Chapter Twenty-Two: The Elder Uncle Plays Marbles

A sharp slap echoed crisply through the silent grand hall, leaving a red imprint on the handsome face that Daoist Changyan so prided himself on.

Pingxu glanced at his master, whose cheek now bore the telltale mark of swelling, and silently thought to himself that things were not looking good. He had never expected that the delicate-looking girl would strike with such ferocity—just one slap had left Changyan’s face red and swollen. How deep must her hatred for her father run?

Ling Qiqi regretted her actions the moment her hand fell. She should not have revealed such a brash side of herself before Senior Brother Lingxiaozhi. Yet, the man before her was truly reprehensible. Whether or not he was the father she had never met, his careless, rakish attitude was infuriating. As an elder, he behaved frivolously, even making physical contact with his daughter at their first meeting—clearly a libertine.

If he was her real father, then he deserved a slap for abandoning his wife and child, and for appearing so boldly after years of absence. If he wasn’t, then he deserved a slap for shamelessly claiming kinship with another man’s daughter.

No matter how she looked at it, Ling Qiqi felt no guilt for her slap, only that she had chosen the wrong time and place.

“You—you! How dare you!” Daoist Changyan, stunned by the blow, regained his senses and covered the injured side of his face. He pointed at Ling Qiqi, stammering for a long moment, unable to voice the rest: How dare you strike my carefully maintained youthful, handsome face!

Ming Shuang, inwardly impressed, thought to herself: The heroine truly lives up to her name. Such an earth-shaking slap—had anyone else delivered it, Changyan would likely have snuffed them out with a wave of his hand.

Little Uncle looked less than pleased. He had already been annoyed that he hadn’t managed to eliminate Ling Qiqi directly on the arena, and now, seeing the girl recklessly raise her hand against his master, he considered her a calamity, deserving of heaven’s wrath.

“Unruly and reckless,” Little Uncle flicked his fingers, sending several dozen purple beads flying as he continued, “Who gave you the courage to act so brazenly?”

The purple beads sped toward Ling Qiqi, crackling with faint lightning and the sound of friction as they sliced through the air. Ling Qiqi quickly retreated, summoning an equal number of water spheres to intercept the beads.

Unexpectedly, Little Uncle’s beads were easily knocked aside by the water spheres, losing their momentum and rolling to Ling Qiqi’s feet, now seeming nothing more than useless, ordinary purple beads.

Ling Qiqi’s heart, which had just settled, was startled anew when she realized that the beads at her feet, seemingly harmless, were arranged in a peculiar pattern.

Trouble! Alarm bells rang in Ling Qiqi’s mind. She tried to distance herself from the purple beads, but the moment she took a step, her body convulsed and she collapsed to the ground.

Ming Shuang focused her spiritual energy into her eyes and saw that the purple beads, much like Chi Xiaoxiao’s technique, had formed a special array beneath Ling Qiqi’s feet. To the naked eye, nothing was amiss, but with spiritual power concentrated in the eyes, it became clear: these “beads” were actually solidified purple spiritual energy from Little Uncle. Their arrangement summoned a seamless electric net around Ling Qiqi.

“Uncle, you know such peculiar casting techniques?” Ming Shuang marveled, “Playing marbles like this looks fun—will you teach me sometime?”

“Aren’t you worried I might electrocute her to death?” Little Uncle, expecting Er Gou to scold him for his harshness, was instead surprised by Ming Shuang’s nonchalance.

Ming Shuang, eagerly attempting to condense her spiritual power into icy beads, replied offhandedly, “What’s there to worry about? Uncle always acts with restraint. Even the thunderbolts in the arena were probably just meant as a warning for Ling Qiqi. Otherwise, why all the theatrics? One bolt would have sufficed. My reminder to stay calm was just playing along with your act to fool the sect master.”

She turned with a smile, holding her icy bead, and Little Uncle broke into a cold sweat at her mischievous grin.

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Yun Ting thought his performance on the arena had been flawless, but Ming Shuang had seen through it all along. He realized he would need to reassess Er Gou’s cleverness in the future.

“Simply condensing beads won’t do much. You need to compress the spiritual energy, then disguise it,” Uncle advised, seeing Ming Shuang preparing to hurl ice beads at Chi Xiaoxiao.

“I know, but those advanced techniques—teach me when we get home. For now, I just want to toss these for fun,” Ming Shuang said, then lobbed a lump of ice at Chi Xiaoxiao.

Chi Xiaoxiao, conscious of the many skilled cultivators present in Qingyu Gate, only extended his spiritual sense to within two meters around him. When an unknown object approached, his first instinct was to burn it, but such a quick reaction might arouse suspicion.

He pondered for two seconds, then grabbed Cheng Yu, saying, “Brother Cheng Yu, let me show you a treasure!” With that, he spun the unsuspecting Cheng Yu around, and as expected, a scream followed.

Chi Xiaoxiao found a meat shield even faster than when he had tricked Scarhead recently. History repeats itself, and Chi Xiaoxiao was clearly getting the hang of it.

