Chapter 3

One hundred years ago, the founding master of Yunshang Immortal Sect—the institution that once ruled the entire cultivation world—ascended to immortality after slaying the Demon Lord.

The demon forces scattered like headless dragons, fleeing into the mortal realm to escape the pursuit of righteous sects, vanishing without a trace.

From then on, life flourished again.

The seas ran clear, the rivers ran peaceful, and the war-torn land slowly regained its vitality.

The mortal world enjoyed a brief respite.

However, humans are creatures who forget too easily.

When new villages rose from ruined walls, when bones littering the ground were buried under yellow sand, when offerings before heroes’ graves rotted away—people naturally forgot the nightmare-like calamity of the past.

But Luo Chu knew that twelve years later, the new Demon Lord, Liu Chengzhi, would bring devastating destruction to the cultivation world.

And the Chosen One, Xiao Chen, would lead the righteous sects to defeat him, restoring peace once more.

Ah, history always repeats itself in eerily similar ways.

Don’t ask how Luo Chu knew all this.

If you must ask—she transmigrated into the novel.

The Yunshang Immortal Sect’s once-every-five-years disciple selection ceremony was a grand event in the eyes of the world.

Immortal sects were always strict in selecting disciples, but Yunshang was even harsher—they only accepted those under eighteen.

A blank sheet of paper was always more favored than one already stained with ink.

Thus, every family hoped their child would perform well and catch the eye of a powerful master.

For common folk, having their child chosen as a disciple by one of the Six Peak Lords of Yunshang was a glory to ancestors, something to boast about for generations.

However, the selection method changed yearly.

This time, it involved testing spiritual roots and a labyrinth illusion.

“Junior sister, did you hear? There’s a child who possesses all-spiritual roots. In the past century, aside from you, he’s only the second. Truly, the younger generation surpasses the old.”

“Oh? What does the child look like?”

“The disciples overseeing the spirit stone relayed the news. His full appearance is still unknown.”

“Then let’s see.”

Luo Chu replied with feigned indifference.

After the first round of spiritual root testing, only less than a hundred out of the initial thousand participants remained, gathered at the foot of the six peaks.

Many parents lamented their children’s mediocre aptitudes, some even wailing in despair.

But survival of the fittest, the superior prevailing over the inferior—this was the way of the world since ancient times.

Among the candidates, one child stood out.

He wore oversized, tattered clothes that made him look frail and pitiful, his face smudged with grime, features indistinct.

The boy was so thin he seemed weightless.

From Luo Chu’s vantage point, his unkempt bangs—some clumped with dirt—covered his eyes.

His pale skin carried a fragile, broken quality, and the bones at the back of his neck protruded sharply from malnourishment.

Luo Chu stared at this boy, who stood out starkly among children clad in brocade and finery, and was inexplicably reminded of a middle-school text she’d studied: “Send-off to Student Ma Dongyang.”

(T/N: The phrase “Send-off to Student Ma Dongyang” refers to a famous classical Chinese essay written by the Ming Dynasty scholar Song Lian. It’s a nostalgic piece where the author recalls his own struggles as a poor student in his youth, contrasting them with the luxurious lives of his wealthier classmates.)

“My fellow students wore embroidered silks, adorned with vermilion-tasseled caps, white jade pendants at their waists, swords on their left, sachets on their right, glowing like divine beings. I, in my ragged cotton robe, stood among them without envy, for my joy lay in learning, not in material comforts.”

This scene matched the description perfectly.

Luo Chu couldn’t help but let out a sudden “Pfft—” of laughter.

Dozens of eyes turned to her.

Even the other Peak Lords were stunned—the famously cold and aloof Ice Beauty had actually laughed today?

How bizarre!

“Luo Chu! Mind your character setting! Your laughter is screeching at my eyes!” The orange cat yowled.

Luo Chu deadpanned: “Oh, sowwy, my bad. I’ll do better next time.”

At the mountain’s base, only a single path led upward—clean stone steps ascending into the clouds, with the lowest step hovering midair, unreachable.

Before the children, a rippling mirror-like illusion floated slightly above the ground, its contents unseen.

“It’s so high! Do we really have to climb step by step?”

“There’s nothing below! What if we slip and fall?”

The children chirped nervously, all fledglings just out of their parents’ nests, hesitant and fearful—perfectly normal.

Then, the ragged boy stepped forward after a brief observation and entered the floating mirror—without hesitation or fear.

The other children watched, and seeing no other choice, the bolder ones followed.

A few even poked their heads back out, shouting: “Come in! There’s a path!”

With this reassurance, the children cheered and surged inside—only to freeze in shock moments later.

The deeper they went, the bleaker the scenery became.

Mist curled around thorny branches that clawed from the earth, dense and suffocating, the air thick with miasma—utterly lifeless.

Suddenly, a sinister sound echoed from the darkness ahead.

The children held their breaths, staring motionlessly, dread creeping over them.

Then—a gigantic, six-eyed, hairy spider lunged into view.

The creature was half-human, half-monster, its maw roaring with a stench of blood, moving unnaturally fast.

Its dense, jagged teeth looked capable of biting off a head in one snap.

“AAAAAAAAH! MONSTER!”

“Mom! Dad! I’m scared! Waaaaah! I wanna go home!”

The children scrambled in panic, screams erupting everywhere—total chaos.

Then, one child tripped and fell, lips trembling, face drained of color—as the spider’s razor-sharp leg thrust toward his body.

At the critical moment—

A figure hurled himself at the monster.

It was the ragged, silent boy who had not spoken a single word the entire time.