Jialan Fairy’s gentle voice drifted across the seven peaks like a soft breeze. Though it carried no hint of force, not a soul dared to object.
“Qingren Peak, Mist Lord Peak, and Snow Spirit Peak—double your tribute of heavenly materials and earthly treasures this month. See to it, peak lords. Thunder God Peak’s allocation of mystic pills and artifacts next month will be halved; Lord Thunder Supreme will make up the shortfall himself. Wind King Peak and Cloud Immortal Peak will proceed as usual. As for Rain God Peak, halve your tribute this month, but double the mystic pills and artifacts next month. Yu Shizun, you may enter my dojo to cultivate.”
Sunny Supreme, Fog Supreme, and Snow Supreme immediately bowed low. Innocent Thunder Supreme pulled a sour face. Wind Supreme was away from the sacred land as usual, Cloud Supreme stayed aloof from the matter, and Yu Shizun lowered her head in thanks.
Satisfied, Jialan Fairy nodded.
“With that settled, you’re all dismissed. Return to your peaks and cultivate diligently. The Seven Continents Tournament is not far off.”
The disciples, attendants, and elders of the seven peaks clasped their fists in unison.
“We obey the Holy Lord’s command!”
Their voices rang out perfectly synchronized.
Only then did Jialan Fairy turn back to Yan Zhen.
“Your Majesty, come with me.”
Gazing at the pure white fairy before him, Yan Zhen felt a twinge of nerves. He glanced at Yu Shizun, but she merely shook her head, signaling she couldn’t help.
“…”
With no choice, Yan Zhen mumbled his assent. Moments later, pure white mystic power enveloped him, and they streaked toward the sacred land’s tallest, grandest, and most imposing peak—the Inverted Peak—like a shooting star.
As they watched the pair depart, the five Supremes felt a storm of unrest in their hearts, chiefly because of how Jialan Fairy had addressed Yan Zhen. It was far too intriguing.
Even Thunder Supreme found it baffling. He had assumed their Holy Lord was simply showing favoritism to Yan Zhen on account of Technique Saint Lord. But it seemed that wasn’t the case.
Only those on Rain God Peak connected the dots in an instant. “Your Majesty”—that title belonged solely to Emperors. And since the Holy Lord was a reincarnator herself, she must have called Yan Zhen that for good reason.
Sunny Supreme sighed as she returned to Qingren Peak. Fog Supreme slipped away silently to Mist Lord Peak. Snow Supreme, however, flew straight to Yu Shizun and struck up a conversation.
“What’s the deal between that Yan Zhen and Lady Chen Xi?”
Yu Shizun shot her archrival a glance but said nothing, turning to leave.
Whoosh.
Snow Supreme circled around, blocking her path.
“Answer This Seat’s question, Rain Shishi!”
Yu Shizun frowned at her shameless persistence and said coolly, “Does it matter? You lost your chance the moment you laid hands on him.”
Regret flickered in the eyes of Snow Supreme, who stood rigid as an ice sculpture.
“He’s Lady Chen Xi’s disciple, isn’t he?”
Yu Shizun ignored her and tore open space, vanishing back to her cave abode.
Snow Supreme remained rooted to the spot, speechless and dejected for a long time.
At the same time, across the seven peaks, everyone’s thoughts were their own.
Gu Tiange, who had planned to challenge Yan Zhen every month, now felt utterly defeated. He knew he might never surpass him in this lifetime.
Wen Canglan, who had been quietly cultivating on Snow Spirit Peak while biding his time for revenge, lost all his fighting spirit. A trace of fear even crept into his heart.
Ling Fei, who had once heard Yan Zhen had one-shotted Gu Tiange and set him as a target to chase, wiped away a cold sweat in secret. He was glad he hadn’t gone too hard on this junior brother back in the Inner Academy.
Even Yu Die, still wavering on whether to become the “other woman,” felt a complicated mix of emotions. Suddenly, she wondered if she even measured up.
