Qin Ting stepped from the steaming bath chamber, his silk robes whispering against the polished stone floor as he glided toward the leisure hall. The air cooled, carrying the scent of jasmine and a faint trace of incense, as he neared a grand banquet table stretching across the room.
The table shimmered under the soft glow of hanging lanterns, laden with a feast to beggar the imagination—plates of glistening phoenix-tail shrimp, bowls of spiced lotus root simmered in dragon-bone broth, and delicate pastries dusted with gold leaf.
Each dish was a masterpiece, its cost exceeding the monthly stipend of even the most favored Inner Disciples of the Xuantian Sect. With a deft flick of his fingers, Qin Ting selected a morsel—a tender slice of ivory-horn deer glazed in honeyed starfruit—and brought it to his lips, savoring its richness with a prince's poise.
As the flavors melted on his tongue, he tilted his head slightly, his voice calm and measured. "System, is there a specific range from which this random Spirit Beast is drawn?"
A cool, mechanical voice echoed in his mind, sharp and inflectionless. [There is no defined scope, Host. The Spirit Beast that emerges from the egg will be entirely unpredictable. It might even be a creature not typically born from an egg. Please consider this carefully.]
Qin Ting's dark eyes flickered with curiosity. "And the hatching time? Are the conditions consistent, regardless of what emerges?"
[The parameters are also randomized, Host, unbound by the beast's lineage or nature.]
He raised a hand to his chin, fingers brushing his smooth skin as he weighed the gamble. The pros danced in his mind—power, prestige, the thrill of the unknown—against the cons of uncertainty and wasted potential. 'A wild card,' he mused. 'Potentially a king… or a fool's jest.'
The system's voice cut through his thoughts, its tone faintly chilled. [Does the Host wish to expend 30,000 Villain Points to acquire a random Spirit Beast Egg? Or would you prefer to continue browsing the shop?]
Qin Ting paused, his gaze drifting to the opulent spread before him as if it held the answer. Thirty thousand Villain Points was no small sum, but hardly a fortune he couldn't replenish. His upcoming journey to the Lian Yun Mountain Range loomed—a crucible of chaos and opportunity where Villain Points flowed like blood in war.
'Why hoard what I can earn back tenfold?' he reasoned. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he spoke decisively. "Exchange it."
A pulse of energy surged through the room, and his hand glowed with a radiant shimmer of red and gold. The light coalesced into a Spirit Beast Egg, resting lightly in his palm. Its surface, etched with cryptic runes that seemed to writhe under his gaze, pulsed with an otherworldly aura that prickled the air.
Qin Ting studied the egg with a collector's keen eye, turning it slowly to catch the interplay of shadow and light across its shell. A quiet thrill stirred in his chest at the mystery it held.
His fingers traced the strange lines, feeling the cool, thrumming energy beneath. With a sharp snap of his fingers, crisp and commanding, he summoned his servant.
The air shifted, and Nie You materialized at the room's center, as if stepping from shadow. Clad in dark robes, he dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Young Master!" His voice was a gravelly rasp, thick with devotion.
Qin Ting didn't glance at him. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the Spirit Beast Egg to Nie You, the gesture as dismissive as handing off a trinket. "Take this to one of the greenhouses," he instructed, his tone cool. "Nurture it daily with Heavenly Fragrant Warm Jade."
Nie You's eyes widened slightly, though his face remained deferential. Heavenly Fragrant Warm Jade was no common resource. Its milky glow and subtle fragrance could soothe a raging mind and steady turbulent qi—a rarity coveted by cultivators seeking to break through their realms.
In the outside world, a single shard could spark a bloodbath among Divine Wheel Realm experts, and even those at the Divine Platform Realm would risk their lives for it. Yet here, in Qin Ting's hands, it was mere nourishment for an unborn beast.
Such was the privilege of the Qin Family's heir—a lineage rivaling the holy lands, its wealth a tide that lifted Qin Ting above lesser men's struggles.
Nie You accepted the egg with reverent hands, his head dipping lower. "Yes, Young Master," he replied, his voice steady despite the task's weight. He didn't question the egg's origin or purpose. He knew better than to probe the secrets of his Young Master—a labyrinth of ambition and cunning. As Commander of the Death Guard and Qin Ting's most loyal blade, obedience was his creed.
With a final bow, Nie You vanished as swiftly as he'd appeared, leaving Qin Ting alone. The Young Master turned back to the banquet table, fingers brushing a golden chalice as a faint smirk played on his lips.
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A few days later, a figure descended upon the mist-shrouded summit of Qin Ting's spirit peak, the air thrumming with their presence.
The visitor was Zhou Qianji, an Inner Elder of the Xuantian Sect and a deacon of considerable influence. His cultivation, long since at the Divine Platform Realm, marked decades of relentless pursuit, earning him a fearsome reputation across the Eastern Wilderness.
