The sun was dipping low when Mo Jian finally spotted Cloud Veil Ridge shimmering on the horizon. Even from this distance, the island caught his eye—its shoreline sparkling with the last embers of daylight, the waves gleaming like scattered jewels across sand. Mountains thrust sharply into the sky, their shadows draping the valley below in mist. But the dying sun caught that mist just right, fracturing its glow into a thousand fiery shards. It was as if the valley itself had been set ablaze, flames held gently in check by towering stone.

  The warmth of day was already fading, replaced by night’s cool breath. A faint chill crept through the valley, rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of salt and wildflowers. Mo Jian descended, noting the first flickers of qi lights glowing faintly within the cave he called home—like tiny, distant fireflies against the dark.

  Landing lightly on the smooth outcrop overlooking the valley, he allowed himself a moment to drink in the view—the fiery mist, the sea beyond, the darkening sky overhead. Then, he rose into the air again, and dopped off the outcrop, landing lightly before the cave entrance. Mo Jian flicked his spiritual sense over the threshold, just to be certain no one had entered or left during his absence. Satisfied, he stepped inside.

  Immediately, a playful, singsong voice came from within the cave, “Master.”

  Mo Jian sighed, already feeling the faint stirrings of a headache. His gaze briefly swept over the protective formation guarding the cave before settling on the source of his irritation. Of course, Bai Ning was waiting for him—up and about despite his clear instructions to remain secluded and focus on mastering the third step of the Divine Water Lightning Technique. This disciple of his was nothing short of a menace.

  “I thought I told you not to leave your room until you’d mastered the third step of the technique. What are you doing out here, my dear disciple?”

  Bai Ning, who had been skipping toward him with a grin, pouted dramatically. “I was so excited to see you, Master. How could I wait in my room like some hermit? And this is how you greet me? Hmph! You should be honored to have such a loyal disciple.”

  Mo Jian snorted, voice dripping with mockery. “Loyal? More like disobedient. It’s been three years since I took you in, and you still can’t follow the simplest of instructions. They say the bond between teacher and student is like that of parent and child. If that’s true, I must be the most long-suffering parent in existence.” He shook his head in exaggerated sorrow, though a flicker of amusement tugged at his lips. Perhaps that was the problem—he wasn’t nearly strict enough, and she knew it.

  Bai Ning huffed, turning away with arms crossed, chin lifted in the perfect imitation of an offended young mistress. “Parent, is it? I told you before, Master—once I reach Core Formation, I’m going to be your dao companion.”

  Mo Jian’s headache spiked. His patience thinned.

  It was one thing to joke, but some lines were far too dangerous to cross—especially this one. He was just grateful she hadn’t said it in front of others, like her parents. The scandal, the rumors, the whispered accusations of impropriety… it didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Don’t say things like that,” he warned firmly. “You’re far too young to understand what you’re saying. I’ve told you before—keep this up, and I’ll have you cleaning the entire cave like a mortal for punishment.”

  He caught the flicker in her expression—just a moment of seriousness beneath the mischief. But he didn’t relent. Ever since she’d secretly read those jade tablets on dual cultivation, her teasing had grown bolder, more dangerous. He could only hope it was a phase she'd outgrow, and that one day they’d laugh about it. For now, he had to shut it down before someone else overheard such talk.

  Bai Ning’s pout deepened as she peeked over her shoulder. “Fine, fine,” she muttered. But the sparkle in her eyes said she wasn’t truly repentant. “One day, Master, you’ll see. When I reach Core Formation, you won’t be able to boss me around anymore.”

  Mo Jian rolled his eyes and moved deeper into the cave, sweeping his hand across the inner restriction array to make sure everything was in place.

  “You may be unstoppable in your dreams, but for now, you’re just a reckless, spoiled apprentice with no sense of discipline.”

  “I’m not reckless!” Bai Ning cried, spinning around with an offended glare. “I’m just… creative with my approach.” She fluttered her lashes shamelessly. “It’s a gift, you know.”

  “Gift? More like a curse,” he muttered.

  She grinned, clearly having heard him.

  Mo Jian sighed and retreated toward his private chamber. He would never admit it out loud, but he was proud of her. Despite her cheek, she had real talent—a spark that couldn’t be taught. Still, her defiance worried him. She had a way of drawing attention, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get caught in the wrong kind of trouble.

  He entered his abode and sat down on the glacial jade bed, allowing its cold, soothing qi to wash over him. Many serious cultivators who harbored hopes of rising to the Nascent Soul stage didn’t bother with such luxuries—too devoted to the path of immortality. But Mo Jian had never pretended to be one of them.

