There is Still Such A Good Thing? - Chapter 1

BOOM!

The evening mist swirled as red maples melted into the haze. Suddenly, a gale of dust erupted with the weight of a thousand tons, sweeping across the land and toppling giant, sky-blotting trees, sending flocks of birds into a panicked flight.

Meng Ping rose with the wind, gripping the Taiping Bow as he drew the string and released an arrow. The sharp projectile pierced the air, striking the entity hidden within the dust.

With a shrill cry, a massive creature crashed heavily to the ground, and an ordinary-looking stone floated out from the wreckage. Meng Ping descended on the wind, catching the stone in his palm. Ancient and intricate runes flashed across its surface where his fingertips brushed.

“A Spirit-grade Suppressing Artifact is extraordinary indeed.”

Several disciples dressed in the Taoist robes of Xiaodiao Peak landed from the sky, crowding around with praises.

“The Young Sect Master pierces all things with a single arrow!” “What incredible luck!”

Leading them was a white-haired elder who leaned on his staff, sighing with emotion. “Lately, the tide of beasts from the Wanglao Graveyard has been restless, and the new Sovereign of the Demon Ruins is searching extensively for Suppressing Artifacts. With this Spirit-grade artifact to present to Lord Chen at the Penglai Grand Assembly in three months, Xiaodiao Peak can secure a century of peace.”

Meng Ping’s expression soured. “The previous Demon Sovereign is in secluded meditation due to heavy injuries; Chen She only lucked into temporary control of the Demon Ruins. Why must Xiaodiao Peak go to such lengths to curry favor?”

The elder shook his head, saying only, “Chen She is a man one cannot afford to offend.”

Impatiently, Meng Ping tucked the artifact away. If this artifact could be used for himself, he might break through to the Nascent Soul Stage sooner, yet he had to give it away for nothing.

The ground beneath them vibrated slightly, as if a leviathan were churning the depths of the earth. Meng Ping seemed to recall something.

“Where is Lingchan?”

At the mention of the name, a disciple sneered. “The moment we entered the secret realm, he was clamoring to find Bamboo Cicada Grass to recast his Golden Core.”

Another added, “With his Qi Refining Stage cultivation, he has likely become a meal for a demonic beast by now.”

Meng Ping frowned and pulled a glowing Soul Jade from his storage ring. “He is still alive. Go find him quickly.”

Before he could finish, a deafening roar echoed through the distant dust. A massive beast with blood-red eyes leaped toward them, its looming presence instantly casting a shadow over the group.

“A demonic beast!” everyone cried out in shock. “Why would a creature of the Demon Race be here?”

The beast was colossal; its sheer bulk alone could crush a row of low-level disciples. The elder looked at the panicked disciples and sighed helplessly. The latest generation of Xiaodiao Peak was lackluster; were it not for this, they would not need to swallow their pride to seek peace with Kunfu Ruins.

Just as the elder was about to strike, a streak of light whistled out from the maple forest. Countless vine-like ropes entangled the beast’s massive body with unerring precision, hurling it to the side.

BANG!

With a thunderous crash, the beast lost control and collapsed. A gust of wind whirled through the mist, brushing gently over the heads of the onlookers. The disciples’ screams caught in their throats as they stared in stunned silence.

As the final sliver of sunset dipped behind the mountains, the afterglow pierced the mist to rest upon the immobilized beast. Standing atop one of its half-fathom-long hardened horns was a person. Swarms of ink-marks hovered in the air, and the ropes binding the beast retracted into the person’s palm.

He wore a red maple and gold-patterned hunting robe with tight sleeves, a series of gold ornaments and tassels hanging from his waist belt. His black hair was tied high in a ponytail, the slightly curled ends tinged with red, blending seamlessly with the autumn maples.

Red robes and cinnabar maples embroidered with gold, the Immortal Tool Spirit of the Governor of Dark Fragrance.

In this age, there was only one person who fit this description: the former “Heaven’s Chosen” of the Immortal Alliance who had once been the envy of all.

“Wu… Wu Lingchan?”

Wu Lingchan stood in the twilight, his waist-length black hair illuminated by the light into a warm orange-red. The gold ornaments at his waist jingled, and he seemed unbothered by their weight. He hopped lightly down from the horn, landing before the group like a playful maple leaf. He grinned and said, “Oh dear, the exit to the secret realm is about to close. Why are you all still here?”

Shocked, the others traded glances. Had Wu Lingchan’s Golden Core not shattered, making it impossible for his cultivation to recover?

Meng Ping’s expression remained neutral as he glanced coolly at the legal artifact on Wu Lingchan’s wrist.

“Lingchan!” A youth leaped out from the crowd, grabbing him and looking him over. “Did you not go for the Bamboo Cicada Grass? Let me see if you are hurt.”

