WBICDPH Chapter 123

Chapter 123: When Things Are the Same Yet Different

Outside Piao Miao Pavilion.

Xiao Lancheng reclined on a throne set up by his subordinates, gazing into the distance at the peach-blossom-pink mountains of Mount Penglai and the rippling spiritual barrier that protected them.

Han Xiao stepped forward and offered him a cup of tea. Xiao Lancheng took it, lifted the lid, and closed his eyes as he inhaled the aroma. Then he nodded in approval.

“Your tea always smells better than anyone else’s. No matter how others try to imitate you, they can’t quite capture that same nuance.”

“I’m glad you like it, my lord.”

Han Xiao lowered his head and stepped back to his side.

“I enjoy human tea culture,” Xiao Lancheng said thoughtfully, looking at the cup in his hand. “The same water, the same leaves, the same process—yet depending on the person and their technique, the final flavor is completely different. Fascinating, isn’t it? Take you, for example. You always bring out the tea’s natural fragrance and control the taste perfectly. Others may study under you for years, but they’ll never match your precision. Why? Because you’ve spent years handling poisons, learning to control even the smallest margin of error. You understand that the slightest deviation can lead to a completely different result. That’s why you can grasp the most subtle balance in tea.”

Han Xiao lowered his gaze. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

“Why so tense? I’ve told you before—there’s no need to be so restrained around me. You are my subordinate, yes, but also my closest companion, aren’t you?”

Xiao Lancheng smiled faintly and blew gently on the tea to cool it.

But just as he was about to take a sip, a deafening explosion rang out from the direction of Mount Penglai. The ground trembled, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of divine spiritual pressure.

Some of the weaker demons and lesser creatures present couldn’t even lift their heads under the pressure. Chaos immediately broke out among the ranks.

Xiao Lancheng paused, and some tea spilled from his cup, dampening his finely tailored robes.

He didn’t care.

The smile on his lips deepened. With a casual flick, he brushed away the droplets and tossed aside the teacup he had just been praising moments ago.

The cup shattered on the ground, tea splashing across the grass, its fragrance soaking into the soil.

“It seems Miss Jiang has succeeded,” he said lightly. “Even faster than I expected.”

Rising gracefully from his throne, Xiao Lancheng slowly straightened his sleeves.

“That level of pressure… the Dengwen Sword has emerged.”

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he raised a hand and flicked his fingers.

“Move out.”

He let out a soft laugh.

“The show begins.”

Inside the assembly hall of Piao Miao Pavilion.

Fang Yunzi reclined in the main seat, one hand supporting her temple, eyes closed in rest. The noise in the hall seemed unable to disturb her in the slightest.

Voices argued loudly around her—especially that old nuisance Mu Shan, who had been competing with her since childhood and still refused to settle down even at his age.

They had all grown up together in the same sect. She was the only female disciple of their generation, destined to receive more attention and care than the others.

Mu Shan had been normal as a child, but in his teens, he suddenly began showing her excessive attentiveness, caring for her in every possible way. Even then, Fang Yunzi knew he had ulterior motives and refused his kindness. Sure enough, not long after, encouraged by their fellow disciples, he publicly declared his desire to become her cultivation partner.

At the time, many people surrounded her, saying things like, “Senior Brother Mu treats you so well,” and “He likes you so much,” urging her to accept him—after all, he was destined to become the sect leader.

How ridiculous.

They seemed to understand her life better than she did, to care more about her future than she herself did. And Mu Shan choosing to confess in front of everyone—wasn’t that just betting she wouldn’t dare refuse?

And that counted as “liking her”? As “treating her well”?

Fang Yunzi had never indulged in such nonsense.

Not only did she reject him, but she also did so bluntly, in front of everyone:

“The position of sect leader is determined by fair competition among peers. Since when has it been predetermined for Mu Shan? If we’re trading flattering words, I can say this too: I am the one who will become sect leader. None of you are worth a second glance from me. Now get lost.”

No one expected such harsh words. The crowd dispersed awkwardly, taking the humiliated Mu Shan with them.

From that moment on, he turned resentment into hostility, rallying others to isolate her and spread rumors.

She became, in their stories, heartless, arrogant, ungrateful—a vicious woman. They saw only Mu Shan’s “kindness,” and his rejection made him the victim. Meanwhile, she was condemned simply for saying no.

