Chapter 2: 2: Rejecting the Unlucky Academic Degree—Starting by Refusing to Become a Sword Cultivator
Chapter 2: 2: Rejecting the Unlucky Academic Degree—Starting by Refusing to Become a Sword Cultivator
Their little Mianmian was quite spirited after all. Yan Jiuge took the girl's small hand and guided her gently out of the room. "Come, Mianmian. Let us go see Master first."
*Master? Oh, right—my biological father!* Chu Yunmian thought, trotting obediently behind her. *The glorious ringleader of the cannon fodder, and current sect master of the Qingfeng Sword Sect.* Wrapped in her internal monologue, she allowed herself to be swept aloft into the mountain breeze.
They soared over the most exquisite courtyards tucked within the embrace of the peaks, gliding past the vast span of the Heavenly Chasm Bridge. Down in the misty ravines below, colossal, whale-like beasts exhaled plumes of vapor, churning the cloudbanks and occasionally flicking immense tail fins before plunging back into the white abyss. Noting her wide-eyed stare, Yan Jiuge offered an explanation. "Those are called Mayflies. They serve as ferry beasts for disciples who have yet to reach Foundation Establishment and cannot pilot flying swords, carrying them between the peaks for daily cultivation. A single crossing costs roughly one lower-grade spirit stone."
Chu Yunmian nodded with solemn contemplation. *Called a Mayfly, yet built like an airborne mountain. Blown about by the winds from behind, it must feel like a deeply despairing, unlettered brute.*
*[Such an enormous fish.]*
*[One pot definitely wouldn't fit it.]*
Yan Jiuge’s fingers twitched faintly around hers, a ripple of mirth bubbling up in her chest.
The Qingfeng Sword Sect was neither grand nor insignificant. It occupied the absolute bottom rung of the first-rate powers across the Canghai Small World, eyed hungrily by the vanguard of ambitious second-rate sects who yearned day and night to pull it down from its perch. Yet, as the centuries rolled by, the Qingfeng Sword Sect endured as steadily as an old hunting hound, faithfully churning out cannon fodder and villains for the wider cultivation realm. It was, in every sense, the indispensable brick of this fictional world—wherever the narrative required a stepping stone, the author picked up the sect and set it right there.
Watching the disciples bustling to and fro, Chu Yunmian felt a faint twinge of melancholy.
Their flight was brisk. Yan Jiuge’s mastery over saber-riding was nothing short of immaculate, carving a path through the sky without a single stumble or close call. Before long, they touched down before the grand main hall of the Qingfeng Sword Sect.
Standing politely outside, they waited for an attendant to announce their presence. Chu Yunmian noticed a retinue of figures stepping out through the arched doorways, brushing right past them. Unlike the azure robes typical of their sect, these cultivators wore sumptuous, gold-embroidered black silks, their chins tilted in haughty disdain and impatience.
Before she could ponder who they were, Yan Jiuge drew her across the threshold.
At the dais of the hall stood an elegant, slender man with a solemn, composed countenance. The moment his gaze found them, however, his stoic facade melted into radiant joy, and he hurried down the steps. "Yunbao! I heard from your Senior Sister that your scattered souls have finally returned in full?"
*Yunbao?* Chu Yunmian’s brow twitched inwardly. *That sounds like a pet gold ingot, or a neighborhood puppy!*
*[Father, you'd better just call me Mianmian. Yunbao sounds like a dog's name!]*
Chu Anhuai froze mid-stride.
His divine sense swept across the hall in an instant. Finding no trace of an intruder, he slowly lowered his gaze to his only daughter.
Seeing his sudden stillness, Yan Jiuge chimed in hastily, "Master, Mianmian’s soul has indeed mended, but she appears to be suffering from lingering aftereffects. At present, she can neither speak nor form any expressions."
The delicate young girl beside her nodded with vigorous enthusiasm.
