I began cultivating at the age of seven, under what was, perhaps, the most unreliable master in the world. To be precise, I didn’t actually join his sect—I was…
kidnapped into it.
A hundred years ago, when the demon race was first eradicated, the world was still in chaos, with refugees everywhere. My biological parents had long since been lost amidst the upheaval, and an old beggar took pity on me, bringing me along as we wandered the roads together.
At that time, we wandered into a small city in central China. The old beggar fell ill, so I sat by the roadside with a cracked bowl, begging for alms.
It was a clear day when a middle-aged man’s scolding voice echoed from the end of the street:
“Just look at you! Careless and unkempt! Which talented child would ever want to follow you? No disciples at all! You can forget about making it as a proper master in this lifetime!”
“Master,” came the reply, in a voice so pleasing it immediately caught my attention. Though it carried a hint of laziness and roguishness, its rich timbre was unlike anything I’d ever heard. “You shouldn’t speak so definitively. What if, in just a few days, I find myself a disciple? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing for you?”
Curious, I looked up, and that single glance—bewitched as though by a spell—pierced through the crowd and found him. A man with jade-like features and a slender, bamboo-like frame, his demeanor carried a touch of laziness.
At that age, having seen so little of the world, I was utterly captivated by his face.
I stared so intently that I didn’t notice my cracked bowl slipping from my hand and falling to the ground with a “clatter.” Though the sound wasn’t particularly loud amidst the bustling street, he turned his head. His jet-black eyes locked onto mine.
As the middle-aged man continued to angrily berate him—“Find one! I dare you to find a disciple for me to see!”—the man smirked and walked straight toward me.
I must admit, despite the grievances and resentment I later harbored toward this master, the image of him that day—sunlight streaming down, his white robes billowing like a painting of unparalleled beauty—etched itself deeply into my mind.
“Little beggar,” he crouched down to meet my gaze. “I see your bones are excellent, but you’re pale and thin. It seems the five elements have been unkind to you—they’ve left you short of money.” With a “clink,” he tossed a small silver coin into my bowl. “I have money. How about you come with me?”
I was stunned for a while before turning to look at the old beggar behind me. Even in illness, the old beggar extended his hand with professional composure, shaking it slightly toward the man.
Understanding, the man chuckled knowingly, unfastened a silk pouch from his waist, and dropped it before the old beggar with a resounding “thud.” Even after a century, I still recall how heavy it sounded—it truly was a fortune!
And so, I followed him.
At the time, I thought I’d been purchased as a servant, perhaps a maid for menial tasks. Never did it cross my mind that I’d been bought as a disciple.
In the hundreds of years since Xian Ling Mountain was established, no master had ever purchased a disciple with money.
But my master did.
He even smirked smugly at his master—my grandmaster—and teased, “Does your face hurt, Master?”
My grandmaster, enraged, blew out his beard and glared at him, unable to speak a single word as he pointed an accusatory finger.
Xiao Yi Han, my master, turned back and tugged my hand, placing a piece of white jade in my palm. I had never seen such a finely crafted object and was too timid to accept it. I simply stared at him uneasily.
Taking my dirty hand in his, his gaze was as lazy and warm as the afternoon sun nearing the horizon. “Little beggar, starting today, you are my disciple. From now on, if someone gives you something, you may only refuse it out of disdain, never out of fear. You must follow me and learn to live as someone precious.”
I didn’t disdain the jade pendant at the time, so I accepted it and wore it on my waist daily, treasuring it as if it were priceless.
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