Fang Yunzi didn’t care.

She never wasted energy on trivial people or matters.

No matter how the fools around her jumped and schemed, life went on. She steadily advanced toward the position of sect leader—until Mu Shan sabotaged her at the gates of the Dengwen Sword Pavilion.

He conspired with others to fabricate a rule: “Women are not allowed to enter the pavilion.”

She had never heard such a rule in her life. It was clearly a lie—but in this world, it sounded plausible enough to pass unquestioned.

She chose not to fight it.

Ironically, even without her, none of those narrow-minded men were recognized by the ancestor or the Dengwen Sword.

In the end, she still became sect leader—but never entered the pavilion.

Others called it a blessing.

She knew better.

Even after all that, Mu Shan didn’t stop. He colluded with Mingzhu Heaven, attempting to overthrow her.

Foolish. Absurd.

After centuries of this, she was tired.

She had gone so far, yet he remained stuck in the past, dragging at her heels.

How could someone be so stupid?

She told Jiang Zhenfeng that a soaring swan need not concern itself with sparrows—but when there are too many sparrows, they claw at your wings, trying to pull you down.

Then—

Boom.

A thunderous explosion echoed from the direction of the Dengwen Pavilion. The divine pressure surged outward—the sword had emerged.

Before anyone could react, another series of impacts came from outside the mountain.

Fang Yunzi opened her eyes slightly.

“The demons have begun their attack. Disciples of Piao Miao Pavilion, reinforce the barrier. As for our guests—lend us your strength and help defend Mount Penglai.”

A sect elder at the front frowned.

“We came all this way for your sword trial. Now your sect draws demon attacks and endangers us—and you expect us to help? Isn’t that unreasonable?”

Fang Yunzi looked at him coldly.

“This is reality. Our sect has long stood at the front lines against demons. If not for us, do you think you’d have lived in peace? You watched from afar before—but now your lives are tied to this place, and you still speak such nonsense?”

“Don’t try to scare me!” he scoffed. “The divine pressure earlier came from your sacred sword’s emergence, didn’t it? Now that it’s appeared and a new master exists, why would the demons keep attacking?”

Fang Yunzi let out a faint laugh.

Demons don’t need reasons.

Just as others hesitated, commotion arose at the entrance.

The crowd parted.

Jiang Zhenfeng stepped in, carrying the Dengwen Sword, followed by one human and one demon.

Ignoring all whispers, she walked straight forward.

Then she dropped to one knee before Fang Yunzi and raised the sword with both hands.

“Master, welcome back from seclusion. Your disciple presents Dengwen as a tribute.”

An uproar followed.

But Jiang Zhenfeng ignored it, her gaze fixed only on her master.

Fang Yunzi did not take the sword.

“Zhenfeng, the rules of Piao Miao Pavilion state that whoever wields Dengwen becomes its master. You are now the sect leader. There’s no need to offer it to me.”

“With you still here, how could I overstep?”

Jiang Zhenfeng glanced at Mu Shan.

“I entered the pavilion to reclaim what should have been yours. This sword should have been in your hands a hundred years ago.”

“If it wasn’t mine then, it wasn’t meant to be.”

Fang Yunzi’s voice softened.

“You’ve always wanted to bear responsibility and protect others. Go. The fire is coming—only you and that sword can stop it.”

“I can stop it without the sword.”

Jiang Zhenfeng did not yield.

“I am merely returning what belongs to you. The sword has not yet chosen a master. Please—draw it.”

Fang Yunzi smiled faintly.

This time, she accepted.

“Zhenfeng, having you as my disciple is my greatest fortune.”

She ran her fingers along the sheath, then gripped the hilt and pulled.

The blade slid free, its cold gleam reflecting in her eyes. The aura of a divine weapon filled the hall.

“A fine sword indeed.”

But in the next instant, her eyes hardened.

Before anyone could react, she poured all her spiritual power into the blade—then detonated it from within.

Silence.

The divine aura vanished instantly.

The legendary weapon shattered into fragments.

Fang Yunzi casually dropped the broken hilt and sheath.

“A tool that appears at the wrong time,” she said flatly,
“is no better than trash.”