Pay-to-Win Cultivation: I Get 10,000x Returns

Chapter 225: This Master Is Just Too Impatient

Grandmaster Taichu nodded, his tone warm and carrying a trace of genuine approval.

“Good. Your natural talent and comprehension are the finest this master has ever seen. If you continue at this pace, surpassing me is not a question of if, but when. Perhaps you will become the first person in 10,000 years to break through to the Soul Formation realm in this world.”

Yang Poxiao felt a surge of pride, though he kept his expression humble. “Master praises me too much. This disciple dares not be presumptuous; I can only strive diligently without cease.”

He sensed a subtle shift; the usually taciturn Grandmaster seemed unusually talkative today.

Grandmaster Taichu shifted the topic smoothly. “I called you here today because there is a matter I require your assistance with.”

Yang Poxiao immediately feigned alarm, bowing lower. “Master, you speak too seriously. Whatever your command, this disciple will exert every ounce of strength. I dare not presume to call it ‘assistance’.”

Grandmaster Taichu smiled faintly. With a flick of his wrist, he produced an ancient, weather-beaten booklet and placed it gently on the low table between them.

“This book was gifted to me by an old friend. Within it lies a riddle that has troubled this master for a long time. No matter how I ponder it, the solution eludes me.”

Yang Poxiao’s confusion deepened. A problem that a half-step Soul Formation powerhouse couldn’t solve? And he was asking an early-stage Nascent Soul disciple for help?

Still, he obeyed, stepping forward to pick up the booklet.

The pages revealed the handwriting of two distinct people, seemingly taking turns posing problems for the other. The initial content surprised him—it wasn’t profound secret arts or forbidden techniques, but basic cultivation theory. The mutual generation of the Five Elements, the evolution of Yin and Yang.

As he flipped further, the topics shifted to formation deductions and divination mathematics. The solutions scrawled below were standard, nothing extraordinary.

But as he reached the end, the difficulty spiked. Even with Yang Poxiao’s current cultivation, some of the diagrams were incomprehensible.

Then, he turned to the final page.

When he saw the solitary problem written there, his entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning. His pupils contracted into pinpricks.

On that page, written in stark, undeniable strokes, was a line of symbols he knew better than his own name.

π = 3.1_ _

His mind went blank. His heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird.

This is…

Grandmaster Taichu’s voice remained calm, drifting through the air as if asking about the weather. “Well? Have you ever seen this kind of problem before? Do you know the solution?”

Yang Poxiao snapped his head up, meeting Taichu’s unfathomably deep eyes. He forced down the storm of shock raging in his chest.

“This disciple… does not know what this is.”

He instinctively chose to deny it. Was his master testing him? Or was Taichu also a transmigrator?

Grandmaster Taichu smiled—a smile that felt like it peeled back the layers of Yang Poxiao’s soul.

“It is fine. If you don’t know, you don’t know. This master means no harm.”

He paused, his tone becoming softer, more intimate. “Actually, from the day I accepted you as a disciple, I knew you were not from this realm. You come from the same place as that deceased old friend of mine.”

Yang Poxiao felt a chill rush from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. His blood turned to slush.

His greatest secret… had been known all along?

A faint, almost imperceptible scent of sandalwood began to permeate the great hall. It was soothing, dangerously so.

Grandmaster Taichu seemed to ignore Yang Poxiao’s pale face, continuing gently, “In you, I see his shadow. The same astonishing talent. The same brilliance. The same… uniqueness.”

“His way of speaking was vastly different from ours. He possessed knowledge of fields we could not comprehend.”

Taichu suddenly shifted his gaze to the young woman standing quietly beside him.

“Poxiao. What do you think of Zheng’er? This master intends to betroth her to you. Are you willing?”

Yang Poxiao was stunned.

Then, a wave of uncontrollable, wild joy surged through him, drowning out the fear.