*[Ah, so this is my biological father. He's extraordinarily handsome... Cultivators really don't show their age. I heard he's around two hundred years old, yet he's still as blooming as a flower.]*
Chu Anhuai's expression turned exceedingly complicated, though a subtle thrill of pride flickered through him. Had anyone else dared speak of him in such frivolous terms, he would have found it impudent. But this was his precious daughter, his one and only child. Even when she had spent over a decade devoid of awareness, he had cradled her in his palm like the rarest pearl. Now that her soul was whole, how could he not dote on her without restraint?
Then came another stray thought, dripping with resignation.
*[It's just such a pity that his cultivation isn't up to par. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been the very first to cash in his chips when our whole sect was wiped out.]*
*[Sigh.]*
Chu Anhuai’s eyebrows shot upward.
He had reached the Peak Soul Transformation Realm at a mere two hundred years of age. In the Canghai Small World, where the absolute ceiling was the Great Ascension Realm, he was celebrated across the realm as a peerless prodigy of heaven! And she dared call his cultivation unimpressive?
Yan Jiuge gave a soft, discreet cough on her master’s behalf. "Mianmian, Master broke through to the Peak Soul Transformation Realm not long ago. You haven’t seen him in half a year—do you still recall?"
Chu Yunmian shook her head with mild hesitation. Her past memories were hazy at best; surely one couldn't expect too much from someone who had spent her youth functionally brainless.
*[Didn't people say all the venerated seniors of the previous generation perished, which is why Dad was shoved onto the throne as sect master?]*
*[Good heavens, they always say sword cultivators are magnets for blood and slaughter, walking calamities in human form. Did every single ancestor really drop dead?]*
The corner of Chu Anhuai’s mouth twitched. He reached out and gently patted his daughter’s crown. "Mianmian, you have only just awakened. Let your Third Senior Sister show you around so you can reacquaint yourself with the sect."
After a brief pause, he cleared his throat and added, "Do not fret, and take all the time you need. Throughout our history, the Qingfeng Sword Sect has sent more cultivators ascending to the upper realm than any other power in this world. Our foundations run deep. Your martial uncles and aunts were all monstrous geniuses, and many of them have already ascended."
*So there is a safety net. They didn’t all die!* Chu Yunmian’s internal voice softened into poignant pity. *[I understand now. My dad was simply the most mediocre among them, so they dumped the administrative chores on him and made him sect master.]*
*[Even so, Old Dad, your darling child won't abandon you. Rest easy—I'll protect you.]*
Chu Anhuai lapsed into stunned silence.
His daughter’s standard for 'mediocre' was evidently detached from the realities of mortal cultivation. He was barely two centuries old! Even with heaven-defying talent, how could anyone ascend at such an age? He felt a mix of wry amusement and quiet tenderness, a warm glow settling into his chest.
Sensing the strange tension, Yan Jiuge smoothly diverted the conversation. "Master, were those visitors from the Profound Heaven Sect just now?"
At the mention of the name, Chu Anhuai’s face darkened. "Indeed. They came demanding that allotment of mystic realm resources."
*The Profound Heaven Sect?!*
Chu Yunmian’s heart skipped a beat. *The future sect of the original protagonist!* In the Canghai World, any sect bearing the 'Xuantian' name stood at the apex of power, and the Profound Heaven Sect was the undisputed titan among immortals—an untouchable colossus, and the primary stage for the protagonist’s rise to face-slapping glory.
Anxiety churned in her chest as she rapidly flipped through the plot outlines of all three novels.
*[Mystic realm resources? Could it be that catastrophe?]*
*[My dad places blind trust in the Second Elder and hands over the hoard for safekeeping, only to fall hook, line, and sinker for a plot that lures the tiger from the mountain! Not only are the resources stolen, but the Profound Heaven Sect places all the blame square on his shoulders!]*
*[Dad, please grow a brain! The Profound Heaven Sect treats you like their loyal errand-boy, and subservient bootlickers always end up empty-handed while taking every beating, sob!]*
*[Once you die, our whole sect will either be massacred or desecrated!]*
*[Even I end up dragged into some scumbag's harem!]*
*[Help me!]*
A crack of thunder seemed to split Chu Anhuai’s mind.
