Chapter One: The "Minor Cloud and Rain Technique"

  "Don’t forget!"

  "Even if you die, you must not forget!"

  …

  A voice, both familiar and unfamiliar, echoed as if from the depths of the clouds. Over and over, the reverberations overlapped, lingering endlessly.

  Who?

  What must I not forget?

  What is it that I must not forget?

  He jolted awake. As usual, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his body. He sat up, the stars above and the thick darkness of the night reminding him that dawn was still far off. A cool night breeze brushed past him, sending a shiver down his spine.

  That dream again!

  He let out a long, habitual sigh. It was still early; he should try to sleep a little more.

  He lay back down.

  "Brother Mo, don’t forget to water my fields for me. We just made the agreement at the beginning of the month, and this year’s harvest depends on you."

  Before he even reached the mountain pass, Zuo Mo heard someone calling out to him from a distance. A man who looked to be around fifty years old, dark and thin, stood in the field. If not for his movement, he would have blended into the surroundings.

  The man, nicknamed Old Black Head, was the oldest among the outer disciples of the Wukong Sword Sect. His real name was unknown.

  Zuo Mo wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "I won’t forget. Don’t worry, your turn is tomorrow!"

  He was as thin as a bamboo pole, and the dark green outer disciple robe hung loosely on his frame. Contrary to his smooth way of speaking, his face was stiff and wooden, perpetually gloomy.

  Zuo Mo’s zombie-like face was his trademark. At first, everyone kept their distance, but over time, they realized that despite his intimidating appearance, he had a good temperament and was easy to get along with. Two years later, he had become the most popular among the outer disciples.

  Old Black Head grinned from ear to ear, saying eagerly, "Good, good! Brother Mo, your skills are unmatched. I’ve never seen anyone else do what you can do."

  Zuo Mo’s "Minor Cloud and Rain Technique" was indeed something to be admired. Having reached the third level, he was the only one among the outer disciples to achieve this feat. Thanks to this skill, he had practically monopolized the task of summoning rain for all the spirit fields in the sect.

  The "Minor Cloud and Rain Technique" was not a particularly profound spell; everyone knew it. It was mainly used to water spirit fields. The first level could be mastered in three to five days, and the second level could be achieved in a year or two with some effort. However, starting from the third level, personal comprehension was required to progress. Among all the outer disciples of the Wukong Sword Sect, Zuo Mo was the only one who had succeeded in reaching the third level.

  Once he reached the third level, the technique’s effectiveness increased significantly, greatly boosting the yield of spirit grains and vegetables. Because of this, after his breakthrough, his status in the sect underwent a dramatic change, and his nickname shifted from "Zombie Xiao Mo" to "Brother Mo."

  Zuo Mo waved his hand and bid farewell to Old Black Head.

  Grimacing, he adjusted the heavy bag on his shoulder, which was starting to ache. The three hundred pounds of spirit grains he carried were almost too much for his frail frame.

  A thin, zombie-like figure, carrying a bag several times his size, trudged laboriously along the mountain path.

  After carrying the three hundred pounds of spirit grains, huffing and puffing, he finally reached the sect gate. As soon as he passed through, he dropped the bag to the ground and collapsed, gasping for breath.

  After resting for a while and regaining some strength, he stood up and carefully took out a yellow paper crane from his pocket.

  The crane was about the size of a palm, folded from rough yellow paper, with cinnabar talismans drawn on it.

  He infused it with spiritual energy, and the crane grew in size, becoming slightly larger than a real crane. Its frame was made of thin bamboo, covered with yellow paper, and covered in curved, tadpole-like cinnabar talismans. However, the craftsmanship was clearly not the best, with many rough edges in the glued areas. The yellow paper was of low quality, with bits of straw visible throughout.

  He hoisted the bag onto the crane’s back.

  Within the sect, outer disciples were forbidden from flying. This rule was something Zuo Mo had cursed countless times over the past two years.

  Clumsily climbing onto the crane’s back, the bamboo frame creaked and groaned under his weight. He froze for a moment, waiting to see if the crane would collapse. When it didn’t, he let out a sigh of relief.

