot finally began to melt, suffusing the immortal herbs with spiritual water. Lin He breathed a sigh of relief and replied, “His name is Chuyi, the leader of the crane house. By crane seniority, he’s actually your Ah Jiu’s great-grandfather. Envious?”

Ming Shuang wondered what kind of person boasted about their household birds. He could only change the subject, asking why his sect leader master had suddenly left.

Lin He picked up Chuyi’s little palm fan and began fanning himself. “Didn’t I say earlier? Your master went to see the former sect leader. He used spiritual pressure to knock out Kongmingzi, such a rare genius—of course he’s afraid the former sect leader will scold him. He’s probably gone to confess in advance.”

“I see. But I’ve been at Kongming Peak for over a month and have never seen the former sect leader give my uncle any guidance. What kind of person is he?” Ming Shuang asked.

In the novel, it was written that Ling Qixi slaughtered everyone at Green Jade Gate, and none of the defending cultivators survived. The heroine was supreme. Even such a prodigy as his uncle fell in that bloody battle, but the reclusive, masterly former sect leader never appeared. Ming Shuang had no clue and felt his suspicions were a tangled mess. He thought that if he could find the author, he’d get to the bottom of it, and resolved to seek out Chi Xiaoxiao after the newcomer tournament, and approach Cheng Yu, whose name burned on the heart of flame.

“You want to know about the former sect leader? He’s just an old show-off, hundreds of years old but still pretending to be young. Let me tell you, Daoist Changyan was quite the playboy in his youth—don’t you dare take after him,” Lin He clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed.

Suddenly, a light laugh sounded from outside the pharmacy. Ming Shuang turned to see a refined, elegant gentleman leaning against the doorframe, fanning himself. Ming Shuang prided himself on his senses, yet hadn’t noticed when this man had entered, nor how long he’d been eavesdropping.

“Go on, tell me more about my wild youth,” the elegant gentleman closed his fan, clapped his palm, and smiled at Lin He, who was still holding a shabby little fan.