Category: The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 84 Final Chapter

    Chapter 84: Extra 10

    With the Heavenly Court transformed, the Celestial Feather Ministry also underwent a complete overhaul.

    After Feng Chiyue relinquished her position as Ministry Head, the position remained vacant, with all responsibilities falling to Que Chenyi, the Assistant Ministry Head. Fortunately, she was already accustomed to shouldering the burden and delegating tasks, easily pushing everything onto Qing Xun, under the guise of “training the future leader of the feathered lineages.”

    Qing Xun suffered in silence, especially after missing a few questions about the customs of minor feathered tribes during an assessment, leaving her with no room for argument.

    Que Chenyi, smiling, urged her on. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she said. “But there’s something you should know. Although they call you ‘Young Sovereign,’ there’s still a long way to go before you become the true Sovereign. I’ve heard that some in the Phoenix and Chongming lineages are getting ambitious. You wouldn’t want to remain the Young Sovereign for decades, then watch someone else take the throne, would you? That would be quite embarrassing.”

    Qing Xun: “…” News traveled fast in the Immortal Realm. Actually, not just the Immortal Realm. Even the demons were now watching the spectacle on the Chaos Mirror. If she failed to ascend to the throne, how would they mock her? How would her elders punish her? Thinking about the worst-case scenario, she shuddered.

    Seeing Qing Xun diligently working on the documents, Que Chenyi smiled, pleased with her progress.

    She stood up and stretched.

    Qing Xun, noticing her movement, felt a surge of anxiety. “Where are you going?” she asked hurriedly.

    “Morning Phoenix Mountain,” Que Chenyi replied, smiling.

    Qing Xun immediately fell silent.

    She also wanted to visit Morning Phoenix Mountain and see their orchards, but being intimidated by Feng Chiyue was the least of her worries. Whenever she returned, everyone, whether from the lower realm or Phoenix Mountain, would try to pry information about those two from her.

    The Phoenix Sovereign was a thing of the past. That person only wanted to live a carefree life. But many feathered immortals remained trapped in their guilt. What could she do? She couldn’t and wouldn’t interfere.

    They had to face the consequences of their actions.


    Que Chenyi went to Morning Phoenix Mountain.

    Of course, Feng Chiyue and Ming Jian Su were both absent. Only Zhu Wan, the head steward, was there.

    Zhu Wan had no interest in spiritual fruits, but she enjoyed tending to the orchard.

    Feng Chiyue and her Elder Sister were generous. They allowed the birds to freely eat the fruit, and Zhu Wan could pick as many ripe fruits as she wanted.

    She had no use for them herself, but she could use them to build a powerful network of connections within the feathered lineages.

    When Que Chenyi arrived, Zhu Wan greeted her warmly, offering her a plate of fruit.

    They ate, gossiping about the latest news from the Chaos Mirror.

    Zhu Wan was particularly amused by the Heavenly Princess and the Dragon Princess.

    Que Chenyi listened halfheartedly, then, out of curiosity, asked, “Why haven’t you applied for an official position yet? Chang Huai is already a Star Monarch.”

    Zhu Wan shook her head vigorously. “Why would I subject myself to that?” she said. “I have no desire to work.” She looked at Que Chenyi. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re using feather-nourishing ointments.”

    Que Chenyi blushed and glared at her. “I haven’t used them in a long time,” she said.

    Zhu Wan chuckled. “Then it’s Qing Xun who’s bearing the burden now.”

    Que Chenyi: “…” She couldn’t argue. With such a diligent assistant, she no longer had to deal with the Celestial Feather Ministry’s test bank, assessments, or grading. “What about those two?” she asked, changing the subject.

    Zhu Wan shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. She wouldn’t dare to ask where they went, and she didn’t care. After all, she wasn’t going with them. “They’re either in the Immortal Realm or the lower realm.”

    Que Chenyi looked at her enviously. She would also live a carefree life after earning enough Cinnabar Jade.

    “They definitely wouldn’t be in the Demon Realm,” Zhu Wan added.

    “Why not?”

    “The Nine-Tailed Fox Nation and the Demon Abyss are now freely interacting,” Zhu Wan explained. “The Demon Realm is full of furry creatures.”

    Que Chenyi: “…”

    “The Demon Realm is filled with turbid energy and eternal darkness,” Zhu Wan continued. “No decent immortal would want to go there.”

    Que Chenyi’s eyes flickered, and she lowered her voice. “I heard your Master was studying demonic techniques.”

    Zhu Wan’s eyes widened, and she beckoned Que Chenyi closer. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered, her voice filled with mischief. “Do you know why those from Phoenix Mountain aren’t favored, even though they’re also phoenixes?”

    Que Chenyi frowned and glanced at her, thinking, “Isn’t that obvious? We just don’t talk about it.” She suspected Zhu Wan was teasing her. She glared at her and said, “If that’s all you have to say, then don’t bother.”

    “There’s another reason, besides the obvious one,” Zhu Wan said mysteriously.

    Que Chenyi looked at her, intrigued.

    “The phoenixes who ascended from the lower realm have similar true forms to hers,” Zhu Wan explained, “while those from Phoenix Mountain, although beautiful, are not ‘orthodox.’”

    Que Chenyi: “?” For a moment, she thought she had misheard, but seeing Zhu Wan’s confident expression, she began to doubt herself. Ignoring her knowing look, she analyzed recent events and came to a conclusion. Those two’s dislike for Phoenix Mountain probably had nothing to do with their fur color, but to please Feng Chiyue, Ming Jian Su was clearly happy to reshape the entire feathered lineages’ aesthetic preferences. As for Zhu Wan…

    “Did someone bribe you?” she asked.

    Zhu Wan’s eyes darted around, her voice hesitant. “No,” she said.

    Que Chenyi was even more certain. “They must have.”

    Seeing that she had been exposed, Zhu Wan sighed and said, “Alright, fine. It was one of your Celestial Feather Ministry’s alchemists. She said she had created a new batch of feather dyes but couldn’t sell them.” In the Immortal Realm, only the feathered lineages and the beasts from the White Tiger Department needed feather or fur care, and few immortals were willing to change their appearance.

    Que Chenyi: “…” Those alchemists, no longer burdened by their past, were clearly exploring strange new avenues, their progress unstoppable. “Give me half,” she said, making a bold demand.

    Zhu Wan was wealthy now, and the number of Cinnabar Jade she possessed was less important than the act of earning it.

    She agreed without hesitation.


    Soon, a “feather dyeing” craze swept through the feathered lineages, even spreading to the White Tiger Department.

    Zhu Wan was delighted and immediately sent a message to Ming Jian Su, bragging about her “achievement.”


    Ming Jian Su didn’t receive it.

    She and Feng Chiyue were already in a nascent Minor Realm called Qingshuang. This world hadn’t been discovered because it had gained enough power to break through the Heavenly Gates but rather because of the turmoil in the Heavenly Court. The chaotic spiritual energy had forced open the sealed gates, revealing its existence. Several such worlds had appeared recently, and the Heavenly Court, sensing that they were still in their early stages of development, had left them alone, not capturing their nascent Heavenly Daos. After all, the Merit Mirror’s cracks hadn’t healed yet, and these anomalous worlds might disrupt its spiritual essence.

    The northern continent was a harsh and desolate place, its mountains covered in snow, its rivers frozen, the heavy snowfall almost constant. The wind was sharp, the world a white expanse, like a tapestry adorned with white tufts, hanging between heaven and earth.

    Spiritual energy was scarce here, the Dao newly born. It was a savage land, where ferocious beasts, relying on their strength, preyed on the weak, while humans, using their collective wisdom, had developed methods to strengthen their bodies, hunting beasts and using their blood to nourish their flesh. It wasn’t a constant battle between humans and beasts. They would also raise young beasts, forming bonds of companionship.

    The balance between them had been maintained, until one day, a crimson light descended from the sky, igniting a demonic fire that enraged the beasts, making them even more ferocious. The human warriors, once capable of fighting them, were now easily defeated, suffering heavy losses. Forced to migrate to the icy north, they hoped that the constant snowfall would suppress the raging fire.

    But the various birds of prey inhabiting the mountains were also formidable opponents.

    The tribes who had reached the peaks not only had to endure the relentless blizzards but also fend off attacks from above.


    Ming Jian Su and Feng Chiyue appeared just as the tribes were facing their greatest challenge.

    Sword beams, like a torrential downpour, struck the birds from the sky, pinning them to the glaciers. Blood flowed, instantly freezing into crimson icicles.

    The warriors, who had been battling the birds, stared at them in astonishment, then erupted in cheers, their eyes filled with awe.

    “Their lives are hard,” Ming Jian Su said, frowning slightly.

    Feng Chiyue glanced at the dead birds on the ground and nodded.

    She followed behind Ming Jian Su, her eyes wide with curiosity, observing her surroundings.

    The language and writing of this Minor Realm’s tribes were different from those elsewhere, but since the root of all language was spiritual essence, she could easily communicate with them. She learned that a demonic fire had descended from the sky, enraging the beasts. The fire was constantly moving, incinerating everything in its path.

    “This power doesn’t belong to this world,” she said, after listening to the warriors’ descriptions. “Perhaps a Star Monarch’s soul escaped to this realm during that battle.”

    Feng Chiyue: “…” Weren’t they here for a relaxing vacation?

    She practically had the word “unlucky” written on her face.

    Ming Jian Su immediately sensed her displeasure. “I’ll handle it,” she said, reassuring her. Those who had lived on the plains were now struggling to survive in the harsh, icy mountains, even without the threat of ferocious beasts. That “demonic fire” was trying to exterminate all life and claim this world’s spiritual energy for itself. If it succeeded, it might even break through the Heavenly Gates and cause trouble for the Heavenly Court.

    Feng Chiyue lowered her gaze and grabbed Ming Jian Su’s arm. “It might be a feathered traitor,” she said. “I’ll go, Elder Sister. You stay here and protect them.” She would see who was trying to disrupt her peace!

    Their cultivation levels were suppressed in this Minor Realm, but they were still far beyond the reach of the local cultivators.

    Seeing her junior sister’s rare initiative, Ming Jian Su didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. She embraced Feng Chiyue, kissing her lips. “Come back soon,” she whispered.

    Feng Chiyue snorted and, transforming into a beam of light, left the snowy plains.


    The demonic fire, pursuing the human tribes, was advancing towards the north. The tribes on the icy plains were only a small group. Most were still behind.

    She immediately spotted the fire and the tide of beasts it commanded.

    Within the fire was a Mie Meng bird, its feathers blue, its tail crimson. Its power was far below that of a Star Monarch, but in this desolate world, it was practically invincible.

    Its laughter, sharp and piercing, echoed through the air like a ghostly wail.

    Wherever it went, a sea of fire followed, ruthlessly consuming all life.

    But its laughter soon died in its throat.

    All sound seemed to be trapped, as if its neck had been choked. After a moment of stunned silence, it turned abruptly, fleeing in the opposite direction. But then, its surging aura, like a punctured balloon, suddenly deflated. It didn’t even see her move before it fell from the sky, crashing into the tide of beasts, kicking up a cloud of dust.

    Feng Chiyue calmly smoothed her sleeve and flicked a spark of Phoenix Fire towards it.

    She crossed her arms, a playful smile on her lips, and watched as it struggled amidst the flames.

    The beasts, sensing danger, scattered in all directions.

    The warriors, seeing the situation reversed, immediately drew their bows and, urging their animal companions forward, charged towards the fleeing beasts, their bloodlust and recklessness evident.

    Feng Chiyue ignored them, her gaze fixed on the Mie Meng bird as it burned to ashes. She waved her hand, and the dust, long overdue for burial, scattered in the wind.


    A young girl, about seven or eight years old, cautiously approached her. She was small and thin, but she wore a warrior’s attire, a long sword hanging from her waist, bouncing with each step, looking rather comical. A young hawk perched on her shoulder, staring at Feng Chiyue, its eyes already sharp.

    The adults behind her finally became anxious, but they didn’t stop her, simply watching as she presented two flower garlands to Feng Chiyue.

    She could tell they were a pair.

    The girl, urged forward by her hawk, was actually quite afraid.

    Her tribe had been constantly migrating. They had nothing valuable left.

    She looked at Feng Chiyue nervously, waiting for her reaction.

    Feng Chiyue smiled and accepted the garlands.

    “Thank you,” she said, then reached out and touched the young hawk’s forehead.

    This little creature was clever. She might as well give it a gift.

    The hawk soared into the sky, its cry piercing the air. Soon, other hawks, from all over, gathered, circling above like a dark cloud.

    This last remaining tribe was called “Sky Hawk,” their bond with hawks deep, willingly staying behind to cover the others’ retreat.

    Feng Chiyue wasn’t interested in their stories. She simply looked down at the garlands in her hands, her thoughts filled with Ming Jian Su.

    If she were to wear these garlands, it should be her Elder Sister who placed them on her head.


    On the snowy plains.

    Ming Jian Su’s sword energy was so sharp that no beast dared to approach.

    But the blizzards and the bitter cold were relentless.

    She erected a barrier to shelter the humans from the elements, then turned her attention elsewhere.

    She could sense that the demonic fire was gone, but why hadn’t her junior sister returned yet?

    She pursed her lips, a sense of unease settling in her heart. She couldn’t abandon these people in the snow. After a moment of thought, she left a magic sword behind and, following her junior sister’s aura, flew towards the north.


    Night fell, its darkness enveloping the world.

    Bonfires, like miniature suns, illuminated the camps.

    The tribes ahead were still heading towards the icy plains, while the dozen or so tribes behind them, having received news of the demonic fire’s destruction, had sent their elders to the Sky Hawk tribe for a meeting.

    But the Sky Hawk tribe had no time for them.

    Red, blue, gold… colorful fabrics, hung from poles, fluttered in the night wind, shimmering like stars.

    The rhythmic beating of drums blended with the mournful sound of horns, like the earth’s heartbeat.

    Warriors dragged their prey, skinning them, the meat prepared by the tribe’s best cooks.

    Beside the bonfire, a platform had been erected, a chair, draped with furs, placed on top.

    Feng Chiyue sat there, her legs crossed, holding a jar of the Sky Hawk tribe’s strongest wine.

    She had been playing with the flower garlands, telling the tribe’s leader that she was waiting for someone, and they had stopped migrating, bustling with activity.

    She was slightly confused, but she didn’t care. It had nothing to do with her.

    But when the wind carried the strange, melodic songs of the tribespeople, her cheeks flushed.

    Using her spiritual sense to decipher the lyrics, she realized they were singing ancient, sensual love songs.


    Ming Jian Su arrived just in time to hear the final, lingering notes.

    She easily spotted her junior sister, sitting on the fur-covered chair, her eyes darkening slightly.

    The tribe, startled by the stranger’s arrival, felt a moment of panic, but seeing the joy in Feng Chiyue’s eyes, they lowered their weapons.

    Their leader whispered something to one of the warriors.

    The warrior nodded and, with a determined stride, approached Ming Jian Su, pulling a shimmering fabric from a pole and draping it over her shoulders.

    As the beautiful, star-like cloth settled, the singing resumed, echoing through the night.

