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Chapter Text

The very first thing Shen Yuan did upon waking up in the body of the Old Palace Master was grab a blade and cut off that damn beard. Priorities. Then he stripped out of the gaudy golden robes (honestly, who dressed like this, a disco ball?) and blamed it all on a god bestowing him with sudden spiritual clarity.

(Everybody believed him. What the fuck.)

In the first few days, Shen Yuan noticed that the Palace Master’s body was aging even with the golden core, though thankfully not decrepit yet. His hair was streaked with grey instead of wholly white, his face lined with the beginnings of smile marks. Once that atrocious beard was gone, he almost looked like a respectable adult. Someone in his late adult life, maybe. Steady, responsible. An uncle type.

Shen Yuan was not a fool. First chance he got, he hiked to the Bailu Forest and ate a Blue Tiger Orchid Root. God only knows why Old Palace Master didn’t stop aging, but Shen Yuan had no intention of sitting around waiting for liver spots.

Wife #79, for example, was an old woman who literally stole the youth of her grandchild. Parody-level Mother Gothel nonsense. The only difference was that once the novelty of the plot ended, both Gothel and Rapunzel just… stayed with the prince? (Don’t question it, Great Master Airplane clearly didn’t.)

A few chapters later, Wife #81 discovered the elixir of eternal youth because of the Tiger Orchid Root; plot device conveniently wrapped and delivered. Perfect. Shen Yuan just needed to play half-mad scientist and replicate the formula. So yes, Shen Yuan knew how to stop aging. Easy peasy. He didn't even have to sacrifice virgins! 

According to PIDW canon, the Old Palace Master was a soft grandpa figure (which, fine, heartwarming, ten points to the home team) but Shen Yuan was nineteen! Nineteen! He could not be a grandfather! It would be one thing to transmigrate as some forty-something uncle with refined gravitas. But seventy?! Seventy was way too hard to swallow.

He hadn’t signed up for back pain and early-bird discounts.

Honestly, Shen Yuan felt like Mulan with the sharp blade against the silver strands of his beard. He could practically hear the dramatic song swelling in the background and grinned to himself.

The long hair was a more difficult pill to swallow. Still, he has - had (had, past tense) a younger sister with a fashion obsession, so he knew how to care for long hair. He could braid, he could oil, he could even accessorize. He had survived meimei’s hair tutorials. He could survive this.

That only left the gaudy golden robes. Ugh. Shen Yuan knew Huan Hua Sect was a bitch and a half, but man. Who in their right mind made yellow the main color of the sect uniform? Yellow! Unless you were the Emperor, all that did was make everyone look like festival lanterns. Like he’d said before, he put on a whole theater production about having a “vision of heavenly clarity,” and the entire sect actually bowed to him.

(He may or may not have accidentally started a rumor that the Old Palace Master was about to ascend. That wasn’t here nor there. Details.)

So now, Shen Yuan was a “normal” person. Or as normal as the leader of the richest sect in the Jianghu could be. He ditched the blinding imperial yellow for softer shades; deep saffron layered with muted earth tones, the kind of colors that made him look dignified rather than like a harvest scarecrow. His robes had clean, flowing lines with just enough embroidery to whisper money without screaming nouveau riche. His hair, properly combed, fell loose with a modest crown braid, understated and scholarly.

And, most crucially, a fan. Shen Yuan had seen a folding fan in the Palace Master’s treasury and immediately fallen in love. Sleek, stylish, dramatic. He collected a small stack of them and made it a habit to match his fan to his robes. If anyone asked, he could blame the eccentricity on meimei’s influence.

(It wasn’t eccentricity. It was taste. He was fabulous.)

The third or fourth thing Shen Yuan did after waking up in an old body with back pains and the fake “maturity” of a monk was to figure out when exactly he’d landed in the timeline.

Judging by the circumstances, it was still early in PIDW - before Binghe. Yue Qingyuan hadn’t yet risen to the position of Cang Qiong’s Sect Leader; the seat was still occupied by Kaideng, a man rumored to be a strict, upright leader. Shen Yuan had even seen a letter from him, politely asking about the upcoming Immortal Alliance Conference.

Okay. Fine. Timeline established.

Next problem: baby Binghe.

PIDW never gave the readers the reason behind Binghe’s tragic backstory. Why would a mother who supposedly loved her child abandon him in a basket on the coldest night of the year, floating down a river? That was straight-up Disney villain behavior. Shen Yuan had asked himself this question again and again. What was he supposed to do - rewrite the plot? Kidnap Binghe as a baby? (…actually, no, bad idea, that would look really suspicious.)

Complication number two: he didn’t even remember the names of Binghe’s biological parents. They were basically NPCs in the novel. The washerwoman adoptive mother didn’t even get a real name Madam Luo, Luo-something, right? That’s what the fandom had settled on, at least. How the hell was he supposed to save a background character who was only ever described as “pitiful”?

But he did know one thing: Madam Luo lived in Huan Hua territory. The Luo River route? All under the jurisdiction of the richest sect in the Jianghu. Which meant, technically, it was his responsibility now.

So, the plan was simple. Abolish poverty in all Huan Hua territory. Create actual opportunities for social mobility. If people weren’t starving in riverside villages, then Madam Luo wouldn’t have to break her back scrubbing laundry for scraps, and baby Binghe wouldn’t get slapped with a tragic peasant backstory.

Easy.

(Okay, not actually easy, but listen - this was better than trying to fight narrative inevitability head-on.)

The problem was… what did Shen Yuan actually know about the ancient Chinese economy? Right. Only whatever the state-approved textbooks had crammed into his brain before the gaokao. Which meant: feudal hierarchy 101.

Peasants at the bottom, farming rice or wheat or whatever was local. Merchants were technically richer than peasants but still looked down on because Confucian values said “money bad, virtue good.” Scholars were above both because books = moral superiority. Officials, landlords, and nobles siphoned off taxes and labor, pretending it was all for “order and harmony.” And then, of course, cultivators at the very top, lording over everyone like semi-divine superheroes with swords.

So, basically: a pyramid scheme.

And now he was… what? Some seventy-year-old sect leader with all the wealth of the upper crust and none of the respect he personally wanted. He wasn’t about to build socialism in one sect (he might, that would be nice), but maybe he could nudge things a little. Like, instead of hoarding spirit stones for five-hundredth wife #whatever, he could fund roads, schools, maybe a grain distribution system?

Shen Yuan could practically hear his high school economics teacher screaming in the background: “That’s not how any of this works!”

But hey. Compared to letting Binghe’s story run its course, trying to jump-start social mobility in feudal-xianxia-China was at least… something.

And if anyone questioned him, he’d just say it was all divine inspiration. Worked last time.

The problem was, Binghe’s entire tragic backstory boiled down to one thing: poverty. The biological parents, whoever they were, dropped the baby like hot coals. The adoptive mother, Madam Luo, broke her back over laundry just to afford scraps. The kid grew up with frostbite as his bedtime story. Poverty, poverty, poverty.

So if Shen Yuan wanted to change things, he had to fix that.

…Except what did he know about fixing poverty? His entire economic education came from history classes about feudal dynasties, with a side order of “modern China is great, kids, look how far we’ve come.” Yay!

Still, a man had to start somewhere.

Step one: Abolish starvation. Easy, right? Just… make sure everyone had enough rice and wheat. That meant granaries. He could order sect granaries built across Huan Hua territory, so even if harvests failed, people wouldn’t starve. The sect had more spirit stones than it knew what to do with, time to invest.

Step two: Raise the peasants’ status. Ancient China was basically: peasants at the bottom, merchants richer but despised, scholars lording over everyone, officials and landlords doing tax cosplay, and cultivators floating above it all like smug immortals-in-training. Which was fine for background extras, but Shen Yuan had one (1) precious protagonist baby to protect. That meant making it possible for peasants to rise.

How? Schools. Or something school-adjacent. He could build little academies in rural areas, teach literacy, maybe throw in some Confucian slogans so the older crowd wouldn’t riot. Boom: peasants’ kids could pass exams, become minor officials, and actually move up. Madam Luo’s family wouldn’t have to scrub clothes for generations.

Step three: Jobs. Shen Yuan vaguely remembered the phrase “infrastructure projects.” Roads, bridges, irrigation canals, stuff like that. It would give peasants work, improve trade, and stop villages from collapsing every time a flood hit. Was that how dynasties did it? Who knew. But hey, nobody was going to complain about being paid to dig ditches.

Step four: Cultivator responsibility. This was the big one. If cultivators were so high and mighty, maybe they should stop hoarding spiritual herbs for beauty elixirs and actually, you know, help the mortals. He could decree that every sect branch had to sponsor villages in their territory: protection, medicine, maybe free talismans during harsh winters.

Shen Yuan tapped his fan against his palm, feeling very clever.

Would any of this work? He had no idea. He wasn’t a statesman, he was a college kid cosplaying as a seventy-year-old sect leader. His entire economic plan was basically “what if feudalism, but less terrible.”

But compared to letting Binghe grow up frostbitten and half-starved? Shen Yuan would happily build granaries, schools, and canals until the day he really did look like a grandpa.

So… how to abolish hunger?

His brain immediately jumped to modern agriculture. Giant greenhouses with glass roofs gleaming in the sun. Combine harvesters rolling across endless golden fields, cutting wheat like a hot knife through butter. Fertilizers, irrigation systems, tractors, even drones spraying pesticides from above. Modern agropecuary industry could feed millions.

Shen Yuan groaned into his sleeves. “Yeah, sure, let me just whip up a John Deere tractor out of spirit iron. No problem. Totally doable.”

The technology gap was a canyon. Here, they had oxen and wooden plows. Farmers bent double under the sun, their biggest “innovation” being slightly better buckets. Fertilizer meant sweeping out pig pens and praying to Heaven for rain.

He imagined trying to explain to the elders of Huan Hua Sect: So, step one, invent electricity. Step two, invent diesel engines. Step three, cultivate ten thousand acres of land with crop rotation. Step four, profit.

They’d stare at him like he was demon-possessed.

But just because he couldn’t recreate the twenty-first century didn’t mean he couldn’t cheat a little. They had spirit plants, didn’t they? Magical herbs that grew in months instead of years, talismans to keep bugs away, water-arts cultivators who could summon rain on demand. If modern farmers could use chemicals, why couldn’t he order a few disciples to stand in a field and spam water techniques?

Shen Yuan sat up, fanning himself thoughtfully. “Alright, so maybe I can’t invent tractors. But what about - spiritualized irrigation systems? Fertilizer made from low-grade spirit herbs? Crop storage protected by talismans? If I throw enough money at this, some of it has to stick.”

The idea almost sounded reasonable. Almost.

Shen Yuan leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling beams. “Congratulations, Shen Yuan. You’ve officially downgraded yourself from transmigrator-protagonist to sect-leader-turned-amateur-farmer. At this rate, the next chapter title is going to be ‘The Scum Villain’s Self-Sufficient Agro Commune.’”

Still… he couldn’t help smiling a little. If it kept Binghe warm and fed, wasn’t that worth a little humiliation?

A few days later, Shen Yuan gathered his senior disciples and hallmasters, the clever ones, the ones with bright eyes and restless hands, who in another world might have been grad students or lab rats chained to an academic career track.

What he was about to do, in short, was invent the ancient-cultivation-world version of a scientific initiation scholarship.

He had been here a grand total of ten days. Ten. He didn’t know jack about the magical system, the principles of qi circulation, or why you could apparently shove a glowing stone into a gourd and call it “storage technology.” But Old Palace Master’s reputation was strong enough that nobody dared ask why he wasn’t personally training disciples. If he wanted to sit in on beginner classes and watch them practice breathing exercises, pretending to “test the teachers,” well - everyone just nodded solemnly and wrote it down as wisdom.

So! Time to exploit that respect.