He had indeed intended to entrust those resources to the Second Elder for safekeeping this very afternoon. How could Mianmian know that? And what did she mean by the sect being massacred or desecrated? Who under heaven would dare lay a finger on the Qingfeng Sword Sect? And what insolent cur would dare touch his precious daughter?
His palm clamped onto the hilt of his natal sword, a fleeting glint of cold killing intent igniting in his pupils.
In that single moment, the thoughts of Chu Anhuai and his third disciple snapped into perfect alignment. Could this be the miraculous turning point prophesied by the high monks of the Buddhist Sect? The elusive art of karmic divination?
He opened his mouth to question her, only to discover his throat locking up. No sound emerged. With his profound cultivation base, he realized in an instant that a formless, heavenly decree was actively suppressing him from speaking of these matters aloud.
Forcing his roiling emotions down, Chu Anhuai buried his sudden suspicion toward the Second Elder into the deepest recesses of his mind. Nothing mattered more than his daughter right now. He softened his tone, steering the subject away. "Now that your soul is whole, Mianmian, you may embark upon the path of cultivation in earnest. Your current cultivation rests merely at the Fourth Level of Qi Refining, accumulated entirely through medicinal spirit pills."
He cupped her small, pale face, smoothing down a stray tuft of hair that stood stubbornly on end, his eyes brimming with paternal tenderness. "Our archives hold countless mental methods for you to choose from. When your mother returns, she will forge a natal spirit artifact just for you. How about learning the sword from Father?"
Chu Yunmian stared at him with an expressionless, porcelain face, but her mind was screaming in protest.
*[I refuse to be a sword cultivator! Sword cultivators are cursed with the worst luck imaginable!]*
Throughout every webnovel she had ever read, sword cultivators were either traumatized protagonists carrying blood debts or doomed cannon fodder destined for early graves. Plagued by constant storms of slaughter, they were unmitigated jinxes. If she wanted to survive, she had to pluck the weed out by its roots—by refusing the blade entirely!
Chu Anhuai stood there, rendered entirely speechless. Looking back on the history of sword cultivators... it was true that their fates were often soaked in misfortune...
Yan Jiuge’s fingers twitched toward the saber resting at her hip. "She has a point, Master. If Mianmian does not wish to practice the sword, the saber is an excellent choice as well. Aside from your two senior brothers, you also have a junior brother who wields the spear. Our sect has never restricted disciples exclusively to the sword, though our sword manuals are naturally the most refined."
Chu Yunmian paused, recollecting the notorious antagonist from the original storyline.
*Junior brother—Xie Xuan.*
A prince of the Shengyan Dynasty, and an unhinged boss of the later plotlines. When the Qingfeng Sword Sect was annihilated, the Shengyan Dynasty was annexed right into the protagonist’s sprawling harem. As for Xie Xuan himself, he turned into the protagonist’s bitter archrival, scheming and causing trouble at every turn only to be slapped down repeatedly. Worse yet, he fell into the clutches of the dragoness Feng Aotian, bedding her through a tormenting, melodramatic cycle of 'she loves me, she loves me not.'
He lost his ancestral fortune and gave away his innocence, only to end up tossed onto an altar as a blood sacrifice.
He was, bar none, the most pitiable wretch in the entire history of the Qingfeng Sword Sect.
*Since ancient times, spearmen have always been cursed with the lowest luck; the legends truly do not lie.* Chu Yunmian felt a chill of pure existential exhaustion. What sort of nightmare-tier difficulty was this? And there were still two senior brothers unaccounted for, both bound to be equally luckless.
Her gaze wandered across the grand hall, drifting over the spirit weapons adorning the display racks along the walls. Suddenly, her eyes widened, alight with sudden inspiration.
The young girl lifted a delicate finger, pointing resolutely toward a slender recurve bow, and turned her shining, hopeful gaze upon Chu Anhuai and Yan Jiuge.
*[I want to learn archery! Bow and sword sound practically the same anyway, so the ancestors can't complain that I'm breaking tradition.]*
*[Besides, since ancient times, archers have always been overpowered rule-breakers! I want to be a rule-breaker!]*