    Ming Jian Su understood. She looked at Feng Chiyue, confused, meeting her amused gaze.

    Assuming this was her junior sister’s doing, she followed the warrior’s lead, humming along to the unfamiliar tune.

    The melody, driven by the drums, gradually intensified, a beast unleashed from its cage, charging towards her amidst the swirling starlight.

    This was the Sky Hawk tribe’s marriage custom: a tribute of courage and blood.

    But her junior sister disliked bloodshed.

    She glanced down at the beautiful white lion that had emerged from the cage. It sensed danger, its paws restless, its growls threatening. She smiled faintly and, with a graceful leap, landed on its back. The ferocious beast, which usually took several warriors to subdue, was now as docile as a kitten.

    Silence fell, then erupted into cheers.

    The drums pounded, and the singing grew louder.

    Ming Jian Su, riding the lion, approached the platform and, dismounting, climbed the steps, adorned with gemstones.

    She met Feng Chiyue’s smiling eyes and, taking the flower garlands, placed them on her head.

    Her long eyelashes, like feathers, fluttered, catching the light.

    A faint blush colored her cheeks, her skin as white as snow, a captivating aura surrounding her.

    She was the most vibrant and striking figure in the entire settlement, eclipsing everyone else.

    Ming Jian Su smiled, starlight dancing in her eyes, her beauty radiant.

    They didn’t care for formalities. As long as they were happy, that was all that mattered. They didn’t hold a grand ceremony.

    But time, place, and people were all in alignment. The spirits of this world would be their witnesses.

    Ming Jian Su raised the colorful cloth draped over her shoulders, and the wind billowed it, then gently lowered it, enveloping them in its vibrant embrace.

    Feng Chiyue reached out and pulled Ming Jian Su into her arms.

    The cheers faded, muffled by the soft fabric. Ming Jian Su’s kisses landed on Feng Chiyue’s eyelids, then slowly trailed down to her earlobes, her lips, her neck, her collarbone, licking, caressing, their intimacy undeniable.

    “For ten thousand years, we shall share life and death.”

    “Our love shall endure, eternally.”


    They spent the night in the Sky Hawk tribe’s main tent.

    After the festivities, the tribespeople finally discussed their future. Their homes had been destroyed by the demonic fire, and venturing further into the icy mountains would come at a great cost. Most chose to turn back, but a few, those who were already nomadic, decided to stay.

    The Sky Hawk tribe was one of them.

    They and the other tribes who had gathered treated Feng Chiyue and Ming Jian Su with great respect and courtesy.

    Although they were awed by her power, no one dared to ask about it.

    Feng Chiyue, nestled among the furs, read about their customs.

    Ming Jian Su found a stone tablet on the mountain peak, capable of bearing her sword intent, and left a single sword scar.

    If they were fated, they would discover the path of cultivation. If not, they would continue honing their physical strength, forging their own unique path.


    They stayed in the Minor Realm for six months before leaving.

    They didn’t visit any other places, simply returning to Morning Phoenix Mountain.

    They didn’t conceal their arrival, and by the time they reached the mountain gate, news of their return had already spread through the Chaos Mirror.

    Feathered youths, adorned with colorful ornaments, flapped their wings and danced outside the gate, the scene chaotic.

    They wanted to win the favor of those two, hoping to at least taste the mountain’s spiritual fruits.

    Feng Chiyue: “…”

    Ming Jian Su frowned and, with a flick of her sleeve, swept them away.

    “Each generation is worse than the last,” Feng Chiyue said, shaking her head.

    Ming Jian Su soon learned that this was Zhu Wan’s doing.


    Beneath the peach tree, the wind blew, showering them with pink petals, a familiar scene.

    Feng Chiyue lounged in the hammock, looking at Ming Jian Su, a sense of peace washing over her. She picked up a jade ornament hanging from Ming Jian Su’s sash and said, “Zhu Wan is becoming increasingly irresponsible.”

    “She needs some discipline,” Ming Jian Su agreed, nodding.

    Thus, on the day Zhu Wan was promoted from a named disciple to a true disciple, she was kicked out, forbidden from returning until she passed the official assessment.

    As for the orchard, the puppet servants crafted by Chang Huai would take good care of it…

    <The End>

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 83

    Chapter 83: Extra 9

    After the upheaval in the Heavenly Court, Chu Yi became incredibly busy.

    She could temporarily set aside the matters of the Heavenly Prosperity Department and the Celestial Pivot Department, but the Heavenly Mechanism Department’s issues demanded immediate attention. The cracks on the Merit Mirror were an ominous sign. The Heavenly Court had been lax in allowing human immortals to ascend, repeatedly violating the Heavenly Dao’s decree. If the mirror shattered completely, the consequences would be dire. Fortunately, they could still use magic power and their Mandate of Heaven to mend it, but who knew how long that would last? Therefore, the ascension of human immortals at the various Heavenly Gates couldn’t be delayed, and they couldn’t afford any mistakes.

    With the former Heavenly Gate guardians gone, the Heavenly Court was severely understaffed. The Celestial Pivot Department’s officials were overwhelmed, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. She had to request assistance from the White Tiger Department, the Celestial Feather Ministry, and the Four Seas, finally managing to maintain order. However, this wasn’t a long-term solution. Those immortals weren’t exactly eager to serve as Heavenly Gate guardians. Therefore, an official assessment was necessary. The position was crucial, demanding impartiality and preventing any single individual from controlling a gate.

    After finally catching up on her work, Chu Yi was exhausted.

    She wanted to visit the East Sea, but as she was leaving, she ran into Ming Jian Su and Feng Chiyue, strolling leisurely. It wasn’t that she begrudged them their carefree life, but they were clearly trying to provoke her. There were countless places to visit in the vast Immortal Realm. Why did they have to come here?

    She was indeed infuriated, but she also learned something from them: Ying Cunxin wasn’t in the East Sea.

    The Heavenly Net was still unstable, the name seals on the Chaos Mirror flickering, appearing and disappearing. Ying Cunxin, eager to watch the latest immortal plays, couldn’t rely on the Chaos Mirror anymore.

    Didn’t the East Sea have any pressing matters? Why was the East Sea Dragon Princess so idle? If she had free time, why wasn’t she helping out in the Heavenly Court? The Dragon Princesses from the South Sea and the West Sea were both here.


    Most of the immortal plays were staged by wandering immortals, who had more free time than officials. These wandering immortals, mostly ascended from the lower realm, had brought their “entertainment” with them. Apart from their simple dwellings, they enjoyed drinking, listening to music, and living a carefree life.

    When Chu Yi arrived, the play was already nearing its end.

    The gathering wasn’t large, and she easily spotted Ying Cunxin, standing in a corner, her arms crossed.

    She certainly knew how to find a good spot.

    They hadn’t seen each other since their last encounter in the Heavenly Court. She had gone to the Demon Abyss, and Ying Cunxin had returned to the East Sea. When she heard about the Heavenly Court’s attack on the East Sea, she had been worried, but the Chaos Mirror’s communication was unreliable, and she couldn’t leave the Demon Abyss. She had probably been the only one worrying. She suddenly felt a wave of melancholy, unsure why she had come here. She glanced at Ying Cunxin, then turned and left.

    Ying Cunxin had noticed her arrival. She had been waiting for her to join her, but Chu Yi simply left. She frowned, confused, then, withdrawing her lingering gaze, transformed into a beam of light and gave chase. Perhaps she was grieving over Tian Yuan’s death, after all, he was her father. That was the only explanation she could think of.

    Chu Yi wasn’t flying particularly fast, and when she noticed Ying Cunxin following her, she accelerated slightly. But she didn’t want to leave her behind, and she soon slowed down. When Ying Cunxin’s deceptively innocent face appeared before her, she raised an eyebrow and said coldly, “Why are you following me?”

    “Are you in a bad mood?” Ying Cunxin asked. Given their relationship, it was only appropriate for her to express concern.

    Chu Yi chuckled. “Now that everything is back to normal, why would I be unhappy?”

    Ying Cunxin thought for a moment. “Then congratulations?” she said tentatively.

    Chu Yi: “…”

    She could see through her insincerity. Noticing her cold expression, Ying Cunxin said thoughtfully, “You could go to the Ethereal Spirit Realm.”

    “Are you coming with me?” Chu Yi asked immediately.

    Ying Cunxin’s expression remained calm. “The Heavenly Mechanism is still unstable,” she said casually. “The Heavenly Net hasn’t fully recovered.”

    Chu Yi wasn’t letting her off the hook. A glint of mischief flashed in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said slowly. “It will recover eventually. I’ll come find you then.”

    Ying Cunxin had no desire to enter the Ethereal Spirit Realm. The Four Seas were peaceful. Why should she subject herself to such torture? She preferred watching from the sidelines. She pretended not to hear and changed the subject. “How are you?” she asked.

    Chu Yi glanced at her. “It’s been a while since the war,” she said. “If anything had happened to me, my reincarnation would probably be a baby by now.”

    Ying Cunxin felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t difficult to find out about Chu Yi’s situation. She had known she was safe. But with the Chaos Mirror’s communication unreliable, she hadn’t bothered contacting her. “Aren’t you busy?” she asked, offering an excuse.

    “You could help out,” Chu Yi said bluntly. “Didn’t the Dragon Princesses from the other seas come to assist? Why didn’t you join them?”

    Ying Cunxin lowered her gaze. She had intended to, but hearing that they had to be stationed at the Heavenly Gates, sitting there endlessly, judging the merits and demerits of ascending cultivators based on the Merit Mirror, she had changed her mind. If she had the Chaos Mirror to entertain her, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the Heavenly Net hadn’t recovered yet. There was plenty of time. She didn’t need to rush. “I’m here now,” she said softly.

    Was she here to watch the play or to see her? Chu Yi was even more annoyed by her evasiveness. On the Chaos Mirror, Ying Cunxin could twist words, making it impossible to tell what she truly meant. Chu Yi walked ahead, and seeing that Ying Cunxin wasn’t following, she turned back and smiled. “Aren’t you here to see me?” she asked.

    Ying Cunxin: “…” She followed.


    The Azure Monarch Palace had been destroyed along with Kunlun Mountain. Chu Yi hadn’t moved to the Great Yin Palace but had instead, in a moment of leisure, used her magic power to relocate a mountain and hired Chang Huai and the others to build a new palace. She didn’t care about the palace itself. She was only interested in the dragon pool in front of it and the underwater palace modeled after the East Sea’s Crystal Palace. A blood-red coral tree stood beside the pool, its branches adorned with various wind chimes, their tinkling melodies carried by the gentle breeze.

    Chu Yi sat by the pool and, looking up at Ying Cunxin, asked, “What do you think? Is there anything else that needs to be changed?”

    Ying Cunxin was speechless. After a moment, she glared at her. “It’s your dwelling,” she said. “Why are you asking me?”

    Chu Yi smiled. “I want my guest to be comfortable, of course.”

    Her smile dazzled Ying Cunxin. She composed herself. “Then ask your guest,” she said.

    “Aren’t you my guest?”

    Ying Cunxin’s heart skipped a beat, and her ears turned red. She looked away. “I have matters to attend to in the East Sea,” she said. “I won’t be staying.”

    “What matters require your personal attention?” Did she think she was unaware? Ying Cunxin rarely had any real responsibilities in the East Sea. Unless absolutely necessary, she always found ways to avoid them.

    Ying Cunxin couldn’t answer.

    Chu Yi stood up and walked towards her.

    Her sleeve brushed against the coral branches, and the wind chimes tinkled.

    Ying Cunxin’s eye twitched, a sense of unease washing over her. She looked at Chu Yi warily, her lips pursed. “I’m not transforming into my dragon form,” she said. She had been caught off guard last time, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

    “What a pity,” Chu Yi said casually. She reached up and plucked a pine needle from Ying Cunxin’s hair, a playful smile on her face. “You seemed to enjoy that play. Why didn’t you remember your urgent matters then?”

    Ying Cunxin: “…” She was annoyed. Chu Yi was doing this on purpose. She dropped her facade of aloofness and, her expression now blank, asked, “What do you want?”

    Chu Yi threw the question back at her, her smile tinged with amusement. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” It was Ying Cunxin who had deleted her name seal and then added it back, who had chatted with her every day, and then suddenly abandoned her. She was truly heartless.

    Ying Cunxin frowned, wanting to argue. “I…” she started to say, but then she stopped.

    “You admire strength,” Chu Yi said, looking at her. “You love excitement. You only want to play. But then you met me.”

    “Ying Cunxin, you can’t just play. Not anymore.”


    Perhaps to eliminate any possibility of excuses, Chu Yi sent someone to the East Sea.

    The old Dragon Lord, upon hearing that Ying Cunxin wouldn’t be returning, was overjoyed.

    The emissary, upon returning, vividly described the Dragon Lord’s reaction. Ying Cunxin, her face cold, had nothing to say. She had to stay in Chu Yi’s dwelling.

    Chu Yi’s mountain still didn’t have a name, and she enthusiastically involved Ying Cunxin in choosing one.

    Ying Cunxin listened to her suggestions, such as “Playing Dragon Mountain” and “Coiling Dragon Mountain,” then, unable to bear it any longer, said, “Did you rename Dong’e Mountain to Morning Phoenix Mountain just to imitate them?” This infuriated Chu Yi, who promptly named the mountain “Azure Monarch Mountain.” Ying Cunxin didn’t care. She had been exposed. She would do as she pleased.

    The underwater palace was similar to the one in the East Sea, and it even had Ying Cunxin’s favorite seashell bed.

    Having settled in, she wasn’t unhappy. After all, it didn’t really matter where she was. Her only regret was that the Chaos Mirror was still unreliable, but that had nothing to do with Azure Monarch Mountain.

    However, this belief wavered one day when she saw Chu Yi using the Chaos Mirror to handle Heavenly Court matters.

    Chu Yi explained that the Heavenly Mechanism was still unstable and only allowed brief communication with officials.

    Ying Cunxin was skeptical.

    But she soon noticed something was wrong. During her brief access to the Chaos Mirror, she saw many new immortal plays, with numerous immortals leaving their marks. If the mirror was malfunctioning, this wouldn’t be possible. This time, she didn’t bother asking Chu Yi.

    She first inquired with some of her fellow Daoists, then left Azure Monarch Mountain and tried using the Chaos Mirror elsewhere.

    It wasn’t the Heavenly Mechanism that was unstable, nor was it the Heavenly Net. It was Chu Yi who was using her magic power to interfere with the spiritual energy on Azure Monarch Mountain, suppressing the Chaos Mirror.

    She confronted Chu Yi, who, with a calm and self-righteous expression, said, “I did it. I was afraid you would become addicted to the Chaos Mirror and neglect your duties.”

    Ying Cunxin: “…” How could such a person exist? What were her duties? Eating, drinking, and having fun, of course!


    Ying Cunxin returned to the East Sea.

    The Chaos Mirror was now fully functional, and she didn’t completely sever her ties with Chu Yi. They occasionally chatted through the mirror, and she listened to Chu Yi’s updates on the Heavenly Court, but she wasn’t as enthusiastic as before.

    She had wanted to ignore Chu Yi. Her feelings were a tangled mess, and the best solution was to pretend she didn’t exist. But after only fifteen minutes, she abandoned this plan.

