WBICDPH Chapter 7 Part 1

Chapter 7: A Fortuitous Misstep

Yanrain Mountain, Qingjade Terrace.

Within the enormous Spirit Observation Mirror, the movements of every disciple inside the trial realm were displayed. The most eye-catching were the two largest images at the center of the mirror.

In one, a girl in red wielded a nine-ring broadsword. Even through the mirror, one could feel the ferocity of her blade aura. Under her saber, even foundation-established demon beasts in the trial realm stood no chance. With a single downward slash, a third-rank Jade Shadow Fox let out a pitiful cry and collapsed. A few breaths later, a pale gray glow floated out from its corpse, condensing into a small, impure demon core.

The girl leapt down from a massive rock. Holding the saber in one hand, she took a moment with the other to tidy her hair ornaments, making sure they were still neat atop her head, before picking up the demon core with a hint of distaste.

At the same time, next to her name on the Spirit Observation Mirror, her score jumped up by three more points, narrowly overtaking the person below her.

“This year’s batch isn’t bad,” a woman remarked lazily as she reclined on a long chair, gently fanning herself with a round silk fan. After watching a while longer, she added, “Especially that little girl—she really stands out.”

“And she’s easy on the eyes too,” the woman said with a smile. “I like her.”

Someone nearby couldn’t help but snort.
“Liuxun, what’s it to you if you like her? She’s a martial cultivator—skilled in saber and sword techniques. No matter how she chooses a master, she won’t end up with your broken talisman-scribbling path.”

“Jiang Lou! Who are you calling a ‘broken talisman-scribbler’? Say that again!” Liuxun snapped, leaping to her feet. “You useless blacksmith! Next time you go hunting, don’t you dare come begging your grandaunt here for talismans!”

Furious, Liuxun flicked her fan. A fifth-rank Lightning-Gathering Talisman shot forth, streaking straight toward her opponent.

Runes on the paper glimmered faintly, arcs of pale blue lightning crackling around it. But before the talisman could slap onto its target’s face as Liuxun intended, a silver-white longsword intercepted it midair. The sword swallowed the talisman’s spiritual power and lightning completely, leaving behind only a dull, lifeless scrap of paper that burned to ash and scattered into the wind.

“Senior Brother! Look at him!” Liuxun protested.

“Ahem… that’s enough, that’s enough.”
The man holding the sword sheathed it, stepping unobtrusively between the two of them. Awkwardly, he steered the conversation elsewhere.
“This year’s disciples really are quite good. Not just that young lady—there’s also that boy with the surname Han. His performance has been impressive as well.”

In the mirror, a boy dressed in coarse gray cloth brandished a crude iron sword, carving a bloody path through a pack of demon beasts. He looked a bit disheveled, but otherwise unharmed.

Liuxun glanced only briefly before curling her lip. She casually picked up a nearby record book and flipped through it.
“I know him. His name is Han Ao. When he entered the mountain, he reported his cultivation as only Qi Refinement, third level. How did he reach mid-Foundation Establishment overnight? Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

She sighed, tossed the book aside, and fanned herself until the air stirred.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I bother worrying for you lot. Every year, all the good seedlings go to martial cultivators. If we talisman-and-formation folks can get even one or two decent talents, we’re lucky. This year’s even worse—look at all these people. Is there even a single one who draws talismans or sets formations? Tell me, before I retire, will I ever manage to take in a satisfactory direct disciple?”

“Oh, give it a rest. With so many people here, you’re the last one who gets to cry poverty,” Jiang Lou said dryly.
“Look at Old Yu. He’s waited who knows how many years to find one kid willing to learn beast-taming. Look at him—he’s practically staring holes through the mirror. It hurts just to watch.”

At those words, everyone on Qingjade Terrace turned their gaze toward a corner of the Spirit Observation Mirror.

The mirror arranged images according to each disciple’s score: the higher the score, the larger and better placed the image. Those with low scores were squeezed into the corners.

Normally, the corner images received almost no attention from the elders. Yet at this moment, one person sat cross-legged before that very corner, steadfastly watching it—so focused he’d even forgotten to eat the chicken leg in his hand.