He spread out his fan, pointed it like a general’s baton, and announced: “Brothers, sisters, hallmasters,” he began. “We are fortunate to lead the richest sect in the Jianghu. With this fortune comes responsibility. It is our duty to improve the lives of the people in our territory. To that end, I am establishing a program of research and cultivation. Each of you will take your talents and apply them to a specific project.”

A hush fell over the hall. Every eye was on him, every disciple leaning in. He did not raise his voice; he did not gesture wildly. Authority came simply from the steadiness in his posture and the clarity of his words.

Shen Yuan allowed himself a small, private smirk behind his fan. Internally, he was thinking: Yes, let them sweat. Let them figure out the qi logic. I’ll just point and collect the results.

He continued, softer now, more like a teacher than a commander: “Those who produce meaningful results will receive appropriate rewards: spirit stones, resources, freedom from duties that hinder your studies. Excellence must be recognized; effort must be guided. Let this be a trial of your intellect as well as your cultivation. I expect the Huan Hua Sect to become not only strong but wise.”

A few heads nodded subtly. The room was silent, but Shen Yuan could feel the gears turning in their minds. Mission accomplished. 

Internally, he leaned back and thought, Point for me. If this works, Huan Hua will be the first sect in history to run like a research institute instead of a glorified noble household.

A hand shot up in the air. A young man with neat brunette hair and spectacles cleared his throat. “Shizun,” the youth said, voice careful but eager, “what should we research?”

How should I know?

Shen Yuan’s gaze swept over him slowly, calm, radiating the quiet authority that made even senior disciples straighten instinctively. “Anything that benefits the sect and the people of our territory; be it agriculture, talisman work, or resource management. ” he said, voice measured, precise. “I leave the specifics to your judgment, but your work must be meaningful. It must improve cultivation, increase productivity, or otherwise strengthen Huan Hua. Choose wisely.”

He folded his fan slowly, one hand resting lightly on the table. The hall was silent; even the whispers of curiosity seemed to hold their breath.

Shen Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose. Choose wisely? Sure, kid, as if you’ve ever had to figure out crop rotation or irrigation with magical weeds that scream when you prune them.

“Remember,” he added, keeping the same calm, commanding tone, “this is not idle experimentation. Results will be documented, tested, applied and replicable. Failure is not punished, but useless work wastes time and resources. You are scholars and cultivators alike; act as both. Document your experiments, share your discoveries, and contribute to the greater good of Huan Hua. Understand?”

The young man nodded vigorously, and a few others began to murmur assent. Shen Yuan allowed a small, approving nod in return.

Fan opening slowly in one hand, he surveyed the room like a general watching his troops ready for battle. Huan Hua is officially on the road to… modern-ish scientific experimentation.

And just like that, the crowd waned, scattering into small groups or wandering off to work alone. Some clustered eagerly, debating ideas, while others preferred solitary contemplation. But even in the quiet, the hall buzzed with energy. Animated, alive, curious.

A young girl settled herself beside him. Probably fifteen, Shen Yuan guessed, though she carried herself with the confidence of someone older. Her hair was a mass of dark curls, her skin warmer than his own, eyes hazel, thick eyebrows, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her face was cold, serious, not a hint of a smile, but it held a sharp intelligence that made him sit up a little straighter. She was tall, though not fully grown yet; he could imagine her growth spurt looming in a year or two.

“Shizun,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “this Xiyan is confused.”

Shen Yuan turned to her slowly, calm and collected. Hehe, he was so good at this ‘mentor’ thing “Confused?” His tone was smooth, deliberate, like a master guiding a fledgling disciple, not a nineteen-year-old modern kid secretly panicking about how to feed everyone.

Of course. First question and it’s already existential. Perfect.

“Yes,” she said, her hazel eyes meeting his. “Ths Xiyan don’t understand why this research matters. What difference does it make if we improve irrigation, or test talismanized storage, or even cultivate new spirit herbs? These things don’t feel important.”

Shen Yuan folded his fan slowly, his voice gentle but firm. “Xiyan, importance is not always obvious at first glance. Research may seem small or abstract now, but its effects ripple outward. A better irrigation system saves harvests, which feeds villages. Stronger talismans protect the people. Knowledge applied wisely strengthens our territory, and in turn, benefits every person within it.”

Translation: if you fail, at least don’t starve anyone. And maybe invent something that doesn’t explode.

He glanced at her, letting the calm authority of a mature sect leader settle the moment. “Focus on how your work changes the lives around you. That is what gives research value. The rest… guidance, results, applications… will follow.”

Su Xiyan’s eyes flickered, not entirely convinced, but she nodded, absorbing the words. And if she still doesn’t get it, maybe I’ll have to throw in a qi-powered plow demonstration and call it heaven's will. Works every time. Shen Yuan allowed himself a tiny, satisfied smile behind the fan. At least she’s thinking about the bigger picture.

“Shizun,” the girl said again.

“Yes?”

Su Xiyan hesitated a few moments, then asked, “Should I… also research?”

Shen Yuan smiled, almost laughed at the innocence of it. “Do you want to?”

She pressed her lips together and folded her arms, looking down at the floor. “This Xiyan doesn’t feel she’s smart enough.”

“Child,” he said, his tone soft, patient, and full of quiet authority. Shen Yuan clicked his tongue, then tapped her gently on the head with his fan. “Every project begins with a question. You don’t need to start by knowing how. You only need to ask why.”

He leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. And that, young lady, is the first rule of science in the book ‘How to do science 101 for dummies’. Start with the question, and the rest will follow.

It was simple, elegant, and perfectly aligned with his plan. If the brightest minds of Huan Hua could learn this, then perhaps the sect’s first research projects wouldn’t be complete chaos. And if they still mess up the experiments, at least they’ll know how to ask the right questions. 

The first research session was officially underway. Shen Yuan sat at the head of the hall, fan folded neatly, observing as four groups and six solo disciples prepared to present their ideas. The energy in the room was high, a mixture of excitement, nerves, and the faint scent of incense. Su Xiyan stayed quietly beside him, choosing to watch for now rather than dive in herself.

Group One: Led by Li Hanwei, a sharp-eyed young man with silver hair, and his two juniors, Chen Mo and Guo Feng. Their project was “Talismanized Irrigation Systems.” They wanted to embed minor protective talismans into water channels so that crops would be shielded from pests, disease, or drought. Li Hanwei gestured enthusiastically, waving a scroll filled with diagrams of rivers, rice paddies, and glowing talismans.

Well, it’s ambitious… and probably going to short-circuit someone’s spiritual energy in week one, but credit for creativity.

Group Two: Composed of three girls, Mei Lian, Xue Ying, and Bai Ru, who proposed “Spirit Herb Fertilizers.” Their idea was to pulverize low-grade spirit herbs into a kind of magical compost to speed up crop growth. Bai Ru had already brought samples that emitted a faint green glow.

Shen Yuan leaned back, fan tapping lightly against his knee. Excellent, they are basically trying to make glow-in-the-dark compost. Functional or explosive? Let’s find out.

Group Three: Headed by Zhou Qian, a lanky youth with a sharp jawline, and assisted by Han Shu and Ling Tao. Their focus: “Qi-Enhanced Grain Storage.” They wanted to use minor qi circulations to preserve harvested grain and prevent rot or insect infestations. Zhou Qian was making dramatic hand motions as if the Qi would obey his every command.

Group Four: A mix of younger disciples - Tang Yi, Feng Nuo, and Lin Yue - proposed a more mundane project: “Village Road and Irrigation Planning.” They had maps, measurements, and sketches of small canals. Practical. Safe. Possibly boring, but functional. Shen Yuan gave a subtle nod of approval. Sometimes the basics matter more than flashy experiments.

The six solo projects were just as varied:

Huo Jian, a fiery-tempered cultivator, wanted to test “Fire-Enhanced Kilns for Grain Drying.”
Liu Fang, meticulous and quiet, planned “Herb Growth Optimization via Soil Qi Infusion.”
Wen Bo, a tall, gangly youth, proposed “Mechanical Seed Dispersal via Minor Spirit Beasts.”
Zhang Rui, small but sharp, wanted to explore “Magical Pest Deterrent Arrays.”
Cai Ling, studious and precise, was working on “Water Purification Talismans for Village Wells.”
Qiao Yun, energetic and bold, aimed to “Analyze Feng Shui Influence on Crop Yields.”

Shen Yuan watched the presentations unfold. Hands waved, diagrams were unfurled, and ideas were argued over. Some were brilliant, some were impractical, and some made him internally groan.

Su Xiyan sat quietly beside him, eyes wide but thoughtful. She had not chosen a project yet, there was too much to observe, too many questions to form. For now, she simply took in the enthusiasm and the chaos, trying to understand why her Shizun seemed so pleased.

When everyone had finished presenting their ideas, Shen Yuan rose from his chair, folding his fan neatly. The hall fell silent, all eyes on him.

“Good job, everyone,” he said, his voice calm, steady, carrying the quiet weight of authority that made even senior disciples straighten instinctively. “You’ve all put forward some impressive concepts, and this master is pleased with your enthusiasm and creativity.” He paused, letting the words settle, then tapped the fan lightly against the floor and continued, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “However, there is just one problem…”

A hush fell over the room.

“How are the mortals, those without qi, supposed to put any of this into practice?” His tone was gentle but firm. “Only one group considered this limitation, and yet it is fundamental. Without considering how ordinary people will actually use your systems, your research risks being… useless.”

Internally, Shen Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. Nobody thinks about the peasants. Brilliant, all of you. Magical glowing compost and talismanized irrigation… great, but what about the rice farmers who can’t feel qi to channel it? Maybe I should just hand them a stick and hope for the best.

He leaned back slightly, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “Research is not merely about theory. It must be applicable. Practical. Beneficial. Now that you asked ‘why’, you must now ask ‘how’ - even if the user does not possess the abilities of a cultivator.”

Translation: idiots, think about the people who actually have to survive this winter. If you don’t, I will personally make you test it on yourself first.

Huo Jian, arms crossed and cheeks flushed, stepped forward. “Shizun,” he said, voice a mixture of frustration and indignation, “how are we supposed to make our research practical for mortals if they don’t have qi? That’s… that’s impossible! The kilns, the talismans, the irrigation systems - they need qi to function!”

Shen Yuan turned to him slowly, folding his fan neatly in one hand. His expression remained calm, almost fatherly, as if addressing a student who had asked a difficult but not unreasonable question. “Disciple Huo,” he said evenly, “you are correct: most cultivators’ creations cannot function for those without qi. That is precisely why your project must account for this limitation. Creativity is only valuable when it is usable.”

Exactly what I just said, and yet someone had to dramatize it. Bravo, Huo Jian, for pointing out the obvious.

“Do not treat this as a complaint. Treat it as a challenge. You are scholars and cultivators alike. Your task is to devise a solution that is both effective and practical, even for ordinary people. That is the mark of a true researcher.”

Huo Jian gritted his teeth but nodded reluctantly, clearly recognizing the wisdom behind the words, even if he still felt frustrated.

Shen Yuan smiled faintly behind the fan. Good. Let them stew over it for a while. The ones who complain the most often come up with the best solutions… or at least provide great entertainment.

A few months passed. Shen Yuan observed quietly as the disciples presented their adapted plans. The initial chaos and fanciful ideas had been tempered by reality, honed by necessity, and nudged along by his subtle guidance.

Group One: Li Hanwei, Chen Mo, and Guo Feng had refined their “Talismanized Irrigation” project. Instead of relying solely on cultivators’ qi, they had designed a system where the talismans worked in passive resonance. Mortals could operate the channels manually, while the talismans amplified natural water flow rather than controlling it directly. Li Hanwei explained it with pride, and Shen Yuan gave a small nod.

Finally, a glow that doesn’t electrocute the farmers. Progress.