    The North Sea Dragon Princess visited while she was lounging on her seashell bed, watching a play.

    “I came by a few days ago, but I didn’t see you,” the North Sea Dragon Princess said, her voice filled with confusion.

    Ying Cunxin put away the Chaos Mirror and, propping her chin on her hand, said, “I was in the Heavenly Court.”

    “Helping out at the Heavenly Gates?”

    Ying Cunxin shook her head. “The Heavenly Princess detained me.”

    “Detained?” The North Sea Dragon Princess studied her for a moment, then chuckled. “Why are you back now?”

    “I’m not a prisoner of the Heavenly Court. I can go wherever I want,” Ying Cunxin said.

    The North Sea Dragon Princess laughed. “What kind of detention is that?” She looked at her listless expression, then raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to come back, did you?”

    Ying Cunxin scoffed. “Who said that?” What was so great about Azure Monarch Mountain? That dragon pool was tiny. She couldn’t even stretch out her true form. It was nothing compared to the vastness of the sea.

    The North Sea Dragon Princess studied her for a moment. “Have you seen the changes in the Ethereal Spirit Realm?” she asked.

    Ying Cunxin shook her head. She had no desire to cultivate there and naturally didn’t pay attention to any developments.

    “The demons have joined the Chaos Mirror, and there’s been a lot of arguing. But they can’t exactly challenge each other to duels on the battlefield, so they’ve turned their attention to the Ethereal Spirit Realm. Perhaps they felt that fighting without recognition was pointless, so a ranking system has been introduced. The demons, being warlike, initially dominated the rankings, but the immortals, feeling humiliated, have been challenging them, trying to push them down.”

    Ying Cunxin listened patiently, then, when she finished, asked, “And?”

    The North Sea Dragon Princess clicked her tongue. “Don’t you admire strength?” she asked. “The Ethereal Spirit Rankings make it clear who’s powerful.”

    “I see,” Ying Cunxin said, realization dawning.

    The North Sea Dragon Princess studied her. “Something’s wrong with you,” she said after a moment.

    “No, there isn’t,” Ying Cunxin replied, her expression unchanged. She didn’t know when this had started, but she felt no excitement towards the Ethereal Spirit Realm, despite the North Sea Dragon Princess’s description.


    After her guest left, she had nothing better to do and, focusing her consciousness on the Chaos Mirror, glanced at the Ethereal Spirit Rankings.

    Most of the names were unfamiliar. Those who had shone during the war weren’t listed. After all, they were all busy now, except for those two from Morning Phoenix Mountain.

    What was the point of these rankings? She wondered.

    She couldn’t remember if she had mentioned the Ethereal Spirit Realm to Chu Yi, but one day, when she checked the rankings again, she saw the Heavenly Princess’s name at the top. Countless challengers had tried to defeat her, but they had all failed.

    With her status, she had no need to participate in these battles. Maintaining her position at the top meant dedicating a significant portion of her time and energy to fighting challengers.

    Why was she doing this?

    Chu Yi sent her a message. “What do you think?”

    Ying Cunxin was distracted. After a long moment, she replied, “I only managed to defeat you in the Ethereal Spirit Realm because of Feng Chiyue’s guidance.” She couldn’t understand her own feelings, but she suddenly wanted to bring this up.

    “I guessed as much,” Chu Yi replied. Ying Cunxin had always lost to her initially, but then one day, her power had suddenly surged, and after that, she had refused to fight in the Ethereal Spirit Realm.

    “I’m sorry,” Ying Cunxin said.

    “What are you apologizing for?”

    “Many things.”

    “That’s not enough. And through the Chaos Mirror? Don’t you think that’s insincere?”

    Ying Cunxin: “…”


    She didn’t go to Azure Monarch Mountain.

    Chu Yi didn’t mind. She went to the East Sea and brought the mountain to her.

    She gave Ying Cunxin an exquisite pearl hairpin. “I took something from you before,” she said. “Now I’m returning something.”

    Ying Cunxin didn’t accept it. “Does this mean we’re even now?” she asked.

    Chu Yi: “…” She composed herself. “You owe me many apologies,” she said.

    Ying Cunxin frowned, reluctant to apologize. What was the difference between one apology and a hundred?

    Chu Yi didn’t press her. “You can take your time,” she said casually. “If you can’t do it in a day, then take a hundred years, a thousand years.”

    Ying Cunxin glanced at her.

    Chu Yi walked towards her, her steps light, and placed the hairpin in her hair, brushing aside the seashells. She sat beside Ying Cunxin and asked eagerly, “What do you think?”

    Ying Cunxin pursed her lips, then, after a long moment, replied, avoiding the question, “Perhaps it’s just an inexplicable attachment born from years of interaction.” She couldn’t define her feelings for Chu Yi. Sometimes, she felt a fondness for her. Other times, she was annoyed. She would miss her if they stopped interacting, but it wasn’t something that consumed her.

    Chu Yi understood what she was saying. She met her gaze. “Do you think you’re the only one I interact with?” she asked.

    Ying Cunxin felt a surge of displeasure. She glared at Chu Yi and moved away. “You’re not,” she said. “But I am.”

    Chu Yi pondered this. After a moment, she said, “Then, as long as we continue interacting, won’t all these problems resolve themselves?”

    Ying Cunxin felt something was wrong, but she couldn’t articulate it.

    Chu Yi settled the matter. “Then that’s settled,” she said. She lay down on the seashell bed, closed her eyes, and murmured, “I’m tired.”

    Ying Cunxin looked at her, her heart skipping a beat, sinking, disappearing for a moment. When she felt it again, it seemed to be carrying something else, a restless fluttering. “You brought this on yourself, didn’t you?” she thought. The Heavenly Court was already busy, and Chu Yi was also participating in the Ethereal Spirit Realm battles. What was the point of being at the top of the rankings? If she fell, it would only invite gossip. But meeting those calm eyes, she changed her words. “Then rest well,” she said.

    Chu Yi smiled and drifted off to sleep.


    Later, whenever she had some free time, she would visit the East Sea, doing nothing but napping beside Ying Cunxin.

    Then, one day, Ying Cunxin asked her not to come anymore.

    Seeing her expression change, she quickly took out a drawing and handed it to her.

    It was a plan for renovating the dragon pool and the Crystal Palace. She had even visited the Celestial Feather Ministry to consult with Chang Huai.

    “A mountain without height, a pool without depth… will never attract a dragon.”

    “What do you think?”

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 82

    Chapter 82: Extra 8

    Moonlight scattered across the long river, and shadows danced on the rippling water.

    After the collapse of Kunlun Mountain, the new Heavenly Court was established in the Great Yin Palace.

    The new ruler embodied both sun and moon, but the moon’s ascendance while the sun remained hidden became the norm in the Heavenly Court.

    Many immortals had perished in the war. After a period of chaos, the new Heavenly Court gradually regained its former tranquility.

    Discussions about the war continued on the Chaos Mirror, but most immortals were more concerned with the “assessment and selection” process that directly affected their own interests.

    Wandering immortals were still allowed in the new Heavenly Court, but they were envious of the benefits offered to officials, as revealed by the Heavenly Prosperity Department.

    These benefits were now attainable through effort, unlike in the past, where connections were paramount. If it had always been this way, would they have chosen to be wandering immortals?

    The Celestial Feather Ministry was comparatively peaceful.

    After all, the few vacancies had already been filled.

    Que Chenyi had finally recovered from her anxiety-induced feather loss, but things weren’t so pleasant for Qing Xun.

    Phoenix Mountain wanted her to be the next ruler of the feathered lineages, while those who had ascended from the Minor Realm, influenced by Feng Chiyue’s attitude, favored her as well. They each had their own training methods, and Qing Xun was caught in the middle.

    As she sought refuge in the Celestial Feather Ministry, Que Chenyi, sipping her spiritual tea, said casually, “There’s more bad news. Although you’re the chosen one, you still need to pass an assessment to be officially recognized. It’s not an official position, but the leaders and elders of the various lineages will have to compete for their roles.”

    “Since when?” Qing Xun asked, incredulous.

    “A few days ago,” Que Chenyi replied.

    “Who proposed this?”

    Que Chenyi smiled at her. “Who do you think?”

    Qing Xun: “…” She rubbed her forehead. “But they’re not supposed to interfere with the Celestial Feather Ministry anymore.” They were always appearing wherever officials were busiest, making everyone’s lives miserable.

    Que Chenyi also couldn’t understand. After a long moment of silence, she said calmly, “Perhaps they’re in a bad mood.”

    Feng Chiyue was unhappy, so other immortals suffered. Wasn’t that normal?


    Feng Chiyue was indeed in a bad mood.

    Once, after seeing Feng Shuo and Feng Mu’s true forms, Ming Jian Su had suddenly wanted to see hers.

    She had refused.

    She had given her a chance before. It was Ming Jian Su who had refused. How dare she be angry now?


    The moon hung in the sky, casting a soft, hazy light on the rippling water.

    Feng Chiyue cast her fishing rod, and a silver fish leaped from the stream. She swatted it and tossed it back in.

    She repeated this process, tormenting all the fish in the stream.

    Ming Jian Su sat beside her, glancing at the empty fish basket, not daring to speak.

    She was afraid that, if she did, she would become the next target of Feng Chiyue’s wrath.

    “Aren’t you angry?” Feng Chiyue asked, tossing aside the rod and turning to look at her, a mischievous smile on her face. “Why haven’t you run away?”

    “I’m not angry,” Ming Jian Su said. She would swear on it.

    She suspected that her junior sister’s true form was probably similar to Feng Shuo and the others’.

    Back in the Cold Prison, she had been injured, her Dao body flawed, allowing turbid energy to seep in. Although she had been born from primordial energy, she had been raised by the feathered immortals of Danxue Mountain, learning their techniques and manifesting a pure, ethereal form. But after being tainted by turbid energy, although her Dao body remained unaffected, her true form, a reflection of her Dao, had changed, no longer conforming to the Immortal Realm’s standards of beauty.

    Why hadn’t she realized it back in the Minor Realm? Why had she said those things? Her junior sister hadn’t mentioned it again, but that didn’t mean she had forgotten. She had already been reluctant to show her true form, and now she was even more so. When she had asked, she had wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was still the most beautiful phoenix, regardless of her appearance.

    But her junior sister was angry. She hadn’t given her a chance to speak, simply sealing her senses with her magic power.

    She really cared.


    Hearing her denial, Feng Chiyue scoffed.

    The fish in the stream, dazed and confused, had just poked their heads out of the water, but seeing this, they quickly retreated to the depths.

    Ming Jian Su changed the subject. “Would you like some wine, Junior Sister?” she asked.

    “Who gave it to you?”

    “I made it myself,” she replied, smiling. She had visited her former abode, which had been left untended, now overgrown and desolate. It was a good location, filled with spiritual energy, but wandering immortals didn’t dare to approach, fearing the residual sword energy. She had calmly destroyed the remaining elixirs in the medicine cabinet, then dug up the jars of wine buried under the tree.

    They were over a thousand years old.

    Feng Chiyue looked at her, her eyes wary. “I know what you’re doing,” she said. “You want to get me drunk and make me reveal my true form. You tricked me into taking off my mask before.”

    “I’m innocent,” Ming Jian Su said, her expression sincere. “Wasn’t your mask still on your face when you woke up?”

    Feng Chiyue was skeptical. “Who knows if you took it off and put it back on? You weren’t surprised at all when you saw my true face. You must have seen it before, right?”

    Ming Jian Su refused to take the blame. She shook her head and smiled. “You’re still you, no matter what you look like,” she said, then, afraid Feng Chiyue would bring up the past again, she asked, “So, would you like some wine?”

    “Yes,” Feng Chiyue replied without hesitation.


    The wind chimes hanging from the eaves tinkled softly.

    The moon in the sky shimmered.

    Feng Chiyue’s tolerance was low, and the thousand-year-old wine was strong. She wrapped her arms around Ming Jian Su’s neck, pulling her close.

    “Carry me back, Elder Sister,” she mumbled.

    “Okay,” Ming Jian Su agreed, but she couldn’t carry her on her back. She scooped Feng Chiyue into her arms and, under the flickering lantern light, walked towards their dwelling.

    “I forgive you,” Feng Chiyue said.

    Ming Jian Su looked down at her, smiling, seizing this opportunity to confess. “I like you no matter what you look like, Junior Sister,” she said softly.

    It didn’t really matter if she never saw her true form.


    They enjoyed a peaceful life in the mountains, the Heavenly Court tranquil.

    Sometimes, Ming Jian Su would accompany Feng Chiyue on her leisurely strolls. Other times, she would stay in the Dharma Hall, cultivating.

    One day, while Feng Chiyue was lounging under the peach tree, watching a play on the Chaos Mirror, Ming Jian Su took out her own mirror and contacted Tu Shan Liusu in the Demon Realm.

    After the demons joined the Chaos Mirror network, arguments had become more frequent, and the Ethereal Spirit Realm had become much livelier. After all, intense emotions often needed to be released through a good fight. But regardless of the bloodshed in the Ethereal Spirit Realm, contacting Tu Shan Liusu was now much easier.


    In the Demon Realm’s grand hall.

    Tu Shan Liusu’s nine snow-white tails, like swirling clouds, filled the dimly lit space.

    Ming Jian Su stared at them for a moment, then finally voiced a question that had been lingering in her mind. “Fellow Daoist Tu Shan, how have you managed to preserve your nine tails from the taint of turbid energy after switching from pure to turbid?” Logically, after abandoning the path of immortal cultivation and embracing the demonic path, her fur should have turned black.

    Tu Shan Liusu had been feeling uneasy under her scrutiny, afraid she might be after her tails. Hearing the question, she sighed in relief. “Maintenance,” she replied casually. Qingqiu’s archives were vast, and she had taken many manuals on tail care when she left. She had later developed a technique to maintain their pristine appearance.

    “How do you maintain them? How much time do you spend on it each month?”

    “Month?” Tu Shan Liusu chuckled. “About four hours a day.”

    Ming Jian Su: “…” Alright, that wasn’t an option. Would her junior sister be willing to spend four hours a day maintaining her true form?

    “Fox fur and feathers are different, but the principles are the same,” Tu Shan Liusu continued. “Unfortunately, the Supreme Palace lacks skilled alchemists and artisans who can create such elixirs or ointments. Otherwise, it would save a lot of effort.”

    Hearing this, Ming Jian Su briefly considered trying it herself, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Past “achievements” had taught her that some things couldn’t be forced. Spiritual herbs wouldn’t magically transform into elixirs just because she crushed them.

    “Do you have any high-level demonic scriptures, Fellow Daoist?” she asked.

    “Yes,” Tu Shan Liusu replied readily. “I can send you some if you need them.”

    “Thank you, Fellow Daoist Tu Shan,” Ming Jian Su said, accepting her offer.

    Tu Shan Liusu was efficient. A few days later, Ming Jian Su received the demonic scriptures.

    She didn’t immediately start cultivating them but instead carefully examined each one, searching for the most suitable path. She wasn’t planning to abandon immortal cultivation and embrace the demonic path. She wanted to try dual cultivation, merging pure and turbid. She even visited the Great Yin Palace several times, seeking advice from the Great Yin Celestial Mother on cultivating a Taiji Dao body.