Seeing this, Liuxun stood up and walked over to watch alongside him.

At first, she thought the disciple must be showing some hidden brilliance. But when she leaned in, she discovered that the person in the mirror was still holed up in that miserable cave, chuckling to himself as he flipped through a cheap storybook.

“I swear, Old Yu, I really don’t get you,” Liuxun said in exasperation. “What exactly is there to watch? It’s already the third day—the trial’s almost over! Look at the other disciples. Even the worst of them has nearly ten demon cores by now. Only the kid you’ve taken a fancy to has shown zero ambition since entering. Hiding in some godforsaken hole is one thing, but he sleeps all day! Wakes up, eats, and reads novels. I’m telling you, he didn’t come here for a trial—he came to vacation at Yanrain Mountain!”

“Shh!”
The old man waved her off impatiently. With a flick of his fingers, he reheated his chicken leg with spiritual fire and took a huge bite.
“I don’t believe it. His foundation is at an early stage. He must have his reasons. Just wait and see!”

Liuxun looked at the earnest old man, then back at the disciple in the mirror—lying in a cave, legs kicked up, reading a novel—and could only shake her head helplessly as she turned to return to her chair.

But before she’d taken two steps, the old man suddenly shouted behind her, loud enough to shake the heavens:

“He moved! He moved!!”

—

Elsewhere, Lin Jin had no idea that everything he did in the trial realm was being broadcast live.

He lay sprawled on his makeshift bed of weeds, legs kicked high, reading a paperback while cracking sunflower seeds, utterly content.

The thin booklet quickly reached its final page. Lin Jin reached for more seeds—only to grab empty air from the paper bag.

For a moment, he froze. He brushed the seed shells from his hands, then suddenly rolled upright, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“I think… I need to do something.”

“?”

Not far away, Qiuqiu’s ears twitched. The little dog lazily lifted one eyelid to glance at him, then turned its face away again.

Too lazy to watch him act crazy.

Lin Jin didn’t notice the puppy’s reaction. He stared into space for a while, then seemed to remember something. He yanked off the storage pouch at his waist and dumped its contents onto the ground.

There wasn’t much inside—just a few spirit stones left by the original owner, a large wooden basin of unknown use, a hemp rope, and the dry rations and snacks he’d bought while fleeing.

He’d been in the trial realm for nearly three days, and the snacks were almost gone. All that remained in the pouch was half a dry, hard white flatbread.

The original body had already gone through grain abstention, so even without eating, hunger wasn’t an issue. But the problem was—there was more than one mouth to feed now.

With that in mind, Lin Jin picked up the half flatbread, walked over to Qiuqiu, broke off a small piece, and held it up to the dog’s mouth.
“Here. Eat a little.”

Qiuqiu ignored him, not even opening his eyes.

Growing anxious, Lin Jin pushed the bread closer.
“You can’t go hungry, buddy. Just eat a bit, okay?”

Qiuqiu let out an annoyed snort, shifted his body, turned his back to Lin Jin, and pointed his tail at him. The refusal couldn’t have been clearer.

Lin Jin felt awful.

He himself had been happily munching on peanuts and seeds for days, but his puppy had gone hungry for two whole days now. The little dog lay there weakly all day, barely moving from the same spot…

What if the puppy starved to death?

Why wouldn’t he eat the bread? Lin Jin clearly remembered that village dogs could eat flatbread. Or was it that Azure-Eyed Hounds didn’t eat it?

Then what did demon beasts usually eat? Smaller demon beasts?

As the puppy’s self-appointed dad, Lin Jin felt it was his responsibility to hunt and find food, so his dog could feel the warmth of a home—and a father.

As he thought this, Lin Jin looked at the scattered items from his storage pouch, and suddenly, inspiration struck.

A moment later, he tested the hemp rope, tapped the wooden basin, and a brilliant idea formed in his mind.

Lin Jin was a man of action. Once he had an idea, he immediately picked up the basin, got to his feet, and jogged out of the cave.