Shan Yu and Yao Min performed the formal disciple induction ceremony.

Thud.

Their foreheads struck the cold stone floor, the sound echoing softly in the empty chamber. When they raised their heads, their expressions were a mixture of irrepressible excitement and nervous apprehension.

Chen Ping paused for a moment, appearing to deliberate. He reached for the Storage Bag at his waist, rummaging briefly before producing two slips of paper.

The talisman paper was a pale, aged yellow, yet the silver lightning patterns inscribed upon them remained vivid. Even dormant, they exuded a faint, palpitating aura of explosive violence.

Truth be told, these items had been sitting in his inventory for quite some time, gathering dust.

“Tier 2, Low-Grade. Palm Lightning.”

Chen Ping’s voice was calm, resonating clearly in the quiet stone room.

“Take them. Your Master does not have many trinkets on hand at the moment. Consider these two Talismans a greeting gift. They may serve as protection in a moment of crisis. When I have gathered more resources, I will make it up to you with something better.”

Chen Ping spoke with the casual tone of a wealthy tycoon handing out pocket change.

He extended the Talismans.

Shan Yu and Yao Min’s breath hitched. Their eyes were glued to the silver arcs of the lightning patterns.

Tier 2 Talismans!

In the eyes of Qi Condensation disciples like them, a Tier 2 offensive talisman was a nuclear deterrent. It was a “press-at-the-bottom-of-the-box” trump card—a life-saving treasure they would normally never even touch, let alone own.

And their Master was giving them away? As a mere greeting gift?

These were Thunder-attribute attack Talismans, known for having the highest destructive power!

And on top of that, he promised something better later?

What could possibly be a better starter gift than a Tier 2 Talisman? Was he planning to give them treasures worth hundreds of Spirit Stones?

The two disciples looked at Chen Ping with eyes burning with admiration and desire.

“Disciple is… overwhelmed! Thank you, Master, for this generous bestowal!”

Shan Yu’s voice trembled. He received the Talisman with both hands, treating it like fragile glass. The paper felt heavy in his palm, carrying a strange sensation—cool to the touch, yet buzzing with latent heat, as if tiny electric arcs were dancing against his skin.

Yao Min was even more agitated, her face flushed red with excitement. She cradled the Talisman as if it were a rare heirloom.

“Disciple thanks Master! Master, please rest assured, Disciple will exert every ounce of strength and never dare to slack off!”

Seeing the gratitude and fanatical determination overflowing from their eyes, Chen Ping gave a slight nod.

To a Foundation Establishment cultivator, these Palm Lightning Talismans were little more than firecrackers. When he was organizing his Storage Bag earlier, he had even considered selling them as junk to clear space.

But seeing the pure, unadulterated morale boost on these young faces, he decided it was a worthy investment.

The path of cultivation was long. If he wanted subordinates to work hard, they needed tangible, visible rewards.

“Rise,” Chen Ping said, his tone softening. “Since we are now on Green Mountain together, we are family. The cave dwelling is simple; go find two side chambers to settle into. Tomorrow, begin clearing the abandoned Spirit Fields on the summit.”

“Yes, Master!”

The two answered in unison. They withdrew, clutching their Talismans to their chests, their footsteps noticeably lighter than when they arrived.

The next day, a mountain breeze carrying the fresh scent of crushed vegetation swept across the summit platform.

Shan Yu and Yao Min had swapped their formal Inner Disciple robes for durable Daoist work clothes. They stood in the fields, channeling their Qi to manipulate their hoes from a distance.

The hoes struck the damp black soil rhythmically, uprooting clumps of stubborn, magical weeds.

Qi condensed into invisible hands, grabbing the uprooted weeds and tossing them into neat piles by the ridges.

The efficiency gap between a cultivator and a mortal farmer was an abyss. A vast stretch of Spirit Fields that would take a village of mortals weeks to clear would be tidied up by these two in less than a day.

Chen Ping watched from the edge of the field for a moment before beckoning Shan Yu over.