    Changing her cultivation path would take time.

    She couldn’t possibly leave Feng Chiyue and go into seclusion. She could only proceed slowly.

    However, before she could even begin cultivating, Feng Chiyue caught her studying the scriptures.

    After all, they were always together. It was impossible to completely hide it from her.

    “Are you still striving for a higher level of Dao, Elder Sister?” Feng Chiyue asked, sitting beside her, her voice filled with confusion, but then she noticed something was wrong. She snatched the paper covered in dense Daoist script from Ming Jian Su’s hand, her brow furrowing. “This is a demonic technique, cultivating turbid energy,” she said.

    “Yes,” Ming Jian Su confirmed, nodding.

    Feng Chiyue stared at her, her lips pursed. “What are you trying to do?” she asked.

    Ming Jian Su smiled. “I want to be like you,” she said.

    Feng Chiyue: “…” She fell silent for a moment, then sighed. She touched the paper with her fingertip, and a flame ignited, reducing it to ashes. She took Ming Jian Su’s wrist, her thumb gently stroking her skin. She smiled faintly. “There’s no need,” she said softly.

    “I want to,” Ming Jian Su insisted.

    Feng Chiyue leaned against her, glancing at her sideways. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll find you ugly?” she asked.

    Ming Jian Su pulled her onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Would you, Junior Sister?” she asked, blinking.

    Feng Chiyue thought for a moment, then said, teasingly, “Yes, I would.”

    Ming Jian Su looked down at her, her eyes, clear and calm, reflecting only Feng Chiyue’s image, filled with a deep, unwavering affection.

    Feng Chiyue immediately changed her answer. “No, I wouldn’t,” she said, then, hugging Ming Jian Su’s waist, added slowly, “But I don’t want to see you do that.”

    Warm breath, like a feather, brushed against her cheek. Ming Jian Su’s eyelashes fluttered, and she closed her eyes.

    Soft lips pressed against her eyelids, and she whispered, “Alright.” The kisses lingered, moving from her eyelids to her brow, then, as if accidentally, brushing against the corner of her mouth.

    No matter how many times it happened, her heart still pounded.

    But just as she was about to lean in, Feng Chiyue slipped out of her embrace.

    “I’ll show you,” she said, smiling.


    With Feng Chiyue’s disapproval, Ming Jian Su abandoned her study of the demonic scriptures.

    Back in the lower realm, she had prioritized cultivation, but she hadn’t been truly passionate about it. Now that her burdens had been lifted, she reverted to her natural laziness.

    Practice swordsmanship? That was the sword’s responsibility. What did it have to do with her, the sword master?

    Their carefree life mirrored her past, the only difference being that she no longer bothered with alchemy.

    She still had some of the wine she had buried a thousand years ago, and she brewed more, intending to bury them again, to be enjoyed centuries or even millennia later.

    “Elder Sister,” Feng Chiyue called out to her.

    She was preparing their dinner: boneless fish and plump crabs, gifts from the East Sea.

    She looked up at Feng Chiyue, who was swinging her legs on a hammock, and smiled. “Yes?”

    Feng Chiyue jumped down and, holding the Chaos Mirror, ran towards her, pointing at some text.

    Lately, for some reason, the Chaos Mirror had been filled with verses praising the Phoenix Sovereign.

    Ming Jian Su nodded, admitting, “It was me.” Her junior sister was so wonderful. It was only natural to dedicate songs and poems to her.

    “Okay,” Feng Chiyue said, not asking how much effort or Cinnabar Jade she had spent. She put away the mirror, her hands clasped behind her back, and, circling Ming Jian Su, said solemnly, “Sing them to me.”

    “Alright,” Ming Jian Su agreed readily.

    Feng Chiyue looked at her, surprised. “But you were angry about ‘Understanding,’” she said.

    “That’s different,” Ming Jian Su replied.

    Feng Chiyue sat down on a stone bench, her chin resting on her hand. “What’s different?” she asked.

    Ming Jian Su didn’t know how to explain. “People grow,” she said finally.

    Feng Chiyue smiled at her.


    Although she wasn’t skilled in alchemy, Ming Jian Su was a good cook, at least capable of satisfying Feng Chiyue’s discerning palate.

    As they enjoyed their meal, Ming Jian Su carefully extracted the crab roe and meat, placing them in a small jade bowl for Feng Chiyue.

    Raising her cup, she thought, “We’ve finally achieved a carefree life.”

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 81

    Chapter 81: Extra 7

    The Heavenly Emperor had changed, and the Demon Sovereign, Ming Ji, was watching with predatory eyes. He was also a restless being, and skirmishes along the border between the Immortal Realm and the Demon Abyss were practically constant.

    One hundred and fifty years into Tian Yuan’s reign, he decided, against the advice of many, to launch an attack on the demons who were increasingly active along the border. This war involved not only Heavenly Court officials but also many wandering immortals, who also harbored grudges against the demons.

    Before setting out, the Phoenix went to Suxin’s abode.

    But the moon hung lonely above the parasol tree, a hazy mist drifted through the mountains, and the stream flowed gently.

    Suxin was in seclusion.

    The Phoenix didn’t disturb her, thinking she would talk to her after the war.


    This war between gods and demons was fierce, lasting for decades. Tian Yuan wanted to conquer the demons’ territory, while the demons sought to cross the Sui River and spread their turbid energy. The immortals built fortresses along the front lines, pushing forward, while the demons tried to break through their defenses. Countless immortals perished in this conflict. Perhaps the mounting casualties had frightened Tian Yuan. After fifty years, having spent a considerable amount of resources and Cinnabar Jade, with their territory barely expanding, he began to consider peace talks.

    In terms of resources, the Demon Abyss was inferior to the Immortal Realm. If the war continued, the demons would be the first to collapse. Even if peace talks were to occur, it should be the demons who initiated them, allowing the Heavenly Court to hold the upper hand. But Tian Yuan and his officials ignored this logic and sent an emissary to the Demon Abyss.

    “This fifty-year war has been a joke.”

    “Many great demons have perished.”

    “But the Immortal Realm has also lost many Star Monarchs.”

    “If we can establish a peace treaty and maintain the border, it would still be a good outcome.”

    …

    The feathered lineages discussed the matter, but the Phoenix remained silent.

    She was preoccupied with thoughts of Suxin. Had she emerged from seclusion? Would she refuse to see her again? She shouldn’t have argued with her last time.


    The emissary returned safely from the Demon Abyss, but he brought bad news for the feathered lineages.

    Ming Ji had agreed to a peace treaty, a promise to end the war, but he had a condition: the Immortal Realm had to hand over the Phoenix Sovereign as a prisoner of war.

    Countless great demons had died by her hand during those fifty years, including Ming Ji’s own offspring.

    Upon receiving the news, the Phoenix returned to the Heavenly Court, along with other Star Monarchs.

    She read the tentative proposal from the Heavenly Court and couldn’t help but laugh.

    The emissary was driven out by her personal guards.

    Perhaps because the Heavenly Court didn’t agree to his terms, Ming Ji launched another fierce attack. The immortals, already weary, felt their resolve weakening. As the demons advanced, the cracks in their unity widened.

    Shouldn’t they just agree to his terms? Sacrifice one Phoenix Sovereign for peace between the two realms? Wasn’t that a good deal?

    The Phoenix’s answer was a resounding no.

    But the Heavenly Court’s Star Monarchs wouldn’t give up, repeatedly trying to persuade her. Gradually, even the feathered lineages in Danxue Mountain began to waver.

    “The feathered lineages have also suffered many losses in this war. Many of our old friends are gone.”

    “Chang Li, what are you suggesting? Why don’t you go and exchange yourself for peace?”

    “Unfortunately, the demons specifically requested her.”

    The Phoenix watched their arguments calmly, and during this process, she heard a word: selfish.

    She was selfish for refusing to sacrifice herself for peace, for not wanting to save countless lives.

    “Are you going to watch our warriors die on the battlefield?” someone pleaded, their voice choked with tears.

    Suddenly, she felt a surge of impatience. She didn’t want to sacrifice herself. She had argued with Suxin and hadn’t made amends yet.

    She hadn’t started this war. Why should she bear the burden?

    Was she supposed to die for the feathered lineages simply because of her responsibility to them? Suxin’s words echoed in her mind, and she realized that Suxin had been right.

    After everything was over, she would apologize to Suxin.

    But “everything” wouldn’t end. The Heavenly Court officials delivered a decree, bearing the Heavenly Constitution Seal.

    Among the Five Phoenixes and Three Feathered Birds, she was closest to those of her own lineage, the Phoenixes. But even they were now discussing choosing a successor.

    What fate awaited her? She didn’t want to think about it. She refused to surrender. She drew her sword and walked out of the Dharma Hall.

    She hadn’t realized there were so many traitors among them.

    In the eyes of those in Danxue Mountain, the Phoenix Sovereign was as cold and aloof as ever.

    They thought that, having been so kind to them, she should sacrifice herself once more for the sake of the lineages.

    But this time, they were met with a sharp sword and a raging inferno.

    Standing amidst the blood, looking back at Danxue Mountain, she suddenly realized that it was a cage, trapping her, burning her.

    She wanted to break free.

    But she couldn’t completely escape.

    The Heavenly Constitution Seal, imbued with the power of the Heavenly Dao, suppressed her magic power. Officials and feathered immortals attacked relentlessly.

    She wasn’t entirely alone. Many loyal guards fought to clear a path for her.

    But their numbers dwindled.

    “If you leave, don’t come back,” she heard someone say. It was the last thing she heard before escaping.

    Perhaps she should be grateful that, out of respect for their shared lineage, they hadn’t killed her. She managed to gather her guards’ souls.

    The path to freedom had been cut short. She sighed softly.

    She wasn’t thinking about Danxue Mountain’s betrayal or the Heavenly Court’s incompetence. She was thinking that she wouldn’t have a chance to apologize to Suxin.


    The Cold Prison in the Demon Abyss was a place of eternal darkness.

    A storm raged within, its fury like a whirlwind of swords.

    Ming Ji, unable to kill the Phoenix Sovereign and exact his revenge, had imprisoned her in the Cold Prison.

    Blood trickled from her wounds, staining her white robes crimson. The ice in the prison melted, the blood dripping onto the ground, blooming like red lotuses, flames flickering within.

    She lowered her gaze, no longer searching for a way to escape. The turbid energy of the Demon Abyss assaulted her body, but that wasn’t the main problem. She could endure the mixture of pure and turbid energy, but the souls she had been protecting, lacking physical vessels, couldn’t withstand the onslaught. She had to send them into the cycle of reincarnation. But how could she do that in the Cold Prison? After much deliberation, she set her sights on a lower realm she had sensed.

    It was a world where spiritual energy was nascent, devoid of cultivators, where the Heavenly Dao hadn’t yet manifested, and the Heavenly Gates were unguarded. There were countless such worlds. Some, by chance, thrived, but most vanished quietly, like ephemeral flowers. She forced open the Heavenly Gates and, using her own life force, nurtured this dying world, infusing it with her Dao. She transformed a blood feather into a towering tree, its trunk and branches embodying the Dao.

    It seemed like an eternity, yet also a mere instant.

    When she looked up again, she sensed a familiar, sharp sword intent in the wind.

    Her old friend had come.

    “You’re injured,” the Phoenix said.

    She hadn’t wanted Suxin to come, but deep down, she had clung to a faint hope, longing for her presence.

    She was a contradiction, both fearing and desiring her arrival.

    “I’m sorry I’m late,” Suxin said, her voice trembling. She walked through the sea of fire, born from the Phoenix’s blood, and knelt before her, her sword supporting her weight. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingertips touching the Phoenix’s pale, cold cheek.

    The Phoenix didn’t mention their argument. She simply took Suxin’s hand and asked her for one last favor.

    “You’ve lost a lot of your life force.”

    “I used it to nurture that world,” the Phoenix explained.

    “Can you still undergo Nirvana after your life force is depleted?” Suxin asked.

    The Phoenix didn’t answer, only smiled.

    Sometimes, silence was an answer, but Suxin refused to accept it.


    The Phoenix didn’t die in the Cold Prison.

    Suxin rescued her. Ming Ji was dead, the Demon Realm in chaos. No one noticed their escape.

    “Where are you taking me?” the Phoenix asked, looking at Suxin.

    “A place where you can recover and undergo Nirvana.” The Sui River separated pure and turbid, but beneath it lay the source of primordial energy, the foundation of heaven and earth. The Phoenix, born from primordial energy, could naturally heal her wounds there.

    “Your injuries are severe,” the Phoenix said.

    “A few elixirs will do,” Suxin replied.

    The Phoenix hesitated for a moment. “Don’t take your own elixirs,” she said. “I’ll make some for you.”

    Suxin took a deep breath and chuckled. “Alright,” she said.

    Her voice faded. The Phoenix’s condition was dire.

    Her mind drifted, and the last words she heard were “Wait for me to come back.”

    Wait? Come back? Where was Suxin going? She was so badly injured. What could she possibly do? The Phoenix’s thoughts raced, but she couldn’t grasp onto the person before her.

    Then, even her consciousness faded into darkness.


    The Abyss of the Milky Way, the Phoenix’s Nirvana.

    For centuries, her consciousness drifted like a lonely boat.

    Over two hundred years later, she woke up briefly.

    Amidst the red and blue crystals of the abyss, she looked at her phoenix form, her expression unreadable.

    The turbid energy of the Cold Prison had tainted her manifestation, leaving behind an indelible mark.

    If this had been her true form from the beginning, Danxue Mountain would have surely deemed her an ill omen.

    The abyss was vast and silent.

    Suxin had asked her to wait, but she hadn’t come.

    Perhaps she hadn’t waited long enough.

    She thought, then drifted back to sleep.

    But her mind was now restless, and she woke up again and again.

    She thought about Danxue Mountain’s betrayal, the Cold Prison’s icy grip, the bloody path she had carved, and Suxin, who had yet to appear… she looked down at her cold, indifferent reflection and suddenly felt overwhelmed.

    Those thoughts swirled around her like a whirlpool, threatening to shatter her. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her mind on the verge of collapse.

    The flames of Nirvana ignited once more.

    She lay alone in this desolate abyss, and when she woke up, all her pain and anger were gone.

    There were formations and barriers at the bottom of the abyss, which she could break, but for some reason, she didn’t want to.

    After several decades, the primordial energy in the abyss suddenly surged, a foreign aura invading this cold, silent space.

    As the barrier shattered, the abyss shook violently.

    A strange emotion welled up within her, a mixture of joy and sorrow. She didn’t understand it and simply pushed it aside.

    She picked up a blue crystal and pressed it against her forehead, blood trickling down from her eyebrow. Looking down at her pale, pitiful reflection, she licked her lips and smiled, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

    The Phoenix emerged from the abyss.

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 80

    Chapter 80: Extra 6

    Although the Phoenix had promised to visit Suxin, she had many responsibilities to the feathered lineages and often struggled to find free time. She felt that many matters could be handled by the individual tribes, but the elders insisted that, as their Sovereign, every issue, big or small, was her responsibility.


