Before dawn, everyone was already awake, packing their belongings and preparing to depart.
Xiao Lingyu had spent the entire previous night deliberating on when to leave. After careful thought, he decided to accompany the beggars for a while before finding the right moment to part ways. After all, they were carrying a huge sum of money, and staying with them ensured their safety.
As the saying went, “send the Buddha to the West.” Since he had entrusted them with the silver, he had to ensure it stayed with them until they were settled. With this resolve, Xiao Lingyu calmly assisted the others in packing, completely ignoring the teasing from the Old Ghost echoing in his mind.
Soon, everyone finished packing and mounted a few shabby carts they had scrounged together overnight. Before leaving, they all cast long glances back toward Wucheng, silent for a long time. Though their lives in Wucheng had been humble, their hearts had long considered it home. Even with newfound wealth, venturing into a strange land brought a natural unease.
Xiao Lingyu stood among them, his thoughts complex. His childhood—both in his previous life and now—had been spent in Wucheng. In the previous life, leaving had brought nothing but joy and no sense of loss. This time, however, he felt a subtle, unfamiliar reluctance, as if he were parting from the city alongside the beggars. Watching them leave, he wondered whether he had made the right choice.
Before he could dwell on this thought, Old Ghost erupted in his mind. “Hey, hey, hey! Xiao Yuzi, what happened to your ruthlessness from last life? What happened to your cold-blooded decisiveness? Less than six years among mortals and you’ve gone soft? These beggars have been in Wucheng a long time, many familiar faces. Suddenly becoming rich, people might question how they came by their wealth. Leaving Wucheng is the only sensible choice! And yet here you are, turning into some holy-hearted saint in just six years?”
Old Ghost’s words stung, especially the “holy-hearted saint” remark, making Xiao Lingyu want to spit blood. Though he had resolved to curb the violence of his previous life, he certainly didn’t want to be called a saint.
For context, the title “Holy Father” originated uniquely in Wucheng. A certain family named Bai had a son born from an extramarital affair, whom the father adopted and cherished. When the child grew and reclaimed his biological father, the adoptive father was cast out, reduced to poverty. The city’s residents, witnessing his restraint and mercy, dubbed the act “Holy Father,” and the term spread through Wucheng, overtaking older curses in popularity.
Xiao Lingyu, unwilling to be called a saint, bristled, arguing with Old Ghost silently in his mind as he outwardly appeared melancholy, perfectly matching the group’s sentiment of parting.
No matter the attachment, leaving was necessary. Even a rational mind would recognize that sudden wealth made departure the safest choice—especially for a group of beggars. And so, they set out.
The journey was uneventful: travel, eat, travel, eat, travel, rest. As beggars, they had no need for inns, sleeping wherever they could with a coin clutched in hand. With Xiao Lingyu present, they needed not fear petty thieves, making travel smooth.
After some heated discussion, they agreed to settle in Chucheng, the capital of Tianyang Kingdom—a prosperous and bustling city. There, small trade or businesses would allow them to survive comfortably. Even returning to old habits, Chucheng’s abundance could provide. Xiao Lingyu found their ambition amusing—how could they think about mundane livelihoods when they carried such a fortune?
Regardless, Xiao Lingyu planned to leave before they reached Chucheng.
On a seemingly ordinary day, with only three days’ travel remaining, Xiao Lingyu intended to slip away early in the morning. Unexpectedly, before he could awaken, Little Blackie had squeezed close, clinging tightly. Well, leaving failed—he would try tomorrow.
As he resolved to wait, he endured Little Blackie’s antics while listening to the others’ laughter. Suddenly, the lead cart jolted violently; the old horse pulling it had gone mad. A crying, struggling Fat Girl fell from the cart.
“Careful!”
“Fat Girl!”
Xiao Lingyu reacted instantly. In a flash, he applied the Light Body Technique from the Yunshui Manual, gently catching her so she landed unhurt.
“Such skill in a little one!” a clear voice praised from the cart ahead.
Everyone looked up to see several sword-wielding Immortal Masters hovering beside the cart. The previously agitated horse had calmed completely.