Group Two: Mei Lian, Xue Ying, and Bai Ru had reworked their “Spirit Herb Fertilizers.” They discovered that low-grade spirit herbs could be transformed into a simple nutrient-rich compost for mortals to use without any qi. The glowing effect was gone, but the crops grew faster and stronger.

Okay, now it’s edible and doesn’t explode. Improvement noted.

Group Three: Zhou Qian, Han Shu, and Ling Tao adjusted their “Qi-Enhanced Grain Storage.” They created a system of enchanted storage jars that only required a single minor qi channel from a cultivator once a week. Ordinary people could open, store, and retrieve grain safely.

Low maintenance, high utility. Someone get these kids a prize.

Group Four: Tang Yi, Feng Nuo, and Lin Yue had finally mapped out a practical “Village Road and Irrigation Plan.” Nothing magical remained, just careful measurements, sluices, and small bridges that mortals could build and maintain. 

The boring ones did their homework. Sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed.

The six solo projects also adapted impressively:

Huo Jian’s “Fire-Enhanced Kilns” now had simple flue systems and manually operated bellows for mortals.
Liu Fang’s “Soil Qi Infusion” became a natural composting method supplemented by occasional cultivator qi bursts.
Wen Bo’s “Mechanical Seed Dispersal” used small spirit beasts as guides rather than full power sources.
Zhang Rui’s “Magical Pest Arrays” became talisman grids that worked passively, no qi required.
Cai Ling’s “Water Purification Talismans” were redesigned as simple filtering charms.
Qiao Yun’s “Feng Shui Crop Analysis” focused on placement and sunlight, rather than manipulating qi directly.

Su Xiyan watched from her seat beside Shen Yuan, still absorbing the lessons of observation. The transformations weren’t perfect, but the projects were now genuinely usable for mortals.

Shen Yuan leaned back, fan resting elegantly across his lap, voice calm as he addressed the hall. “Well done, everyone.” And that made everybody tear up, which was funny. 

They’re finally thinking like actual scientists, not just flashy cultivators. 

Eight months had passed. The sect’s hallways were quieter now, the frenzy of initial brainstorming replaced with the hum of practical work. The first prototypes were finally showing results. Fields grew steadily, crops survived storms, and some villages even reported slightly better yields than usual.

The hunger problem, at least in theory, was being addressed. Mortals had tools and guidance they could actually use. Shen Yuan observed from his seat, fan resting lightly against his chin, outwardly calm but mentally ticking off the next steps.

Well, we’ve managed to stop people from starving to death. Big win. But let’s not get cocky.

What remained? Plenty.

Distribution and logistics. The villages now had the tools, but how to get the resources - seeds, fertilizers, talismans - into every corner of Huan Hua territory? Roads, canals, and human networks had to function. And humans are notoriously lazy, forgetful, and dramatic.

Training and knowledge transfer. Giving people a magical tool wasn’t enough. Mortals had to know how to use it. One mistake with a talismanized irrigation channel, and you flooded a rice field. One misapplied compost batch, and a whole crop died.

Sustainability. It was one thing to use cultivators’ qi to kick-start systems, but to keep them running long-term, mortals had to be able to maintain everything themselves. Otherwise, the progress would vanish the moment a cultivator went on leave or worse, died.

Secondary problems. Hunger was being addressed, but poverty, disease, education, and general living conditions remained. Food alone could save lives, but it couldn’t guarantee opportunity or social mobility.

Cultural resistance. Many villagers were wary of strange talismans, spirit herbs, and new techniques. Convincing them that these “magical” solutions weren’t curses or cultish experiments was a task of diplomacy and subtle persuasion.

Shen Yuan folded his fan and exhaled slowly. He practiced this pose in the mirror, he looked very wise and calm.

So yes, we’ve solved hunger in theory. But there’s still a mountain of work before Huan Hua looks like anything close to a civilized society. And somehow, I have to make mortals and cultivators cooperate without anyone exploding. Fabulous.

He leaned back, eyes scanning the hall, quietly plotting the next stage: how to take all this theoretical success and turn it into practical, sustainable, territory-wide change.

Shen Yuan rose early that morning, fan in hand, surveying the training grounds that had been converted into a makeshift research-and-implementation center. The prototypes were already set up, ready to be tested in actual villages.

“Today, we begin real implementation,” he announced to the assembled disciples, his voice calm, steady. “The purpose is no longer theory. These systems must work in practice, for ordinary mortals, who do not possess cultivation abilities. Observation, guidance, and correction will be your tools.”

Do not fuck up! 

Step One - Training the villagers: Shen Yuan split the disciples into teams, each assigned to a village in Huan Hua territory.

Li Hanwei’s group demonstrated the talismanized irrigation channels. Mortals were instructed to operate the sluices manually while the talismans subtly guided the water flow. Some villagers were skeptical, muttering about "heavenly gods” and “ghost water.” Li Hanwei’s calm explanations helped, but Shen Yuan had to intervene a few times, gently correcting the timing and showing that the talismans only amplified, not controlled, human effort.

Mei Lian and Bai Ru instructed farmers on the use of the spirit-herb fertilizer. Some children poked the glowing compost suspiciously with sticks; one old man tried to eat a handful before being scolded by his granddaughter. Exactly what was expected.

Zhou Qian’s group explained the storage jars. Mortals practiced opening, filling, and sealing them. One villager accidentally let a jar tilt, causing a minor rice spill. Zhou Qian looked panicked. 

Tang Yi’s team led villagers in building and maintaining the small roads, canals, and bridges. Practical work, but physical labor caused several of the younger disciples to grunt and complain. Which was bad, but not rage fuel.

Step Two - Trial and error in the field: The first week was predictably messy.

A talisman in one irrigation channel overloaded and caused a small flood in a rice paddy. The disciples panicked, villagers yelled, and Shen Yuan calmly walked over and instructed how to reset the talisman’s resonance.

Fertilizer batches were unevenly applied; some plots grew too quickly, others barely at all. 

Storage jars occasionally malfunctioned when mortals misaligned the minor qi nodes. Shen Yuan patiently demonstrated proper technique, then tapped one lightly with his fan: “Gentle, always gentle. You are not cracking a walnut.”

Bridges and canals collapsed under unexpected rain. They were not engineers, clearly.

Step Three - Motivation and morale: Shen Yuan walked from village to village, observing, correcting, and encouraging. He maintained a calm, mature presence at all times, letting the villagers and disciples feel guided rather than ordered. THe villagers now knew his face, his voice and his character. 

Step Four -  Scaling and iteration

After two months of field trials:

• Irrigation channels were now reliably operated by mortals.
• Fertilizer application was standardized, and yields increased visibly.
• Grain storage jars successfully preserved harvests for months.
• Villages had learned to maintain canals, roads, and bridges.

Shen Yuan convened all the disciples for a debrief. Calmly folding his fan, he addressed them: “Progress has been made. Yet remember: this is only the beginning. We have reduced hunger, yes, but sustainability, training, and human error remain. We will continue refining these systems until they function independently of cultivator intervention.”

And if anyone dies because they misunderstood the glowing compost, I’ll quietly remind them whose genius they’re benefiting from.

Beside him, Su Xiyan's eyes were bright. She was beginning to see the purpose behind the theory, the questions, and the guidance. Watching mortals struggle and gradually succeed, she started to understand why Shizun emphasized asking why before worrying about how.

Shen Yuan allowed himself a small smile behind the fan. Hunger is being solved, and now we teach people to fish or, in this case, irrigate, fertilize, and store rice without depending on cultivators. One small step for mortals, one giant leap for Binghe’s future.

With hunger being addressed, at least in theory and early practice, Shen Yuan turned his attention to the next pressing issue: education.

Mortals could now survive, but survival alone did not create opportunity. Villagers still struggled to read, write, or perform even basic calculations. Knowledge was hoarded by the rich, by local officials, and by the more capable cultivators. Without schools, the cycle of poverty would continue, and his efforts to improve living standards would stall.

He tapped his fan on his chin and observed the gathered disciples. Ah, schools. Fantastic. Let’s see how fast we can convince peasants to sit still for more than five minutes without stabbing each other with pencils or whatever they use here.

“Education,” he said aloud, voice calm, commanding, and full of measured authority, “is no less important than food. Hunger can be solved for the body; ignorance must be solved for the mind. We will establish schools in every village of Huan Hua territory. These schools will teach reading, writing, basic mathematics, farming theory, and practical skills. They will be accessible to all, and their purpose is to empower mortals to understand and maintain the systems we have implemented.”

Translation: no more “why are we pouring compost into buckets that don’t fit” disasters. Mortals who can read are less likely to set a canal on fire.

Shen Yuan tapped the fan lightly on the desk. “This master is assigning each of you a village. You will oversee the construction of classrooms, recruit teachers - cultivators or educated mortals - and develop curricula suitable for both children and adults. Encourage creativity and practicality. Most importantly, ensure that these schools are sustainable.”

The disciples shifted nervously. Building schools, teaching, developing curricula, it was a lot. Some glanced at each other, clearly overwhelmed.

Yes, yes, don’t panic. It’s only a step toward turning an entire territory into a literate, semi-self-sufficient society. Totally manageable.

Su Xiyan watched from her usual on his side, fidgeting slightly. “Shizun,” she said, hesitantly, “won’t the villagers resist? Some of them barely trust us, and some don’t even care about education.”

Shen Yuan smiled, calm and composed. “Then we give them reason to care. Demonstrate the benefits. Show them how literacy and knowledge allow them to maintain irrigation channels, calculate crop yields, and avoid disasters. When mortals see practical value, they will learn. Compulsion is unnecessary.”

Or we bribe them with extra rice, spirit stones, or at least fewer chores. Incentives always work. Humans are surprisingly predictable.

He leaned back, fan resting across his lap, scanning the faces of the disciples. “Begin planning. Draft lesson schedules, classroom layouts, and teacher assignments. This is the next stage of Huan Hua’s transformation. Hunger was the first step. Knowledge will be the next.”

Step one: feed them. Step two: teach them to read. Small victories, Shen Yuan. Small victories.

The first schools of Huan Hua territory were not built in a day. Shen Yuan oversaw every detail from the sect hall projecting calm authority that kept both disciples and villagers on edge in a good way. No shouting. No dramatics. Just authority so quiet it made even the loudest disciple pause mid-complaint.

Teams of disciples were sent to different villages. Some measured plots of land and laid foundations for classrooms. Others scouted for potential teachers, including older cultivators who knew enough to read, write, and calculate, and mortals who had some rudimentary knowledge.

Yes, because nothing says “respect the sect leader” like being forced to haul bricks and teach multiplication to suspicious villagers.

Construction was a mix of order and chaos. Disciples argued over dimensions, villagers grumbled about labor, and one apprentice managed to collapse a wall before it was even half finished. I swear, if one more person drops a beam on their foot, I’m going to invent a “discipline talisman” that actually hurts them.

Once classrooms were usable, the next challenge began: teaching. Shen Yuan divided the students into age groups, mixing children and adults who wanted to learn. Lessons began with the basics: reading, writing, and numbers.

Some children stared blankly at the ink brush, drawing squiggles that were supposed to be characters. A few adults insisted they already knew everything and refused to sit. Others tried to sneak away to work in the fields, convinced that learning could wait until the harvest failed.

Shen Yuan walked among them with calm patience, correcting posture, guiding brush strokes, explaining strokes and pronunciation. His voice never rose, but carried the weight of someone who had lived and seen enough to know that yelling achieves nothing. Yes, yes, very productive. One adult just tried to write “mountain” as a stick figure. Wonderful.

Disciples assisted, and slowly, order emerged. Children who had never held brushes properly began forming characters. Adults learned to tally crops, calculate harvest estimates, and even follow simple irrigation schematics. A grandmother really wanted to learn how to write her grandson´s name. It would be her marriage present for him.