“Ah! My nose! Who did this?!” Cheng Yu, clutching his bleeding nose, howled and searched for the culprit.

By then, Ming Shuang had already hidden behind Little Uncle. Yun Ting thought, although Ming Shuang had grown a bit smarter, she was still cowardly when trouble came.

Chi Xiaoxiao took out his handkerchief from his “little lady” days to help Cheng Yu wipe away the blood, slyly reminding him, “In the entire cultivation world, there has only been one ice spirit root in the past hundred years.”

Cheng Yu was still confused. When he wrote “The Difficulties of the Celestial Maiden,” he hadn’t specified who possessed the ice spirit root. Just what was going on in this world? Wasn’t he supposed to be the author, nearly akin to a creator? At this point, Cheng Yu’s long-held dignity as a father was shattered into dust by endless humiliation.

He took the handkerchief, awkwardly smiling. “May I ask who has the ice spirit root?”

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Chi Xiaoxiao swore he had never met such a curious cultivator in his life. Normally, any child seeking immortality was backed by a family hoping to bring glory to their name. Their parents would pay dearly for news about the major sects, even hiring demonic spies to uncover hidden secrets. Those who knew too much without power often met a tragic end, their families wiped out. Yet, the fervor for cultivation never waned, and families continued to risk everything for information.

Knowing what others desire lets you cater to their interests. With enough information, one can prepare in advance—waiting in nearby towns for a “coincidental” encounter, then befriending the immortal seeking disciples as intelligence suggests. Such efforts often yield great results, and a child selected by their family is rarely lacking in talent.

For a child like Ling Qiqi, with no status or background, to be picked up by Lingxiaozhi was truly fortunate. Yet, how many lucky ones existed in the world? Perhaps one in ten million. Ordinary Cheng Yu was certainly not heaven’s favorite.

“Brother Cheng Yu, didn’t your mother ever mention it? An ice spirit root is a huge event in the immortal sects!” Chi Xiaoxiao feigned surprise, inwardly probing Cheng Yu.

Cheng Yu shook his head; he was truly clueless. In fact, he had recently realized that even as a father, he was beginning to know nothing about the world.

---

Seeing Cheng Yu’s continued ignorance, Chi Xiaoxiao wondered if the man was truly foolish or simply hiding very well. Since he had managed to enter Qingyu Gate, Chi Xiaoxiao leaned toward the latter. Innovative in thought and action, yet mysteriously concealing his origins, he was worth investigating.

“Lingxiaozhi, whom Ling Qiqi admires, is the only ice spirit root of the past century,” Chi Xiaoxiao explained, kindly pointing out the half-hidden figure behind Kong Mingzi.

Hearing it was Lingxiaozhi who threw the ice, Cheng Yu’s heart stirred with complex emotions. One moment he wondered why his own son would try to kill his father, then realized, from Lingxiaozhi’s perspective, he might actually be a stepfather. Most perplexing of all was that his son, so upright and honorable, seemed to be engaging in underhanded tricks!

At that moment, Cheng Yu’s mind spiraled into the possibility that his son was entering a rebellious phase, completely ignoring the fact that the real culprit behind the ice attack was the person who had pulled him in front of it.

Little Uncle noticed a strange, resentful gaze directed at him and turned to see the nosebleed-stricken Cheng Yu staring. Was this meant to accuse him of favoritism? Yun Ting pondered Cheng Yu’s odd look, but felt proud of his own loyalty and glared right back.

Cheng Yu, subjected to Uncle’s glare, had been gazing longingly at his less-than-friendly son, but suddenly broke out in goosebumps and realized Lingxiaozhi’s childhood friend, Little Uncle, was staring at him with hostility.

What was happening? If anyone should glare, shouldn’t it be the heroine, Ling Qiqi? Little Uncle, did you pick up the wrong script? Cheng Yu was full of questions, but ultimately surrendered to Uncle’s glare, quietly lowering his head and withdrawing his gaze from Lingxiaozhi.

Chi Xiaoxiao leaned in and whispered in Cheng Yu’s ear, “A gentleman’s revenge is never too late, even after ten years.”

The young demon lord’s breath tickled Cheng Yu’s ear, making him shrink away and move two steps aside. “Speak properly, don’t get so close.”

Chi Xiaoxiao, delighted by Cheng Yu’s shy reaction, pressed even closer. Annoyed, Cheng Yu pulled out a few seeds he had saved during the competition for emergencies and tossed them at the demon lord’s feet.

Muttering “Sesame, bloom quickly,” Cheng Yu activated the wood spirit seeds, whose vines burst from the ground and wrapped around Chi Xiaoxiao’s feet.

“No one uses my own things against me…” Chi Xiaoxiao grumbled, but his hands mercilessly tugged at the vines. The lush green tendrils quickly reddened, then turned charred black, finally crumbling into ash.

Something flashed through Cheng Yu’s mind, but before he could grasp it, Chi Xiaoxiao, freed from the vines, shoved him to the ground.