  The original Mo Jian might not have accepted it, but he had. At two hundred years old and firmly entrenched in the final stage of Core Formation, he had reached his limit. He lacked the monstrous talent required to advance further, and Immortal Ascension was a dream even his former self had long since laid to rest. All he sought now was enough power and freedom to live life on his own terms.

  But the world was rarely so kind. Man made plans, and the heavens broke them. Just look at his current situation. He had never intended to take in Bai Ning as a disciple permanently, but here he was.

  Originally, his plan was simple: find a sect or master with the resources and structure to raise Bai Ning properly. But she had refused. She begged to stay with him, to become his disciple. He had turned her down, thinking she would come to her senses. Instead, she knelt outside his cave for three days.

  He hadn’t given in out of guilt—though it was close enough. He told himself she’d eventually tire of his poor teaching and beg to leave. He had overestimated his own lack of charm.

  Bai Ning had been fourteen when she began training under him, barely at the fifth stage of Qi Condensation. Now, three years later, she had reached the twelfth and final stage of Qi Condensation—a proper cultivator at last.

  Mo Jian intended to guide her until she reached Core Formation. Foundation Establishment was the next step, and while cultivators at that level could live reasonably well, it was not always the case. As her parents’ helplessness before Chao Qinzi had shown, it was far from enough to guarantee safety.

  Core Formation changed everything.

  Those who reached that level were powerful and influential nearly everywhere. The stage above—Nascent Soul—was rarer still, and its cultivators tended to eschew worldly matters unless provoked. That made Core Formation cultivators the most visible peak figures in most regions.

  As for Immortals? There were fewer than a dozen in the world. No other cultivation level could compare. But encountering one was rarer than snow in a volcano. Even Mo Jian had never met one—only read about them in his life on Earth.

  And frankly, he was fine with that.

  When the original Mo Jian first embarked on his cultivation journey, he had grand ambitions. He imagined rising like a dragon, ascending to the heavens, dominating the mortal realm, and even aweing the immortals themselves. Now, looking back at those two hundred years of memories, tempered by knowledge and experience from his life on Earth, he could only regard them as boyish dreams with a fond shake of his head. How foolish he had been.

  Still, though he had not reached those lofty heights, he was a powerful and successful cultivator in his own right. Unlike many Core Formation cultivators who abandoned the pursuit of immortality to settle into luxury or politics, Mo Jian preferred a simpler, more secluded life. The Thousand Shattered Islands might not be the most charming place to live, but it had been home for nearly half a century, and he was content.

  At his stage of cultivation, his lifespan stretched a little beyond five hundred years, giving him ample time to live as he pleased and pursue his own path.

  No, the only thing that truly worried him was his disciple—Bai Ning.

  There were many concerns, but the first and foremost—and the one he tried hardest to shield her from—was her own talent.

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  If Mo Jian was barely more than a mediocre cultivator who had clawed his way here through a mixture of hard work and luck, Bai Ning was a heaven-blessed prodigy, a once-in-a-generation genius. At seventeen, she was already brushing the threshold of Foundation Establishment—a feat many could only dream of.

  She wasn’t naive, but Mo Jian suspected she had no real grasp of how extraordinary her progress truly was. There were Nascent Soul talents alive today who hadn’t reached Foundation Establishment at thirty. The original Mo Jian himself hadn’t crossed that threshold until nearly sixty.

  Simply put: Bai Ning’s talent was monstrous. And that made her a target.

  Every major and minor sect would spare no effort to recruit a disciple like her. Even immortals would take notice of someone advancing so rapidly. But on the other hand, unscrupulous cultivators schemed to turn prodigies into Cauldrons—tools to be exploited for their own advancement.

  If an unorthodox Nascent Soul cultivator learned of her existence, they might stop at nothing to secure her.

  Even if she hadn’t been his disciple, Mo Jian would have fought to protect her from such a fate. The practice of creating Cauldrons was abhorrent and evil, yet it persisted, impossible to eradicate entirely.

  For that reason, Bai Ning’s talent had to remain a secret—no matter the cost.

  He had already begun to lay the groundwork: spreading half-truths about her progress, downplaying her stage whenever he visited the nearby markets, and strictly forbidding her from displaying any high-level techniques in public. It helped that they lived in seclusion, far from the sects and cities where word traveled swiftly. But isolation alone was not enough. Besides, Bai Ning needed interaction to grow. A lotus might bloom in mud, but even it couldn’t flourish without sunlight and water.

  A pulse of qi rippled through the air. Somewhere deeper in the cave, Bai Ning had resumed cultivating, the aura of Water Lightning slowly coalescing around her again. He closed his eyes, feeling the faint, charged air it left behind.

