Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Sect Master Outshone Him

There was no porridge for breakfast today, but instead, a pot of fragrant chicken soup filled the air with its aroma. The savory broth was poured over plump, glossy grains of rice, each grain distinct, as pale and delicate as a maiden’s toes. With a gentle stir of the chopsticks, the rich flavor of the chicken broth mingled with the sweet, glutinous rice, creating a scent that was utterly irresistible.

Tiya did not rush to eat. She looked up at Bai Yujing, who was seated across from her, and asked, “Master, some people in Shanghai asked me to pass on a message. They wish to invite you to a high society banquet. Are you interested?”

“Not at all,” Bai Yujing replied without hesitation. He had only just begun to make a name for himself, and already those who chased after power and favor were swarming in, drawn to him like bees to the scent of flowers. But he was not the sort who could be corrupted by wealth or beauty.

Tiya was not surprised by his decision. With a soft laugh, she added, “Some have been subtly inquiring about our debt of two hundred and eighty million. It seems they want to pay it off for us.”

“Pay them no mind. The three hundred million bounty from the Six Gates has already arrived. I’ll clear the two hundred and eighty million loan and its interest shortly.”

“They must be awfully disappointed, losing their chance to latch on to someone powerful,” Tiya teased, then lowered her head to eat her chicken broth rice.

Zhuying swallowed a tender piece of perch, her lips glistening with oil, and said, “Master, was everything you said at the press conference true?”

Though she believed it was likely, Zhuying still wanted to hear Bai Yujing admit it himself.

Bai Yujing nodded. “I didn’t tell you all before because I didn’t want to dampen your spirits. To make defeating me your goal is harder than reaching the heavens.”

“Thank you for your thoughtful consideration, Master,” Liu Shuangling replied with a hint of sarcasm. Inwardly, she vowed that sooner or later, she’d let him know that those who pretend too much are bound to be taken down a peg.

Tiya fanned the flames at just the right moment. “Many online believe you were boasting, Master. Even I found some of the comments infuriating.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let them shout as much as they like now. When we truly reach that point, reality will be an unrelenting boomerang striking them in the face,” Bai Yujing said, entirely unconcerned about the opinions of netizens.

Last night, he’d browsed short video platforms, watching clips of his press conference. The comment sections were overwhelmingly one-sided. Even the rare neutral users who acknowledged his defeat of the Eight-Headed Serpent thought his boasts were nothing short of fantastical.

Some dug up information on the Azure Cloud Sect, claiming he had falsified his entry date, and threatened to report him to the authorities—though it was unclear which authority would care. Others made comedic edits of the press conference, splicing in lines from other films and shows. He’d be standing on stage, serious-faced, but the dubbed lines would say things like, “Back in my day, I was the most handsome lad for miles around,” “Do you know how much a loaf of bread costs in marks these days?” or “Gentlemen, I love big chests!”

To be honest, even Bai Yujing was amused by these playful parodies. The ingenuity of netizens seeking entertainment was truly unfathomable. He looked forward to seeing how the internet would react once his bold claims became reality—perhaps then, it would be a chorus of praise and admiration.

…

After breakfast, the three returned to the Azure Cloud Sect to cultivate before beginning their work. At midday, sunlight streamed warmly over the streets of Shanghai.

Having completed three grade D orders, Tiya received a fourth: “Assist a shopkeeper with organizing store inventory.” Orders like this only made her think that there were simply too many wealthy people in Shanghai. Such tasks could easily be done by ordinary people; there was no need for a spirit master. At best, a spirit master could do it faster, but they certainly charged more.

Despite her inner complaints, she glanced at the address. With a swift, advanced Yu Step, she crossed the street in a flash, brushing past others using the same technique, and landed in a bustling commercial district.

In the heart of the district stood a shop yet to hang its sign. On the left was a milk tea shop with a long queue at the door. On the right, a bakery wafted sweet aromas that stopped passersby in their tracks.

Tiya pushed open the dusty glass door. The hinges creaked softly, as if no one had entered for a long time. Sunlight poured through the crack she’d made, illuminating the drifting dust motes in the air.

The lounge was cluttered with unopened boxes, piled haphazardly into a small mountain.

“Hello? Is anyone here? I’m from the Demon Removal app, order number 3157.”

Her clear voice echoed through the shop.

From behind a tightly closed door came a reply, the voice aged and quavering: “I’m here.”

As she spoke, a diminutive old lady appeared in Tiya’s view. She was so short, she barely reached Tiya’s thigh. Her face was a map of wrinkles, with a conspicuous age spot beneath her left eye. Yet, oddly enough, her hair was thick and lustrous, black as a youth’s.

Her body, from neck down, was wrapped in a floor-length brown robe. Atop her right-hand cane hung a tiger’s skull, lending her an eerie air.

Tiya swept her gaze over the old woman and realized she couldn’t see through her at all, which made her instinctively cautious.

Wen Xin, meanwhile, was sizing up the golden-haired girl before her. That shoulder-length golden hair, the sky-blue feathered robe that could hardly conceal her imposing figure, the high, full T-shirt under which a hint of purple could be glimpsed. The upper part of her wide-legged pants was stretched tightly by her curvaceous hips, making them look almost like sharkskin pants—full to bursting.

But Wen Xin’s gaze lingered mostly on Tiya’s face—a visage as though carved by God’s own hand, features delicate and fair, with an air of proud confidence between her brows and eyes.

To Wen Xin, a fortune-teller, this face carried an even deeper meaning.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed, her excitement bursting forth. In a flash, she appeared before Tiya, moving so swiftly that even Tiya didn’t have time to react.

The old woman’s gnarled right hand quickly turned up Tiya’s earlobe, exposing three moles behind her ear.

“What an astonishing countenance!” she marveled.

Tiya, unruffled, asked calmly, “Are you skilled in fortune-telling?”

“Indeed. I forgot to introduce myself—I am Wen Xin, disciple of the great Greek seer Goras.”

At this name, a flicker of surprise crossed Tiya’s eyes. “The same Goras who prophesied Paradise?”

“Exactly! My coming to Shanghai, opening a shop here—it was all destiny’s guidance!” Wen Xin’s expression grew ever more impassioned, her eyes glistening with fervent tears.

Her voice trembled as if she were recounting a long-awaited miracle: “My master, the world’s greatest diviner, foretold that I would one day guide a girl favored by God to ascend to Paradise. For two hundred years, I have wandered the world, searching only for you~”