Song Zheng was young, beautiful, and possessed a gentle, pliable temperament that suited his tastes perfectly. But more importantly, she was Grandmaster Taichu’s only direct bloodline descendant.

Marrying her meant securing the succession. It meant the Guiyuan Sect would eventually be his.

This wasn’t just a windfall; it was a godsend.

A top-tier heiress. The ultimate prize.

He forcibly suppressed the grin that threatened to split his face, struggling to maintain a facade of unworthiness. “Master… Junior Sister Zheng’er is like a celestial maiden. What virtue or ability does this disciple have to—”

Grandmaster Taichu interrupted the performance with a wave of his hand. “I called Zheng’er here today precisely for this purpose. Zheng’er, what is your will?”

Beside him, Song Zheng lifted her eyelids. Her voice was soft, serene, and utterly devoid of independent will. “This granddaughter obeys Grandfather’s decision in all things.”

Taichu chuckled softly. His gaze returned to Yang Poxiao, and deep within those ancient eyes, a trace of hunger flickered—barely perceptible, but present.

“So, are you willing to help this master resolve this puzzle now? You only need to tell me the answer.”

The sandalwood scent grew heavier, cloying and sweet. Yang Poxiao felt his mind growing hazy, his vigilance melting away under the dual assault of immense temptation and the strange fragrance.

Taichu leaned forward slightly. “I have heard that you still harbor lingering feelings for your former master from the Spirit Ruins Sword Sect. It is a pity your bond was severed.”

He smiled paternally. “If you wish, this master can personally act as a matchmaker. I can facilitate a reunion… and perhaps a union… between you and her.”

That sentence shattered Yang Poxiao’s last line of defense. It struck directly at his obsession.

As if possessed by a ghost, the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Dis… Disciple can solve it.”

A flash of intense delight sparked in Taichu’s eyes, instantly masked by his calm facade.

Yang Poxiao extended a finger. summoning a wisp of spiritual power. In the air above the two blank spaces on the page, he wrote a number.

14

“This is the answer,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

“Where does this solution come from?” Taichu pressed gently. “And what is the meaning of this symbol?”

Yang Poxiao, his guard now completely lowered, smiled with the inherent superiority of a modern man teaching primitives.

“This symbol is read as ‘Pi’. It represents the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter.”

He began to explain. He spoke of the definition of a circle, the infinite nature of the ratio, and the origins of the strange numerals.

Grandmaster Taichu listened with rapt attention, nodding slowly. “So that is how it is. The world is vast and boundless, truly full of wonders. To think such bizarre and fantastical mathematics exist… it is truly inconceivable.”

Yang Poxiao’s confidence swelled. “If Master wishes to know more, this disciple can explain in detail. In my homeland—”

“No need.”

Grandmaster Taichu cut him off.

The gentle smile on the old man’s face twisted. It didn’t disappear, but it curdled into something strange—something terrifyingly vacuous.

“This master,” Taichu said, his voice still polite but carrying a hair-raising chill, “wants to see for himself.”

“What?”

Yang Poxiao froze.

A sense of mortal danger spiked into his brain like an ice pick. The hairs on his arms stood up as the atmosphere in the room shifted from warm to suffocatingly heavy.

“M-Master? What… what do you mean? This disciple doesn’t understand.”

He tried to step back.

He couldn’t.

The space around him had solidified into an invisible cage of iron, locking him in place.

Grandmaster Taichu slowly rose from his meditation cushion. With a single step, he crossed the distance, appearing directly in front of Yang Poxiao. He wasn’t a tall man, yet in that moment, his shadow seemed to swallow the entire hall.

“It is fine.”

Taichu’s voice was flat, devoid of any ripple of emotion. He spoke as if discussing a minor chore.

“This master is just a little too impatient.”

“Do not worry. I only want to take a look. Afterward, you won’t remember a thing. You will still be my good disciple, the esteemed Palace Master of Guizang Palace. And Zheng’er… will still be yours.”