Li Yanxu had known since the age of five that something was wrong with him.
Not wrong in the "born a ger in a cultivation world" way—that revelation had come later and had required several fainting spells and a very long talk with the village midwife. No, this wrongness was deeper, quieter, and infinitely more suspicious.
At five years old, while other children were busy eating dirt or chasing chickens, Li Yanxu had accidentally looked inward.
He had no idea how he did it. One moment he was sulking because Li Yanya had stolen his sweet potato, the next moment his consciousness slipped—whoosh—into a vast, dark space.
There was nothing there.
No mountains. No rivers. No ancient inheritances glowing temptingly.
Just… space.
An empty, boundless void sitting snugly inside his spirit like an unused storage room.
And right in the middle of it—
A door.
A very large, very ancient-looking door, covered in patterns he couldn't understand, locked so tightly it practically radiated rejection.
Five-year-old Li Yanxu had stared at it for a long time.
Then he poked it.
Nothing happened.
He tried pushing it.
Still nothing.
Finally, he yawned, lost interest, and forgot about it entirely until now.
Which was unfortunate.
Because just moments ago, after Li Yanli mentioned the Immortal Sect's spiritual root testing, that door had stirred.
Not opened.
Not unlocked.
Just… vibrated slightly, like a sleeping beast turning over.
Li Yanxu had nearly dropped the bowl he was holding.
Now, seated at the family's rickety wooden table with a bowl of thin porridge in front of him, he stared vacantly at the steam rising up, deep in thought.
This was bad.
Very bad.
Because in his previous life, mysterious locked spaces inside the soul usually meant one thing.
Protagonist-level trouble.
"Third brother."
Li Yanxu jolted.
Li Yanli was watching him with that gentle, disappointed expression that made people feel guilty for sins they hadn't committed yet.
"You haven't answered," Li Yanli said. "Will you come to the town next month to test your spiritual root?"
"No," Li Yanxu replied instantly.
Li Yanya paused mid-bite.
The two children froze too, as if sensing drama. Song Zhi stopped chewing, while baby Song An blew a bubble with his spit.
"No?" Li Yanli repeated.
"No," Li Yanxu said firmly, then added for emphasis, "Absolutely not."
Li Yanya narrowed her eyes. "Explain."
Li Yanxu straightened his back, adopting the dignified posture of someone about to announce a life philosophy he had rehearsed many times in his head.
"I have decided," he said solemnly, "to marry, settle down, and live a lazy life."
Silence descended upon the Li household.
A chicken clucked outside.
Somewhere, a dog sneezed.
Li Yanli pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are twenty-two."
"Yes."
"A ger."
"Correct."
"And you want to give up cultivation entirely?"
Li Yanxu nodded vigorously. "Exactly. Cultivation is dangerous. Immortal sects are chaotic. People die every day over herbs, manuals, and grudges that started three hundred years ago. I don't want that life."
Li Yanya snorted. "You just don't want to wake up early."
Li Yanxu did not deny this. "That too."
Li Yanli sighed. A long, helpless sigh.
"I already tested my spiritual root," he said quietly. "Three elements."
Li Yanxu winced in sympathy.
In this world, the fewer elements in one's spiritual root, the purer and stronger it was. Single-element roots were geniuses. Two-element roots were talents. Three-element roots…
"Waste," Li Yanya said bluntly.
Li Yanli smiled bitterly. "Mn. Waste."
"And mine was four," Li Yanya added, crossing her arms. "Super waste."
They both turned to Li Yanxu.
Their gazes were identical.
Calculating.
Hopeful.
And slightly afraid.
Li Yanxu swallowed. "…Why are you looking at me like that?"
Li Yanya tilted her head. "Statistically speaking, triplets often share similar talents."
Li Yanli nodded. "If I have three, and elder sister has four…"
Li Yanxu's scalp tingled. "I have five?"
Li Yanya clapped her hands. "Congratulations. You'd be a legendary super-waste."
Li Yanxu's mouth twitched. "See? There's absolutely no reason for me to test."
Li Yanli opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He couldn't even argue.
After breakfast, life resumed its usual rhythm.
Li Yanli put on his cleanest robe and headed for the city. As a clerk, his job was stable, unglamorous, and involved a great deal of stamping documents and being yelled at by cultivators who thought paperwork was beneath them.
Li Yanya sat near the window, needle flying through cloth as she stitched clothes for villagers. Her fingers were steady, strong, and fast enough to make people wonder how the fabric wasn't catching fire.
Song Zhi sat obediently beside her, practicing writing characters on a wooden board.
Song An gnawed on his own fist.
Li Yanxu retreated to his room.
His workplace.
Also known as: the bed.
He lay down dramatically, sighed, then rolled over to grab his brush and paper.
Writing novels was his greatest source of income.
In a cultivation world full of bloodshed and heavenly tribulations, people loved escapism. Romance. Drama. Tragic love between immortals doomed by fate.
Li Yanxu provided all of it.
Under a pen name so flowery it made people squint, he wrote stories filled with handsome cultivators, gentle gers, accidental pregnancies, misunderstandings that lasted three volumes, and reunion scenes that made readers sob into their sleeves.
He was wildly successful.
And absolutely shameless.
As he dipped his brush in ink, he paused.
That stirring sensation returned.
Faint.
Persistent.
He closed his eyes.
Carefully, cautiously, he looked inward again.
The empty space greeted him.
The door was still there.
Still locked.
But now… there was a crack.
A hairline fracture glowing faintly with light.
Li Yanxu immediately retreated.
"Nope," he muttered. "I refuse."
He flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Cultivation leads to trouble," he told himself. "Trouble leads to death. Death leads to rebirth, and I am not doing this again."
Outside, Li Yanya's voice rang out. "Yanxu! Stop lazing around and come help!"
"Coming!" he shouted automatically.
He did not come.
Instead, he picked up his brush and began writing furiously.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Immortal Lord Accidentally Becomes Pregnant.
Ah, peace.
As long as he stayed lazy, stayed low-key, and stayed married off to some gentle scholar who didn't mind mpreg—
Surely nothing bad would happen.
Right?
Somewhere deep within his spirit, the locked door creaked softly.
And waited.