“I am fine,” Wu Lingchan replied, pulling several spirit flowers that bloomed like golden cicadas from his sleeve. His eyes crinkled into crescents. “The sunken lands were rich in spiritual energy. The roots were thick and had sprouted several stems. I plucked a few; it is enough for me to recast my Golden Core and restore my cultivation.”

Bamboo Cicada Grass was incredibly rare; it should not grow in piles. Even if it did, it should have been guarded by a Spirit-grade beast. How could it be so easy?

Meng Ping smiled thinly. “Junior Brother Wu is indeed the Child of Destiny favored by the Heavens. Your luck is unparalleled.”

Wu Lingchan looked puzzled. “What is so hard about it? The path was clear, I just reached out and plucked them. Is it that hard for you to find herbs, Senior Brother? I will go with you next time.”

Meng Ping: “…” Everyone: “…”

A year ago, Wu Lingchan was the prodigy everyone in the Immortal Alliance envied. The Alliance never lacked geniuses; every ten years, a new “List of Paragons” featured those who formed cores by their coming-of-age. But compared to Wu Lingchan, those geniuses were merely ordinary.

Studying under the Sect Master of Xiaodiao Peak, Wu Lingchan’s talent was so immense he could outperform even Meng Ping, the Young Sect Master. At fourteen, he was the only Golden Core cultivator of his age in the Three Realms, topping the Paragon List. His natal artifact, “Governor of Dark Fragrance,” ranked first on the Weapon List.

Unfortunately, his glory was short-lived. On his fifteenth birthday, his Golden Core shattered into countless cracks for no reason. His cultivation plummeted, and within a year, he had fallen back to the Qi Refining Stage. Yet, even then, he was protected by an Immortal-grade artifact like the Governor of Dark Fragrance.

“Let us return to the Sect first,” Meng Ping said shortly.

“Oh!” Wu Lingchan chirped.

The secret realm was trembling; the ground was impassable, requiring flight. Wu Lingchan, with only his Level 1 Qi Refining cultivation, could not fly. The Governor of Dark Fragrance transformed into an ink-mark, wrapping around his waist and flapping like wings to carry him along.

As the central Suppressing Artifact had been removed, the world was collapsing. Countless demonic beasts, freed from their seals, roared in fury. Disciples who had not reached the exit in time were pounced upon and devoured instantly. Cries of agony rose from below.

Since they could not fly too high, Meng Ping saw a Xiaodiao Peak disciple being disemboweled nearby. The sight was so gruesome the group nearly retched. Even the arrogant Meng Ping turned pale.

And yet, Wu Lingchan was actually eating.

Wu Lingchan, still youthful and boyish, rested his chin on his hand as he lazily watched the collapsing realm. He nibbled on pieces of honeyed plum, his gaze drifting over the severed limbs below with total indifference before returning to his snack.

Meng Ping: “…”

Wu Lingchan had always been this way. He looked ethereal yet behaved in a manner entirely unlike a “righteous” cultivator. Had it not been for his talent, he would have been expelled long ago.

Meng Ping stared at the Bamboo Cicada Grass in Wu Lingchan’s sleeve, a flash of jealousy crossing his brow. If that grass really helped him return to his peak, Meng Ping would be overshadowed again.

Suddenly, the ink-mark around Wu Lingchan’s waist tightened, jerking him backward and spilling his honeyed plums. A voice rang in his mind:

“Stop eating. Look.”

Wu Lingchan followed the warning. In the distance, a dark line moved across the horizon, shattering the sunset glow. As it drew closer, he realized it was not a line, but thousands of demonic beasts charging toward the exit.

Meng Ping reacted instantly, flying toward the nearby teleportation platform. “It takes time to activate the array! Lingchan, have Xuan Xiang hold them off for ten breaths!”

Meng Ping and the disciples landed on the platform. Talismans ignited around the perimeter as the massive array began its slow activation. The elder touched his staff to the ground, creating a golden semi-circular barrier.

“Okay,” Wu Lingchan said obediently.

With ink-marks swirling around him like butterflies, the youth stood in mid-air. He casually plucked a brilliant golden hairpin from his hair and twirled it through his fingers. With a jingle, the pin transformed into a brush.

Wu Lingchan flicked the brush. “Moba!”

The Artifact Spirit manifested as a figure of flowing ink. “Xuan Xiang,” it replied, its fingers moving like a calligraphy brush.

BOOM! BOOM!

Wherever the Spirit’s brush stroked, mountains and rocks of ink rose from the earth, and a thick morning mist blocked the view, valiantly halting the tide of bloodthirsty beasts.

The Spirit retracted the ink. Seeing Wu Lingchan, who had no spiritual power, still posing with his brush, the Spirit grabbed him by the scruff of the neck like a kitten. Ignoring Wu Lingchan’s protests, the Spirit’s voice was cold enough to drop ice:

“Call me by that name again, and I will kill you.”

“Why so grumpy?” Wu Lingchan drawled. “We have the grass. Once we are home, my core will be restored. You will be back at the top of the Weapon List. In three months at Penglai, we will knock those fair-weather fools flat on their backs. Will that not be fun?”