    It was several months before she could visit Suxin’s abode again.

    Suxin was lying on a rock by the stream, basking in the sun, her eyes covered by her sleeve, her right hand, dangling lazily, holding a silver wine gourd. Even from a distance, the Phoenix could smell the rich aroma of alcohol. Suxin glanced at her as she approached and tossed her the gourd.

    Unless it was a feast, the Phoenix never touched alcohol. She caught the gourd, hesitated, then took a sip, coughing violently. The wine was strong, burning her throat.

    Suxin chuckled.

    The alcohol flushed her cheeks, but thankfully, her mask concealed her embarrassment. She glared at Suxin, who had sat up, and, without a word, sat beside her, taking another gulp.

    She had braced herself this time and didn’t cough.

    Suxin leaned closer, using the Phoenix’s shadow to shield herself from the sun. “Why did it take you so long?” she asked.

    The Phoenix was startled, realizing that Suxin had been waiting for her. She returned the gourd and said softly, “I’m sorry.”

    “It’s not your fault,” Suxin said, stretching. “We didn’t set a time.” She put away the gourd, slid off the rock, and, extending a hand towards the Phoenix, said excitedly, “I’ve made a lot of new elixirs these past few months.”

    The Phoenix took her hand, her eyelashes fluttering, her gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers.

    Within the feathered lineages, hierarchy was strictly observed. No one had ever touched her like this.

    “What’s wrong?” Suxin asked, turning to her, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is something bothering you, Fellow Daoist?”

    “No,” the Phoenix replied slowly, then added, “Nothing.”


    The alchemy furnace in Suxin’s cave had been replaced, and a hidden compartment for storing spiritual flames had been added to the medicine cabinet.

    After receiving guidance from the Phoenix, Suxin believed her alchemy skills had improved significantly. She retrieved an elixir and said proudly, “This one will be perfect.”

    The Phoenix reluctantly believed her lie.

    Under Suxin’s expectant gaze, she tasted the elixir.

    Her first thought was “What garbage,” but she didn’t want to hurt Suxin’s feelings. She praised its good points first, then pointed out its flaws. Suxin listened attentively, nodding occasionally. The Phoenix thought that Suxin might not lack theoretical knowledge but rather a natural talent for alchemy. Perhaps she should try creating poisonous elixirs instead.

    “No one has visited lately,” Suxin said.

    The Phoenix yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. She felt drowsy. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the elixir. She nodded, but didn’t reply.

    “They said they wanted to discuss the Dao,” Suxin continued, her voice tinged with complaint. “They have no sense of commitment. I even prepared special elixirs for them.”

    The Phoenix: “…” Perhaps they hadn’t come precisely because they didn’t want the elixirs.

    Suxin’s relentless generosity had made her fellow Daoists wary of accepting her gifts.

    “Perhaps you could find something else to do,” the Phoenix suggested.

    “No way!” Suxin exclaimed, her voice rising. She looked at her disapprovingly, her brow furrowed. “I can’t give up halfway through!”

    The Phoenix glanced at her, then sighed. Whatever made her happy.

    “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Suxin apologized, then, seeing her weary expression, asked, “Are you tired, Fellow Daoist?”

    “Should I carry you to the stone bed?”

    “That wine was too strong. Let’s not drink it anymore.”

    “You’ve agreed to take off your mask, right?”

    Suxin chattered incessantly.

    The Phoenix’s consciousness drifted, her mind hazy, Suxin’s voice distant and annoying. She couldn’t understand her words, only that they were irritating, and she pushed her away.

    Suxin, sitting beside her, her gaze lingering on the mask, her curiosity undiminished, wasn’t prepared for the sudden shove and fell off the bed. She sighed heavily and didn’t try to get closer again.


    The Phoenix woke up less than two hours later.

    She looked around the unfamiliar cave, her eyes wary, her mind gradually clearing.

    Suxin entered, carrying a tray laden with pine nuts, walnuts, and various spiritual fruits.

    “You’re awake?” she asked, nodding towards the tray. “Come.”

    The Phoenix didn’t eat, her expression hidden behind her mask. After a moment, she said, “I need to go back.”

    “Are you busy?” Suxin asked. “Are you a Heavenly Court official?” Before the Phoenix could answer, she added, “With your cultivation level, you must be at least a Star Monarch, right? You must have subordinates. You can delegate tasks to them.”

    “No, I can’t,” the Phoenix said, shaking her head.

    “Why not?”

    She pursed her lips. “I can’t abandon my responsibilities.”

    Suxin hadn’t heard the word “responsibilities” in a long time. She didn’t press her, only saying, “Alright.” Remembering her impatience during her long wait, she asked when the Phoenix would visit again.

    The Phoenix wasn’t sure when she would be free. After a moment of thought, she replied, “A month.”

    Suxin nodded.

    But as the Phoenix left, she heard Suxin sigh wistfully.

    A month, for them, was but a blink of an eye. Was it really that long?

    She left with this question lingering in her mind, but the answer wasn’t given to her. She had to figure it out herself.


    Over the next few days, she was clearly distracted.

    “Is something troubling you, Sovereign?” her personal guard asked.

    “Is there a problem with one of the tribes?”

    She shook her head and, picking up a document from the pile on her desk, handed it to her guard. She composed herself and said, “Nine-Headed Bird.”

    “The Nine-Headed Bird lineage is indeed unruly. They deserve to be punished. Shall we send an emissary?”

    “Punished? I’m afraid that won’t be enough to subdue those arrogant creatures. They deserve to be exterminated for their actions.”

    “They are still a part of the feathered lineages. There’s no need for complete annihilation. We should prioritize education and guidance.”

    The Phoenix glanced at the Vermilion Bird, who had spoken last, and ignored her. “Kill them,” she said.

    Those who committed crimes deserved to be punished, without exception.

    “The other lineages might fear they’ll be next,” the Vermilion Bird said.

    Another Phoenix, standing nearby, her sword in her arms, scoffed. “Why should they fear if they haven’t done anything wrong?”


    By the time she had dealt with the Nine-Headed Bird lineage, she had already missed her appointment with Suxin.

    She wanted to visit her, but then another problem arose. She had instructed the various tribes to build protective formations, and they had, but they had cut corners. Now, after being attacked by their enemies, they had suffered significant losses. They wouldn’t admit their own mistakes, of course. They simply claimed that the formations were weak and requested a better design from Danxue Mountain. But she had already given them the best one. She scolded them, then, taking out the original design, studied it, discussing potential improvements with other feathered immortals. By the time they had finished, several months had passed. She didn’t know if Suxin was still waiting for her. She retrieved some treasures from her vault and gathered some beneficial fruits, then set out.


    When she arrived, Suxin wasn’t sunbathing or fiddling with her alchemy furnace. She was planting bamboo and parasol trees, using her sword as a shovel.

    Suxin didn’t blame her.

    But the Phoenix felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry I missed our appointment,” she said.

    Seeing her silence, she hesitated, then removed her mask. Suxin had repeatedly asked to see her true face, but she had refused, fearing that her identity would be revealed.

    Suxin stared at her, speechless, then suddenly said, “Wait here,” and rushed into the cave.

    She had been digging and her robes were stained with dirt. Although she had used a spell to clean them, she still felt self-conscious.

    The Phoenix sat on a stone bench outside, pouring herself a cup of wine, her heart heavy with anxiety. She didn’t understand Suxin’s reaction. Did she no longer want to be friends? Although Suxin wasn’t famous in the Heavenly Court, she had many wandering immortal friends. She didn’t need someone who was secretive and unreliable. Lost in thought, she drank, the wine flowing endlessly from the “Universe Spring” gourd.

    By the time Suxin emerged, wearing clean robes, the Phoenix was drunk.

    Suxin: “…”

    The Phoenix pressed a hand to her forehead, her vision blurry, trying to focus. She stood up unsteadily and walked towards Suxin. “Where are your elixirs?” she asked.

    Suxin, reacting quickly, caught her before she could fall. “Gone,” she said.

    “You gave them all away?” the Phoenix asked, her voice filled with disappointment. Suxin didn’t need her to evaluate her elixirs anymore. Would she still care about her? The more she thought about it, the sadder she felt. She bit her lip, her eyes, misty with alcohol, fixed on Suxin. A blush crept up her cheeks, a hint of unspoken desire in her gaze. Suxin blushed under her scrutiny and, helping her into the cave, explained, “No, I didn’t.” No one had visited her. She had tried to invite people to play Go, but they always had excuses.

    The Phoenix didn’t believe her. She pushed at Suxin, but she was drunk and weak, her hand landing softly on her shoulder. “Liar,” she mumbled.

    Suxin’s eye twitched. “I’m not lying to you,” she said.

    The Phoenix’s thoughts jumped around. “Don’t you recognize me?” she asked.

    “I do,” Suxin replied, nodding. But whether Feng Chiyue was a sparrow or a phoenix made no difference to her.

    The Phoenix sat down on the bed, following Suxin’s lead, and, retrieving her Qiankun bag from her muddled mind, handed it to Suxin, urging her to put away the contents. Suxin complied, and when she returned, the bed was covered in jade bottles, filled with elixirs. She didn’t know how many the Phoenix had consumed.

    “Fellow Daoist Chiyue?”

    “Feng Chiyue?”

    She called out twice, but there was no response. Her heart sank, fearing that the Phoenix had been poisoned by the elixirs. She was about to reach out, but then crimson flames erupted from the Phoenix’s body, her Phoenix Fire blazing.

    This scene was familiar.

    Whenever her elixirs contained too many toxins, the Phoenix would use her fire to purify them.

    Suxin: “…” Was she really that bad at alchemy? She would never make elixirs again.


    When the Phoenix woke up, Suxin was still there.

    Her Phoenix Fire had burned away most of the toxins, and her drunkenness had vanished.

    She turned to look at Suxin.

    Suxin was cutting spiritual fruits, the pure energy filling the cave with a sweet fragrance.

    The Phoenix’s lips moved, but she didn’t know what to say.

    Suxin walked towards her, carrying a plate of fruit. “They’re very sweet,” she said, then picked up a slice and offered it to her.

    Under her gentle gaze, the Phoenix took a bite. She didn’t have a chance to speak. As soon as she swallowed, Suxin offered her another slice. She ate, her eyes fixed on Suxin.

    “I’ve never fed anyone before,” Suxin said, smiling. As the Phoenix took the last bite, she didn’t withdraw her hand, her fingertip brushing against the Phoenix’s lips as if unintentionally. The Phoenix shuddered, her face flushing red. Her fingers tightened, clutching her cloak, then, realizing the strange sensation, she quickly withdrew her hand, her gaze dropping.

    Suxin turned away to put away the plate.

    The Phoenix stared at her, then, as she turned back, quickly averted her gaze.

    “You’re busy. Are you tired?” Suxin asked.

    The Phoenix nodded, then shook her head. After a moment, she explained why she had been late.

    Suxin didn’t ask what the Nine-Headed Birds had done wrong. She simply raised an eyebrow and said, “If you had contacted me, it would have been much faster.”

    How could she involve Suxin in the feathered lineages’ affairs? The Phoenix thought, then mentioned the formation designs.

    Suxin scoffed. “They should just return the original design,” she said dismissively. “Send someone to inspect their formations. Anyone who didn’t follow the instructions should be fined.” She didn’t want to get involved in other people’s problems, but seeing the Phoenix’s confused expression, she added, “If you always protect them, they won’t learn. They might make serious mistakes in the future.”

    “But that’s how it’s always been done,” the Phoenix said.

    “Does that mean it’s right?”

    The Phoenix didn’t reply. She didn’t want to continue this conversation. This time, she didn’t rush back. She stayed in Suxin’s cave for two days.

    She borrowed Suxin’s alchemy furnace and made a few batches of elixirs. She hadn’t been studying for long, but their appearance and quality were far superior to Suxin’s.

    Suxin applauded her, praising her skills, claiming they surpassed even those of the Supreme Palace’s Immortal Monarchs.

    The Phoenix smiled and promised to visit again.


    Back in Danxue Mountain, the elders were gathered.

    Since she had become the Phoenix Sovereign, they no longer used a commanding or critical tone with her, instead adopting a concerned approach. But no matter how their tone changed, their underlying intentions remained the same. She didn’t enjoy listening to them.

    Her expression was cold and distant, her eyes sharp, her aura intimidating.

    “Do I need to inform you of my interactions with wandering immortals?” she asked.

    The elders were relieved. After all, the Phoenix, born from the primordial energy of heaven and earth, was destined to lead them to glory. But they were also anxious. Her rapid growth meant that things might spiral out of control.

    She ignored their complex emotions, her gaze seemingly fixed on the documents before her, but she wasn’t actually reading anything.

    “Why didn’t you stay longer?” her personal guard asked softly.

    She turned to her. “Would that have been acceptable?” she asked.

    The guard’s expression stiffened, and she fell silent. The elders of the Five Phoenixes and Three Feathered Birds had become anxious after only two days. How long could the Sovereign stay away from Danxue Mountain?


    The Phoenix continued her relationship with Suxin, visiting her whenever she had free time.

    She shared her concerns about the feathered lineages, and Suxin advised her to learn to delegate and relax. They had different perspectives and occasionally argued, but they always reconciled quickly.

    The Immortal Realm was mostly peaceful.

    Until one year, a major event occurred.

    “The Heavenly Emperor has abdicated and retreated to the Realm Beyond Heaven,” the Phoenix said.

    Suxin wasn’t particularly interested. After all, she was a wandering immortal. Even if the Heavenly Emperor changed ten times, it wouldn’t affect her.

    “Among his many children, Tian Yuan wasn’t the most outstanding, but he was the most cunning. The throne could only fall to him.”

    Suxin chuckled. She had no qualms about discussing the Heavenly Emperor. “So the Heavenly Court is now ruled by an incompetent fool?”

    “Yes,” the Phoenix confirmed, nodding.

    “Why don’t you abandon your responsibilities and join me in a carefree life?” Suxin asked. “When the Dao prevails, we emerge. When it doesn’t, we hide. Isn’t that how it goes?”

    The Phoenix looked at her. “The feathered lineages are my responsibility,” she said.

    “Just because you’re the most powerful among them?”

    “I was born from primordial energy, destined to be their leader. I can’t abandon them.”

    Suxin didn’t understand. “If you were born from primordial energy, shouldn’t you be free from karmic ties? Why do you have to bear so much?”

    The Phoenix couldn’t answer. After a moment of silence, she said, “The feathered lineages’ destiny is tied to mine.”

    Suxin didn’t press her. After learning that Feng Chiyue was the Phoenix Sovereign, she had secretly visited Danxue Mountain a few times. She couldn’t see anything worth protecting in those feathered lineages.


    After Tian Yuan ascended to the throne, the Immortal Realm subtly changed.

    He presented himself as an ambitious and progressive ruler.

    It was difficult to say whether he was truly competent, but conflicts with the Demon Realm increased.

    He was dissatisfied with the Sui River as the boundary between pure and turbid, seeking to conquer the Demon Abyss and expand their territory, creating unprecedented achievements.

    Suxin had initially remained indifferent, but the Phoenix’s visits became less frequent, and she would often leave abruptly.