Mistakes were inevitable. A batch of ink spilled across the floor. A talisman used to protect a classroom wall accidentally triggered minor sparks. One overly ambitious villager tried to “improve” a calculation system by drawing additional characters, which made everyone more confused (and collapsed the whole thing).

Seven months into the program, villagers who had once doubted the purpose of the schools began to show interest. They saw practical results: better crop planning, fewer irrigation errors, and a small but noticeable increase in food security. Even the most skeptical elders grudgingly acknowledged the benefits. Su Xiyan sat beside Shen Yuan, his head disciple was like a duck into a pond. The girl’s hazel eyes were wide, thoughtful. 

First hunger, now literacy. Next? Social mobility, sanitation, maybe a little sense of humor for the mortals. He could even be the new Madre Teresa de Calcutá.

With that in mind, Shen Yuan sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of the sect hall, a porcelain teacup balanced in one hand. Su Xiyan sat opposite him, legs folded neatly, her eyes flicking between the tea, the papers he had laid out, and the subtle movement of his fan.

They were talking quietly; sometimes reading, sometimes gossiping about recent events in the territory, other times discussing minor improvements to the schools and irrigation projects. The conversation was easy and carried the calm of a rare afternoon of peace.

That peace shattered when a white-faced disciple burst through the hall doors, trembling so violently that he could barely keep himself upright.

“Sh-Shizun!” he stammered, voice cracking. “Shen Qingqiu - Peak Lord Shen… has arrived… to speak with the sect leader!”

Su Xiyan’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glint of caution cutting across her freckled face. She set her teacup gently on the low table, the faint clink of porcelain punctuating the sudden tension.

Shen Yuan, still calm, set his own cup down with care, folding his fan slowly across his lap. His expression did not change, but his mind ticked through possibilities with quiet efficiency. Ah, The Scum Villain. Wonderful. Exactly who I wanted to see while we’re busy turning villages literate and well-fed. Perfect timing, truly.

He rose gracefully, the weight of authority in his movements smoothing over the disruption. “Bring him in,” he said, voice even and controlled. “We have tea prepared.”

Su Xiyan leaned slightly forward, silent but alert. Her body language was cautious, protective even, as if sensing the significance of Shen Qingqiu’s arrival. This was going to be… interesting. Let’s see what kind of trouble a perfect little cultivator can stir up while he sips his tea like a respectable old man.

Shen Qingqiu arrived like frost over a naked tree. Silent, slow, and deadly. His presence seemed to suck the warmth from the room, and even the faintest hint of comfort from the tea ceremony evaporated. The sharp lines of his pale face, framed by black hair, carried the chill of autumn wind, cutting through any pretense of ease.

“Old Palace Master,” he said, bowing deeply, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the disciples in the hall (eavesdropping) straighten instinctively.

Shen Yuan inclined his head slightly, folding his fan neatly across his lap. “Head Disciple Shen,” he replied, voice measured and steady, calm as a still lake, though his mind was already cataloging the potential reasons for this visit. Su Xiyan, sitting nearby, stiffened. 

The room was silent, the only sound was the faint rustle of Shen Yuan’s robes as he shifted slightly. Every disciple present in the corridor felt the weight of the moment. Two of Jianghu’s most formidable cultivators, each a master of observation and calculation, facing each other.

Well. Here we go. Let’s see what Shen Qingqiu wants. Hopefully it’s not a lecture on village irrigation or my terrible taste in tea.

He allowed a faint, polite smile to touch his lips, enough to signal respect without weakness. “I trust your journey was… pleasant,” he said, carefully neutral, letting the undercurrent of authority remind everyone in the hall outside who truly commanded attention.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked briefly over the assembled disciples, lingering with a silent judgment before returning to Shen Yuan. No words were needed, the tension alone spoke volumes.

Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through the quiet of the hall, cold and precise, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed. “This land was built upon a rigid hierarchy,” he began, gaze sharp. “Nobles, cultivators, artisans, merchants… and at the bottom, slaves. Slaves were bound to land, to households, to the whims of their masters. Their labor fed the wealth of the powerful, yet they had no agency. They could be punished, sold, or traded at will. Entire families could be broken apart simply because a lord demanded it. This was considered normal, just, and necessary to maintain order.”

Shen Yuan tilted his head slightly. He nodded occasionally, allowing Shen Qingqiu to continue, while internally his brain struggled to catch up.

Wait… slaves? Trading people like goods? Okay, I vaguely remember something about that in history class, but this is… much more brutal. Did they have slavery in PIDW? Why is he just listening about this now?

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze swept the room, piercing, almost cold enough to cut through stone. “The social structure ensured efficiency for the powerful, yes, but at the cost of the majority. Labor was not valued, intelligence was suppressed, and potential wasted. Even a capable cultivator could see the injustice, but the system preserved itself through fear, tradition, and law. This is the danger of ignoring the people beneath you: the stronger the hierarchy, the greater the suffering of those at the bottom.”

Shen Yuan allowed himself a faint, polite nod, a perfect picture of the Old Palace Master, but internally, he was frowning. So… Shen Qingqiu is giving me a lecture on human exploitation and social hierarchy. Right now. During my tea. Wonderful. Nothing like a brutal history lesson to make me question whether teaching villagers to read and grow rice is revolutionary or just… mildly subversive.

Su Xiyan sat tensely beside him, her teacup forgotten on the table, listening with a mix of fascination and apprehension.

Shen Yuan remained silent, letting the lecture run its course. He sighed and nodded, and let Shen Qingqiu’s lecture settle in the room. He maintained the calm, measured demeanor expected of a respected sect leader. His eyes were attentive, voice even, posture composed.

“Peak Lord Shen,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “your points about hierarchy and labor are… noted. The injustices of slavery are clear, and few would dispute that such a system causes suffering among the people who have no voice.” Clear? Oh, it’s more than clear. It’s horrific. Forced labor, sold families, no agency, beatings, starvation if the master feels like it; basically a medieval nightmare with extra steps. Absolutely fucked up. I mean, who in their right mind thought this was acceptable?

He folded his fan neatly, resting his hands atop it. “In this master´s  perspective, treating humans as property is not only morally reprehensible, it is strategically disastrous. Talent is wasted, morale is destroyed, and innovation is stifled. A society cannot thrive if the majority is oppressed and helpless.”

Let’s be real, slavery is terrible. Horrible. Like, make-a-modern-19-year-old-teen-shout-at-the-page terrible. And somehow people considered this ‘normal.’ What the hell, ancient China?

He allowed a pause, letting the disciples and Shen Qingqiu absorb the words. “If we truly value stability and prosperity,” he continued, calm and authoritative, “we must design systems that empower rather than subjugate. Reward labor, educate the populace, and provide opportunity to those who would otherwise be trapped at the bottom. That is how a territory or a civilization endures.” 

Sarcastic aside: Translation: slavery = bad. Treat people like humans, maybe they’ll grow rice better. Revolutionary, I know. Also, don’t get any ideas about burning me at the stake for saying this, Peak Lord Shen.

He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp but polite. “If fear, tradition, and law alone maintain order, then the system is brittle. True stability comes from consent, capability, and knowledge, things that the enslaved were denied.”

And that, my friends, is why I’m building schools, irrigation systems, and teaching mortals to think. Maybe eventually we’ll abolish centuries of pointless suffering. Maybe… He could make a difference in the plot. Maybe all that suffering could be forgotten. Maybe Binghe would be happy.

Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue, a sharp, crisp sound that made even the disciples flinch. He was Head Disciple of the Qing Jin, someone whose skill and authority were renowned, and yet here was a thirty-something intruder slipping past his guards, his bureaucratic minions, and all the careful arrangements of Huan Hua territory. How the hell did this man even get here? he thought, icy fury rising in his chest.

He strode forward, each step measured, exuding authority that made the air itself feel colder. The door slammed shut behind him, and with a flick of his hand, a talisman sealed it with a soft muffled hum. No one could enter, no one could leave, and the room was suddenly isolated in an invisible bubble of containment. And then, he sat down in the lowered table. Back straight and eyes sharp.

Shen Qingqiu’s pale face remained unreadable, but his voice was sharp as he asked, “What do you plan to do with… the slaves? Since now you are such a good person and are close to the heavens.”

For a fraction of a second, Shen Yuan grimaced. He hadn’t even realized that was a thing in this world. Not a clue. This was the first time someone said a thing about this. 

But the first thing that came to his mind was, frankly, horrifyingly logical in a modern, angry-teen sense: “We will burn the slave traders.” Yeah, that’s probably not what the history books would consider diplomatic. But come on! Fuck that! If you sell people like cattle, you’re toast. “It is not acceptable for humans to be treated as property,” he continued, words carefully chosen, almost ceremonious. “Those who profit from the suffering of others will face justice. Absolute justice.”

Okay, okay, maybe not literal fireballs, but the sentiment is correct. I mean… Am I wrong?

Su Xiyan’s eyes widened slightly beside him, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She was used to observing Shen Yuan’s calm surface, but even she felt the weight behind his words.

Shen Qingqiu’s laugh echoed softly through the sealed hall, low and sharp, like ice cracking underfoot. He picked up Shen Yuan’s teacup with a casual air and drank, ignoring the protests of the disciples who had never seen such disrespect.

“You don’t even know -” he began, voice cold but almost playful, before cutting himself off. His pale eyes flicked toward Shen Yuan. “Cang Qiong will stand behind you if you do that.”

Shen Yuan exhaled slowly, placing his own fan neatly on the table. His expression was composed, even indulgent. “You are not Head Disciple of Qiong Ding,” he said evenly, measured. “And your concern is noted, but misplaced.”

Wow. Drinking my tea while threatening subtle political consequences. Classic move. Chill, Shen Yuan, maintain the calm. You are a respected seventy-year-old sect leader, you can face this kid.

Shen Qingqiu snorted, leaning back slightly, eyes sharp as ever. “That useless Yue Qingyuan soon will be the Sect Leader,” he said, tone dripping with disdain, “and he agrees with me.”

Shen Yuan’s lips twitched faintly, the hint of a smile barely visible. Outwardly, he remained serene. “Is that so?” he replied calmly. “Interesting. This master´ll keep that in mind. Yet he suspects the world is rarely so simple. And what happens if the so-called ‘agreement’ turns out to be… less than absolute?”

Useless Yue Qingyuan, huh? Guess that makes me the annoying teenager with opinions. Perfect. Let’s see how this plays out without letting anyone explode.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze flicked to Su Xiyan, then back to Shen Yuan, the tension in the room thick enough to slice. His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet tension like a blade. “Why now?” he asked, pale eyes locked on Shen Yuan. “Why did you decide to make your moves now?”

Okay, spin this. Don’t panic. Keep the Old Palace Master face on. And don’t laugh at how absurd this is. Easy.

“Head Disciple Shen,” he began, voice measured, polite, carefully curated, “This master had little choice before. Sect Leader Kaideng… is too strict to act against. His oversight would have crushed any initiative, no matter how well-intentioned.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes calm, and continued. “This master was unsure how his actions would be perceived. The Qing generation is… promising. Their talents and loyalty give me confidence in guiding this territory forward.” Lie. Big, fat lie. I like some of them, sure, but mostly I just arrived at the scene.

“And…” Shen Yuan’s voice softened slightly, his expression thoughtful, dignified. “This master received a divine vision of the heavens, showing him the path to improvement and the necessity of change.” Lie. Absolutely, one-hundred-percent made-up vision. Heaven didn’t text me. But it sounds good, right? Adds gravitas. Nod solemnly, Old Palace Master, nod solemnly. Finally, he leaned forward, voice calm but genuine. “And… This master truly desires to see the Jianghu improve. To feed the people, educate them, and create lasting stability.” That is the part that is true. At least I can be honest about something. Yes, Shen Yuan, that part is real. The rest? Creative fiction. Convincing fiction. Hopefully Shen Qingqiu buys it.