Elder Zhou cut an imposing figure, his black robes swaying like shadows in the wind, etched with subtle silver runes that glinted in the sunlight. His weathered face bore lines of countless seasons, each crease a silent tale of trials endured.
Known for his stern, unyielding demeanor—his lips rarely curling into a smile—he now stood before Qin Ting, a warm chuckle rumbling from his chest. The sight was jarring, as if the stone-faced elder had shed his usual severity. Disciples beyond the peak's borders would have gaped in disbelief.
"Nephew Qin," Elder Zhou said, his voice softened by rare warmth, his weathered features easing into a smile, "to step into the Divine Spirit Realm at eighteen—a feat unheard of, a marvel that rewrites history. I was nearly fifty when I reached that stage, and I thought myself accomplished. Standing before you, I feel a pang of shame."
Qin Ting inclined his head, a faint smile on his lips. "Please, Elder Zhou, don't belittle yourself. Your humble nephew merely stumbled upon a stroke of fortune." His words blended modesty and arrogance, each syllable polished to perfection.
From another, such hypocrisy might have drawn a scoff, but Qin Ting's smooth voice, resonant with noble confidence, made it almost admirable. His poised stance and flowing robes amplified the effect.
Elder Zhou laughed heartily, the sound rolling through the peak's stillness. Remarkably, he seemed unbothered by the subtle condescension in Qin Ting's tone. "Too modest, Nephew, far too modest! Oh, by the way," he added, his tone turning conspiratorial, "I've heard you're eyeing the Lian Yun Mountain Range for your next venture?"
Qin Ting nodded, his expression serene. "Indeed. After so many idle days, I crave a break from monotony."
The elder's grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Excellent timing. Word is, the Lian Yun Mountain Range stirs with strange omens—hints of a rare treasure's birth. You've likely heard. The sect has chosen disciples for the expedition, but we need a leading disciple to guide them. What say you, Nephew Qin? Fancy taking the reins?"
Qin Ting's lips curved slightly. "It's only fitting that I do."
Elder Zhou's eyes twinkled with approval, though he avoided mention of Song Changge or the ripples of his downfall—a deliberate omission hanging unspoken between them.
They lingered in light conversation, the air easy with pleasantries. For an Inner Sect Deacon Elder like Zhou Qianji, whose days were consumed by sect demands, this camaraderie was a rare indulgence. Eventually, he rose, brushing his robes with a practiced hand, signaling departure.
Qin Ting accompanied him to the palace's grand gates, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished stone.
At the threshold, Elder Zhou paused, his tone light but pointed. "Oh, I nearly forgot—Elder Zhang from the Law Enforcement Court was demoted recently. A mere Outer Sect servant now, tending menial tasks. All because he couldn't keep his nose out of trouble. Foolish, really."
He didn't elaborate, but Qin Ting grasped the subtext. 'Going against the Qin Family—against me—was his undoing.'
As a powerful decision-maker, Elder Zhou had likely wielded the axe that cut Elder Zhang's position. The message was clear: loyalty to Qin Ting's lineage brought rewards; defiance invited ruin.
Qin Ting's smile remained faint, almost ethereal. "Is that so? Quite the surprise."
Elder Zhou chuckled, exchanged a few more courtesies, then vanished into the horizon, his black robes billowing. Behind Qin Ting, Nie You stepped forward, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
"Even Elder Zhou curries favor with you now, my lord," Nie You said, amusement lacing his voice. "Your ascension to Holy Son seems all but assured—unstoppable, even."
Qin Ting's smile held steady, but he waved off the flattery. "Enough of that. What news of Song Changge?"
Nie You's grin sharpened, disdain creeping in. "He's awake, but a shell of a man. The sect stripped his True Disciple status and cast him out. He'll likely waste away in some forgotten hamlet, a cripple barely dragging himself through the dirt."
Qin Ting nodded, piecing together the broader picture. Elder Zhang's demotion and Song Changge's expulsion weren't mere punishments—they were the sect's olive branch, compensation for the plot those two had woven against him.
'A tidy resolution,' he mused. After a pause, he tilted his head. "And Extreme Sun Peak? How have they taken it?"
Song Changge had been their pride, a True Disciple funneling resources and prestige to their lineage. His fall cut deep, stripping Extreme Sun Peak of privileges—a loss sharper than any blade.
Nie You snorted, contempt in his voice. "The moment the sect's decree came, Master Li scurried into a closed-door retreat. The old fox saw the storm and chose to play corpse. A Divine Palace Realm cultivator, hiding like a rat."
Qin Ting gave a faint shake of his head, dismissing the matter with disinterest. Song Changge, Elder Zhang—their names were fading, ghosts of a past he wouldn't revisit.
'Their chapter is closed,' he thought, his gaze turning to the distant peaks of the Lian Yun Mountain Range, where new challenges—and perhaps triumphs—awaited.