  "Little Yellow, Little Yellow, don’t fail me now," he muttered, patting the crane’s head.

  The crane wobbled unsteadily as it slowly rose into the air.

  The creaking of bamboo and paper filled the air as the crane flew in a drunken, erratic path, swaying left and right, rising and falling unpredictably as it made its way along the mountain road.

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  Zuo Mo sat steadily, his experience evident. This lowest-grade wind-riding crane could carry a maximum weight of less than four hundred pounds, and the current load was pushing its limits. Yet, even this "frail" crane was the envy of the other outer disciples.

  Among the outer disciples, he was the first to own a mount. Of course, whether a wind-riding crane could truly be considered a mount was not something Zuo Mo concerned himself with.

  After five hours of creaking and wobbling, Zuo Mo’s zombie-like face had turned pale. Finally, Dongfu came into view in the distance.

  Half-hidden in the clouds, Dongfu seemed to float in mid-air.

  Long ago, the Dongfu Realist had sliced a mountain in half and used the remaining peak as a foundation to build Dongfu. Five hundred years later, Dongfu had become one of the thirteen major towns in the Tianyue Realm.

  The cultivation world consisted of three thousand realms, and Tianyue was not a particularly notable one. It was a small realm, with a history of only fifteen hundred years. Fifteen hundred years ago, the Tianyue Immortal discovered and took control of this realm, naming it after herself. The Tianyue Immortal hailed from Kunlun, so Tianyue naturally became one of the realms under Kunlun’s jurisdiction.

  Over time, various realists came to Tianyue to establish their sects, gradually shaping the realm into what it was today.

  The crane creaked and groaned as it struggled toward the base of Dongfu Mountain. Along the way, laughter could be heard from others. A thin zombie, riding an equally thin, drunken-looking crane, was a sight that amused many.

  Zuo Mo sat as steady as ever, his expression calm, as if he were a peerless zombie. In reality, he was drooling over the mounts flying above him—those were real mounts!

  The gray-bodied, red-beaked fire-beaked geese had broad, soft backs, offering a ride so smooth it was practically a luxury experience. The auspicious clouds, trodden upon, exuded an air of elegance. The silver-white thunder wings, floating behind cultivators, radiated lightning, offering a taste of extreme speed…

  He could recite the advertisements for these mounts by heart, but he could only recite them.

  The most awe-inspiring sight was the Thousand Feathers Blessing Ship that slowly passed overhead. The ship was like a mountain, and when it flew over Zuo Mo, he felt the sky darken. Looking up, he could see the faint glow of the ship’s bottom formations.

  Luxury was indeed the greatest sin of cultivators!

  Zuo Mo couldn’t help but curse in his heart again. However, when he saw other cultivators scattering in disarray, his mood lifted.

  After another hour of flight, the man, the crane, and the bag finally arrived at the base of Dongfu Mountain. With Little Yellow’s weak flying ability, which could only skim the ground, flying directly up to Dongfu was a pipe dream.

  He climbed down from the crane, unloaded the bag, and put the crane away. The crane’s surface was beginning to show cracks, and Zuo Mo sighed inwardly. Would he have to buy a new one? The thought made him feel a deep ache in his wallet.

  Looking up at the towering Dongfu, shrouded in clouds, and the countless stone steps winding up the mountain, then glancing at the bag at his feet, Zuo Mo’s legs trembled.

  "Brother, need some help?" A shadow fell over Zuo Mo.

  A half-naked, muscular man who looked like a tower of iron approached him.

  "How much?" Zuo Mo asked warily, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Encouraged by his gaze, several other strong men sitting nearby stood up.

  Noticing his competitors moving in, the man quickly said, "Three first-grade spirit stones."

  Zuo Mo exclaimed, "That’s robbery!" Then he firmly said, "Two, take it or leave it." His expression remained unchanged, making the situation feel a bit awkward.

  "That’s too low!" the man scoffed, but seeing his competitors closing in, he gritted his teeth and nodded. "Deal!"

