Chapter 39: Look, Look, Look

“East side…” Master Senior collected the tortoise shell and began searching the eastern side of the house…

When the moon hung directly overhead, its light thick and bright, the quiet courtyard echoed with the sound of a door opening. Master Senior, hair disheveled, stepped out holding a compass, muttering as he walked and calculated with his fingers, “The tortoise shell isn’t accurate—I should’ve thought to use the compass earlier. Why is it still the east side…?”

“East, east, east… south?”

Master Senior turned and faced an empty house.

He blinked, then suddenly realized—yes, he’d piled some unused clutter in his son’s room.

Master Senior tucked away the compass, pushed open the door, and without lighting a lamp, began rummaging through the darkness.

He turned the perfectly tidy room into utter chaos, finally finding several books inside a box filled with toys.

Most were texts on mechanisms, with a half-volume of a damaged copy stuck half-loose against one of the mechanism books.

“Ah! There it is! I knew it—I have such a good memory, how could I have been wrong? I said I’d seen a similar cultivation art: Kunyuan Art. Too bad it’s only half a volume. I wonder where the other half is.”

Master Senior flipped through it carefully. He read only the opening before frantically turning to the end. “Good, good—it’s the one. Even if it’s only half a volume, few in this world can reach this realm. No need to rush.”

Master Senior shoved the volume into his robe, turned, and looked at the messy room. He shook his head. “Too disordered. I’ll have the children clean it up tomorrow.”

Then he returned to his room and went to sleep.

Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Pan Yun was also awake, reading scattered fragments about Mount Sanqing she’d found in the Spirit Realm.

She’d never visited Mount Sanqing in the 26th century, but she knew that over a thousand years of major wars and civilizational shifts had damaged it.

Culture had suffered a break, yet much could still be gleaned from its remnants—for instance, what did the mountain god of Mount Sanqing look like?

Pan Yun slowly flipped through the records. Even without the Spirit Spirit, searching keywords was merely a thought away; even without it, she could search with pinpoint precision.

But the results yielded too many versions of the mountain god, with too many different appearances. She didn’t know which to believe, so she slowly combed through the database, seeking the most plausible form.

The Pan Gong with a rooster’s head and human body?

Pan Yun glanced at the black cat and sighed. Why could the mountain god never be associated with cats?

Pan Xiaohei, the night cat, was already sleepy. Seeing her still hunched over, rummaging through the Spirit Realm in her mind, he asked, “Why are you searching for the mountain god of Mount Sanqing?”

Pan Yun: “Originally, Xuanmiao was repaying a favor. If so, then when I become a disciple, I should choose the most powerful one, the most exalted one.”

“Who’s the most powerful in Mount Sanqing? Of course—the mountain god! I want to become sworn siblings with Master Wang.”

Pan Xiaohei: “...What’s the connection between those two? Your thinking is too erratic. Fine. But shouldn’t the most exalted be the Three Pure Ones? Doesn’t the mountain god answer to them?”

Pan Yun fell silent.

Seeing her quiet, Pan Xiaohei hesitated. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Pan Yun sat up. “You didn’t. I was wrong. I’ve been too timid, too afraid to act. My courage could be greater. You’re right—among the Three Pure Ones, which deity do you think would suit me as a master?”

Pan Xiaohei: “You… are serious?” He’d only spoken offhand.

But Pan Yun was serious. She began considering her own situation. “In my original timeline, civilization had advanced to the 26th century—far beyond this era’s future. I feel I’m well-matched with the Lord of Lingbao. What do you think?”

But Pan Yun was serious; she began considering her own circumstances: “In my timeline, civilization has already advanced to the 26th century, far beyond this timeline’s future. I feel I’m a perfect match for Lingbao Tianzun. What do you think?”

Pan Yun grew excited for a moment, then abandoned the idea. “Forget it. All Daoists revere the Three Pure Ones—they’re all their followers. Choosing one of them wouldn’t just lack credibility—it would disrupt the market. The mountain god is perfect.”

Pan Yun grew excited for a moment, then gave up: “Forget it. All Daoist companions revere the Three Pure Ones and are all their devotees. If I choose these three, not many would believe me, and it would disrupt the market. The deity of Mount Sanqing is fine.”

Remembering the strange encounter after Tao Ji’s song that day, Pan Yun grew even more certain. “Our mountain god sounds kind and fond of entertainment—perfect for me. Once I become his disciple, I’ll sing to him every day.”

The black cat shuddered slightly. “If it makes you happy, fine.”

Pan Yun set aside her thoughts and closed her eyes, imagining the mountain god’s form in her mind.

A gentle breeze stirred the talisman pouches hanging under the eaves and brushed through Pan Xiaohei’s fur—but no one noticed, and the cat didn’t sense it either.

As soon as Pan Yun grew still, both girl and cat fell asleep quickly.

Perhaps because she’d thought too much before sleep, Pan Yun dreamed all night of a man clad in armor, wielding a massive sword, watching her with a half-smile.

He looked decent enough—but far too tall. In the dream, Pan Yun felt tiny and short, crushed by his towering presence.