“Immortal Masters!” The beggars shouted in excitement, immediately kneeling, leaving Xiao Lingyu dumbstruck at seeing a familiar face.
“Master, why are you here?” Xiao Lingyu’s mind raced. How could he encounter his master and the Yun Tian Sect here? He had planned to avoid Chucheng entirely.
His stunned expression was interpreted by others as admiration, and Xiao Lingyu had to maintain the façade, greeting them respectfully.
A gentle force stopped him from kneeling too low.
The elder who had praised him for his skill looked at Xiao Lingyu sternly. “Little one, where did you learn that technique?”
Xiao Lingyu recognized the elder as Wu Anguo, head of the Disciplinary Hall of Yun Tian Sect. In his previous life, Wu Anguo had pursued him for three months for falling to demonic ways.
Panic set in. His abilities had been seen. A six-year-old at full Qi Mastery would certainly be deemed a prodigy—or worse, a demonic child.
Old Ghost reassured him. “Don’t worry about your cultivation level. I concealed it. They only perceive you as Qi Realm Second Layer, enough to use that spell. Focus on explaining how you learned the Yunshui Technique.”
Xiao Lingyu’s mind raced. He recalled the sect’s recent activity: a Dan-stage elder had disappeared three years prior while traveling, rumored killed by the Dark Refining Sect. Yun Tian Sect had dispatched members to investigate.
Seizing the opportunity, Xiao Lingyu crafted a story:
“Three years ago, an Immortal Master appeared before me, saying he would take me as a disciple. He had urgent matters and left, promising to return. Before leaving, he taught me a verse to memorize. I recalled it just now in the moment of saving someone.”
“Master?” Wu Anguo asked eagerly, “Is he a small-eyed, round-faced old man, often smiling?”
“Yes,” Xiao Lingyu replied respectfully, despite thinking, Why ask after already describing him?
“That must be Disciple Wu. He has a Water Spiritual Root, and this child does too. It must be he who left the Yunshui Manual with this child.”
Xiao Lingyu gaped. The elder had unknowingly reinforced his story. Fortune favored him: the elder who had disappeared was now injured, and the lie would not be exposed.
Wu Yunzi, robed in blue, looked kindly at Xiao Lingyu. “Little one, since Disciple Wu planned to take you, and he is now injured, I, too, having a Water Spiritual Root, will take you as my disciple. Will you accept?”
Xiao Lingyu was momentarily dazed. Fate had repeated itself: he was once again to become a disciple under his master. Though he had intended to avoid his previous life’s people, the meeting was inevitable.
Suppressing his inner turmoil, he knelt respectfully, performing three deep bows. “Master, I humbly request your guidance. This life, I will obey your teachings and bring you honor, and I will protect you in your quest for longevity, avoiding the tragic fate of last life.”
“Excellent!” Wu Yunzi smiled, delighted. Though saddened by his fellow disciple’s injury, he rejoiced to see such wisdom in a young student—assured that his legacy would continue.
Introductions were made, and Xiao Lingyu quickly recognized familiar faces, noting those who had suffered in his past life. Resolute, he silently vowed to avoid those fates this time, giving them longer lives even if only by a day.
Meanwhile, the beggars, still kneeling, watched Xiao Lingyu happily interact with the masters. Even Little Blackie’s tearful insistence was soothed by Wu Yunzi’s gentle hand, letting the child sleep peacefully.
Satisfied that all was well, the beggars bade him a reluctant farewell and set off toward Chucheng.
Xiao Lingyu returned to Wu Yunzi’s side. The master’s silent nod indicated approval: despite immortals’ detached nature, they recognized hearts of purity. Xiao Lingyu’s reluctance to part from the beggars confirmed his benevolence—he would make a worthy disciple.
As they soared again on their flying swords, Xiao Lingyu’s small face reflected a mixture of sorrow and joy. Fate’s course had proven powerful: once more, he became a disciple under his master, and inevitably, he would encounter that person again.
He exhaled silently. Last life, he had sacrificed everything for that individual, only to be used and betrayed. This life, he would keep his distance, devote himself to his master, and pursue longevity.