  As he reached for the bag on the ground, Zuo Mo shouted, "Wait!"

  "What now?"

  "Let’s make a contract first." Zuo Mo took out a jade slip.

  "For just two stones, do we need a contract?" the man grumbled.

  "Just to be safe. With my physique, if you run off, I won’t be able to catch you." Zuo Mo’s face remained expressionless, but his tone was light.

  Reluctantly, the man agreed to the contract, and the others dispersed.

  With that done, the man lifted the bag, and the three hundred pounds felt like nothing in his hands.

  Halfway up the mountain, Zuo Mo struggled to climb the steps, drenched in sweat. The man said disdainfully, "Your stamina is really poor." Then he urged, "Can you hurry up? I still want to do two more jobs today! At this rate, we’ll be lucky to get there by nightfall."

  Zuo Mo felt like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. He sat down on the steps, panting, "I… I can’t go on…"

  The man grew anxious, "This won’t do. You’re ruining my business!"

  Zuo Mo rolled his eyes, his face still blank, "You see, I’m really out of strength."

  The man grumbled, "Taking your job, I’m losing money today." With that, he scooped Zuo Mo up under one arm and began jogging up the steps.

  "You body cultivators are really something to envy," Zuo Mo said shamelessly, enjoying the free ride.

  "What’s there to envy? We just eat by our strength. I’m only at the fifth level of Qi Refinement, so there’s not much work I can take. Once I reach Foundation Establishment, I’ll have more opportunities. Life’s tough these days!" the man lamented.

  "Yeah, life’s tough!" Zuo Mo agreed, thinking of the Thousand Feathers Blessing Ship he had seen earlier. He asked, "By the way, what’s the deal with that Thousand Feathers Blessing Ship? I’ve never seen it before."

  "That’s the Chiyue Realist’s palace. Be careful not to provoke him," the man warned. "If you see those women in white with veils, stay far away. They’re the Chiyue Realist’s concubines, and they’re very arrogant. Many who crossed them ended up badly!"

  The man’s strength was astonishing. Carrying the three hundred-pound bag in one hand and Zuo Mo in the other, he showed no signs of strain.

  "True, for small people like us, provoking them is suicide," Zuo Mo agreed.

  The man’s strides were large, and his speed was much faster than Little Yellow’s. The winding mountain steps were conquered in just half an hour.

  Zuo Mo paid the two first-grade spirit stones without hesitation, and the man hurried back down the mountain.

  "Life’s tough!" Zuo Mo watched the man’s retreating figure, his face expressionless as he sighed sincerely.

  Zuo Mo was very familiar with Dongfu. Hoisting the bag, he turned a few corners and found the place he was looking for.

  It was a shop that specialized in buying spirit grains, a small storefront with a flag outside that read "Spirit Grains." The talisman array on the flag ensured that the characters could be seen from afar even at night.

  Three hundred pounds of second-grade spirit grains were just a small transaction for such a shop. The manager didn’t even bother to come out, sending only a clerk.

  "Thirty second-grade spirit stones."

  The clerk showed no intention of haggling, and Zuo Mo knew he had no room to negotiate. He nodded straightforwardly.

  The price was a bit low, but it was the same at other shops. Unless he could provide tens of thousands of pounds of spirit grains, he wouldn’t have the right to negotiate. After deducting the amount he had to hand over to the sect, the three hundred pounds of spirit grains were the result of a year of hard work.

  Thirty second-grade spirit stones were a significant sum for him.

  With the thirty second-grade spirit stones in his pocket, walking down the street, Zuo Mo felt like everyone’s eyes were on him.

  The streets of Dongfu were wide, and the sky was filled with colorful, oddly shaped houses—those were also shops. However, those were high-end commercial areas, inaccessible to cultivators without advanced mounts or the ability to fly on swords. Some high-end shops even resembled small floating islands, filled with fragrant flowers and melodious music.

  Those were places Zuo Mo wouldn’t even dream of. He always kept his eyes on what was in his bowl.