    The Phoenix felt guilty. She considered ending their relationship. Without promises, there would be no disappointment. But as Suxin saw her off, she couldn’t bring herself to say “goodbye.”

    She continued visiting whenever she could.

    But she noticed that they argued more often, and things that had once seemed insignificant suddenly became important.

    She was greedy. She wanted not just mutual understanding and tolerance but complete and unconditional support.


    One hundred and fifty years into Tian Yuan’s reign, she visited Suxin, and they argued again.

    Suxin said that the feathered lineages had never left their nest to fend for themselves, taking everything for granted.

    She also said that they were incapable of learning and would only become traitors.

    But she was their Sovereign. She had been taught to prioritize their interests since birth.

    This wasn’t their first argument, and neither of them realized it would be their last.

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 79

    Chapter 79: Extra 5

    Unlike other members of her lineage, the Phoenix had no mother.

    She was born from the primordial energy of heaven and earth, destined to rule the feathered lineages.

    At that time, the Sovereign of the feathered lineages was an Azure Dragon, and all lived in Danxue Mountain.

    The Phoenix was raised until she was around ten years old, then presented to the other feathered lineages as their “Young Sovereign,” studying alongside other youths of similar age. But they didn’t like her. By the time she appeared, they already had a leader, a Vermilion Bird, whom they believed to be the true Young Sovereign.

    The Phoenix didn’t care much for their opinions. Born with innate knowledge, she didn’t need to learn techniques or spells. She knew the elders simply wanted her to interact with the future leaders of the lineages, fostering relationships. But they also taught her that a ruler should be impartial, selfless.

    What was selflessness? Where there was affection, there was bias. Only without emotions could one achieve true impartiality.

    When she turned two hundred years old, the Sovereign, having achieved perfect cultivation, retreated to the Realm Beyond Heaven, entrusting the feathered lineages to her care. The Phoenix agreed. Over the past two hundred years, she had fulfilled the elders’ expectations, becoming the ruler they desired.

    Those youths from her childhood became her trusted advisors, assisting her in governing the lineages.

    Some were genuinely loyal, their hearts devoted to her. Others harbored ulterior motives, but she didn’t care. Day after day, she diligently handled their affairs, leading them towards prosperity, their influence even surpassing the Heavenly Court’s.

    But gradually, she grew weary.

    Looking in the mirror, she saw two faces.

    As the Phoenix Sovereign, she couldn’t remove her mask. But as long as she wasn’t the Sovereign, she could be herself.

    One day, seeing a small sparrow flitting past her window, an idea struck her. She used her magic power to transform into a fluffy bird.

    Lower-ranking feathered lineages couldn’t transform into phoenixes, but she, as the Phoenix, could take on any form.

    No one would pay attention to a sparrow flying through the sky.

    She was finally free to roam.


    She left Kunlun Mountain and Danxue Mountain behind, venturing to the realm of wandering immortals, perching on branches, watching them play Go and discussing the Dao.

    “Fellow Daoist Suxin gave me more elixirs.”

    “How are they this time?”

    “They look good, and they taste sweet.”

    “Suxin Sword Master doesn’t practice swordsmanship. She spends all her time making elixirs, giving them away to everyone, claiming she can’t give them away fast enough. Such a waste.”

    A waste? That sounded interesting.

    From their conversations, she easily learned the location of Suxin Sword Master’s abode.

    Unfortunately, she didn’t find Suxin there.

    She smelled a sweet fragrance and, after a moment of thought, stealthily entered the cave.

    There was a barrier outside, but it was easily bypassed. Her gaze fell on a medicine cabinet, and she snatched a bottle of elixirs, leaving behind a large amount of Cinnabar Jade, both as payment and as an apology. After all, her actions were inexcusable, but she wanted to do it just once.

    But the elixirs were a complete disappointment.

    The taste was decent, but they had no effect. Even after burning away the toxins with her Phoenix Fire, some residue remained, requiring further purification.

    A sword cultivator should focus on swordsmanship, and the Phoenix Sovereign should fulfill her duties as a ruler, not indulge in whimsical fantasies of being herself, right?


    Her mood soured, her expression as cold as frost. Those around her didn’t dare to speak.

    They respected her, but they also feared her.

    She was the Phoenix, born with virtue. They were right to fear her.

    On a sleepless night, she visited Suxin Sword Master’s abode again.

    She had heard that Suxin loved giving away elixirs. Was she trying to poison half the Heavenly Court?

    She felt a surge of anger and was determined to confront her.

    She transformed into a small sparrow and flew into the night.

    The moonlight was beautiful, and the fireflies by the stream twinkled like stars.

    A hazy mist drifted through the air, and a figure lay sprawled on a rock by the stream.

    One hand rested in the water, the ripples scattering the reflected moon.

    She scooped up a handful of water, but more reflections appeared, flowing from her fingertips.

    The Phoenix didn’t know what Suxin looked like, but somehow, she felt this wasn’t right.

    She stared at Suxin, her mind blank. When she finally snapped out of her daze, she wasn’t thinking about Suxin, who had sat up lazily, but about giving herself a name.

    A Sovereign had no name.

    She had never had a name before and hadn’t felt the need for one.

    But now, she wanted to be called “Chiyue.”

    She would be Feng Chiyue.

    “Who’s there?” Suxin asked, her voice sharp, scattering the fireflies around her.

    A sword case hovered beside her, its sharp blades spinning like a river of stars.

    The Phoenix perched on a tree branch.

    Suxin glanced at her and smirked. “So it’s the elixir thief,” she said.

    The Phoenix had been about to transform back into her human form, but those words embarrassed her. She flapped her wings but didn’t fly away. “I left Cinnabar Jade,” she said.

    Suxin clicked her tongue, studying the sparrow with amusement.

    Seeing her silence, the Phoenix’s suppressed nature resurfaced. Despite her small size, her aura was powerful. “Your elixirs are poisonous!” she exclaimed. She had intended to insult Suxin, but the soft moonlight clouded her mind, and her words were directed at the elixirs themselves.

    She was telling the truth.

    Suxin was startled. After a moment, she pointed at the Endless Sword Case, and a beam of light shot towards the sparrow.

    How dare this little bird criticize her elixirs! And it wasn’t even one she had given away. It had been stolen from her cave. Was she shameless? None of her fellow Daoists, who had received countless elixirs from her, had ever complained! If she hadn’t valued her freedom, she could have easily become the head of the Supreme Palace!

    Seeing her attack, the Phoenix was also furious. She dodged the relentless sword energy, listing the elixirs’ flaws. Even her Phoenix Fire couldn’t completely purify them! But Suxin fell silent, the sword beams intensifying, clearly intending to kill her! Fighting in her sparrow form was disadvantageous. After a sharp blade clipped one of her feathers, she transformed back into her human form, raising her sword to block Suxin’s attack.

    But Suxin didn’t stop.

    Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she summoned several swords from the Endless Sword Case, attacking the Phoenix relentlessly.

    They fought fiercely. Even after the exhilarating battle, Suxin still seemed unsatisfied. She touched the case, rotating it slightly, and the flying swords returned.

    The Phoenix stood a few feet away, sheathing her sword.

    She felt Suxin’s gaze on her.

    That bold gaze swept down from her silver mask, finally resting on her lips.

    Suxin bowed in a gesture of greeting between equals. “May I ask for your name, Fellow Daoist?”

    The Phoenix hesitated for a moment. “Feng Chiyue,” she said. It was her new name. No one knew her here. It didn’t matter if she revealed it. After all, names were meant to be used.

    “So it’s Fellow Daoist Chiyue,” Suxin said. She was quick to change her demeanor, from fierce to polite. “May I ask what flaws you found in my elixirs? How can I improve them?”

    The Phoenix: “…” How should she know? She only knew they contained a lot of toxins. But Suxin was looking at her expectantly, and the elders had taught her never to disappoint others. So, after careful consideration, she said coldly, “Insufficient heat control,” then, transforming into a beam of light, left.


    Back in Danxue Mountain, she searched for alchemy manuals. The next time Suxin asked, she would have a definitive answer.

    She didn’t visit Suxin for a while but received news about her.

    Suxin, believing her words, was searching for suitable fire sources. Apart from naturally occurring spiritual flames, the only options were those belonging to phoenixes, Vermilion Birds, or other feathered lineages. This led to a series of conflicts.

    Reports of these conflicts landed on her desk.

    Those feathered lineages were no match for Suxin.

    The Phoenix offered them some consolation, compensating them with treasures from her own vault.

    She personally promised to “seek justice” but didn’t actually do anything. After all, those who had benefited would soon forget the incident.


    The next time she visited Suxin, she heard a thunderous boom, a wave of heat washing over her, followed by a shrill scream.

    Startled, she rushed over, fearing something terrible had happened, only to find a simple alchemy furnace explosion.

    The scream had come from the spiritual flame.

    The Endless Sword Case stood on the ground, its blades flying out, cleaning up the mess.

    Suxin, her clothes spotless, turned to her and explained, “My swords are curious and wanted to learn alchemy. They encountered this unruly flame and things got out of hand.”

    The Phoenix: “…”

    Could sword spirits even practice alchemy?

    She glanced at the swords sweeping the floor, then, composing herself, thought, “I guess they can.”

    The world was full of wonders.

    “I just made a new batch of elixirs,” Suxin said, her tone enthusiastic. “Would you like to try one, Fellow Daoist?”

    The Phoenix agreed.

    The elixir was delicious, then, for a moment, she lost consciousness.

    If she had been facing an enemy, she would be dead.

    Suxin, assuming she was simply contemplating the elixir’s effects, asked expectantly, “How is it?”

    The Phoenix frowned, briefly listing its flaws, then pushed Suxin away and sat down to meditate, her Phoenix Fire swirling around her, purging the residual toxins.

    The heat control might not have been the problem. Suxin herself was definitely the problem.

    Silence filled the mountain, the sound of pine needles falling clearly audible.

    Suxin wanted to get some healing elixirs for the Phoenix.

    But remembering that the “injury” had been caused by her own elixir, she hesitated.

    She took a couple of steps forward, looking at the Phoenix with concern. “Are you alright, Fellow Daoist?” she asked.

    The Phoenix opened her eyes, not answering.

    Suxin knelt before her, her shame deepening.

    After a long moment, the Phoenix asked, her voice hoarse, “Are you going to continue making elixirs?”

    Suxin raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

    “Aren’t you a sword cultivator?”

    “Yes,” Suxin agreed, nodding. “But no one said sword cultivators can’t practice alchemy.”

    “If you spend all your time on alchemy, what about your swordsmanship?”

    Suxin lazily pointed at the sword case, and a brilliant light erupted, several spectral figures appearing.

    She turned to the Phoenix. “It doesn’t affect me, does it?” she asked.

    “Do what you want,” she added. “Let others suffer the consequences.”

    The sword energy, like a surging wave, captivated the Phoenix.


    The sun dipped below the horizon, night fell, and a hazy mist drifted through the mountains.

    The bells hanging from the eaves chimed softly in the wind.

    Time seemed to slip away, and when the Phoenix finally snapped out of her daze, it was already night.

    Suxin knelt before her, holding a handful of pine nuts.

    The Phoenix looked at her.

    Suxin offered her half the nuts, then, with a flick of her wrist, her hand shot towards the Phoenix’s mask, fast as lightning.

    The Phoenix was startled and grabbed her wrist, the nuts scattering on the ground. She wasn’t angry, only curious. “What are you doing?” she asked.

    “Just curious,” Suxin replied, shifting into a more comfortable position. “You’re curious about my alchemy. I’m curious about your face. Isn’t that normal?”

    “If you won’t let me touch it, then take it off yourself,” she urged.

    The Phoenix nodded, then hesitated. Why should she take off her mask? She blinked, then abruptly stood up, retreating a few steps, turning to leave.

    Suxin chuckled. “Will you come back?” she asked.

    The Phoenix paused. “Yes,” she said simply.

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 78

    Chapter 78: Extra 4

    Ming Jian Su would never admit she was afraid to meet Feng Chiyue’s gaze. She scoffed, dismissing it as “nonsense,” then proceeded to prove her “bravery” in their daily life. She would occasionally glance at Feng Chiyue, and at first, when caught, she would instinctively look away. But seeing Feng Chiyue’s teasing smile, she would remember her goal: to defy Feng Chiyue. Why should she back down? Driven by this inexplicable competitiveness, she would only avert her gaze when Feng Chiyue looked away, covering her flushed face with her hand, her actions betraying her true feelings.


    Having been promoted from a Heavenly Official to a Heavenly Emissary, Ming Jian Su wasn’t as busy as before, but it was still far from the carefree life she had envisioned.

    Whenever she returned to their dwelling, there would always be a few bottles of elixirs on the table. Feng Chiyue’s alchemy skills were indeed superior to those of the Supreme Palace’s Immortal Monarchs. At least her elixirs contained no residual toxins, saving her the trouble of refining them further.

    Their days passed like this, with no end in sight. She had considered becoming a wandering immortal, but the officials at the Heavenly Mechanism Department either brushed her off or informed her that, having already registered, she couldn’t change her status within the stipulated timeframe. Realizing she was bound by a “contract,” she felt a surge of frustration.

    “Perhaps you need to become a Star Monarch to enjoy true freedom,” Feng Chiyue said, offering half-hearted consolation.

    Ming Jian Su believed her.

    “Is the Chaos Mirror really that interesting?” she asked, looking at Feng Chiyue, who seemed to be living a carefree life, her tone tinged with envy.

    “It’s alright,” Feng Chiyue replied, not even looking up.

    Ming Jian Su: “…”


    On a bright moonlit night, Ming Jian Su was meditating in her room as usual.

    Her goal was to become a Star Monarch, someone who could delegate tasks to subordinates.

    The door creaked open. She didn’t need to guess who it was.

    She remained still, curious about Feng Chiyue’s intentions.

    Feng Chiyue walked towards her, her steps leisurely, her gaze fixed on her.

    Ming Jian Su tried to pretend she was unaware of her presence, but Feng Chiyue’s fingertip landed on her cheek, gently stroking it at first, then gradually increasing the pressure, but always staying within a tolerable range, creating a strange sensation. She couldn’t take it anymore. She opened her eyes abruptly, meeting Feng Chiyue’s gaze, a hint of amusement in those dark depths. Her face flushed instantly. She grabbed Feng Chiyue’s hand. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sharp.

    Feng Chiyue knelt before her, her hand throbbing slightly under Ming Jian Su’s grip, but she didn’t make a sound. She simply stared at her, waiting until her embarrassment deepened, then said slowly, “You’re always looking at me. Isn’t that an invitation? You also complained about the Chaos Mirror. I’ve stopped playing with it.”

    Ming Jian Su was stunned. She had never issued such an invitation! She quickly released Feng Chiyue’s hand, but she seized the opportunity to embrace her. Ming Jian Su panicked and pushed at her shoulders, but she wouldn’t budge. “I didn’t…” she protested, but Feng Chiyue leaned closer, and a wave of inexplicable shame washed over her. She glanced at the candle flame flickering in the wind, her heart mirroring its movement.

