“Brother!”

Lin Yinyin lunged forward, throwing herself into Zhang Xian’s arms and rubbing her cheek against his chest with clingy abandon. “I missed you so much.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a bold, predatory heat. “Once I stabilize my realm, we can finally—”

Zhang Xian chuckled, ruffling her hair to stifle her words. “What about the Nine Turns Jade Condensation Sutra? I heard that breaking your cultivation prematurely is agonizing. Aren’t you afraid?”

“With you? Not even a little!”

“Ahem!”

Li Fuxi let out a series of sharp, exaggerated coughs. “Yinyin! Have you already forgotten my warning? No mischief until your foundation is perfectly set!”

Lin Yinyin stuck out her tongue and playfully bounded away from Zhang Xian. She unsheathed her longsword, the blade humming with a sharp, resonant power. “Come on, Brother Zhang Xian. Why don’t we spar?”

Zhang Xian raised an eyebrow, drawing a high-grade spirit sword of his own. “Fine. Let me see what a legendary fifth-grade Golden Core is actually capable of.”

“Oh?” Lin Yinyin looked him up and down, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you going to fight me personally, Brother? No puppets this time?”

Zhang Xian twirled his sword, a dominant, suggestive smirk playing on his lips. “Some things,” he said, his gaze lingering on her with deliberate intent, “simply cannot be replaced by puppets.”

He leveled the tip of his blade at her. “For the important tasks, I always handle things personally.”

Lin Yinyin froze as the double meaning hit her like a physical blow. Her face turned a vivid, stunning crimson. “Pah! You… you big pervert! Take this!”

The spirit blades clashed, ringing out in a series of crisp, rhythmic strikes.

Li Fuxi stood on the sidelines, watching her two disciples trade blows. She shook her head at their shameless flirting, but a faint, affectionate smile remained hidden deep within her eyes.

The Yunmiao Sect’s Seventy-Two Peak Competition arrived exactly as scheduled.

The event was held at the sect’s main summit, Heavenly Palace Peak. Li Fuxi, whose “Master” dignity was already crumbling under Zhang Xian’s constant advances, was the first to flee the flying vessel. She retreated to the seclusion of Spirit Sword Peak to hide her blushing face.

To keep Lin Yinyin out of trouble, she dragged the girl along with her. Left with no other choice, Zhang Xian followed them back to the familiar, humble thatched cottage on their mountaintop.

On the first day of the tournament, Zhang Xian arrived at Heavenly Palace Peak by sword-flight. The massive square was already a roiling sea of disciples.

The competition was divided into eight brackets: Groups A through Xin. Only the top fighter from each group would advance to the finals.

The format was single-elimination—a brutal ladder where the top three finishers would receive massive rewards and the honor of representing the Yunmiao Sect at the Southern Region’s Demon Sweeping Assembly.

Zhang Xian had played it smart, purchasing a detailed intelligence report on every participant from Old Deng. He was placed in Group A, designated as participant A32.

The representatives from Spirit Sword Peak were strategically scattered. Chen Tiexin and Zhen Hai were in their own brackets, while Li Fuxi was in Group Wu and Lin Yinyin in Group Ji. Zhang Xian scanned the list and felt a cold smirk touch his lips—Nangong Yao was in Group Geng.

Since Zhang Xian was the final seed in his group, he had to wait through seven matches before his turn.

As he watched the fights unfold, he found himself unimpressed.

Though these disciples had higher cultivation realms than his own, the Southern Region had been peaceful for too long. Their techniques were flashy and ornamental—more like a choreographed dance than a life-or-death struggle.

Compared to the bloody, desperate battles Zhang Xian had survived in the mortal world, these matches lacked lethality. They were playing at war; he had lived it.

“Eighth Match, Group A: Number 31 versus Number 32!”

Zhang Xian walked onto the platform with measured, steady steps. His opponent was a disciple from Cloud Breaking Peak named Zhao Ming. The young man looked terrified, his sword hand trembling visibly.

“Zhang Xian, Spirit Sword Peak. I seek your guidance.”

“Z-Zhao Ming… Cloud Breaking Peak… I seek yours.”