  Mo Jian rested a hand on the edge of the glacial jade bed, letting its chill seep deep into his bones, anchoring him. So far, he had kept his distance from many of the known opportunities scattered across the Thousand Shattered Islands—the hidden ruins, the buried relics, the spiritual beasts and long-lost inheritances he remembered from the story of this world. He hadn’t wanted to risk crossing paths with the protagonist. Or drawing attention he couldn’t afford. He’d taken only the lesser treasures, like the Nine Essence Lotus he traded to Fan Mei or the Refined Crystal he added to the Heaven Enshrouding Ding.

  But maybe it was time to stop letting fear hold him back.

  Bai Ning was growing too fast. And his attempt to preempt future threats—like Chao Qinzi—had ended in failure. If he couldn’t protect her through secrecy, then he needed strength. Real strength. Enough to deter even the boldest predator. If he truly seized the opportunities he knew about, with all his might...

  Outside, night had fully taken the sky. The wind sighed against the cliffs, and the waves far below beat their slow, endless rhythm against the rocks. In the valley, the mist still shimmered faintly, lit by the lingering memory of sunset. Looking up, Mo Jian found himself staring through the hole in the cave into the quiet blackness above, scattered with stars like pinpricks in a vast curtain.

  Once, long ago, the original Mo Jian had believed those stars were within reach. Now, as a transmigrated soul from Earth, he wondered if that man had been wrong—or right. Because now, he was planning to start climbing again.

  ……………………………..

  On the way back from one of his recent trips, this one to acquire a piece of Star Iron, Mo Jian encountered some intriguing news.

  A spiritual material formed at the peaks of mountains where star qi naturally gathered and fused with metal qi, Star Iron was an exceptional material for artifact refinement. It was particularly prized for its ability to greatly enhance the durability and potency of a natal artifact.

  Mo Jian’s Heaven Enshrouding Ding was already a fine tool—he took pride in the effort and resources he’d invested in its refinement—but he could admit that, with what was looming on the horizon, it wasn’t enough. Truthfully, neither was his cultivation. But that was another matter entirely, and one he had little hope of changing.

  Star Iron was notoriously rare. Even Nascent Soul cultivators struggled to acquire it. Fortunately, Mo Jian had an advantage—he had read the book. And he knew exactly where the protagonist would one day stumble upon a deposit.

  With that knowledge in hand, the trip had been simple. The location was just as unremarkable as described—completely untouched, just waiting for fate to catch up. Buried beneath the mountain peak, the Star Iron lay undisturbed, and he took only what he needed: enough for his own use and a portion set aside for Bai Ning, once she reached Core Formation.

  The rest he left behind for the hero, so that his journey would progress without any interference.

  Of course, if he looked at things objectively, he had already failed spectacularly at not interfering with the protagonist.

  In the original story, Mo Jian had been a minor antagonist during the first half of the novel—a looming, predatory figure exploiting the heroine, Bai Ning. He had died shortly after she stepped into the Core Formation realm, slain by the hero in a brief and one-sided confrontation. The original Mo Jian had been largely forgettable—just another mid-tier villain the protagonist had to overcome. His final battle was less of a climax and more of a backdrop for the hero’s monologue on why he was destined for greatness.

  Things now were so wildly different as to be nearly unrecognizable.

  Here, he wasn’t the detestable master exploiting the heroine for his own gain—he was her teacher, her guardian. A flawed one, perhaps, but not a villain. The Greater Dharma Sect she had once sworn to rebuild was still standing strong in this version of events, and more importantly, the Bai Ning of today had no interest in leading it. She had found a new path in life.

  And Mo Jian?

  Well, he was no longer the horrid, unlikable man he had once been. He wouldn’t go so far as to sing praises of his own character—but compared to the original version of himself, the bar had been set so low that simply not being a scumbag felt like an achievement. So, he had to wonder whether his desire to maintain some semblance of a future he recognized even mattered. Well, no matter. He had resolved to do the best he could, and what would come would come.

  On the way back to his cave residence, Mo Jian ran into a familiar face.

  Liu Hong was one of the few Core Formation cultivators with whom Mo Jian maintained a cordial, ongoing relationship. Not only were their islands practically neighbors—barely fifty li apart—but Liu Hong was a friendly, gregarious sort, known for his endless network of connections and his fondness for sharing news or doing favors. It was rare to see him alone.

  Which made it all the more unusual to find him now, hovering above a stretch of turbulent sea, looking equal parts irritated and morose.

  He looked up as Mo Jian approached, surprise flickering across his face before he cupped his hands in greeting.