    “I like you very much,” Feng Chiyue said, her words blunt. She pulled back slightly, watching with amusement as Ming Jian Su’s face turned crimson.

    Ming Jian Su: “…” She couldn’t meet her gaze. She struggled to control her erratic breathing, refusing to look into those captivating eyes.

    Feng Chiyue leaned closer, her breath brushing against her cheek, then a warm, soft sensation, fleeting, on her lips.

    Ming Jian Su’s eyes widened. She almost jumped up, but she was still trapped in Feng Chiyue’s embrace.

    Feng Chiyue didn’t make any further moves. She simply lay down as if nothing had happened.

    Ming Jian Su’s mind was in turmoil. She looked at her warily. “This is my bed,” she said.

    “Okay,” Feng Chiyue replied, pulling Ming Jian Su’s sleeve over her face, as if to say, “I’m not listening.”

    In the end, Ming Jian Su fled.


    But Feng Chiyue visited her every night, simply holding her close, occasionally kissing her cheek.

    Ming Jian Su tried to be firm, telling her it was inappropriate. But Feng Chiyue ignored her, continuing her nightly visits.

    The crimson robes on the bed were always disheveled, as alluring as a blooming flower.

    When Ming Jian Su once again protested, Feng Chiyue finally stopped pretending not to hear. She sat up, met her gaze, and asked, “You have countless ways to stop me, but you chose the weakest one. So, Elder Sister, you don’t really want me to leave.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her red lips curving into a seductive smile.

    Ming Jian Su’s face flushed again, this time with anger and embarrassment.

    She wanted to throw Feng Chiyue out, but her hand, resting on her waist, moved gently, involuntarily.

    Feng Chiyue, accustomed to taking advantage, leaned closer. Instead of kissing her cheek, she brushed her lips against the corner of Ming Jian Su’s mouth, her tongue teasingly tracing its outline.

    Ming Jian Su’s heart pounded, her mouth dry, her body stiff.

    Feng Chiyue looked at her and smiled. “Are you happy, Elder Sister?” she asked. Her hand slid down, her fingertips tracing circles on Ming Jian Su’s chest.

    Ming Jian Su’s eyes were hazy, her mind blank. She didn’t even hear what Feng Chiyue was saying, and before she knew it, she was lying down. She didn’t resist Feng Chiyue’s touch. After all, her tolerance had gradually increased.

    But the Phoenix Care Manual hadn’t mentioned anything about taking care of her in bed!


    One thing led to another, and their monotonous life finally gained some excitement.

    But she still needed to earn Cinnabar Jade, even more diligently now, to achieve her goal of freedom sooner.

    Ming Jian Su often went to the battlefield, while Feng Chiyue, averse to leaving their dwelling, preferred to stay in their cave.

    Feng Chiyue often said, “I like you, Elder Sister” and “I miss you,” but Ming Jian Su didn’t believe her. Most of the time, it was she who initiated conversations, and Feng Chiyue would only reply with a few words. She never contacted her first.

    She was probably watching plays on the Chaos Mirror or arguing with other immortals, not caring about offending them. Was she planning to become a recluse? What if she was ambushed on the road? There was no such thing as “justice” in the Heavenly Court. Ascending here felt like entering a den of thieves.


    A hundred years after her ascension, Ming Jian Su, without any backing, finally reached the point where she might be promoted to Star Monarch.

    Rising from Heavenly Official to Heavenly Emissary was achievable, but ascending from Heavenly Emissary to Star Monarch depended on fate.

    When she returned with the good news, Feng Chiyue was fully immersed in a heated argument on the Chaos Mirror.

    The news had already spread: the East Abode Master position was vacant and a new one would be chosen soon. The immortals were speculating about potential candidates.

    Feng Chiyue didn’t see her Elder Sister’s name mentioned, and she felt a surge of displeasure. She didn’t care if she knew those officials or not. She launched into a tirade, insulting everyone.

    Everyone was useless except her Elder Sister.

    But those officials argued back, bringing up Heavenly Princess Chu Yi, claiming that, if not for her noble status preventing her from accepting a lower position, the East Abode Master title would undoubtedly be hers.

    Heavenly Princess? Feng Chiyue had no recollection of her, but anyone who stood in her Elder Sister’s way deserved to be scolded.

    Hearing footsteps, she put away the Chaos Mirror and greeted Ming Jian Su with an innocent smile.

    Ming Jian Su sighed, not bothering to ask what she had been doing. After all, it wasn’t the first time she had lost to the Chaos Mirror. She considered her words carefully, then told her about the East Abode Master selection.

    Feng Chiyue sat cross-legged on the bed, her chin resting on her hand. “Are you confident, Elder Sister?” she asked, smiling.

    “Of course,” Ming Jian Su replied without hesitation. Dealing with those incompetent fools wouldn’t even require her to draw her sword. She paused, then asked, “What if I lose?” The small wooden hut in their cave had already been transformed into a grand palace, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t even compare to her Dharma Hall in the lower realm, let alone the Heavenly Palace. She frowned slightly, worry etching a faint line on her forehead.

    A glint of malice flashed in Feng Chiyue’s eyes. “That’s impossible,” she said. If her Elder Sister lost, it would mean the Heavenly Court was blind. And what good were blind immortals? They would only get themselves into trouble sooner or later. They might as well head to the Yellow Springs early and secure a good spot.

    Ming Jian Su didn’t notice her fleeting killing intent. She smiled and walked towards the bed.

    Feng Chiyue took her hand, pulling her down, and straddled her lap, her arms around her waist.

    Ming Jian Su kissed her, their breaths mingling, the atmosphere growing intimate. She looked up at Feng Chiyue and asked, “Do you like me, Junior Sister?”

    “Yes,” Feng Chiyue replied without hesitation, then, with a confused expression, added, “You’ve asked me this several times over the past hundred years. Isn’t that enough?”

    Ming Jian Su: “…” She really didn’t want to hear another word from Feng Chiyue right now.


    A human immortal, ascended from the lower realm, without any backing, aspiring to become the East Abode Master… naturally, there were many obstacles.

    Many immortals challenged her. Her fingers itched to fight, but she restrained herself, not sending them to the cycle of reincarnation. After all, she couldn’t kill without reason.

    Finally, she was promoted.

    According to the Heavenly Court’s rules, as long as you had enough Cinnabar Jade, you could purchase your current dwelling.

    She didn’t want the unnamed mountain. It had no valuable resources, and she couldn’t afford it anyway. She simply used her magic power to transfer everything from their cave to her new abode.

    The Heavenly Emperor had four generals under his command, all tasked with handling conflicts between the Immortal Realm and the Demon Realm.

    During her time as a Heavenly Official, she had never seen those generals on the battlefield. This meant that the East Abode Master was a high-ranking position with few responsibilities.

    Who would have thought it would take a hundred years after ascension to achieve the lowest level of her initial goal? It was much slower than she had anticipated, but it was still a good thing.

    “I’ll have a lot of free time from now on,” she said, turning to Feng Chiyue. “Dong’e Mountain is filled with spiritual energy, far superior to that unnamed mountain. It’s filled with things left behind by the previous East Abode Master. How do you want to renovate it, Junior Sister?”

    Feng Chiyue thought for a moment. “Palaces, treasuries, a spring of ambrosia, and a parasol tree,” she said.

    “Alright,” Ming Jian Su agreed, nodding. “And a hundred-year-old peach tree, blooming eternally.”

    She preferred the image of peach blossoms against a human face to a phoenix perched on a parasol tree.

    Feng Chiyue glanced at her but didn’t insist on the parasol tree.

    Ming Jian Su smiled happily. “I can finally spend time with you,” she said.

    There was nothing more delightful than enjoying a carefree life with Feng Chiyue, playing in the Immortal Realm.

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 77

    Chapter 77: Extra 3

    After spending some time with Feng Chiyue, Ming Jian Su began to suspect she had been deceived.

    How could a phoenix’s combat ability be “worse than a goose”? She was probably just lazy and pretending to be weak so that she wouldn’t be kicked out.

    There were many suspicious points, such as those “guests” who had brought her Cinnabar Jade and the fact that she had come from the Abyss of the Milky Way. Ming Jian Su hadn’t known what the Abyss of the Milky Way signified before. She hadn’t sensed anything unusual when she had entered it. But as she learned more about the Immortal Realm and the Heavenly Court, she realized that the Milky Way was actually a part of the Sui River, which served as the boundary between the Immortal Realm and the Demon Abyss. Pure energy belonged to the immortals, turbid energy to the demons. The abyss was filled with undifferentiated primordial energy. How could anyone survive there for years without some power?

    She didn’t hesitate to ask.

    Feng Chiyue’s answers were simple, three-word phrases designed to deflect, such as “I’m sorry,” “I don’t know,” and “I forgot.”

    Ming Jian Su wanted to get angry, but meeting those misty, alluring eyes, her anger dissipated.

    She adjusted Feng Chiyue’s collar, covering her snow-white collarbone, and frowned. “Think harder,” she said.

    “Okay,” Feng Chiyue replied, then added, “My hair is messy.”

    Feng Chiyue, since emerging from the abyss, had always kept her hair loose. Ming Jian Su, finding it unbearable, had obtained a dressing table from the Heavenly Prosperity Department, but Feng Chiyue claimed she didn’t know how to use it.

    She didn’t care about her disheveled appearance.

    Ming Jian Su had no choice but to style her hair every day. After all, if it bothered her, she had to be the one to fix it. Her skills weren’t particularly good, and there were always strands of hair scattered around the dressing table.

    Feng Chiyue would always look at her with an unspoken complaint in her eyes.

    Ming Jian Su felt a surge of frustration, waiting for her to voice her displeasure so that she could retort, “Then do it yourself.” But Feng Chiyue never said anything. She simply collected the fallen hair and, on a sunny day, in front of Ming Jian Su, “buried” it, using her sword as a shovel.

    Ming Jian Su: “…” She could only resign herself to her fate.


    Her suspicions grew.

    When she could no longer suppress them, she decided to test Feng Chiyue.

    But after several attempts, she still couldn’t get the answers she wanted. Finally, she decided to try something drastic.

    Faced with a life-or-death situation, she didn’t believe Feng Chiyue wouldn’t reveal her true nature.


    A fence surrounded the hut in their cave.

    A few similar-looking spiritual herbs grew in the garden.

    Feng Chiyue was too lazy to tend to them, and Ming Jian Su didn’t want to, so the task of watering them fell to Undefeated.

    As Ming Jian Su stealthily entered the hut, Feng Chiyue was engrossed in the Chaos Mirror, her laughter echoing through the room, completely oblivious to the approaching danger.

    When Ming Jian Su unleashed her attack, Feng Chiyue suddenly rolled over, her smile vanishing, her expression unreadable.

    Ming Jian Su’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve caught you!” she thought. But even after striking Feng Chiyue, she didn’t encounter any resistance.

    Seeing Feng Chiyue coughing up blood on the bed, she panicked, ignoring the inconsistencies, and hurriedly helped her up, stuffing an elixir into her mouth.

    She channeled a stream of spiritual energy into Feng Chiyue’s body, her brow furrowed. She hadn’t even used her sword. Surely she hadn’t hurt her that badly? But the results of her examination shocked her.

    Feng Chiyue was severely injured! Her fragile immortal body seemed as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.

    Panic surged within her. She had wanted to test her, not kill her.

    Feng Chiyue blinked at her, as if finally registering the pain.

    Confusion flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

    Guilt overwhelmed Ming Jian Su.

    Although she was now a Heavenly Court official, her salary wasn’t high. Feng Chiyue refused to consume the elixirs from the Supreme Palace, so Ming Jian Su had to search for rare and valuable ingredients, depleting not only her salary but also her savings. But Feng Chiyue didn’t seem to be getting better. She discreetly inquired with some immortals from Phoenix Mountain and learned that some phoenixes were born with flaws and were difficult to care for.

    But what could she do? She had to take responsibility.

    If one job wasn’t enough, she would take two.

    Her cultivation level was unmatched among the officials, and with conflict erupting on the battlefield between gods and demons, she was naturally dispatched there.

    She was gone for over six months.

    It wouldn’t have normally taken so long, but she had grown impatient. The immortal leading their forces was incompetent, spending his days shouting insults at the demons but fleeing like a rabbit whenever a real battle broke out.

    She was just a lowly Heavenly Soldier, powerless to influence the overall strategy. Looking at the desolate Demon Abyss, so close yet so far, she thought about Feng Chiyue back in the unnamed mountain. She had provided her with everything she needed, but judging from past events, it was too early to relax.

    After being ordered to go and taunt the demons, her patience finally snapped.

    Disobeying orders might result in a deduction from her meager salary, but she could handle it.

    She had wanted to be a patient person after ascension, but killing was her true calling!

    She drew her sword and, instead of exchanging insults with the demons as instructed, charged into their camp, decapitated their general, and returned to the Heavenly Court’s camp, his head in her hand.

    The immortal leading their forces was horrified. “Are you trying to provoke a war?” he shouted, pointing at her. “If the demons retaliate, what are you going to do? You—” His voice cracked, and he collapsed onto his chair, his face pale, his hand trembling as he wiped the blood from his cheek.

    She slammed the demon general’s head onto the table, shattering it, blood and bone splattering.

    “Do I get credit for this?” she asked casually.

    The terrified immortal nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes.”

    She was satisfied.

    If the demons retaliated, so be it. She would kill anyone who stood in her way.


    After that minor skirmish, she was promoted.

    Her new position didn’t matter. What mattered was that her salary and elixir allowance had increased.

    Returning to her cave, her joy quickly vanished.

    Her dwelling, after some renovations, had finally started to resemble a proper immortal’s abode.

    But now the grass was torn up, trees were broken, the fence had collapsed… it was a mess.

    For a moment, she suspected that they had been robbed, but the barrier she had erected outside the cave was intact.

    She walked back, her steps heavy, and picked up a piece of metal from the ground, a fragment of what appeared to be an alchemy furnace.

    Most of the spiritual herbs in the garden had been uprooted. Thankfully, she hadn’t been the one tending to them. Otherwise, she would have been furious.

    “Junior Sister? Feng Chiyue?” she called out, frowning, but there was no response.

    Panic surged within her, and she scanned the area with her divine sense, finally detecting a familiar aura. Her heart settled, but then a wave of anger washed over her.

    She marched towards the source of the aura.


    Behind the hut was a bathhouse.

    She had built it specifically for Feng Chiyue, channeling spring water into it, hoping to help her recover.

    A slender figure was silhouetted against the screen.

    She pursed her lips and called out softly, “Feng Chiyue?”

    No answer.

    Her eye twitched, and she rushed forward, her heart pounding, rounding the screen.

    Black hair cascaded down, covering her snow-white skin, creating a soft, ethereal beauty.

    Feng Chiyue’s right hand rested on a pile of black stones beside the pool. A deep gash, several inches long, ran across her palm. The blood had dried, but the wound was a jarring sight.

    Ming Jian Su’s expression changed. She didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the pool and, scooping Feng Chiyue into her arms, carried her out. The robe hanging on the screen fell, covering her naked body. She held Feng Chiyue close, her hands wet, her strong fingers pressing against the skin on the outside of her knee.

