Rebirth as a Demonic Cultivator: Starting with a Zombie Planet

Chapter 53: Old Ghost Wan, Don’t Joke with Me!

The middle-aged cultivator swallowed hard.

He wasn’t the only one. Every Tianyin Sect disciple in the courtyard mirrored the nervous gulp. A Golden Core powerhouse stood right in front of them. None of them possessed the courage to point a finger at his nose and denounce him as a wicked, bloodthirsty Demonic Cultivator.

With a mere flick of his wrist, this Golden Core master could slaughter everyone in the Feishan Hall.

“Still standing there?” Wan Wuying’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Do you need me to kill a few of your martial brothers to prove my identity?”

The middle-aged cultivator jolted as if his robes had caught fire. He scrambled to pull out a Ten-Thousand-Mile Sound Transmission Jade. “P-please… please wait a moment! I will inform the Patriarch immediately!”

Ordinary Sound Transmission Jades had a pitifully short range. A Ten-Thousand-Mile Jade, however, could broadcast messages across vast distances. Claiming it could cover the entirety of the Yu Kingdom was an exaggeration, but it could easily blanket half of Jinzhou and Wuzhou.

The cultivator frantically relayed the situation to the main hall. A moment later, he bowed deeply to Wan Wuying. “Senior Wan, and esteemed members of the Wuji Sect, please wait here. Our Tianyin Sect’s Golden Core Patriarch will arrive in half a day at most.”

Wan Wuying’s voice was ice. “You are mistaken. We are from the Extreme Yin Cave.”

“Yes, yes! The Extreme Yin Cave! Forgive me!” the cultivator babbled, hastily correcting himself.

Chu Xuan listened, his mind spinning with cold calculation. The Wuji Sect once boasted ten Golden Core Patriarchs, each ruling over their own personal cave abode. They had operated independently, scattered across the region to recruit their own disciples, only gathering for major ceremonies or when the sect faced annihilation. Wan Wuying’s personal domain was the Extreme Yin Cave.

By erasing the “Wuji Sect” from the conversation and strictly using “Extreme Yin Cave,” the old ghost was severing ties with a dead faction. It left no political ammunition for their enemies.

This is step one of washing the blood off a Demonic Cultivator’s reputation, Chu Xuan mused cynically. Rebranding.

“Go about your business. I will wait here,” Wan Wuying ordered.

“Yes, Senior!” The cultivator nodded so fast his neck threatened to snap.

Chu Xuan and the others remained standing in the center of the square. The Tianyin Sect cultivators scurried around them, keeping a wide, fearful berth.

Half a day later, a streak of light tore across the horizon.

“Old Ghost Wan! What brings you to my Tianyin Sect? Are you so eager to die?” A cold, mocking laugh echoed from the sky.

Wan Wuying let out a raspy chuckle. “So they sent you. Heh. No offense, but even if your Tianyin Sect sent two Golden Core cultivators, you still wouldn’t be my match. What do I have to fear?”

A figure touched down in the blink of an eye.

Chu Xuan narrowed his eyes, analyzing the newcomer. The man was a middle-aged cultivator with the refined, elegant air of a mortal scholar. He wore flowing blue robes cinched by a vibrant jade belt.

But as Chu Xuan looked closer, the “belt” flicked a forked tongue. It was a slender, living green snake.

“Hahaha! Old Ghost Wan, your tongue is as venomous as ever,” the scholarly cultivator laughed heartily.

“Tch. Do you really have to drag that overgrown worm everywhere you go? Stop showing off,” Wan Wuying sneered.

The scholar chuckled. “It’s just a modest hobby.” He gestured toward the main hall. “Come inside, Old Ghost. Let’s talk.”

He then swept his gaze over Chu Xuan and the disciples, a polite smile masking his calculating eyes. “Someone, serve tea to these young Fellow Daoists from the Extreme Yin Cave. See that they are well accommodated.”

“At once, Patriarch!” the middle-aged cultivator from earlier replied, bowing deeply.

Chu Xuan and the others were escorted to an ornate side hall. Attendants immediately rushed in with steaming cups of tea.

A rich, earthy fragrance filled the room—bitter, yet carrying a faint, lingering sweetness. It was Wuzhou’s local specialty: Bitter Maofeng.

The tea was steeped in Spiritual Qi. Regular consumption could temper the physical body and slowly purge impurities from the flesh. While its effects couldn’t rival a proper Pill, it was a highly sought-after luxury, often exchanged as a premium gift among cultivators.

Back when the Wuji Sect was still standing, Chu Xuan had managed to acquire a small jar of it. He had assumed he would never taste it again in this apocalyptic lifetime. Yet here he was, sipping the luxury brew in enemy territory.

“What do you think? Will this work?” Wu Teng took a sip of his tea and lowered his voice. “That scholarly Senior seems to have some history with Master.”