Jialan Peak lay between Supreme Peak and Holy Son Peak. It was the Holy Lord’s seclusion ground and the site of the sacred land’s ancestral temple.
No one but the seven peak lords, the three Supreme Elders, the Saint Son, and the Holy Lord herself could approach without a summons.
In his previous life, Yan Zhen had first set foot here upon becoming the Saint Son. The mountain gate led to three thousand steps, ending at a plaza where a majestic great hall stood.
But the white light bypassed the great hall and the pagoda forest behind it, smashing through a rift in the void before plunging inside.
This was Jialan Fairy’s true dojo—the cave heaven world she had created with her own hands: the Golden Bitter Sea!
Amid the bitter sea bobbed countless ferrying boats and islands. At its heart rose a Pure White Lotus as vast as a heavenly tree, connecting earth to sky. At the lotus’s center was a lotus pod, from which several enormous lotus seeds dangled.
Seeing the “Bitter Sea Cave-Heaven, Lotus World” just as described in the script, Yan Zhen brimmed with wonder. He looked around, growing more shocked with every glance.
This was true fantasy. Sword flight and energy blasts were child’s play; only shifting mountains, overturning seas, and cleaving open the heavens counted as grand spectacles.
The white light landed atop the lotus pod, revealing Jialan Fairy and Yan Zhen.
No sooner had they touched down than high-pitched chirps echoed around them. A dozen lotus root people, no taller than their knees, scampered or flew over. They circled Jialan Fairy excitedly, as if welcoming her home.
Yan Zhen’s eyes lit up. These lotus root people were half-puppets crafted by Jialan Fairy—much like a phone’s virtual assistant. Not quite as clever, perhaps, but all sweet and obedient children.
Jialan Fairy said warmly, “We have a guest. No more playing around.”
The lotus root people peered at Yan Zhen with their tiny beady eyes, then scattered joyfully, as if shy around strangers.
Jialan Fairy shook her head with a helpless smile at her “naughty” creations. She made a welcoming gesture.
“Your Majesty, please, have a seat.”
The lotus pod wasn’t just lined with hovering lotus seeds. A low square table sat there too, flanked by two cushions.
Yan Zhen obediently took a seat across from Jialan Fairy. He glanced at the seeds overhead and couldn’t help but twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Most of the lotus seeds served as “bookshelves,” storing Jialan Fairy’s handwritten works, transcribed scriptures, and painted scrolls. Any one of them would be a priceless treasure outside.
Jialan Fairy adored the written word. In her leisure, she read, wrote, or contemplated the Dao amid her books. The epitome of a cultured beauty.
In his previous life, the reason Jialan Fairy had taken a liking to Yan Zhen—beyond his connection to Beautiful Female Master—stemmed from the wealth of Earth’s literature and unique ideas in his mind.
Notably, his youngest daughter, Yan Lingji, had been inspired by Jialan Fairy to fall in love with books and paintings, blossoming into a true literary girl.
With a flick of her sleeve, a fragrant tea appeared on the table—Eighth-Tier Enlightenment Tea, even more precious than Dragon Blood Tea. It aided one in gaining insights.
“Your Majesty, please.”
Yan Zhen lifted the cup and took a sip. As the tea slid down his throat, his mind cleared instantly, all confusion vanishing. Seizing the moment, he said, “I’ve been wanting to say this since earlier: I’m not Your Majesty. My name is Yan Zhen, disciple of Rain God Peak. Greetings, Holy Lord.”
Jialan Fairy pondered for a moment.
“Your Majesty truly hasn’t awakened memories of your past life?”
Indeed. Before launching the reincarnation plan, Yan Zhen had discussed it with this half-mentor of his, Jialan Fairy—back when Beautiful Female Master was no longer around.
He shook his head in response.
“Your Majesty hasn’t awakened those memories, while I have… The power of fate is truly unpredictable.” Jialan Fairy sighed softly, then continued, “In that case, you wish to see Chen Xi.”