Shen Qingqiu’s pale eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed into a thin line, studying him. The hall was silent except for the faint rustle of Shen Yuan’s robes and the breaths of the people present.

After a few moments of tense silence, as if even the walls were holding their breath. Shen Qingqiu’s pale eyes, sharp and calculating, softened just slightly. He let out a slow, almost reluctant sigh, the sound drifting like ash on the wind.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” he murmured, his voice low, barely more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of unspoken judgment.

Well, that’s… unexpected. A little approval buried under layers of frost. Nice. Take it and run, Old Palace Master.

Su Xiyan, sitting beside him, noticed the faint shift in Shen Qingqiu’s posture. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, sensing the almost imperceptible easing of the storm that had been brewing in the room.

Shen Yuan allowed a small, polite smile to grace his lips. “Head Disciple Shen,” he said softly, voice with power, “better late than never. The work is ongoing, and the path forward is clear.” Yes, yes, very poetic. Also, I am literally changing the lives of every mortal in Huan Hua. Bow if you must, Qingqiu. Bow if you must.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked over him once more, unreadable, and then he leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only a fraction. The room seemed to breathe again, though the cold edge in the air never fully vanished.

And just like he had arrived, Shen Qingqiu nodded once, sharp and fleeting, and left. His movements were so precise, so almost unreal, that it was as if he had been nothing more than an illusion. On the desk, a single letter remained, neatly placed as if to remind them of his visit, and then he was gone, supposedly returning home.

Su Xiyan’s voice broke the quiet, hesitant at first. “Shizun…” She paused, frowning, her fingers lingering over the edge of the desk.

Shen Yuan leaned back slightly, fan resting across his lap, eyes softening as he regarded her. “Sometimes,” he said gently, “this old man thinks you only know one world, Xiyan.”

The girl huffed, cheeks coloring slightly with irritation or frustration, perhaps both. “Cang Qiong agrees with you,” she said, voice quiet but firm.

“Oh.” Shen Yuan exhaled slowly, letting the sound linger. “I doubt they do,” he said lightly, a faint laugh escaping him. “But this master is building reputation… and wealth. And that is what matters in the end.”

Su Xiyan tilted her head, brows knitting together. “I don’t know… Shen Qianbei looked troubled.”

Shen Yuan’s smile was calm, indulgent, but his inner commentary betrayed a hint of amusement. Troubled, of course. People are never comfortable when someone’s actually trying to fix things instead of just maintaining the status quo. Classic.

He tapped his fan lightly against his knee. “Let him be troubled, Xiyan. Sometimes concern is the first step toward understanding. The important thing is that the work continues, and the people benefit. Everything else… is just noise.”

And the letter? Probably bureaucratic warnings or veiled threats. Fun. I’ll read it later. For now, tea, schools, and mortals figuring out how to lift buckets without dying.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan unfolded the letter carefully, letting his composed posture mask the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. It was from Yue Qingyuan, a proposal for a political alliance. The offer was clear enough: they would provide assistance in training his disciples in cultivation and combat, if in return he agreed to implement his… modest agricultural reforms and schools.

He tapped the paper with his fan, a faint smile touching his lips. Modest? Months of exhausting trial-and-error, feeding mortals and teaching them to read, all boiled down to a bargaining token. Brilliant.

“So,” he murmured aloud, voice calm and measured, “they wish to strengthen my disciples while the common folk benefit. That’s… acceptable.”

A glance at Su Xiyan revealed her skepticism. “Shizun… they’re really trying to manipulate you with this, aren’t they?”

Shen Yuan chuckled softly, tilting his head. “Sometimes alliances arrive in unexpected forms,” he said. “The people come first. Let them prosper. Everything else can be sorted afterward.”

Well played, Yue Qingyuan. You think you’re clever. But I still get to feed mortals, teach them to read, and laugh quietly while doing it. Political maneuvering never tasted so sweet.

So anyway, outside of tea rooms and quiet schemes, the world was shifting. Cang Qiong and Huan Hua had begun to close ranks, ties woven tighter than before.

The twelve head disciples were the first to cross the boundary lines. They arrived at Huan Hua with swords drawn and brushes, scrolls, and an open mandate: learn the new “science,” the curious blend of trial-and-error Shen Yuan had smuggled in from his head full of modern nonsense.

In return, they would offer what Cang Qiong excelled at: discipline, cultivation techniques, the art of turning reckless youth into competent cultivators. Huan Hua’s disciples, usually drowned in silks and wealth, were suddenly pressed to sweat, spar, and study under the sharp eyes of Cang Qiong’s finest.

What had begun as a curious exchange of favors now looked suspiciously like a political marriage. And Shen Yuan, sipping his tea behind the curtains, thought smugly: Two sects drawing closer, and all it cost me was introducing basic crop rotation. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The first month of the exchange was… noisy.

Cang Qiong’s head disciples, used to strict training and a culture of shared hardship, arrived with sleeves rolled up, ready to teach. Huan Hua’s disciples, in contrast, showed up in embroidered silks, fans tucked in their belts, and expressions that screamed Why should we listen to you peasants?

It was oil and water from the start. Every sparring match turned into a grudge match. Every lecture on cultivation ended with a Huan Hua disciple raising their hand to smugly ask, “And how exactly does your mountain qualify as wisdom?” Cang Qiong disciples, for their part, muttered things about “pampered silk dolls” and “useless peacocks” under their breath.

Shen Yuan watched the reports pile up, rubbing at his temples. He had wanted collaboration, knowledge-sharing, the bright-eyed excitement of youth forging the future together. What he got was a class war.

Still, progress happened in fits and starts. A few sharp Cang Qiong disciples broke through the arrogance, impressing Huan Hua with sheer skill or unshakable patience. A handful of Huan Hua’s brightest, those who actually cared more about ideas than prestige, began sneaking into the “science” sessions early, curious despite themselves.

But overall? It was like trying to teach teamwork at a family reunion between sworn enemies. Shen Yuan could only sigh into his tea: “Rich people, honestly. Same problem in every timeline.”

The first fight was Qing Jing´s pride and joy. (Please note the sarcasm.) It started as a “friendly” demonstration.

The boy - twelve years old, dressed in silk so yellow it hurt the eyes - stood across from Shen Qingqiu, fan tucked smugly into his belt, chin lifted with the entitlement of someone who had never been told “no.”

“Head Disciple Shen,” the boy said, voice cracking just slightly. “This one was told the Cang Qiong Sect values efficiency. Surely you won’t waste everyone's time with… basics.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrow twitched. Just barely. But Shen Yuan, who was watching with his teacup, knew that twitch was the harbinger of storms. “This master wasn’t aware,” Shen Qingqiu replied, his voice colder than the shadow under a glacier, “that Cang Qiong was entertaining dignitaries. This master thought you were here to learn.”

The boy smirked. “Learn? From you? Forgive me, Shen Qingqiu, but the stories say Huan Hua is the richest sect in all the realm. Why should I humble myself to the mountain of the penniless?"

Ah. There it was.

Shen Yuan almost choked on his tea. Kid, you’ve got guts. Or no brain cells. Same difference.

Shen Qingqiu stepped forward, fan snapping open in his hand. His patience lasted exactly three heartbeats. “If your sect’s wealth makes you so untouchable, then perhaps you should buy yourself some manners. Or better yet - some skill.”

The spar began.

The boy attacked with raw, clumsy qi. Powerful, yes, but unrefined, like throwing coins into a storm and hoping they’d hit the target. Shen Qingqiu dismantled every strike with lazy flicks of his fan, his robes barely stirring. He wasn’t even trying.

After the third blocked strike, Shen Qingqiu tilted his head and said, “This is what your sect calls talent? No wonder Huan Hua spends so much on silks. It’s the only thing holding your pride together.”

The boy turned red, swinging harder. Shen Yuan winced. Oh no. He’s roasting a twelve-year-old.

Within moments, the boy was face-down in the dirt, robes torn, fan snapped in half. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t even broken a sweat. He looked down at the child with expressionless disdain and said, “When you learn the difference between arrogance and ability, then return. Until then, don’t waste my time.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving behind one destroyed ego, one trembling disciple, and one Shen Yuan muttering into his sleeve, well, at least he didn’t actually stab the brat.

Among the head disciples, a few stood out immediately: Shang Qinghua for being a two-faced rat bastard, Yue Qingyuan for being sunshine wrapped in human skin, and then… there was Su Qingyan (苏青衍) of Kunpeng Peak (鲲鹏峰).

Shen Yuan liked him. Which, frankly, was a miracle, because Shen Yuan decided that he hates every Cang Qiong Peak Lord that didn't help Binghe. But Su Qingyan had that steady, soft-spoken energy that reminded Shen Yuan of the “reliable class monitor” archetype. He wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t arrogant, he didn’t strut around in rose silks proclaiming himself better than the rest of humanity. Instead, he talked like someone who actually thought before opening his mouth; a rare commodity in the cultivation world, apparently.

One afternoon, while they were discussing beast-taming techniques, Shen Yuan had asked offhandedly, “So, how old are you anyway? Head Disciple Su is quite acknowledged in the matters of beasts”

Su Qingyan smiled faintly and said, “This disciple turned one hundred and twenty last spring, Palace Master.”

Shen Yuan had nearly spat out his tea. Excuse me? The man looked like he was in his mid-twenties at most. Sharp jawline, healthy complexion, not a wrinkle in sight. Shen Yuan, trapped in the prematurely middle-aged body of the Old Palace Master, suddenly felt robbed.

Uh-huh, Shen Yuan thought into his tea. Sure. Totally normal. Nothing weird about a one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old senior disciple hanging out with kids barely out of their teens. This world’s HR department really needs a look.

Still, Su Qingyan’s age explained his patience. He didn’t talk down to Shen Yuan’s younger disciples. He listened when Shen Yuan explained (rambled) about “scientific method” and “testing variables.” And, most importantly, he didn’t laugh (too hard) when Shen Yuan compared Kunpeng Peak to a budget airline.

They ended up talking often. About beasts, about qi cultivation, about how much work it really took to manage a peak full of hotheaded juniors. Su Qingyan had the air of someone who had quietly shouldered responsibility for so long it had become second nature. Shen Yuan found it comforting, like chatting with an older cousin who actually gave a damn.

And for once, in the cutthroat, gold-plated mess that was Huan Hua, Shen Yuan thought: yeah, I could trust this guy.

The Beast expert nodded to his ‘elder’. “Liu-shixiong is the youngest among the head disciples. Barely fifty this year.”

Shen Yuan nearly choked on his tea. Fifty. The cup rattled in his hands as he stared at Su Qingyan with the wide eyes of a man betrayed by Heaven itself. Fifty years old. Barely. Youngest. Meanwhile I’m nineteen, stuck in the wrinkly body of an old man with crowfeet and suspicious beard stubble.

He wanted to cry tears of blood. Actual blood.

Su Qingyan tilted his head, mildly concerned. “Old Palace Master?"

Shen Yuan coughed, waved him off, and plastered on a fake smile. “Oh, nothing, nothing.” Just realizing my life expectancy got scammed harder than a pay-to-win mobile game.

The realization hit harder with every passing second. Fifty was “young” here. A hundred and twenty was “still a disciple.” And Shen Yuan - chronologically nineteen, biologically who even knew - was expected to stand among them with a straight face.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This world really didn’t come with a manual, huh.

That night, Shen Yuan lay in bed and didn’t sleep. The ceiling loomed above him, shadows of the lantern flickering like mocking smiles.

Everywhere he looked, he saw their faces. Fresh, smooth, unlined by age. Disciples who looked twenty but were already older than his parents would have been. Sect leaders who carried centuries in their bones but still had the energy to duel at dawn. And him? A farce.