Li Xuanming kept his expression neutral. “That Golden Core Senior is Zhao Wuya. He has always despised the Shenggang Sect’s domineering arrogance. The fact that the Tianyin Sect sent him indicates they are willing to negotiate.”

Liu Zhenxiong nodded in agreement. “Did you notice? When Senior Zhao spoke, he also deliberately avoided mentioning the Wuji Sect. He only referred to us as the Extreme Yin Cave.”

It was simple logic. If the Tianyin Sect wanted them dead, they would have dispatched a hit squad of Golden Core cultivators to eradicate them on sight. They wouldn’t have sent a single negotiator and served them premium tea.

After two hours of tense waiting, the heavy wooden doors swung open.

Wan Wuying and Zhao Wuya strode into the side hall, laughing and clapping each other on the back like long-lost brothers. The sheer hypocrisy of their sudden camaraderie was palpable.

“…Old Zhao, I’m telling you, your Green Scale Snake has an incredibly pure bloodline,” Wan Wuying said warmly. “You must nurture it properly. Don’t let its talent go to waste. I happen to have an orthodox beast-rearing manual on me. Consider it a gift.”

“Brother Wan, you are far too kind! Given our deep relationship, there is no need for such gifts,” Zhao Wuya protested with a flawless, polite smile. Yet, even as he declined, his hands moved with practiced speed, smoothly stuffing the ancient parchment pages into his spatial pocket.

Watching this shameless exchange, Chu Xuan and the others finally let their guard down. The deal was done.

Zhao Wuya turned his attention to the disciples. His gaze swept past Chu Xuan and locked onto Li Xuanming. “You must be Li Xuanming. Truly accomplished at such a young age. When I was your age, I was merely at the seventh or eighth level of Qi Condensation.”

Li Xuanming offered a perfectly measured, modest bow. “Senior Zhao built a profound foundation, accumulating immense strength over time. I am merely reckless and impulsive.”

Zhao Wuya laughed heartily. “You certainly know how to speak.” He sighed, his tone shifting to one of deep admiration. “Old Ghost Wan was trapped in Cloud Mist Manor. You were the one who led the strike team to rescue him, correct? Well done! For a disciple to possess such loyalty and tactical awareness… you are destined to become a titan of the Yu Kingdom!”

He stepped closer, clapping Li Xuanming on the shoulder. “My subordinates just delivered the intelligence. The Jinlong Temple’s bald donkey, Huikong, is dead. You killed him too, didn’t you? Excellent! Truly excellent! It doesn’t matter how many battles we lost in the past; all that matters is who has the last laugh!”

The polite, pleased smile on Li Xuanming’s face instantly shattered, replaced by a stiff, agonizing awkwardness.

Zhao Wuya blinked, his hand pausing on Li Xuanming’s shoulder. “What? It wasn’t you?”

Wan Wuying burst into roaring laughter. “Zhao Wuya, oh, Zhao Wuya! You always boast about your divine foresight and peerless intelligence, but this time, you are dead wrong!”

Zhao Wuya scratched his head, his refined scholarly image slipping for a fraction of a second. “Then who could it be? Liu Zhenxiong? Your personal disciple?”

Wan Wuying shook his head.

Zhao Wuya turned his gaze to Wu Teng. “It couldn’t be…”

Wu Teng offered a sheepish, embarrassed smile and shrank back.

Wan Wuying kept shaking his head, his grin widening.

Zhao Wuya’s gaze finally landed on Chu Xuan. His brows furrowed. “Could it be…”

Wan Wuying’s smile turned razor-sharp. “Go on. Keep guessing.”

Zhao Wuya scrutinized Chu Xuan from head to toe. His Golden Core aura flared slightly, his piercing gaze attempting to strip away Chu Xuan’s secrets and see right through his very soul.

“This kid is a new face. I have never seen him before,” Zhao Wuya said, his tone turning dead serious.

In the brutal world of sect warfare, intelligence was everything. The identities, techniques, and cultivation levels of the younger generation’s Foundation Establishment disciples were heavily monitored. Names like Li Xuanming, Liu Zhenxiong, and Huikong had been sitting on the Tianyin Sect’s high-priority intelligence lists for years. Even Wu Teng, despite his older age, was a documented former genius.

But Chu Xuan? He was a ghost. A complete unknown.

Wan Wuying threw his head back and laughed. “His name is Chu Xuan! When the Wuji Sect fell, he was nothing but a lowly ant at the fourth level of Qi Condensation.”

He pointed a bony finger at Chu Xuan. “He killed Huikong. And he is the one who dragged my old bones out of Cloud Mist Manor.”

Zhao Wuya froze. He stared at Chu Xuan, his mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the statement. After a long, heavy silence, his face flushed with irritation.

“Old Ghost Wan, do not joke with me!” Zhao Wuya snapped. “The Wuji Sect was destroyed less than two years ago. How could anyone possibly soar from the fourth level of Qi Condensation straight into Foundation Establishment in such a short time?!”