  “Fellow Daoist Mo Jian! What a pleasant surprise. Returning from a trip?”

  Mo Jian returned the salute, eyeing the horsetail whisk spinning circles around Liu Hong like an angry bird. Its bound spirit—a small, translucent monkey glowing faintly—was glaring into the waves below, hissing like it had a personal grudge against the sea.

  “Well met, Fellow Daoist Liu Hong,” Mo Jian said politely. “I was just returning home. Looks like something didn’t go your way?”

  Liu Hong sighed and ran a hand through his long, wispy beard. He looked every inch the venerable cultivator: straight-backed and white-haired, face lined with age and experience, laughter crow’s-feet crinkling around his eyes. But today, the usual cheer was muted.

  “I’ve shown a poor side of myself to you today, Brother Mo,” he said. “It’s nothing serious—just a disappointment. I was pursuing a sixth-rank Wishing Whale for most of the day. I had it cornered… or so I thought. But the damned beast slipped away at the last moment.”

  He shook his head, mournful. “All that effort—and the core’s gone.”

  Mo Jian let out a low whistle. A sixth-rank Wishing Whale wasn’t just powerful—equal to a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator—it was also notoriously elusive. Its demonic core could sell for a small fortune in spirit stones.

  “I see. That’s no small loss,” Mo Jian said. “Were you hunting it for cultivation, or…?”

  Liu Hong’s expression turned sheepish.

  “No, no. Just for money, if I’m honest. I owe Master Suncrown of the Red Mountain Sect thirty mid grade spirit stones—he lent me his Evil-Warding Ruler recently, and I promised I’d repay him soon.” He scratched his cheek. “I’m a little short.”

  He hurriedly added, “But no need to worry yourself over it, Brother Mo. I’ll manage somehow.”

  Mo Jian chuckled awkwardly—relieved, frankly, that Liu Hong hadn’t asked for a loan. Thirty mid-grade spirit stones was no trifling sum, and while Mo Jian wasn’t poor, he certainly wasn’t in the habit of tossing money around like loose sand.

  “Master Suncrown… is he the same one who wiped out the Ghost Blood Band on Sunken Flower Island a decade ago?” Mo Jian asked. “Why would you need an evil-warding treasure from someone like that, Brother Liu? Are you planning to face some malevolent spirit?”

  Liu Hong smiled. “Ah, I’m not surprised you haven’t heard. It’s not something most Core Formation cultivators concern themselves with—but the Enigmatic Death Domain is about to open again.”

  Mo Jian blinked. He knew that name.

  “My martial nephew is entering this time,” Liu Hong continued. “He’s only at the seventh stage of Qi Condensation, but I promised my younger sister I’d get him a powerful righteous artifact to protect himself with. The domain may not be a problem for people like us—but for those below Foundation Establishment, it can be lethal.”

  The Enigmatic Death Domain, Mo Jian thought again. He remembered it from the book.

  It was the site of an early turning point in the story—where the hero and heroine met for the second time and triumphed against overwhelming odds. But that event hadn’t occurred until more than a decade later. This opening was before the novel’s plot officially began.

  Now calmer, Liu Hong tucked away the glowing White Light Horsetail Whisk, gently patting the translucent monkey spirit to soothe it.

  “You’ve got a disciple at the Qi Condensation stage, don’t you?” he asked. “You should consider sending her. The domain’s perfect for cultivators at that level. No one at Foundation Establishment or above benefits from it, so the risks are balanced. A rare chance—and Heaven seems to be favoring you with the timing.”

  Or plotting against me, Mo Jian thought. But maybe that was just paranoia.

  Still, he considered it seriously. On paper, it was a good opportunity for Bai Ning. The real trouble he remembered from the novel was still far off. She’d been itching for a challenge lately, and while the idea of letting her run off into a dangerous domain made his stomach tighten, he knew she couldn’t grow with him hovering over her forever.

  “Thank you for telling me, Brother Liu,” he said at last. “That is indeed… interesting news. I’m glad we crossed paths.”

  Liu Hong waved him off, looking pleased.

  “Ha! No need for such formal thanks. We’re all cultivators walking the same path. Lending a hand now and then is just part of the journey.”

  Mo Jian cupped his hands again and bowed in farewell. They exchanged a few more words, before Liu Hong and he parted ways, the other cultivator drifting away on a cloud. Mo Jian lingered for a moment, gazing out over the restless sea. The Enigmatic Death Domain—a test and trial for the fledgling cultivators below Foundation Establishment. Well, it seemed Bai Ning’s wish for ‘something exciting” was about to be answered.