There Is No Romance Between Me And My Junior Sister - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Shang Can transmigrated into this world.

She didn’t know whether to call herself lucky or unlucky. Unlucky, because in her previous life she’d been hit by a car while simply walking down the street. Lucky, because she was given a second chance at life here. But then again—was it really luck? When she first opened her eyes in this world, she was surrounded by ruins and broken walls. Within a radius of ten li, she was the only living soul. And her body—mysteriously shrunken—looked no older than ten.

If Wangyue hadn’t happened to pass by a few days later and taken her back to Qingyu, Shang Can might have died again within her very first month here.

Fortunately, she possessed extraordinary talent. She entered Qingyu and found her cultivation path smooth and effortless, never encountering anything truly difficult. And then, and then—

Shang Can snapped awake and sat bolt upright, her forehead drenched in cold sweat.

She seized the brocade pouch by her bedside, thrust her hand inside as if searching for something—then suddenly stopped.

Her fingers tightened slightly. What she touched was smooth and cool jade, resting quietly in her palm.

She didn’t need to take it out to know what it looked like. A plain white jade mask, minimally carved, clean and translucent—nothing about it would suggest it belonged to the infamous demonic cultivator Can Zhe of Biluo Huangquan.

Knock, knock.

“Hey—why aren’t you up yet? It’s time—”

Wan Shao’s voice came through the door. Shang Can closed her eyes briefly, drew a steady breath, and calmed herself.

She retied the pouch, swung out of bed, and replied, “Coming.”

Today was the opening day of the Dao Conference. Yanyang was bustling from top to bottom. As Shang Can and Wan Shao walked down the streets, they listened to vendors shouting things like “Cloud Sovereign–style sword ornaments!” and “Autographed calligraphy by Qingyu’s Jade Mountain Lord!” They commented idly on the lively scene.

“No wonder the Dao Conference allows ordinary people to watch,” Wan Shao remarked, eyeing a stall that had transformed from a snack stand into one selling so-called talismans and spirit stones. “If Tianwaitian restricted entry to cultivators only, wouldn’t they lose a ton of money?”

Shang Can glanced over and smiled. “Since cultivation is said to be for the sake of the common people, there’s no reason to bar them from witnessing an event like this.”

“I didn’t know you could sound so official, Shang—” Wan Shao swallowed the name and corrected herself. “—Gong Shang.”

“You might want to repeat it a few more times, Zhi Yu.”

Wan Shao pouted at the jab. Shang Can—now going by Gong Shang—narrowed her eyes. The risk they were taking really was considerable.

“To get that Dao Heart Lotus Seed, stealing it would be tough. So why not enter the Dao Conference fair and square and win first place?”

Wan Shao had said this earnestly before, patting Shang Can’s shoulder.

“From today on, you’re Gong Shang of the Bichang Sect. I’m Zhi Yu.”

The Bichang Sect was a small, obscure sect that had received an invitation. Though its founder had once been capable, it had declined with each generation. Few knew it had long since been absorbed into Biluo Huangquan.

Thus the demon lord of Biluo Huangquan had generously procured two invitation slips and accompanied Shang Can—who urgently needed the lotus seed—to Yanyang under borrowed identities.

“We’ve gone this far. That lotus seed has to be ours,” Wan Shao said sternly now.

“Of course. We’re already here.”

Ignoring Wan Shao’s indignant “Can you be a little more serious?”, Shang Can looked toward the distant gates of Tianwaitian.

She had searched for the Dao Heart Lotus Seed for nine years. She hoped this would be the last stop.

They registered and received waist tokens numbered 247 and 248. A Tianwaitian disciple explained:

“In two hours, entry will close. After that, participants will be randomly paired for one-on-one matches. First, you must inject spiritual power into your token to undergo Heart Inquiry. Only those who pass both the Heart Inquiry and the duel qualify.”

Shang Can wasn’t unfamiliar with Heart Inquiry. Larger sects used it often to temper disciples’ Dao hearts. Qingyu required it whenever a disciple’s cultivation advanced.

She activated the token.

Darkness swallowed her.

When she opened her eyes again, she stood in a boundless white space. Before her stood a mirror nearly twice her height.

She walked forward.

The person in the mirror looked back at her—familiar, yet younger. Dressed in white robes embroidered with cloud patterns. A jade tag at her waist clearly engraved with the name “Shang Can.”

“…Heh.”

She tilted her head, studying the reflection. “Still missing a sword, aren’t we?”

At once, the mirrored figure bore a sword at her waist, red tassel swaying.

The space rippled.

A woman stepped into view behind her in the mirror.

Long black hair cascading over her shoulders. The same white cloud-patterned robes—but worn with greater poise, making her look like a fallen immortal. Cool as fresh snow. Beautiful beyond words.

The sword at her waist bore the name “Wuyou.”

“Senior Sister.”

The whisper carried on the wind.

Wind—why was there wind here?

The empty white space filled with mountain breezes, birdsong, the distant sound of zithers, and faint recitations:

“Qingyu disciples do not contend with the warmth or cold of the world.”

Shang Can murmured it silently.

Then she raised her hand and touched the mirror gently—like caressing a lover’s face. Her gaze was tender.

The next moment, flames burst from her palm and shattered the mirror into pieces.

“…Not the same,” she murmured.

Her consciousness returned.

She opened her eyes to the crowded entrance of Tianwaitian—only for Wan Shao to yank her sharply.

“You took forever! We need to move!”

“What’s wrong?”

Wan Shao lowered her voice. “The Qingyu participant list… might have been wrong…”

Before Shang Can could press further, a clear sword cry rang out from the gates.

The sound was painfully familiar.

The crowd fell silent.

Someone murmured in awe, “As expected… beauty like a flower beyond the clouds.”

Then a cool voice pierced through the crowd:

“Can I still enter the Dao Conference?”

“Yes—yes! Just in time!”

“Number 375. Qingyu—Yun Duan!”

Shang Can tasted blood in her throat.

She raised her sleeve, coughed it out discreetly.

She did not turn around.

She fled.