Zhiyin’s fingertips shimmered with spiritual light as a small figure leaped from her palm. It assembled into a “Little Zhiyin” only waist-high, featuring lively eyes and delicate brows—a perfect miniature of the puppet girl.

“Give me the item,” Little Zhiyin said in a childish voice, extending a tiny hand.

Zhang Xian couldn’t help but chuckle as he handed over the jade bottle containing the elixir. The little puppet took it, hopped onto the deck, and tossed a needle-sized flying sword into the air. The blade grew instantly. She leaped onto it and steadied herself.

Whoosh!

A streak of silver light shot across the sky, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Back in the tearoom, Zhiyin turned and spoke softly. “Then I won’t disturb you further from your important matters.”

She glanced at Zhang Xian, who was currently staring blankly at one of the inactive puppets.

“Hmph. Men!”

Zhiyin gently closed the door, returning the room to silence.

Zhang Xian took a deep breath, gathered his spiritual energy, and pressed his finger against the center of a puppet’s forehead. A wisp of golden light flowed along its meridian patterns, gradually activating its features, hair, and robes.

Click.

The puppet’s eyelashes fluttered slightly before it slowly opened its eyes.

Zhang Xian’s breath caught in his throat. The woman before him had skin like congealed jade, dressed in the spotless white robes of the Yunmiao Sect’s supervisory office.

“Looking closely, there really is a resemblance,” Zhang Xian murmured.

Two hundred years had passed. That little dark-skinned girl would have undergone a complete transformation upon entering the path of cultivation. Moreover, puppets from Heavenly Puppet Peak were never exact replicas of their originals.

The puppet’s pupils lacked focus, gazing through him into the void. Zhang Xian reached out and gently stroked her cheek. The cold touch made his fingertips tremble.

“Are you called Xingxiu now?”

The puppet did not respond. These were basic models, incapable of housing a spiritual consciousness.

One by one, Zhang Xian activated the remaining puppets. Whether it was an illusion or the truth, he could see traces of that “little dark-skinned girl”—the one who used to follow him with a face covered in coal dust—in every single one of them.

Soon, the vessel arrived at the minor world of Liang Country.

Yun Wanqing stood on the deck, her long skirt fluttering in the wind as she surveyed the vast land below. “This minor world lacks even a trace of spiritual energy. How do you have friends here?”

Beside her, Zhang Xian smiled. “When I was young, I traveled extensively and made many close connections.”

Yun Wanqing didn’t press him further. She closed her eyes to sense the surroundings, her brow furrowing. “Strange. I can’t detect any formation fluctuations.”

Elder Sun, an elderly woman from the Cloud Raiment Pavilion, leaned on her cane nearby. “Pavilion Master, intelligence suggests this is the Withering and Flourishing Cycle Forbidden Array. It is insidious—like boiling a frog in warm water. It drains lifespan so slowly that victims never realize they are dying.”

“It isn’t just mortals,” the elder added. “Even cultivators would find it difficult to detect.”

Zhang Xian stood at the bow, his gaze distant. “We’re here.”

As the flying vessel descended toward the Daoist temple, Xuanwei and Li Miaoyin came out to greet them.

From Xuanwei’s perspective, a group of figures was descending from the heavens. Zhang Xian was in the lead, but he was followed by three stunning women of distinct, peerless charms.

Xuanwei sucked in a sharp breath. “Such abundant blessings!”

His gaze was drawn to the woman in the pale yellow dress. Sunlight filtered through her gauze skirt, outlining a graceful silhouette. Suddenly, Xuanwei’s eyes widened. That face—capable of toppling kingdoms—was one he had seen years ago in a pictorial magazine.

“The Pavilion Master of the Cloud Raiment Pavilion!” he blurted out.

He had thought Zhang Xian was merely boasting before. He never expected it to be true.

Meanwhile, Li Miaoyin stared fixedly at the woman in the white robes with golden edges. Her knees went weak, and she fell to the ground, choking back tears. “The guilty daughter of the Li family, Miaoyin, pays her respects to the Ancestral Elder!”

Xuanwei’s jaw dropped. “!!?”

Li Fuxi landed lightly, waving her hand to let a surge of spiritual energy lift Miaoyin up. She frowned slightly. “It’s you?”

She examined the girl carefully. “The little girl who almost joined the Yunmiao Sect a hundred years ago?”

Tears welled in Li Miaoyin’s eyes. Biting her lip, she whispered, “Ancestral Elder still remembers this disciple…”

“Why are you here? Why did you not join the sect later?”

With a reddened gaze, Li Miaoyin recounted the events of the past. Li Fuxi’s expression turned to one of cold fury. “Such a thing happened? How did I not know!”

Li Miaoyin forced a bitter smile. “Forget it, Ancestral Elder. It is all in the past.”

The visiting women noticed that Li Miaoyin possessed an exceptional Water Spirit Root, and even Xuanwei had near-exceptional aptitude. They gave Zhang Xian meaningful looks but remained silent.

Xuanwei coughed lightly. “Fellow Daoist Zhang… what brings you back this time?”

Zhang Xian sighed and explained the situation. Both Xuanwei and Miaoyin turned deathly pale.

“What?!” Xuanwei dropped his horsetail whisk. “I thought… I thought the short lifespans here were simply because the world lacked spiritual energy.”

He stopped abruptly, looking sharply at Zhang Xian. He had grown up here. And what of his eighteen wives? Had they all been drained by this grand formation?

Xuanwei and Li Miaoyin exchanged a look of shock and pity. Aware of the others present, they held their tongues.

Li Miaoyin eventually added, “If what you say is true, the eye of the formation should be in Yong City, the capital. Fortunately, Nephew Yu Yun is currently there.”

Zhiyin flipped her palm, summoning an enormous, silver-gleaming mechanical Kun fish. The group boarded, and in less than half an hour, they descended upon the imperial mausoleum on the outskirts of the capital.

The cemetery was solemn, surrounded by patrolling soldiers. “Should we inform the Emperor or Yu Yun of our arrival?” someone asked.

Yun Wanqing shook her head, her yellow sleeves fluttering. “No need.” She tapped a finger in the air, sending an invisible ripple outward. “The mortals won’t notice us.”

Zhiyin opened both hands, releasing dozens of “Little Zhiyin” clones that flew off on miniature swords. One clone nearly collided with a hurriedly arriving Yu Yun.

“What in the—?!” Yu Yun slammed on his spiritual brakes, breaking into a cold sweat. He currently held the title of Pillar Duke of Great Liang and had rushed over after receiving a message.

From a distance, he saw his master and Zhang Xian accompanied by a flock of stunning beauties. His mouth twitched uncontrollably.

This old scoundrel hooked up with more beauties! Damnable!

Suppressing his jealousy, he stepped forward and bowed. “Master. Uncle-Master. Brother Zhang.”

Zhang Xian patted his shoulder. “This is the Pillar Duke, Yu Yun—my dearest friend.”

Yu Yun straightened his posture, trying to keep his voice from sounding like he was grinding his teeth. “Ahem. Indeed.”

However, after learning the truth about the Withering and Flourishing Cycle Forbidden Array, Yu Yun felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

“So… my father, my elder brother… and Sister Yu Rao…” His voice trembled violently.

He instinctively looked toward Zhang Xian, only to see the man quietly gazing toward the imperial mausoleum. Zhang Xian’s eyes were like a dark, bottomless abyss.

There lay his buried wives.