Shan Yu immediately dropped his concentration, wiped the sweat from his brow, and jogged over.

“Master, your instructions?”

“I have a task for you. I need you to make an inquiry.”

Chen Ping looked toward the foot of the mountain, watching the faint wisps of cooking smoke rise from the distant mortal villages. His tone was casual, almost indifferent.

“I have an old acquaintance who treated me well in the past. Her name is Bai Zhi. She should be an Inner Disciple… or perhaps a Core Disciple by now. If you find her, ask her a question.”

He paused, framing the offer in his mind.

“Ask if she is willing to come to Green Mountain and cultivate under my protection.”

Shan Yu’s heart skipped a beat.

Bai Zhi?

He was all too familiar with that name.

Who in the Qingyun Sect—from the True Disciples in the clouds to the servants in the mud—had not heard of Junior Sister Bai?

She was the “Moon of the Sect,” a peerless beauty with a temperament as cold and clear as ice. To the male disciples, she was a celestial goddess, completely untouchable.

Shan Yu had only seen her once from a distance during the Grand Sect Competition. That single glimpse had been enough to leave a lasting impression of awe.

Master actually knows her?

And he wants to take her as a disciple?

Shan Yu suppressed the shock crashing through his mind like a tidal wave and chose his words carefully.

“Master… regarding Senior Sister Bai Zhi… this disciple knows a little.”

“Oh?” Chen Ping turned his gaze back to Shan Yu, raising an eyebrow.

“Senior Sister Bai Zhi is indeed an Inner Disciple, but… her status is somewhat special.”

Shan Yu lowered his voice, as if afraid the wind might carry his words.

“Rumor has it she is the direct descendant of Supreme Elder Bai. Her elder brother is Bai Yuan, a prodigy among the younger generation who reached Foundation Establishment years ago. He is highly regarded by several Peak Masters.”

Silence fell over the cave entrance, broken only by the rustling of wind through the wild grass.

Chen Ping listened without expression, though his eyes grew dark and deep.

Descendant of a Supreme Elder… Bai Yuan…

Every name Shan Yu mentioned represented a massive, deeply rooted faction within the Qingyun Sect.

Chen Ping’s mind drifted back to the Hundred Herb Garden. He remembered the cold, unapproachable figure who secretly loved sweet desserts. He remembered the warmth of a bowl of hot soup she had given him years ago.

It had been a gesture of pure kindness—a rare flicker of light during his darkest time as a bottom-feeder.

He had thought that now, as a Foundation Establishment Elder with his own mountain, he could repay that kindness. He wanted to offer her a stable environment, a shelter from the storm.

It seems I was being presumptuous, Chen Ping thought, a dry amusement rising within him.

He didn’t even know her true identity, yet he wanted to play the savior. It was almost laughable.

She wasn’t a damsel in need of shelter. She was a princess standing on the clouds, backed by a faction strong enough to crush him with a thought.

The ripple of emotion in his heart smoothed out instantly.

Chen Ping exhaled slowly, as if blowing dust off his sleeve.

“I see.”

His voice was flat, devoid of embarrassment or disappointment. He jerked his chin toward the overgrown fields.

“Go on. There are still weeds to clear.”

Shan Yu was sharp. He bowed immediately, asking no further questions.

“Yes, Master. Disciple will return to work.”

He turned and hurried back to the fields, burying his head in his labor with renewed vigor, never mentioning the name Bai Zhi again.

Chen Ping stood alone, the mountain wind billowing his cyan robes.

From the summit, the view was expansive. Beneath his feet lay the rolling green hills; in the distance, the villages looked like pieces on a chessboard.

This land was his foundation. But his foundation was still shallow.

He was a dragon hiding in the abyss, biding his time. But a dragon could not grow in a puddle.

He turned away from the view, his gaze settling on the bubbling Second-Grade Spirit Spring beside his cave.

The path to the top had to be walked step by step. Fantasies of being a savior were useless. Only power and resources were real.

Work first, Chen Ping told himself. Then the clouds.