The gap gnawed at him.

They all assumed he was wise. Mature. An elder to look up to, to consult, to lean on for guidance. Shen Yuan barely felt out of diapers. He still remembered the stink of his dorm cafeteria, the endless cramming for college entrance exams, the dumb bickering with his meimei over hair products. He wasn’t an elder. He was a kid wearing someone else’s ill-fitting mask.

His hands curled into the blanket. He felt small. So, so small. Every plan he had spun - abolishing poverty, introducing science, fixing Binghe’s fate - suddenly felt paper-thin. What if someone realized he had no idea what he was doing? What if they peeled back the mask and saw only Shen Yuan, nineteen and utterly lost?

He turned onto his side, staring at the wall, and whispered to himself, “Fake it till you make it.”

But the words didn’t stop the hollow ache in his chest.

The thought didn’t leave him.

Even as days passed, even as disciples bustled with research projects and Su Qingyan patiently updated him on progress, even as Su Xiyan sat at his side with quiet questions, Shen Yuan couldn’t shake it.

The mask of “sect leader” weighed on him more heavily than the gaudy golden robes ever had. People bowed to him in the corridors, called him Palace Master with reverence, and he smiled back, fan snapping open to hide the flicker in his eyes. He kept asking himself the same thing, over and over: Am I really doing the right thing?

Maybe he was meddling too much. Maybe he was dragging people into experiments that would never work. Maybe he was playing with lives he didn’t understand, because all he had was the half-baked perspective of a modern nineteen-year-old who had skimmed history class between webnovel binges.

Sometimes, late at night, staring at the wall, he thought it might be better to walk away. Leave the sect, find a patch of countryside, raise chickens, grow vegetables, live out the rest of his borrowed years as a hermit. Be old forever, and at least be honest about it. The fantasy carried a strange peace: no disciples relying on him, no impossible expectations, no pretending. Just chickens. Just silence. Just Shen Yuan, not Old Palace Master.

But then morning came, and disciples greeted him with eager bows, voices bright with hope. And Shen Yuan forced the smile back on his face, snapped open his fan, and thought, not today. Not yet.

One morning, when the weight of everything pressed a little heavier on Shen Yuan’s shoulders, Su Xiyan appeared at his study door.

“Shizun,” she said, voice flat as always. “Do you want to go to the market?”

Shen Yuan blinked up from his notes. “The market?”

She nodded, tugging at the hem of her robe. “This disciple received her stipend. She thought she would buy a new robe for the New Year.”

For a moment, Shen Yuan just stared. He had been buried in talk of reforms and talisman experiments, in the suffocating awareness of centuries-old disciples, in the constant hum of responsibility. The idea of something so… normal… knocked the wind out of him.

He huffed a laugh. “So that’s what’s on your mind, hm? Robes? I thought my esteemed head disciple was above such worldly concerns.”

Su Xiyan narrowed her eyes. “I am not above freezing to death in winter.”

That earned her a smile. Still, she was standing there, stiff-backed and serious, but with just the faintest spark of youth shining through. And suddenly, Shen Yuan thought: Wait. How old is she, really?

A teenager, probably. The kind of age when, back in his world, girls were obsessing over makeup trends or cramming for entrance exams, at least his meimei was. And here she was, leading disciples, speaking in the clipped tone of a miniature adult, saving up for robes like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was tall, steady, composed in that way of people who never allowed themselves to stumble. For weeks he’d been assuming she was fifteen, maybe sixteen, because she carried herself like a moody high-schooler forced into responsibility too young.

Shen Yuan’s chest tightened. Su Xiyan would be good friends with meimei.

“Alright,” he said at last, snapping his fan shut. “Let’s go see about that robe. New Year’s deserves new silk, after all.”

For the first time that week, his sigh didn’t feel so heavy.

“Girls your age should have beautiful things.”

Su Xiyan replied in her matter-of-fact tone: “This disciple turned twenty-two in the summer.”

Shen Yuan nearly choked. Twenty-two?!

So she wasn’t a kid. She was older than him. By three years. Goddammit.

His lips twitched. Ah. Wonderful. Perfect. Nothing strange at all about my head disciple being three years my senior. Totally fine. 

Su Xiyan raised a brow. “Shizun?”

“Nothing,” Shen Yuan sighed, snapping his fan shut. “Lead the way, Xiyan. Let’s see about this robe of yours. Heaven forbid my head disciple freezes to death.”

And just like that, his heavy thoughts were pushed back for a while, replaced by the absurdity of following his twenty-two-year-old head disciple through a marketplace like some kind of overprotective uncle.

Oddly enough, Shen Yuan had never stepped into the so-called “rich market” that sprawled just outside the palace walls. He’d always wandered the cramped alleys of the poorer quarters, where hawkers shouted over each other, iron pots clanged in roadside stalls, and the smell of fried dough mixed with horse dung.

The rich market was another world entirely.

The main street was wide, paved in polished stone that gleamed even under the weak winter sun. Painted pavilions lined both sides, their carved eaves curling like dragon whiskers, every beam lacquered and inlaid with gold leaf. Instead of smoke and grime, the air carried the perfume of rare incense, floral oils, and the faint sweetness of candied fruit.

Merchants sat behind orderly stalls draped with silk awnings: bolts of brocade embroidered with golden cranes, porcelain so fine it looked like eggshell, jade jewelry carved into blossoms and beasts. Some stalls didn’t even bother with stalls at all; whole rooms had been converted into boutiques, their doors guarded by servants in neat livery.

The people were just as polished. Ladies in gauzy layers of gauze and satin walked arm in arm, their hair piled high with jeweled pins, trailing maids behind them like a river of silk. Young masters in cloud-patterned robes leaned lazily on lacquered sedan chairs, fans painted with mountain scenes in hand as they pointed at wares without so much as moving. Even the children were dressed like tiny immortals, with embroidered shoes and red silk tassels tied to their belts.

Everywhere Shen Yuan looked, money shimmered; whether in the fabrics, the food stalls serving bird’s nest soup, or the book peddlers selling calligraphy anthologies written in a style that screamed I studied under Someone Famous, you know.

It was dazzling. It was disgusting.

And it hit Shen Yuan with a sharp pang of recognition: holy shit, I’ve been shopping in fantasy-Chinatown’s dollar store this whole time.

Su Xiyan walked beside him as calmly as ever, unbothered by the opulence. “This disciple would like a robe of dark blue,” she said, already scanning for cloth merchants.

Shen Yuan just snapped open his fan, muttering to himself. “Dark blue, she says. Meanwhile, look at these people, they’ve got enough silk to make a tent for a giant.”

While Su Xiyan headed to the seamstress, Shen Yuan drifted toward a nearby bookstore, tucked into a quiet corner behind a stall selling crystal hairpins. The exterior was unassuming: a faded wooden sign swayed in the breeze, engraved with the words “Scriptures & Scrolls” (典籍坊, Diǎnjí Fāng). A faint smell of aged paper and ink seeped into the street, instantly drawing him in.

Inside, the shop was narrow but tall, with stacks of bamboo scrolls and stitched books piled against every wall. The floorboards creaked underfoot, and the faint scent of candle wax lingered from the low-burning lanterns. Each shelf was carved from dark wood, polished to a dull sheen, with little labels inscribed in gold ink marking the sections: “Poetry,” “Historical Records,” “Medicinal Texts,” “Cultivation Manuals,” “Miscellaneous Oddities.”

Merchants, older men with ink-stained fingers and robes dusted in soot, sat cross-legged on low stools behind counters. They didn’t shout, didn’t wave at passersby. They simply observed, ready to retrieve whatever tome a customer requested. The silence made the shop feel alive, like the scrolls themselves were breathing.

Shen Yuan wandered through the stacks, flipping through bamboo slips on qi theory and alchemy. Some titles were overly dramatic: “The Celestial Path of Nine Heavens”, “Essence of Dragon’s Breath”, and “Beast Tamers’ Supreme Codex”. He couldn’t help muttering to himself. “Yeah, sure, Dragon’s Breath. Sounds legit. Bet this cures anything from headaches to heartbreak.”

A pile of stitched manuscripts caught his eye: a set of agricultural treatises from the previous dynasty. His modern heart skipped. Finally. Something useful. Yet - another thing caught his eyes.

He ran a hand over the rough covers, inhaling the dry, comforting scent of paper. He felt a rare moment of peace; away from the expectations, the golden robes, the disciples who all assumed he knew what he was doing. Here, surrounded by knowledge, Shen Yuan could almost forget that he was pretending to be an ancient elder.

He carefully selected a few scrolls, patting them like a cat he’d just adopted. Yes. Knowledge. Finally, something I can actually use without fear of someone stabbing me for being inexperienced.

With his stash tucked under his arm, Shen Yuan left the bookstore and drifted into a small teashop tucked between two larger stores. The sign above the door read “Lotus Whisper Teahouse” (莲语茶坊, Lián Yǔ Cháfáng), carved delicately in flowing script. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting soft pools of light on the wooden steps. The smell of steeped jasmine and oolong tea mixed with the faint scent of incense curling from a tiny burner in the corner.

Inside, the teashop was warm and intimate. Low tables lined the polished floorboards, each surrounded by cushions or short stools. Bamboo screens separated corners for privacy, and on one wall, shelves were stacked with delicate tea sets: painted porcelain cups, bronze kettles, and clay pots that looked like they had absorbed a century of brewed leaves. A few patrons murmured quietly over their tea, dipping buns into saucers of honey or sugar.

Shen Yuan claimed a corner table, setting down his bundle of scrolls and, much to his private amusement, the trashy novel he had impulse-bought from a stall in the rich market. He poured himself a cup of steaming oolong after the waiter smiled at him, savoring the aroma before opening the first page.

The story was exactly what he expected: a blind wandering rogue cultivator stumbling from one ridiculous adventure to another, pursued obsessively by a demon lord who apparently had no concept of boundaries or personal space. Shen Yuan suppressed a snort, nearly choking on his tea.

Really? That’s your epic love story? he muttered under his breath. And somehow everyone calls this “cultivation epic”?

But still, he read. He read because it was deliciously absurd, the perfect distraction from the pressure of running a sect and secretly panicking about the mortals who assumed he knew what he was doing. Every ridiculous duel and melodramatic monologue made him grin, even as he jotted notes on his scrolls with one hand and held the novel with the other.

The teashop hummed softly around him. It was an oasis of quiet and warmth amid the chaos of Huan Hua’s golden streets. Outside, the rich market buzzed with wealth and gossip, but here, Shen Yuan could sip his tea, read about impossible love affairs, and feel, for just a moment, like a normal person who didn’t have centuries of expectation pressing down on him.

Yet, after the tenth page, Shen Yuan’s attention was pulled from the blind rogue and his obsessive demon lord. A commotion at the table next to his caught his eye.

The older man, probably in his twenties, sat sprawled across the bench with a grin that radiated entirely too much confidence. He laughed loudly, slapping the table. “This Lord doesn't have any money! He spent everything on books! Everything!” The sound drew annoyed glances from nearby patrons.

Beside him, a younger boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, fidgeted uncomfortably. His hair was slick black in a braid, framing sharp, intense eyes that darted nervously under the waiter’s gaze. His hands were folded tightly on his lap; his posture awkward, almost apologetic. Every now and then, he glanced at the patrons or at the floor, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged in the teashop at all.

Shen Yuan’s gaze inevitably drifted back to the older man. Oh, gods.

The man’s shoulders were bare, his outer robe pooled around his hips, leaving a broad, strong chest exposed. The New Year was approaching, the air inside the teashop was warm and polite, and here he was, lounging like it was a private stage. The scandalized looks from the other patrons were deliciously obvious, Shen Yuan suppressed a snort. Not slut-shaming, obviously. But… dude. Put on a shirt. It’s winter.