Xuan Xiang did not buy it. “Is a single word out of your mouth reliable? You have tried to recast your core seven times this year, and all failed. If I believe you again, I will…”

The Spirit’s ink-colored eyes swirled like a Taiji symbol. His expression changed instantly, and he lunged toward the teleportation platform with Wu Lingchan in tow. Simultaneously, a pillar of light erupted from the platform, shooting into the sky. The array was open.

Wu Lingchan, dangling like a flag in the wind, shouted, “The barrier will stay up for fifteen minutes! We have plenty of time!”

“Fifteen minutes?” Xuan Xiang said coldly. “Your dear Senior Brother clearly has no intention of taking you with him.”

Wu Lingchan looked ahead and saw the teleportation talismans fading. They were not waiting. His eyes narrowed. In an instant, he retracted the Spirit into the ink-stone on his wrist and propelled himself forward like a released arrow. He forcibly drew spiritual power from his natal artifact to boost his speed, his fingertips reaching for the glowing runes of the array.

Just as he was about to touch it, a powerful streak of light, an arrow, shot toward him.

“Lingchan!” Xuan Xiang screamed.

Before Wu Lingchan could react, Xuan Xiang manifested and threw himself in front of the arrow. The projectile carried the force of a mountain, shattering the Artifact Spirit instantly and grazing Wu Lingchan’s neck. Blood sprayed from Wu Lingchan’s throat, the heat of the wound making him shudder.

“Moba!”

A second arrow followed. The Taiping Bow held the power of a Deity Transformation strike. At the last second, Wu Lingchan could only twist his body to avoid a fatal hit. The arrow pierced his shoulder, the momentum slamming his slight frame back dozens of yards and pinning him brutally to a maple tree.

THUD.

Wu Lingchan’s vision flickered between black and white. Blood spilled from his lips. For a moment, he was simply dazed. He forced his eyes to focus on the distant platform.

The platform was silent. Everyone stared in disbelief at Meng Ping, who had fired the shots. A youth who was close to Wu Lingchan screamed, struggling to break free. “Lingchan! Meng Ping, what are you doing?”

As the array surged, the others held the boy back. Even the elder was shocked, whispering, “Young Sect Master, the Sect Master said Wu Lingchan still has a great use.”

After three arrows, the Taiping Bow, a rare Deity Transformation treasure, crumbled into dust. Meng Ping let the ashes fall through his fingers. He had only one thought: Wu Lingchan must die.

Ever since Wu Lingchan joined the sect ten years ago, the world only cared about the “Child of Destiny.” Meng Ping, the Sect Master’s own son, had lived in his shadow, enduring silent ridicule. Now that Wu Lingchan had finally fallen, Meng Ping could not let him rise again and keep him suppressed for a lifetime.

The teleportation array activated. Meng Ping’s figure was swallowed by light, along with the fading screams of his friend.

The realm continued to crumble. The beasts, smelling blood, swarmed toward the man pinned to the tree. As the light of the platform vanished, Wu Lingchan’s hand went limp. In his final moment of consciousness, he saw a beast with deep purple eyes land before him, leaning slowly toward his neck.

The blood from his wound stained the beast’s tongue as it licked the injury, revealing a golden seal engraved upon his very soul. It was the character for “Wu.” The moment the seal was exposed, the birds went silent. The ferocious beasts froze as if struck by an overwhelming divine pressure. Their claws sank into the earth as they prostrated themselves, kneeling toward the maple tree amidst the world’s collapse.

Only the purple-eyed beast lingered, sniffing for a long time before gently picking Wu Lingchan up by his collar. Wu Lingchan lost consciousness completely.

Jingle.

The sound of a bell echoed in his ear. Above him hung a golden bell against the backdrop of a fiery red maple tree. Wu Lingchan stared blankly. A hand reached out, fingers like jade tapping the bell. The maple leaf dangling below swayed, creating a crisp, pleasant sound. Someone was looking down at him tenderly, silhouetted against the light.

Wu Lingchan instinctively reached for the hand, but his small fingers only brushed against a sleeve covered in complex runes.

Jingle.

His mind remained heavy, unable to wake. The only thing he could feel was the burning sensation at his neck. Voices drifted nearby.

“The Wu Seal! The Demon Ruins are saved!” “Truly, the Young Lord? If the Young Lord returns, he can surely take back control from that fellow Chen She.”

Wu Lingchan’s scattered consciousness slowly began to coalesce. Where was he? Had he not died in the jaws of the beasts? He opened his eyes to see a strange, ugly face. Seeing him awake, the creature pulled its lips back to reveal sharp teeth in a terrifying grin.

Wu Lingchan: “…”

The man’s eyes were dark red, radiating an undeniable demonic aura. Seeing Wu Lingchan awake, he was overjoyed and shouted to a kneeling companion, “Go report to the Third Elder quickly! The Young Lord is awake!”