Yin Wuwang still remembered that scene vividly. He had stolen a spirit fruit and was being chased by a Foundation Establishment cultivator. "Little bastard! Stealing and trying to run?!" The man's curses echoed behind him. He ran desperately, plunging deeper into the forest until his legs gave out and he collapsed beneath an old pagoda tree. The Foundation Establishment cultivator caught up and swung a kick—
The kick never landed. It was blocked by a sword.
A youth stood before him, robes white as snow, tone flat: "This is my prey."
The Foundation Establishment cultivator spotted the Void Heaven Sword Sect token at the youth's waist. His expression shifted, and he left resentfully.
Yin Wuwang lay curled on the ground, nothing but skin and bones, a cloth wrapped around the demon bone on his head, still clutching the half-bitten spirit fruit with all his might. He wanted to say thank you, but he no longer had the strength. Before his vision blurred completely, he saw the youth crouch down before him. It was Yin Wuwang's first encounter with someone from the immortal sects. The youth looked only fifteen or sixteen, yet radiated an aura that made one afraid to look directly at him—clean, dazzling, as if untouched by worldly dust.
In that moment, Yin Wuwang felt he had seen a god.
Fuguang had forgotten. But he remembered. The light he had gazed up at from the darkness for three thousand years had never gone out.
Yin Wuwang licked his sharp canine tooth. Part of him wanted to tear the author who'd given him such a tragic backstory into a thousand pieces. But then he remembered the author had also arranged for Fuguang to save him, and his anger dissipated. He pulled his thoughts back, his expression returning to normal.
"Fuguang is right," he said evenly. "Mortal rules do have their own logic."
Xie Qingyan tilted his head slightly, seemingly surprised that Yin Wuwang would say such a thing. He had noticed it—when Yin Wuwang spoke those words, there was an almost imperceptible weight in his tone. Not casual agreement, but something closer to genuine understanding. Xie Qingyan didn't know what Yin Wuwang was thinking, but he knew this man wasn't as calm as he appeared. To have risen to the position of Demon Sovereign in that brutal demon realm, he must have experienced much—those unknown pasts, those things Yin Wuwang had never mentioned. Xie Qingyan didn't press. Some things would be shared when the other person was ready.
"Saviors." Little Deer Assistant's voice interrupted their exchange of glances. "There's something I need to inform you about."
Xie Qingyan stopped what he was doing and turned to look at empty air.
"The original characters have money in this world that can be used for daily expenses and investigation costs. However..." Little Deer Assistant 9528 paused, sounding rather troubled. "Um... the password... the author didn't write it."
Xie Qingyan asked: "What is a password?"
"A password is a sequence of numbers you need to enter when withdrawing money from a bank. Only you know it. A bank is a place that stores money—similar to a money house. Modern currency isn't spirit stones; it's something called 'paper money,' made of paper. You deposit it in a bank, and the bank gives you a card. When you need money, you go to the bank, insert the card into a machine, enter the password, and withdraw funds."
"The password wasn't written?" Yin Wuwang frowned. Money made of paper? Stored in a card? This mortal world was truly troublesome—a single storage ring could solve all of this.
"Correct. The author only wrote 'Shen Xinglan and Jiang Wuye went to withdraw money together,' but never specified the actual password digits."
Yin Wuwang asked with evident irritation: "Then how do we withdraw money?" They were in mortal bodies now, incapable of fasting cultivation. They absolutely needed to eat, and hunger made him irritable. They'd been forced to learn phone basics the moment they woke up this morning without even having breakfast. And now hearing they had to guess a password—he was thoroughly annoyed.
Little Deer Assistant explained: "Characters have their own lives and develop details on their own. The password was set by the character himself, not by the author. You'll need to deduce what the password might be based on the character's personality and habits. Passwords are usually six digits. Most modern people use birthdays or important dates."
Yin Wuwang scoffed: "I have lived for three thousand years and never heard of anything so absurd. Transmigrating into a book to play someone else, and now having to guess that 'someone else's' password? This broken story's premise is utterly ridiculous."
Xie Qingyan's brow furrowed slightly upon hearing this. This is actually interesting. Characters could develop details the author never wrote. This meant these "characters" weren't mere puppets but possessed some degree of autonomous consciousness. The passwords they set would reflect their personalities, habits, and the things important to them.
His eyes brightened momentarily: In other words, my thoughts and actions aren't entirely dictated by the author's will! Yes! Elder Mo said something similar—worlds within books are also part of the myriad realms. I was too attached to appearances. I was so devastated at the time that I didn't think it through.
"Does the character profile mention Jiang Wuye's birthday?" Yin Wuwang asked.
"Yes! Jiang Wuye was born on November 7th, 1995."
Yin Wuwang mentally combined the numbers. 1107? That's not even four digits.
"What about Shen Xinglan?" Xie Qingyan asked.
"Shen Xinglan was born on October 3rd, 1995."
Xie Qingyan nodded slightly, falling into thought. Although Little Deer Assistant said birthdays were the most common password choice, it might be too simple. If Shen Xinglan was truly a "master detective," he would use more obscure numbers. The character profile mentioned Shen Xinglan resigned at twenty-six because of a case. Perhaps that case held significance for him.
"We'll try at the bank tomorrow," he said.
Yin Wuwang nodded without further questions. If Fuguang said so, he must already have an idea.
Night deepened. Outside the window, the city remained ablaze with light. Neon signs flickered in the darkness, tinting the sky a hazy purple-red. Xie Qingyan sat cradling the laptop, still researching. The pages on screen had changed several times. Yin Wuwang reclined on the sofa with his eyes closed, seemingly resting—but actually peeking, watching Xie Qingyan's profile through barely-open slits.
The screen's glow traced the cold contours of that face. Xie Qingyan's brow was slightly furrowed, his gaze fixed intently on the screen as his fingers tapped the keyboard intermittently. Earnest as always. In the cultivation world, Xie Qingyan's eyes had held only the sword, only cultivation, only "how to become stronger." He had stood atop Canopy Peak, gazing down upon all beings—cold, lofty, aloof—as if nothing existed in heaven and earth but him and his sword. Back then, Yin Wuwang had watched him from afar and thought him like a flower on a distant peak—transcendent and pristine, yet forever beyond reach.
And now? Now Xie Qingyan would earnestly study a computer, would try to understand the mortal world, would strive to find his place in an unfamiliar environment. He was still that lofty Sword Sovereign, yet in this world without spiritual energy, he was working to prove himself another way—not through swordsmanship, not through cultivation, but through that heart that was forever earnest, forever focused.
Fuguang is exactly as I imagined, Yin Wuwang thought to himself, yet his gaze couldn't pull away from that profile. His eyes were dark and deep, like obsidian tempered in fire, with scorching undercurrents churning within. Before, he had always watched Xie Qingyan from a distance, in secret—like a moth stealing moonlight, carefully concealing every trace of himself. But now he was finding it harder and harder to hide. Those desires suppressed for a thousand years were seeping out, bit by bit, from the depths of his eyes.
Xie Qingyan suddenly turned his head. Yin Wuwang immediately shut his eyes tight, pretending to be asleep.
Xie Qingyan glanced at him, said nothing, then turned back to the screen.
On the display were terms entirely foreign to them—Loss Bar, late-night healer, bar manager... But soon, they would become all too familiar.
[End of V2_Chapter 06]
Next: Time to go to the bank. But first—how exactly does one operate an "ATM"?