And yet… his eyes lingered on the small mole at the base of the man’s neck. A mark so minor, yet somehow unforgettable. Shen Yuan had no idea why, but the detail stuck in his mind.

Meanwhile, the younger boy beside him shuffled, cheeks red, clearly mortified by the older man’s antics. Shen Yuan tilted his head. So that’s the dynamic, huh? Loud, confident, “look at me I own the world” type, paired with the shy, awkward kid. Classic. He returned to his tea and trashy novel, though part of his mind stayed on the pair. This is going to be… interesting.

Shen Yuan sighed, closing his book with exaggerated care when he noticed that he wasn´t going to pay attention to the book anymore. The older man continued laughing, waving his empty purse in the air, while the younger boy practically shrank into his seat, cheeks blazing red under the weight of every scandalized gaze in the teashop.

Well, Shen Yuan muttered under his breath, someone has to intervene before that poor kid melts into a puddle of awkwardness.

He stood, fan snapping open with dramatic flair, and stepped toward the table. “Excuse me,” he called, voice calm but carrying that subtle edge of authority that came from being respected as a sect leader, even if no one knew he was internally panicking half the time.

The older man glanced at him with a lazy, teasing grin, clearly entertained. The younger boy flinched. Shen Yuan ignored both reactions.

“This,” he said, gesturing with his fan to the younger boy, “is a person who did not consent to this level of public humiliation. You may continue your theatrics later, but now…” He tapped the table with his fan. “Pay the bill or leave before your friend suffers a heart attack.”

The teashop waiter cleared his throat, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. The older man shrugged, flashing the kind of charming grin that made people either melt or groan. “Looks like this Lord spent too much on books,” he said, totally unapologetic. “What are you gonna do now?”

Shen Yuan leaned down to the younger boy, whispering under his fan: “Relax. I’ll make sure you’re not blamed for this disaster.” And just like that, Shen Yuan assumed the mantle of unofficial youth savior, not because of the pretty man across the table, of course. No, purely out of mercy for the painfully shy teenager beside him.

He sighed, tilting his head as he regarded the pile of coins that clearly would never cover the bill. He snapped open his fan and fixed the older man with a calm, measured gaze.

“You see,” he said slowly, “avarice is a disease. It starts small, just a handful of coins, but if left unchecked, it will consume you entirely, leaving nothing but embarrassment and unpaid bills in its wake.”

The older man threw his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made heads turn and even the waiter blink in surprise. “Wise words, Xiansheng! Truly! And yet here I sit, completely guilty of the very thing you just preached.”

Shen Yuan allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smile, then leaned over and discreetly placed a few more coins from his own purse onto the table. It was enough to settle the bill entirely.

“Consider it a lesson,” he said, snapping his fan shut. “Generosity, like wisdom, is best practiced before disaster strikes.”

The younger boy exhaled a relieved breath, cheeks still red, while the older man continued to chuckle, clearly entertained by both the words and the action.

The patrons of the teashop lost interest, realizing that no fight, scandal, or theatrical duel would erupt, the waiter finally exhaled and went back to his chores, broom in hand. Shen Yuan started to make his way back to his table, clutching his teacup and scrolls, when suddenly -

A hand shot out, grabbing the hems of his soft, flowing cloak.

“Xiansheng,” the young man said, his grin wide and teasing. “Why not spend your wise words on this humble one?”

Shen Yuan snorted automatically, snapping his fan open and pretending to hum as if composing a verse on the spot. “And the name of the gentleman?” he asked, voice calm but edged with curiosity.

“Nobody,” the man replied, still smiling, like the answer was a joke in itself.

Shen Yuan’s lips twitched into a full laugh. He leaned back, fanning himself theatrically, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, quoted: “山中无人，独留清风在。” (In the mountains, there is nobody; only the pure wind remains.) He added under his breath, smirking: “Ah, ‘Nobody,’ yet bold enough to hold my cloak in public. Truly, even the wind envies your audacity.”

The young man’s grin widened, clearly amused, while Shen Yuan shook his head, muttering: Of course I end up quoting ancient poets at a teashop. And of course it fits this ridiculous scene perfectly.

“Nobody’s” eyes followed Shen Yuan’s figure, slowly tracing the soft lines of his cloak before settling on his face. The intensity in those dark eyes was almost disarming. “It is rare for anyone to help this humble one,” the young man said, his voice low, smooth, and teasing, like he’d said it a thousand times but meant every word.

Shen Yuan arched a brow, trying not to show just how flustered he was. “So… this has happened before?” he asked carefully, letting a hint of amusement thread through his tone.

The young man tilted his head slightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Oh… more than once.”

Shen Yuan smirked, snapping open his fan. Figures. Of course it’s not the first time some reckless charmer has dragged a poor, unsuspecting benefactor into trouble. Why would it ever be simple?

He leaned back, letting his eyes meet the other’s without flinching, though inside, a small spark of curiosity had been lit. Well, this could get… interesting.

“And may this Nobody ask Xiansheng's name?” the young man asked, tilting his head, eyes glinting with curiosity.

Shen Yuan let out a low, theatrical laugh, fanning himself with exaggerated care. “Ah…” he began, voice heavy with mock solemnity, “This master is far too old, far too weathered by the winds of time and the burdens of mortal life, to remember even his own name. Perhaps it was lost in the mists of history, or stolen by mischievous spirits…” He paused, leaning closer, letting his fan flutter dramatically as if the fate of the world itself depended on the next words. “Call me… whoever you wish, so long as it suits your humble purpose.”

The young man blinked, then threw back his head and laughed, full and unrestrained, clearly entertained by the performance. Shen Yuan could almost hear the faint applause of his inner drama critic.

Of course, he thought, entertaining the mysterious Nobody, because clearly, my life is a stage and this teashop is my theater.

“Xiansheng is wise and old as a mountain,” Nobody said, voice smooth and teasing. “Yet, the imaginary flower garden is fragrant as a dream.”

Shen Yuan blinked once, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Ah… clever, he thought. Imaginary Flower… 幻花, Huàn Huā. And Cang Qiong famous mountain. So he knows I’m an elder from the sect or at least is cleverly probing.

He let his fan flutter lazily, keeping his expression neutral, though inside he felt a flicker of amusement. A joke, an interrogation, and a bit of charm all in one. Bold. Audacious. And I like it.

Nobody’s dark eyes met his, sharp and calculating, yet still playful. Shen Yuan took a slow sip of tea, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the point: he had noticed. He wasn’t about to give anything away. At least, not yet.

The teashop faded around them, the low murmur of patrons and the scent of oolong retreating to the background. For a brief moment, it was just him and Nobody, trading subtle meanings without a word of explanation.

Shen Yuan’s lips twitched. Clever little devil. I’ll give him that.

But Shen Yuan had an ace up his sleeve. He tilted his head slightly, letting the soft lantern light catch the edges of his fan, and his lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile.

Time to respond in kind, he thought.

Quietly, he murmured, almost to himself, a line of poetry: “妖精巧计藏深处，暗影纵横识真身。” (A demon’s clever schemes hide in the depths; through shifting shadows, one can discern the true form.)

Nobody’s dark eyes flicked up at him, just for a fraction of a second, and Shen Yuan noted the slightest pause in his grin. It was subtle, but telling. The words weren’t mere poetry; they were a veiled acknowledgment: he knew exactly what kind of being he was dealing with.

Shen Yuan leaned back, fanning himself with calm composure, letting the line hang in the air. Clever devil, indeed. I see you. Masked, charming, and dangerous.

Nobody tilted his head slightly, a faint sparkle in his expression that could have been amusement, or a silent challenge. The teashop around them faded into background noise. For a moment, it was just two predators circling carefully, each testing the other without a single sword drawn.

Nobody snorted softly and let his gaze drift over the teashop patrons, lingering on the shy youth beside him. Then, almost lazily, he shifted his body, reclining as if he were merely stretching. Shen Yuan’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Careful… very careful. He noticed the subtle way the loose sleeve shifted, just enough to hide a dagger. Ah, cultivators and their reflexes. Truly, the eyes do not lie.

Nobody’s dark eyes flicked toward him. “How?” he asked, voice calm but sharp, teasing as always.

Shen Yuan leaned back, opening his fan with deliberate elegance, and murmured quietly, letting the words float like a shadow: “狡兔三窟，智者自藏身。” (The clever hare has three burrows; the wise one always hides his own refuge.)

Nobody’s smile twitched ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of the hidden meaning. The dagger remained sheathed in secrecy, but the message was clear: Shen Yuan had seen, and he was not impressed or intimidated.

The clinking teacups, and the soft murmur of patrons faded into the background. It was just the two of them: predator and cunning predator, sizing each other up without a single blade drawn.

Shen Yuan let a small, amused sigh escape, feigning defeat. I suppose I can give this one a carrot, he thought. He rather liked him. “Gongzi is fortunate that Huan Hua has such tolerance for demons,” he said, the words laced with mock resignation. 

The young man laughed. It was a rich, elegant sound that seemed to carry effortlessly through the teashop. Shen Yuan’s eyes followed the glow of the dying sun as it caught in the older man’s irises, warm and golden. Again, the mole at the base of his neck, so minor yet so striking, drew a quiet, unthinking admiration from Shen Yuan.

“Do they?” Nobody asked softly, tilting his head, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity and challenge all at once. Shen Yuan leaned back, letting his fan flutter lazily. Bold, beautiful, and sharp as a knife, he thought. “How can such a wise man say something so absurd?” the demon man sighed, shaking his head with mock exasperation.

Shen Yuan tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Have you not heard?” he said, voice calm but teasing. “Old Palace Master was granted heavenly clarity and -” he waved his hand theatrically “- reformed his entire ruling order.”

For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other, the absurdity of the claim hanging between them. Then, as if a dam had broken, both of them burst out laughing, the sound mingling with the fading sunlight that streamed through the teashop windows.

“Fucking hell,” Nobody muttered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “And who believed that?”

“Everybody,” Shen Yuan said, voice calm, almost bored, though a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Of course they did,” the demon man chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly… of course they did... This lord has heard some gossip in the human market,” Nobody said, leaning forward slightly, fingers tapping lightly on the table, the very personification of grace and confidence.

Shen Yuan’s eyes flicked up, just a fraction, noting the effortless poise in the gesture. Of course you’d make even tapping your fingers look like a performance, he thought, smirking behind his fan.

The words hung in the air, teasing yet deliberate, carrying the faintest hint of challenge. Shen Yuan sipped his tea slowly, savoring the moment. Ah… so the demon has been listening. Bold.

“And what does the public have to say about the new regime?” Shen Yuan asked, leaning back slightly, fanning himself with calm composure.

The demon in disguise tilted his head, letting his dark eyes sweep the teashop as if collecting invisible threads of gossip. “Ah,” he said softly, voice smooth, “the opinions are… divided, naturally. The rich, predictably, grumble about the new rules. Tax reforms, redistribution of some lands… they claim the Palace Master meddles too much in commerce, upsets long-established privileges. The wine merchants in the northern quarter are already whispering that their profits are threatened.”

Shen Yuan raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“The poor?” Nobody continued, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “They adore him. Village elders in Bailu Forest say their children eat more freely now. Rice deliveries to the outskirts arrive on time. Even the river workers claim the palace oversight has made their lives easier. Some of them bow when they see his banners, saying he cares, which… frankly, is unusual in these times.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, then tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Of course, public opinion is fickle, but I’d say the Palace Master’s reforms… have merit.”

Shen Yuan nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He had been rather secluded in the palace, wrapped up in his own schemes and the training of disciples, so much of this was news to him.

“And the demons?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, eyes sharp behind the fan. “What do they think?”