Pan Yun was displeased. In the dream, a table appeared not far away. She dragged it over, climbed atop it, and spent the entire night glaring at the warrior-like man eye to eye.

Only when dawn began to break did the figure in her dream turn into a crane and fly away—then Pan Yun woke.

She sat up on the bed, staring blankly. The dream faded slowly; all she remembered now was a vague shadow.

She frowned. “Pan Xiaohei, do gods truly exist?”

Pan Xiaohei: “Ghosts and gods are always mentioned together. If you’ve seen ghosts, why ask if gods exist?”

Pan Yun: “But in my past life, there were ghosts—never gods.”

Pan Xiaohei sneered. “That’s why your art struggles to advance—you rely on divine power yet refuse to believe in deities superior to you.”

Pan Yun asked: “Did the one who created and owned you become a god?”

Pan Xiaohei stiffened. “Why?”

Pan Yun threw off the covers and got out of bed. “Nothing. Just wondering if I could get a favor. Since you won’t say, I suppose he didn’t become a god.”

Pan Xiaohei: …

Pan Yun had already made up her mind. She wouldn’t dwell on her past life. What mattered was now.

She folded the quilt and stepped outside.

In the next room, Miaohe opened her door, stretched, and stepped out. Seeing Pan Yun, she dropped her arms and skipped over. “Sister, you’re awake? Come on, I’ll take you to wash up.”

As Pan Yun nodded, the door across from them opened. A girl slightly taller than them stepped out. Seeing Pan Yun, she paused, then stepped forward, bowing formally like an adult. “Sister Pan, this humble Daoist is Miao Zhen.”

Why call her sister?

But it didn’t matter—soon she wouldn’t be.

Pan Yun returned the bow. “Daoist Miao Zhen, I am Pan Yun. I haven’t formally entered Mount Sanqing yet.”

!

Miao Zhen’s face was serious. “Since you’re here, you’ll enter eventually. Calling you sister now or later makes little difference.”

Miaohe watched, stunned, then burst in. “Me too!”

She bowed to Pan Yun first. “Sister Pan, this humble Daoist is Miao He.”

Then she grinned and bowed to Miao Zhen. “Fourth sister, this humble Daoist is Miao He.”

Pan Yun: …

Miao Zhen: …

Pan Yun returned the bow. Miao Zhen sighed helplessly, then returned the bow under Miaohe’s eager gaze.

Suddenly, they noticed Xuanmiao standing by the main door, having watched for some time.

Seeing all three turn to bow to her, she frowned and waved them off. “Go wash up!”

Miao Zhen and Miaohe each grabbed one of Pan Yun’s arms and sprinted off. “Hurry, hurry! Morning practice starts soon!”

Under their guidance, Pan Yun washed her face and brushed her teeth. After drying off, they headed forward.

Both girls carried a meditation cushion and tossed one to Pan Yun.

They brought it to the open ground before the Sanqing Hall, where Tao Ji and a boy were already practicing fist forms.

Their movements were slow, yet each punch carried a qi current.

Miaohe set down the cushion. “Today we practice the Twelve Great Powers. Sister Pan, can you do them?”

Pan Yun: “I know Baduanjin, Wuqinxi, and Taiji Quan.”

“Oh, those are also practiced. Later we’ll train the Zhou Tian Art.”

Tao Ji finished his form slowly, turned, and smiled warmly at Pan Yun. “Sister Pan has awakened? Come, I’ll teach you the Twelve Great Powers. You’ll use them in every morning practice.”

Pan Yun didn’t argue over the title. She stepped forward and learned from him.

After the fist forms, they would practice Zhou Tian Art—done seated on the cushion.

Pan Yun’s Zhou Tian Art differed from theirs. Remembering they’d said her art had flaws, she dared not activate it, only calming her breath and entering stillness—another way to increase her cultivation.

Cultivation arts, at their core, begin with stillness. The breathing methods differ.

No matter how many times he saw it, Tao Ji still marveled at how quickly she entered stillness.

He inwardly sighed at her talent, then closed his eyes, calmed his breath, and entered stillness to practice Zhou Tian Art.

When they all awakened simultaneously and opened their eyes, they saw Master Senior standing nearby, swinging his arms.

Wang Feiyin swung his arms while glancing back. “Awake? Go make breakfast. Pan Yun, stay.”

Everyone scattered. Before leaving, Tao Ji gave her a smug glance—he could now call her “niece” openly.

Wang Feiyin didn’t mention the title first. Instead, he pulled out the half-volume of cultivation art he’d found last night. “This is Kunyuan Art. Don’t be fooled by its half-volume—it’s hard to complete. Look, doesn’t it resemble your previous art?”

Pan Yun flipped to the first level. After a long while, she nodded solemnly. “Yes—the latter half has been modified… because the meridians and acupoints differ in the latter half, that’s why my art had problems?”

Wang Feiyin thought a moment. “Not just that. Dao cultivators cultivate Qi. You call it spiritual energy—that’s fine, but ‘Yuan Qi’ is more accurate.”

Today’s lucky number is any number ending in 0, screenshot as proof, valid until next chapter update

(End of Chapter)