After hearing the tale of the Huáng Rat Láng Jīng, Cheng Qian wasn't sure which part struck a nerve, but Han Yuan's expression twisted oddly—somewhere between a toothache and a stomachache. After a long pause, he finally replied absentmindedly, "Everything has a spirit… maybe anything can become a jīng."
Han Yuan looked like he'd just received some grand validation. He stroked Qian's shoulder, lifted his chin, and declared smugly, "Senior Brother, this is what makes you so weird. If humans can become immortals, then of course animals can become monsters!"
Cheng Qian didn't respond—he just sneered quietly to himself.
If a Huáng Rat could grow over ten feet long, then its legs surely wouldn't be enough to carry it. Its long body would have to drag across the ground just to move forward.
Did some demon cultivator spend years cultivating a tough, hairless, iron stomach to slither around like that?
Cheng Qian didn't understand what that demon was trying to achieve—but he understood exactly what Han Yuan was up to.
That little beggar was like a leech from a stinking ditch: the moment it smelled blood, it latched on and wouldn't let go. Ruthless to the core. Han Yuan was vying for their master's affection.
He took every chance to prove how brave and extraordinary he was—while subtly dragging down his "weak and cunning" senior brother. Watching him bounce around trying to win favor was so absurd that Cheng Qian couldn't help mocking him the way their master might. Deep down, he came to a sour little conclusion:
"A gentleman remains virtuous in poverty. A petty man, when poor, becomes despicable—what a little beast."
Just the day after Han Yuan bragged about his "brave battle" with the Huáng Rat Láng Jīng, Cheng Qian got to witness firsthand how "heroic" his junior brother truly was.
That afternoon, their master was dozing beneath a tree while Cheng Qian sat nearby, reading an old scripture he'd found in the master's pack. The ancient book was filled with obscure phrases and archaic characters—but Cheng Qian enjoyed it. It was the first time in his life he'd gotten to read a book openly and honestly.
Master Mu Chun had picked up two disciples: one was as still as a wooden post (Cheng Qian), and the other as restless as a wild monkey (Han Yuan). Cheng Qian stayed where he was, unmoving. Han Yuan, on the other hand, couldn't sit still for a second.
At the moment, the monkey had disappeared somewhere, and Cheng Qian was enjoying the peace and quiet. But it didn't last long—soon enough, Han Yuan came running back, wailing like a spoiled child.
"Ma~ster..." he whimpered, fake tears glistening in his eyes.
The only response was the gentle, rhythmic sound of snoring.
Han Yuan kept howling, peeking at Cheng Qian out of the corner of his eye as he cried.
Cheng Qian suspected that their master was awake and just pretending to sleep, curious to see how the brothers would get along. Now, with one of them bawling like a baby… was he testing the other?
"There's a river up ahead," Han Yuan sniffled. "I wanted to catch some fish for you and Master, but there was a huge dog by the water—it chased me!"
Cheng Qian sighed inwardly. He didn't like vicious dogs either. But Han Yuan had clearly set the scene: he, the loyal younger brother, had tried to do something kind and been bullied by a beast. Now it was up to Cheng Qian to rise to the occasion… or shrink away like a coward.
So Cheng Qian bent down, picked up a rock, and weighed it in his hand. "Alright," he said calmly, "I'll come with you and take a look."
He was prepared. If there really was a feral dog, he'd chuck the rock at Han Yuan's head instead and smash the little brat into a pulp. That ought to solve both problems at once.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—by the time they reached the river, the dog was long gone. Only a few small paw prints remained in the mud.
Cheng Qian crouched down to examine them. Judging by the size, the "huge dog" was less than a foot tall. Probably a wild puppy. Harmless.
Han Yuan, this useless rascal—weak, underfed, shameless, and cowardly—had probably been scared off by a baby mutt. But he did know how to seek favor.
Cheng Qian gripped the rock behind his back, stared gently at his ridiculous junior brother, and let out a slow breath. He no longer had the energy to care.
Together, they caught a few small fish and rushed back to camp. Their master had "awakened" and was watching them with a gentle, amused expression.
Cheng Qian met his master's gaze—and his stomach turned. It felt like something sour and heavy had sunk to the pit of it.
Before he could say anything, Han Yuan was already running ahead, praising and flattering himself:He told the master how Cheng Qian desperately wanted to eat fish, how he fought off a savage beast "as big as an ox," and how he struggled heroically to crawl into the ditch and catch dinner.