Nobody’s dark eyes flicked toward him, a glint of amusement in the corner. He let his fingers drum lightly on the table, measuring the weight of the question. “Ah… the demons,” he said, voice low. “They are… divided, much like the humans. Some appreciate the stability the Palace Master brings… predictable order, fair distribution of resources, fewer reckless conflicts. Others… grumble. They find his tolerance tiresome, his sense of justice inconvenient, and the young ones whisper that the Palace Master’s reforms ‘soften’ the sect, make it less… exciting.”

He tilted his head, studying Shen Yuan with the faintest smirk. “But that, of course, is the opinion of those bold enough to speak it. The rest… they watch quietly, like shadows in a corner.”

Shen Yuan fanned himself slowly, the soft rustle of the paper cutting through the quiet hum of the teashop. He let a calculated pause hang in the air before speaking, testing the waters. “This master,” he began, voice calm but edged with curiosity, “has heard… about the Demonic Emperor…”

Nobody’s lips curved into a dangerous, slow smile, sharp enough to make the shadows of the teashop seem deeper. “Oh? And what of him?”

Shen Yuan hesitated only a fraction, weighing his next words. PIDW never mentioned Tianlang-Jun directly, but he had to see what this man knew. “…Does he have an opinion?”

Nobody’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners crinkled in that subtle, unreadable way. It was neither amusement nor anger, but the faintest flicker of something sharp, something… dangerous. Shen Yuan felt it like a slight chill in the air, and yet he didn’t flinch.

Interesting, he thought, letting the tension settle like a delicate veil. Clearly testing me.

“That man is, quite frankly, an airhead,” Nobody said, voice smooth but with a sharp edge of amusement.

Shen Yuan blinked in surprise, then couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing, the sound echoing lightly in the teashop. “Is he?” he managed between chuckles, shaking his head.

Nobody’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, and he tilted his head to the side, eyes glinting. “The Demonic Court doesn’t like him,” he said, voice calm but tinged with mischief. “Some even whisper that he’ll abandon his reign entirely… to paint erotic images.”

Shen Yuan’s laughter stuttered into a quiet, incredulous chuckle. Well… that explains so much, he thought, wiping a stray tear of mirth from his eye. Of course, the Emperor of the Heavens is secretly an artist. Why would I expect anything less absurd?

“Two useless leaders walk into a teashop…” Shen Yuan began, leaning back slightly, letting the words drip with mock drama.

Nobody’s dark eyes sparkled, and before Shen Yuan could even finish, he let out a rich, genuine laugh. It was elegant, teasing, and entirely unrestrained, filling the teashop with warmth and mischief.

The shy youth nearby shifted nervously, glancing between them, clearly unsure whether to be horrified or fascinated. Shen Yuan allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Ah… the young one will learn to survive in this company, or be swept away entirely. Either way, entertaining.

They sighed almost in unison, drunk on laughter, the kind that lingered in the chest long after the sound had faded.

Nobody opened his mouth, perhaps to offer another witty remark, but was interrupted by a soft, hesitant voice. “Shizun?” Su Xiyan appeared at the edge of the teashop, a neatly folded robe clutched in her hands. Her brow was furrowed, the faintest crease of concern on her youthful face. The demon’s dark eyes didn’t even flick in her direction, still fixed on Shen Yuan.

“Xiyan,” Shen Yuan’s mask of composure slid back into place, voice calm and measured, the playful trace of amusement gone. “Have you finished?”

She nodded promptly, lowering the robe slightly. “Yes, Shizun.”

Shen Yuan gave a small, approving nod, letting the shift in tone settle like a soft wind through the room. The playful moment was over, at least for now.

As he took the folded robe from her, Shen Yuan’s eyes flicked toward Su Xiyan. He noticed immediately; the sharp, calculating way she was looking at the stranger. Her brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes scanning him with quiet disapproval.

She does not like him, Shen Yuan thought, raising a brow behind his fan. Her gaze was analytical, unsparing, measuring every gesture, every flick of his sleeve, as if she were trying to see through him at a glance.

The demon, of course, seemed entirely unaware, or perfectly unconcerned, keeping his dark eyes on Shen Yuan with that same teasing calm. Shen Yuan let himself smirk faintly. Good, the girl has eyes. Smart girl. She’ll keep us all honest.

“Who’s that, Shizun?” Su Xiyan asked, her voice cautious but edged with curiosity, eyes still flicking toward Nobody.

Shen Yuan tilted his head slightly, letting his fan flutter lazily. He studied the stranger with the same careful attention. “That,” he said slowly, voice calm, measured, “is someone who enjoys testing patience… and perhaps mine in particular.”

Su Xiyan pursed her lips and rested a hand lightly on Shen Yuan’s shoulder. It was oddly amusing. She looked like a Chow Chow guarding an old dog. Shen Yuan couldn’t help the quiet sigh that escaped him. Meimei had the same frown when a male stranger got too close to her Yuan-ge, he thought, the memory tugging a faint smile from him.

He straightened, bowing with formal grace to the two demons. “Thanking Gongzi, for the talk,” he said, voice calm and measured, the mask of the composed elder firmly in place.

“Of course, Xiansheng,” Nobody replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, his tone smooth and unconcerned, yet carrying that subtle, teasing edge that made Shen Yuan’s chest tighten just a little.

Su Xiyan’s hand stayed on his shoulder, a quiet, protective presence, as the shadows of the teashop stretched with the dying sunlight. Shen Yuan let himself enjoy the brief, fragile calm. It was rare, but somehow… satisfying.

They walked together toward the permitted area where cultivators could take flight, the soft rustle of their robes blending with the faint wind. Su Xiyan’s hazel eyes flicked toward him from the corner, sharp and assessing. “Shizun is looking better,” she said quietly.

Shen Yuan blinked, caught off guard. “Hm?”

She nodded, her expression serious but calm. “This disciple asked for Shizun to accompany  her because he looked stressed. She knows Cang Qiong has been instigating fights.”

Shen Yuan huffed, exhaling through his nose. “Cang Qiong?”

Su Xiyan let out a quiet sigh. “Huan Hua’s disciples are… quite difficult.”

Shen Yuan’s lips twitched in a faint, wry smile. Ah… so someone notices when I’m on the verge of losing my mind. Smart girl. Very observant.

The wind picked up slightly as they approached the edge of the platform, the mountains looming in the distance, and Shen Yuan allowed himself a quiet, private acknowledgment of her careful watchfulness. Good. I’ll need that… more than I realized.

Shen Yuan tilted his head as they walked, the wind tugging at his robes. “What does Xiyan know about the Demonic Emperor, Tianlang-Jun?”

Su Xiyan straightened slightly, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she spoke, voice calm and precise. “He is rumored to be unpredictable. Extremely powerful, yet distracted by trivial matters at times. Some say he obsesses over art, others whisper he undervalues his ministers. Huan Hua’s informants report he tolerates few challenges to his authority, but does not always act on them immediately.”

Shen Yuan raised an eyebrow, listening carefully.

“His movements are calculated,” she continued, “but some cultivators claim that his moods affect the court’s stability. There are factions among the demons… some loyal, some opportunistic… watching for any sign of weakness. Most rumors agree, however, that he is cunning, and few dare oppose him openly.”

Shen Yuan let his gaze drift over the mountains as they walked, fanning himself slowly. “With the information you have… Xiyan,” he said, voice measured, “would you say Tianlang-Jun will hold his position until he finds an heir?”

Su Xiyan’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. She folded her hands in front of her and began her analysis carefully, each word precise. “Based on his known behavior, temperament, and the reports from the court,” she said, “he will likely maintain his rule. He values stability, and while he can be distracted by personal pursuits, he understands the importance of succession. His movements indicate patience, and the factions within his court are cautious, waiting for him to signal his plans. He will not relinquish control lightly until a suitable heir is secured.”

Shen Yuan listened intently, letting the assessment settle. Sharp, thorough, and cautious; exactly the kind of mind I need on my side. And she hasn’t exaggerated anything. Good. He allowed a faint smirk behind his fan. Ah… so the Emperor’s patience is as methodical as I suspected. Useful to know.

Shen Yuan let the breeze ruffle his robes as he considered her words. Tianlang-Jun’s patience, his deliberate calculation, meant Shen Yuan couldn’t force the issue. Any rash move would be noticed and exploited. Hmph, he thought, fanning himself slowly, so the mighty Demonic Emperor is methodical. Interesting… but predictable in a way.

He ran a hand over his chin, thoughtful. If he will hold power until he finds an heir, then my moves must be equally calculated. I cannot rush the young emperor, cannot try to provoke him directly… but there are angles. Shen Yuan’s mind flicked over possibilities: influence through the court, guiding public opinion subtly, planting ideas among the more ambitious factions without revealing his own hand.

And of course… he thought, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling his lips, there is the matter of Nobody. That one is reckless and clever all at once; an entirely different kind of danger. But if I can navigate Tianlang-Jun’s patience, I can at least predict the chessboard. Nobody… that’s the wild card.

He exhaled softly, letting the thought settle. Patience. Observation. Subtlety. That’s how this will work. And Xiyan… she sees far more than most. Good. I’ll need her eyes where I cannot go myself.

With that, Shen Yuan’s gaze swept over the mountains in the distance, the faint glow of the setting sun glinting off the peaks. All of it is a game. And I am very good at games.

They arrived at the Huan Huan Palace. Shen Yuan leaned against the railing, staring out at the distant land of his room, letting the wind tug at his robes. What do I even know about Binghe’s biological parents? he thought to himself. Nothing. Except that Tianlang-Jun was sealed… and that he is a full-blooded Heavenly Demonic Emperor. Great. That explains exactly nothing.

The narrative of PIDW dictated a tragic start: parents lost, orphaned child, hardships to forge the plot. And yet… Shen Yuan’s modern sensibilities bristled at it. Do I really let a child suffer just because the story says so?

He rubbed his temples, weighing the options. On one hand, following the narrative meant locking Tianlang-Jun away, ensuring the tragedy unfolded as written. Predictable, simple, but morally repulsive. On the other hand… securing Tianlang-Jun as safely as possible, even bending events to give him freedom, would allow Binghe a happier, less tragic beginning. But that came with risk: meddling with the Heavenly Demonic Emperor could have consequences beyond his comprehension.

Shen Yuan exhaled through his nose, fanning himself with a slow, measured motion. Logic versus narrative… morality versus plot. Typical me, always caught in the crossfire.

He leaned back, letting his gaze settle on the horizon. Still… I can’t just let a child’s life be ruined because the story says so. I’ll have to find a way to secure him. Keep Tianlang-Jun safe, for Binghe’s sake. That’s… strategy. That’s morality. That’s me.

And with that, Shen Yuan allowed a small, wry smile to appear. Fine, story. I’ll bend you. But you won’t break my sense of decency, not entirely.

A new plan had formed in Shen Yuan’s mind: secure Tianlang-Jun’s regency. Simple in concept. Elegant even. But then reality crashed in like a freight train.

…How the fuck am I supposed to do this?

He paced along the balcony, robes swishing around his ankles, fanning himself in half frustration, half thought. Tianlang-Jun was no ordinary ruler—full-blooded Heavenly Demonic Emperor, unpredictable, feared by even the most cunning. Protecting him wasn’t a simple matter of hiding him in the palace or arranging guards. No, this required subtlety, strategy, and the kind of patience that tested even the most disciplined cultivators.

Shen Yuan rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. Politics, factions, demons, humans, sects… this is a mess. A glorious, ridiculous mess. And somehow, it’s all on me.

He sat down heavily on the balcony railing, letting the wind tug at his fan. Fine. Step one: understand the chessboard. Step two: know all the players. Step three… improvise like hell without dying.

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. Yeah. That’s me. Modern Shen Yuan in Ancient Chaos Land. What could possibly go wrong?