Chapter 71: Do You Really Believe That?

"Everyone be careful! Whatever's inside, you couldn't afford to replace it in a lifetime!"

On the narrow path, the middleman carefully watched the boxes on the donkey cart, constantly striking the laborers walking beside it, urging them to guard it closely, terrified something might go wrong.

He had actually considered having the laborers carry it all the way on their backs, but the distance to the brokerage was several li, and lifting a five- or six-hundred-pound box was truly inconvenient—if one of them slipped, it would be far worse than a simple jolt.

Yet, despite the middleman's tense escort, he failed to notice that, at some point, one extra person had slipped into his laborer group.

That person, of course, was the demonic cultivator.

After leaving Feng Xue's residence, he had long been waiting at this crossroad, precisely to intercept the middleman bringing that damned refrigerator.

His method of blending into the crowd was simple: the Ghost Qi Distortion Technique. But since his realm was Gao Chao, fooling a few mortals required no grand illusions—just a slight leak of his aura to blur his presence. Thus, even if he passed an Xuan cultivator on the road, they'd merely think they'd passed some cursed ground, or perhaps a corpse being moved.

Moving among the laborers, the demonic cultivator subtly adjusted his posture, making himself appear like a man whose body had been worn down since childhood from hard labor.

At first, it was a bit awkward, but by the time he reached Feng Xue's courtyard with the brokerage party, he had fully merged into the laborers, indistinguishable from the rest.

It was already the hour of Si; Feng Xue's morning training had long ended, and he was now in the practice hall, refining his combat style through sparring with Liu Yunxi.

The middleman immediately stepped forward and rang the doorbell at the courtyard gate; the sound traveled through the pipes into the room, and soon, the familiar figure appeared at the door.

"Mr. Feng, we've delivered your refrigerator. But installing it's a bit complicated—where would you like it placed? Pick the spot, and I'll have my men install it right away!"

Hearing the middleman's words, Feng Xue suddenly realized that refrigerators in this era, like air conditioners, had an external unit (the compressor mounted outside), requiring placement in a cellar or storage room with power, then channeling the cold air through pipes to the fridge.

But Feng Xue didn't care—he had plenty of space—so he casually designated a room far from the bedroom and practice hall, and told the middleman to proceed.

As he watched the refrigerator emerge from wood shavings, sawdust, and straw, Feng Xue frowned, for among a group of people with characters on their heads, he spotted a bald fellow.

"Shit!" Feng Xue's heart lurched, and the demonic cultivator, noticing that fleeting shift in Feng Xue's emotion, rejoiced inwardly—

"Come on! Expose me! Hit me! With all these ordinary people around, you won't use your killing techniques, right? Palm Thunder? Go ahead and blast me!"

The demonic cultivator screamed inwardly, but Feng Xue remained utterly unmoved—not because he feared injuring innocents, but simply because he knew he couldn't win.

After all, according to the old man at the Jade Ware shop, a person without lifespan was either a transformed relic of a great demon or a true immortal playing among mortals—this beginner, who had cultivated for only ten days, stood no chance against such a being.

Better to observe what he intended than to expose him in public.

With this mindset, he directed the middleman's team to carry the refrigerator to the kitchen, then select a suitable room for the compressor. As they ran back and forth, he finally caught the demonic cultivator's deliberate slip.

In that instant, the demonic cultivator thought:

"Now it's just you and me! You've got no excuses now—come on!"

But Feng Xue stepped forward, his expression solemn:

"Senior, you've repeatedly disguised yourself to test me—what is your true purpose?"

"What? Where did your 'one-word-off and you start blasting' attitude go last night? Shouldn't you have just blasted me with Palm Thunder first, then asked who I was?"

The demonic cultivator was left speechless by Feng Xue's drastic change in demeanor—because being taken advantage of must be passive; if he now blurted out, "Yes, I'm Li Maolin, the legendary demonic master of Sansha Sect from a hundred years ago," he'd be the fool.

It's like being beaten up—you can demand compensation, but if you trip and fall right in front of the person and demand payment, you're just scamming.

The demonic cultivator immediately thought hard; his powerful soul erupted with astonishing wit, and finally, he conceived the perfect idea—

He would tell a lie so flimsy it would break at the slightest touch.

His back, once bent as if crushed by life, straightened instantly; the laborer's demeanor vanished, replaced by an aura of celestial grace. He clasped his hands behind his back, cleared his throat twice in a posture riddled with flaws:

"Cough, cough. You saw through my disguise—you truly have great spiritual potential! Youngster, have you heard of Zha Shenxian?"

"Zha Shenxian? What's that?" Feng Xue had never heard of it, but as he pondered, Mo Ying, sensing his thoughts, explained:

"That's a custom from my… oh, Bai Li's hometown. Legend says that every year on Lü Zu's birthday—Lü Dongbin—he disguises himself as a mortal and walks the streets. Whoever bumps into him gains good fortune; if someone recognizes him, they receive the Pure Yang True Transmission. But that's a Suzhou custom, and it's not even the fourteenth of the fourth month, is it?"

"Suzhou… isn't that right nearby?" Feng Xue rolled his eyes, sighing inwardly at the fool's ignorance of geography—Lucheng and Suzhou were separated only by the Crab Lake, barely dozens of li apart; similar customs were normal. And if Lü Dongbin could Zha Shenxian, why couldn't other immortals?

Of course, Feng Xue didn't fully believe it—but given this being's power, what could he do? Say, "You're bullshitting me?" That would make him a fool.

He couldn't die, but this kind of ancient monster had countless ways to make him wish he were dead.

The demonic cultivator waited for Feng Xue to refute him, but instead saw him nodding with an "Ah, I see" expression—his composure cracked. He immediately decided to make the lie even wilder, raising his voice:

"I wander among mortals. You've uncovered my identity—this is fate. But your lineage is illustrious, so I cannot take you as a disciple. I shall test you instead. Since you've passed, it is Heaven's will—I shall impart some skills to you, fulfilling this bond. Think of it as buying spells from a rice shop—do not ever call yourself my disciple…"

The demonic cultivator thought, "Now you must sense something's off!" But Feng Xue bowed deeply, arms raised, waist bent to ninety degrees:

"Disciple Feng Xue thanks Senior for transmitting the art!"

(Early refrigerators, aside from having external compressors and dangerous refrigerants, didn't look that outdated.)

(End of Chapter)