Cheng Qian: "…"
He nearly burst out laughing. This junior brother of his was truly something else.
And just like that, Cheng Qian spent over ten days traveling with a sly old trickster and a shameless, brown-nosing brat.
Eventually, the three of them reached the sect.
It was Cheng Qian's first time away from home, and thanks to his colorful companions, he'd already witnessed plenty of bizarre things in the world. He kept his cool.
He hadn't expected much from a place called the "Swinging Sect" either. He'd imagined some ramshackle Taoist temple in the middle of nowhere, maybe with an old man chanting while incense burned in a leaky shack.
But the reality blew his expectations away.
The Fuyao Sect sat alone on a small hill, wrapped on three sides by water. From below, lush green hills rippled like waves, and wind stirred the leaves with a wild grace.
Birdsong and the chirping of insects were sometimes joined by the cry of distant cranes. Occasionally, a white figure would flash across the treetops—like a spirit in passing.
A path of gentle stone steps led up the mountain, clearly maintained with care.
Halfway up, Cheng Qian spotted a shaded courtyard. A mossy stone gate marked the entrance, with the word "Swinging" carved boldly into it.
He didn't know much about calligraphy, but those two characters seemed ready to leap off the stone and take flight.
This wasn't an immortal mountain cloaked in clouds—but the air carried a strange, subtle beauty. Cheng Qian felt it the moment they crossed the gate. Breathing here made him feel lighter, like the world itself had softened.
He caught glimpses of sky through the treetops, and a sense of open space filled him with joy. It was so overwhelming, he nearly laughed aloud.
But he held back. He wasn't allowed to make noise at home—his father would beat him. And here? He had to maintain a "gentleman's dignity" in front of the villain Han Yuan.
Their master patted the heads of his two disciples and said kindly, "Come with me to burn incense, wash up, and then we'll visit…"
Cheng Qian thought casually, Is he talking about that grinning "grandfather" from earlier?
But the master said, "Your eldest senior brother."
Cheng Qian blinked.
Why would a dignified master go visit a senior disciple?
He and Han Yuan exchanged confused looks. Their master didn't bother to clarify—he just waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Your senior brother's a bit rough around the edges, but no need to be afraid of him. Just treat him like you treat me."
Wait… like a teacher?
Whatever that meant, Master Mu Chun successfully turned the fog in their heads into a thick cloud of mystery.
After entering the sect, a few young Daoist boys approached. They were around thirteen to seventeen, each one handsome, refined, and dressed neatly—like celestial servants under an immortal lord.
Han Yuan was clearly stunned. Even Cheng Qian, who had been composed the whole way, suddenly became self-conscious. He straightened his back and masked his curiosity with a cool expression.
The leading boy spotted Mu Chun from afar and called out casually, "Where have you run off to this time, Head? You look like you just fled a desert storm—huh? What's this? Kidnapped a couple of children on the way?"
Cheng Qian mentally broke the comment into pieces. Not one word sounded respectful. It was like this guy was greeting a neighbor, not the sect leader.
Mu Chun didn't mind. He even chuckled and gestured at the boys. "These are my new disciples. Help me get them settled."
The boy asked, "Where to?"
Mu Chun pointed lazily at Han Yuan. "Take him to the South Courtyard."
Then he paused, looked down at Cheng Qian—who, even with his restrained posture, carried a tension in his eyes, a quiet discomfort with the unfamiliar surroundings.
The master's playful smile faded. He turned serious.
After a moment, he pointed again, this time more solemnly. "Let Cheng Qian stay in the Side Pavilion."
Despite the name, the "Side Pavilion" was not a pavilion at all, but a small courtyard tucked away in a quiet corner of the mountain. A stream flowed gently by one wall, and a bamboo forest rustled behind the other. It was peaceful. Remote.
The bamboo looked like it had been growing there for years, and even the softest breeze turned everything a deeper green.
At the entrance hung two ever-bright lanterns inscribed with delicate spells—far more refined than the tacky "heirloom" lamps of the Cheng family. A plaque overhead read "Qing An."
It looked like the same person who wrote "Fuyao" at the gate had written this, too.
The boy leading Cheng Qian was named Xueqing. He was about the same age as Cheng Qian's eldest brother—not too tall, not too short, plain-looking but neat. Among the others, he was the most inconspicuous. Quiet, too. He didn't talk much, and didn't seem like someone who liked being the center of attention.