The Oldest Disciple: Farming Intimacy to Become Immortal

Chapter 214: The Golden Embroidery Needle and the Mirror Artifact

Du Mo descended from the air, landing softly beside Cai Xiaowei. She spared him a cursory glance, her voice cool. “Did you sustain any lasting damage to your Dao foundation?”

Du Mo shook his head, a weary smile tugging at his lips. “I am fine. It was a close call, but I managed.”

Cai Xiaowei turned her attention back to the Martial Arena. “Meditate and regulate your breathing. The Inner Sect Grand Competition concludes today.”

Without another word, Du Mo produced a meditation cushion and sat cross-legged. He retrieved a porcelain bottle, popping two Spirit Recovery Pills into his mouth to replenish his drained reserves.

At that moment, a small, familiar figure drifted into the arena.

“It’s Senior Sister Qi Wei. Now the real show begins.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” another disciple muttered.

“Neither would I. Do you really think anyone left is foolish enough to actually fight her? I wonder if the poor soul she challenges will just surrender immediately.”

“Want to place a wager?”

As Qi Wei touched down, the crowds of Inner Disciples and Outer Disciples erupted into a cacophony of whispers. After her performance the previous day, Qi Wei was no longer considered a mere dark horse; she was an enigma. Her victories were baffling, her methods inexplicable and unsettling.

Standing in the center of the arena, Qi Wei’s eyes darted toward the Name List Stele. There were precious few names remaining. Senior Sister Xue told me to pick a soft persimmon to squeeze, she reminded herself. Preferably someone with no desire to risk their life in the Kongming Hall.

Her gaze swept over the surrounding peaks, cross-referencing the faces with the names on the stele. Finally, her eyes locked onto a male disciple who seemed to be intentionally avoiding her gaze.

Qi Wei pointed a small, dainty finger at him. “Senior Brother Lu Yuan, I challenge you!”

Lu Yuan, standing among the spectators, let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. Of all the people… why me?

He looked up at the rankings. He had no illusions about reaching the top five, nor did he desire to. Even if he possessed the hidden strength to compete, he would have declined. While the Kongming Hall offered legendary Fated Chances, he was a man of caution, not a gambler. With his Wood-Metal dual spiritual roots, he was content to cultivate steadily, step by step.

Lu Yuan cupped his hands and bowed deeply toward Qi Wei. “Junior Sister’s techniques are peerless. This Senior Brother is filled with admiration and humbly admits defeat!”

Qi Wei suppressed a triumphant giggle. Thank goodness. If Lu Yuan had actually fought back, she would have been in trouble. If she were forced to draw the Black Sword, her Master would surely skin her alive.

On the Name List Stele, Mu Jiu’er allowed a small smile to play across her lips. This little Junior Sister was certainly the fastest-running dark horse the sect had seen in years.

“Winner: Qi Wei. She advances to the fourth round!”

Qi Wei didn’t linger. She took to the sky, riding the wind back to the cliff where the other women waited. “Why hasn’t Senior Brother arrived yet?” she grumbled, scanning the horizon.

“Junior Sister, who are you looking for?”

A hand suddenly reached out and ruffled her hair. Li Meng had appeared beside her as if he had stepped out of the air itself.

The women all turned their heads, their gazes landing on him with varying degrees of scrutiny. Li Meng gave them a sheepish chuckle. “Apologies, I was delayed by a… minor matter.”

Qi Wei didn’t care about excuses; she threw her arms around his sleeve, beaming. “Senior Brother! I was so worried!”

Unlike the others, Qi Wei had never mastered the art of “maidenly reserve.” Whether they were in private or surrounded by thousands, she clung to him all the same.

Li Meng looked down at his exuberant Junior Sister and smiled. “I’m here now. There’s no need for worry.”

Qi Wei nodded, her eyes curving into happy crescents. With Li Meng present, the world felt right again.

Li Meng, however, was secretly breathing a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he intended to be late, but Senior Aunt Wen had been far too captivating. Entwined with her warm, supple body, he had found it nearly impossible to pull himself away. By the time he finally left Cloud Soaring Peak, he was so behind schedule that he’d had to burn an Earth Shrinking Talisman just to make the third round.

“So, what’s the status, little Junior Sister?”

Qi Wei puffed out her chest with pride. “Senior Brother, you’re all set for a bye! I just challenged Senior Brother Lu, and he surrendered on the spot.”

“Is that so? My little Junior Sister is quite the formidable figure.”

Qi Wei soaked up the praise without a hint of modesty. “Naturally! I’m very powerful.”

As they spoke, the competition continued.

“That Senior Sister’s ice arts are quite refined,” Li Meng noted, turning his attention to the arena.

A man and a woman were currently locked in a fierce exchange. The woman moved with grace, conjuring frost and ice with practiced ease, while the man countered with scorching waves of fire. The arena was a study in contrasts: one half was a blistering volcanic wasteland, the other a frozen tundra.

“Senior Brother, who do you think will win?” Qi Wei asked.

While water technically held the advantage over fire, the attributes were only part of the story. The male disciple was at the Grand Perfection of Foundation Establishment, while the woman had only recently reached the late stage. Her aura flickered—a clear sign of an unstable realm.

Li Meng’s eyes narrowed. “Their cultivation gap makes their spells roughly equal in power. This will be decided by their Magical Artifacts.”

The women watched with renewed interest, wondering if the battle would truly pivot on a hidden treasure as Li Meng predicted.

“Junior Sister, your techniques are exquisite,” the male disciple shouted, dodging a barrage of ice spikes. “But I am afraid my cultivation is still superior!”

He performed a rapid series of hand seals. A streak of gold shot from the Storage Bag at his waist, moving like a shimmering thread toward the woman.

Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a thread at all, but a Golden Embroidery Needle—a delicate, feminine weapon used with lethal masculine precision.

The woman’s expression shifted. She mirrored his movements, and a bronze mirror flew from her waist. It pulsed with a heavy, yellow light, positioning itself as a shield.

The golden needle struck the mirror’s surface with a sharp clink.

Suddenly, the mirror erupted with a blinding solar flare. The golden thread was refracted, redirected with twice its original speed directly back at its owner.

“What?!”

The male disciple gasped. He felt his connection to the Golden Embroidery Needle snap. Panic flared in his eyes as his own weapon zoomed toward his skull. In a desperate move, he slammed a fist against his chest, coughing a spray of essence blood onto the incoming light.

The needle shuddered, stopping a mere three inches from his forehead. Cold sweat drenched his back. If he had been a second slower, he would have been impaled by his own treasure. The humiliation would have been worse than the wound.

“Senior Brother,” the woman said, hovering calmly as the mirror circled her like a loyal pet. “Shall we continue?”

The man slowly lowered his hand and recalled his needle. He offered a stiff, respectful bow. “I admit defeat. Junior Sister’s artifacts are indeed superior.”

He had never expected her to possess a High Grade mirror that perfectly countered his specific fighting style.