According to Old Deng’s notes, Zhao Ming was a first-level Golden Core who had broken through six months ago. On paper, they were evenly matched.

However, Zhao Ming wasn’t nervous because of the cultivation gap. He was nervous because Zhang the Old Fiend’s reputation preceded him.

Rumor had it he had already “ravaged” the sect’s most beautiful women. Worse, losing to a “watered-down” False Core cultivator would be a mark of shame that would haunt Zhao Ming forever.

“Begin!” the referee shouted.

Zhang Xian’s sword hissed out of its sheath. He didn’t use any expensive talismans or flashy tricks. Instead, he executed the fundamental forms of the Yunmiao Sword Scripture with terrifying, clinical precision.

The sword became an extension of his will, each thrust finding the gaps in Zhao Ming’s shaky defense.

Despite being a dedicated sword cultivator, Zhao Ming was utterly suppressed from the very first breath.

“Wait, look!” someone whispered from the crowd. “That old lecher’s swordsmanship is actually… incredible.”

“Hmph, I bet Inspector Fuxi gives him ‘private lessons’ every single night,” another disciple grumbled, his voice thick with jealousy. “I wish I were the one getting suppressed by her!”

In under twenty moves, Zhang Xian flicked his wrist. Zhao Ming’s sword spun through the air, clattering onto the stone tiles. Zhang Xian’s blade came to rest precisely against the boy’s chest.

“You lose,” Zhang Xian said calmly.

Zhao Ming turned deathly pale. He hadn’t just lost; he had been dismantled in the one discipline he prided himself on.

“Group A, Number 32 is the winner!”

Boos immediately erupted from the stands.

“Pathetic! How do you lose to a False Core?”

“Whatever, let the villain have his fun. He won’t survive the next round!”

Zhang Xian ignored the noise. As he stepped off the stage, he felt a message talisman vibrate. It was from Chen Tiexin.

Junior Brother, meet us at the back mountain platform. We need to talk.

When he arrived, Chen Tiexin and Zhen Hai were already waiting.

“Congrats on the win, Junior Brother!” Chen Tiexin chirped. “You’ve only been on the mountain a short while and you’re already a Golden Core. Your progress is terrifying.”

“It’s just a False Core,” Zhang Xian replied dismissively. “How did your matches go?”

“We won, obviously,” Zhen Hai said, puffing out his chest. “But Yinyin’s match is delayed. The earlier fights are moving like snails.”

“Master won with a single strike and went straight back to Spirit Sword Peak,” Chen Tiexin added.

That sounded exactly like Li Fuxi.

Chen Tiexin leaned in, her voice turning mysterious. “Junior Brother, do you know you’re the most popular topic in the sect right now?”

“Popular?”

“Oh, absolutely. Sign-ups for this competition doubled the moment people heard you were entering. Everyone wants a piece of you.”

Zhang Xian sighed. “I assume this is because of Yinyin and Liu Qingxuan?”

“Not just them,” Chen Tiexin said with a smirk. “It’s Master. The rumor mill says you ‘drained’ her through dual cultivation, which is why her realm fell. They say you keep her captive on your flying vessel for nightly revelry.”

“Pfft!” Zhang Xian nearly choked. “That’s slander! Wait… how do they even know she was on the flying boat?”

“I told them,” Chen Tiexin said matter-of-factly. “I’m a senior member of the Demon Exorcism Association now. I have to provide intel.”

“The… the what?”

“The ‘Alliance Association for Expelling Zhang the Old Lecher,'” Chen Tiexin explained proudly. “We just call it the Demon Exorcism Association for short. We spend our meetings researching how to deal with you.”

Zhang Xian stared at her, speechless.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, patting his arm. “I’ll feed you any updates I get. I have to go now; the secret meeting starts in ten minutes.”

As she hurried away, Zhang Xian turned to Zhen Hai. “Senior Brother, please tell me you aren’t part of this.”

“We shouldn’t be seen together in public,” Zhen Hai said, patting Zhang Xian’s shoulder with a look of mock pity. “I forgot to mention—I’m actually the honorary vice president. Tonight, I’m giving a lecture on the flaws in your footwork.”

Zhang Xian: “…”