    Feng Chiyue opened her eyes slightly and yawned. She glanced at Ming Jian Su, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “You’re back?” she mumbled, then, as if sensing nothing amiss, nestled closer.

    Ming Jian Su: “…” Her cheeks flushed red.

    “Feng Chiyue.”

    “Junior Sister.”

    She whispered her name.

    Seeing Feng Chiyue’s injury, she had thought she was dead.

    Feng Chiyue stirred impatiently, swatting at her, then mumbled, “Sleepy.”

    Her movement caused the robe to slip, revealing a glimpse of her bare skin. Ming Jian Su reacted quickly, but she still saw it. The blush on her cheeks deepened. She lowered her gaze, no longer disturbing Feng Chiyue, and carried her back to the hut.


    Fortunately, the hut was still tidy, just as she had left it.

    Several small jade bottles, labeled, sat on the table.

    She smelled a faint fragrance and guessed they contained elixirs.

    She had no time to examine them. She resigned herself to her fate, helped Feng Chiyue get dressed, tucked her into bed, and waited patiently for her to wake up.


    She waited until late at night.

    “You’re back?” Feng Chiyue asked, seemingly unaware of what had happened earlier.

    Ming Jian Su looked up. Feng Chiyue was sitting up now, her robe slipping, her body like a wisp of smoke. She quickly averted her gaze, her accusatory words transforming into a gentle question. “How did you get hurt?”

    “I wasn’t paying attention,” Feng Chiyue said, shrugging. “The alchemy furnace was poorly made and exploded.” Suddenly, she seemed to remember something and jumped out of bed. Moonlight streamed through the open window, bathing her in a silvery glow.

    Ming Jian Su couldn’t possibly help her get dressed. She simply used her magic power to dry her. The robe, barely clinging to her body, trembled, threatening to fall.

    She pursed her lips and walked towards Feng Chiyue. She adjusted her collar and retied her loose sash, her gaze lingering on her long, white legs, barely concealed by the red fabric. As if burned, she took a step back and, her voice sharp, said, “Get dressed properly.”

    Feng Chiyue looked at her, confused, then smiled. Sitting back down on the bed, she said cheerfully, “I made you some elixirs. They’re on the table. They’re much better than the ones you get outside.”

    Ming Jian Su made a noncommittal sound. The unexpected surge of desire still lingered, and at this moment, Feng Chiyue’s every smile and gesture was a temptation, her beauty intoxicating.

    “Oh,” Feng Chiyue exclaimed.

    Ming Jian Su couldn’t help but look at her.

    Her eyes sparkled, her smile alluring, her beauty so captivating that it eclipsed the sun and moon.

    “Why are you blushing?” she asked.


    Lately, Ming Jian Su had been troubled.

    She should have been the one causing Feng Chiyue trouble, but in moments of quiet, she found herself thinking not about her junior sister’s boldness but about those alluring eyes. How beautiful would they be, washed by rain, misty and dreamy?

    She couldn’t understand, finally concluding that it was because she had been away from Feng Chiyue for too long, distance amplifying her longing and appreciation for her beauty.

    There had been no recent activity on the battlefield, and she and Feng Chiyue had been spending every day together. Surely she wouldn’t be affected anymore? After all, even the most beautiful things lost their allure after prolonged exposure.

    Her hopes were high, but reality defied her expectations.

    Feng Chiyue was always watching her, her eyes filled with a new meaning, a silent seduction.

    Sitting beside the pool, staring at her reflection in the water, Ming Jian Su cursed her own arrogance.

    Was she becoming like those vulgar people?

    “Elder Sister…” A drawn-out voice came from behind her.

    Her body reacted before her mind, turning to face Feng Chiyue, who was lounging on a swinging wicker chair, playing with the Chaos Mirror. “What is it?” she asked.

    Feng Chiyue put away the mirror and, after studying her for a moment, said, “Nothing.”

    “Nothing” meant something.

    Ming Jian Su walked towards her, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on her.

    Feng Chiyue shifted, half her body leaning out of the chair. Afraid she might fall, Ming Jian Su reached out to steady her. Feng Chiyue grabbed her hand and, catching her off guard, pulled her closer.

    Ming Jian Su stumbled, falling into her arms. She tried to get up, but a pair of strong arms held her waist, preventing her from escaping.

    How had she gotten so strong?

    Warm breath brushed against her cheek, trailing down to her earlobe.

    Her mind went blank.

    “Why are you…”

    Feng Chiyue stopped mid-sentence, leaning back in the chair, creating some distance between them.

    Ming Jian Su’s long hair fell forward, tickling her cheek.

    “Why am I what?” she asked, her voice stiff, her body tense. Could Feng Chiyue read her mind? Impossible. Feng Chiyue was too lazy to care about what others thought. She only cared about finding comfortable places to lounge and fiddle with that damned Chaos Mirror, her laziness and extravagance boundless.

    Feng Chiyue’s gaze swept over her, then she asked lazily, “Aren’t you going to earn some Cinnabar Jade?”

    Ming Jian Su: “…” The string in her mind, instead of loosening, snapped, and she heard a distinct “twang.”

    She had never lost a battle since embarking on the path of cultivation. She sought immortality, but now, she might die of frustration at the hands of Feng Chiyue.

    Feng Chiyue smiled, watching her tremble with anger. She didn’t let go but leaned closer, her voice sincere. “I was just kidding.”

    Ming Jian Su wasn’t appeased. She frowned at her, her displeasure evident.

    Back in the lower realm, her junior disciples had all feared her cold expression.

    But Feng Chiyue didn’t. Well, she was trapped in her embrace now, their robes rustling as they moved. How could she possibly maintain a cold demeanor?

    “Why are you afraid to look at me now?” Feng Chiyue finished her sentence.

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 76

    Chapter 76: Extra 2

    Ming Jian Su did indeed bring Feng Chiyue out of the Abyss of the Milky Way.

    It was purely out of her chivalrous spirit, definitely not because of the beauty or the promised reward.

    She fiddled with the crudely drawn map, her frustration mounting.

    Finally, Feng Chiyue snatched it from her hands.

    “I know where it is,” she declared.

    Ming Jian Su looked at her, alarmed. “But you’ve always been in the Abyss of the Milky Way,” she said.

    Feng Chiyue rolled her eyes. “I can read a map, you idiot,” she said, making it up as she went along.

    That scribbled mess was barely decipherable! Ming Jian Su was incredulous, but what truly shocked her was being called an “idiot”!


    Once they were out, Feng Chiyue’s enthusiasm for the world outside the abyss vanished.

    They found the cave in the unnamed mountain, but unfortunately, it was already occupied.

    “Did they sell the same mountain twice?” Feng Chiyue asked, examining Ming Jian Su’s deed, her voice filled with surprise.

    Ming Jian Su frowned and, addressing the Daoist priest who had emerged from the mountain, his demeanor aggressive, asked politely, “Who are you, Fellow Daoist?”

    He ignored her, his eyes flashing with anger, his voice booming like thunder. “You’re that new official?” he said, pointing at her. “Pack your things and get out.”

    The unnamed mountain’s spiritual energy was already weak, and most of it was concentrated in that cave. The interior was barely habitable, and the exterior… was that even a place for an immortal to live? She hadn’t expected to encounter such blatant bullying upon arriving in the Immortal Realm. “Are you serious, Fellow Daoist?” she asked again, giving him a chance.

    He chuckled at her.

    But before he could even turn around, a slap sent him flying.

    He couldn’t defend himself. His protective aura shattered, his bones breaking. He was barely alive.

    Undefeated hummed, snatching his Qiankun bag and delivering it to Ming Jian Su.

    She calmly put it away and said coldly, “How rude.”

    Feng Chiyue watched with amusement, then, as she walked past the injured Daoist priest, she discreetly flicked a spark towards him.


    The cave held a hidden world within.

    It wasn’t actually a single, empty cave but a small realm.

    Lush green grass covered the ground, and a lone, thatched hut stood in the middle, looking rather pathetic.

    The Daoist priest had been living there for a while. Ming Jian Su disliked the smell and lit a few incense sticks.

    Feng Chiyue glanced at the hut, her expression filled with disgust. With a flick of her finger, flames erupted, engulfing the roof, quickly reducing the eyesore to ashes.

    Ming Jian Su: “…” She also disliked living in someone else’s dwelling, but wasn’t this a bit excessive?

    Meeting her gaze, Feng Chiyue smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome,” she said.

    Ming Jian Su, who had initially planned to make do, ended up becoming a construction worker, using her magic power to build a wooden hut overnight.

    “No jade platform, no spring of ambrosia, no fruit…” Feng Chiyue complained.

    “Stop,” Ming Jian Su said, cutting her off. She walked towards her and, taking out a Cinnabar Jade, asked, “Do you know what this is?”

    Feng Chiyue, confused, still answered, “Cinnabar Jade.”

    “Do you have any?”

    Feng Chiyue frowned, thinking.

    Ming Jian Su didn’t understand what there was to think about. “If you don’t have any, you don’t have any,” she said. “No need to pretend.” She would add it to her tab and collect it from that “elder sister” who had promised a generous reward.

    Feng Chiyue stopped thinking. “Alright, I don’t have any,” she admitted.

    Ming Jian Su nodded. “Then stop complaining,” she said sternly.

    Feng Chiyue made a noncommittal sound. When it was time to rest, she floated towards Ming Jian Su, who was meditating on a cushion, and invited her to sleep.

    “Meditate!” Ming Jian Su said.


    The next day, Ming Jian Su registered Feng Chiyue’s name, claiming she was her junior sister, and obtained a Chaos Mirror for her.

    The officials at the Heavenly Mechanism Department didn’t care, scribbling a few notes and dismissing them.

    Ming Jian Su, having been harassed by Feng Chiyue all night, unable to sleep or meditate, had resorted to fiddling with the Chaos Mirror.

    She stumbled upon some familiar scenarios, such as newly ascended immortals having their dwellings seized by wandering immortals. Those with experience offered advice: “Those targeted are usually those without backing. The Heavenly Mechanism Department and the Celestial Pivot Department won’t intervene. It’s best to be polite and try to share the mountain. Don’t fight them. They’ll call their friends, and you won’t stand a chance.”

    She had to endure such humiliation even after ascension? She had never experienced such treatment in the lower realm.

    She was shocked again. Fighting back was one thing, but sparing their lives was already merciful. How dare that Daoist priest be ungrateful?

    After exploring the Immortal Realm for a while, she realized that she was at the bottom of the pecking order. She was supposed to receive a salary, but who knew when it would be paid? And that meager amount wouldn’t even be enough for a decent meal. To survive in the Immortal Realm, one needed either a powerful family or to accept the reality of being a “Candidate Immortal in name, a wandering immortal in practice,” working tirelessly to make ends meet.

    This realization frustrated her, and she returned to the unnamed mountain with a dark expression.


    Incense smoke curled through the air in the small wooden hut, its reflection on the folding screen, depicting mountains and rivers, resembling a misty landscape.

    At first, she didn’t notice anything amiss, but then she realized that she wasn’t in the lower realm anymore. She was now a penniless Candidate Immortal. She hadn’t seen that screen when she left this morning! She quickly noticed other changes: a zither platform, a sword rack, bookshelves, a copper vase filled with flowers, crystal curtains, a coral tree… where had all this come from?

    She pursed her lips and, walking past the screen, saw Feng Chiyue sitting on the white jade bed, looking pleased with herself.

    She was playing with… Cinnabar Jade?

    She had claimed to have none yesterday!

    “Where did you get this?” Ming Jian Su asked.

    Feng Chiyue lowered her gaze and said lazily, “Someone gave it to me.”

    “You went out? But you said you had no friends here.”

    Feng Chiyue turned to look at her. “I didn’t go out,” she said. “And I have no friends here.”

    Ming Jian Su: “…” Did she look that gullible? How many flaws were there in that statement?

    She frowned, her expression as cold as ice. Her gaze swept over Feng Chiyue, and when she saw her extend a hand towards her, she couldn’t resist taking it, helping her up.

    Feng Chiyue’s gesture was so natural. If she had withdrawn her hand, wouldn’t it seem petty? And it would reveal how much she cared. Lost in thought, she followed Feng Chiyue out of the hut.


    Outside the cave, four Daoist priests lay unconscious in a pit, their auras still, as if they were dead.

    “They gave me those things,” Feng Chiyue said slowly.

    Ming Jian Su instantly thought of the “retaliation” mentioned on the Chaos Mirror, her expression changing. She turned to Feng Chiyue and asked, “Are you hurt?”

    “No,” Feng Chiyue replied, smiling.

    “But you said you were weak and helpless,” Ming Jian Su said, recalling their conversation from the previous night. Feng Chiyue had claimed to be afraid, fragile, and incapable of defending herself. Ming Jian Su hadn’t believed her and had asked, “Weren’t you alone in the Abyss of the Milky Way?” And Feng Chiyue had replied, “The barrier was the best protection. I couldn’t get out, and no one could get in.” Ming Jian Su had been speechless, tempted to send her back immediately.

    “Yes,” Feng Chiyue said, her expression sincere, betraying no lies.

    Ming Jian Su pointed at the unconscious Daoist priests. “The evidence is right there,” she said.

    “They fainted on their own. You can search their souls if you don’t believe me.”

    Ming Jian Su: “?” Was that something a decent immortal would do?

    Feng Chiyue frowned, then, after a moment, she said, “I swear, if I did it, may the Vermilion Bird Elder die a horrible death.”

    The Vermilion Bird, one of the Five Phoenixes and Three Feathered Birds, was a pillar of strength for the feathered lineages, currently residing in Danxue Mountain, the most powerful protector of countless tribes, their bloodline strong, their status revered.

    At this point, Ming Jian Su was unaware of the deep animosity between the Phoenix and the Vermilion Bird.

    Who would swear such a vicious oath using their own elder?

    Her suspicions subsided, and after Feng Chiyue gave her all the Cinnabar Jade, they vanished completely.

    She didn’t care about the fate of those insignificant immortals. She tossed them out of the unnamed mountain and forgot about them.

    In a place hidden from view, flames erupted, consuming the four Daoist priests, their ashes scattering in the wind.


    As a Candidate Immortal, waiting was customary.

    Ming Jian Su also wanted to find a place to relax and enjoy a carefree life.

    But now she had a phoenix to feed, and she had to find work. Fortunately, conflict had erupted on the battlefield between gods and demons, and they were desperate for reinforcements. Only during times like this would they favor human immortals over Heavenly Immortals. She successfully transitioned from a Candidate Immortal to an official and received the Cinnabar Jade that had been withheld by the Heavenly Prosperity Department. However, seeing Feng Chiyue idling around, she felt a surge of displeasure. After much persuasion, she convinced the officials to allow Feng Chiyue to take the Heavenly Immortal assessment. After all, phoenixes were born Heavenly Immortals. And having been exposed to the vast primordial energy in the Abyss of the Milky Way, she should meet the requirements, right?

    Feng Chiyue, in her usual lazy manner, didn’t refuse.

    But while Ming Jian Su was taking a nap, Feng Chiyue was summoned.

    The official, his face red with anger, was ranting about her being worse than a goose, his gaze sharp, as if she had tarnished the name of the phoenix. He even muttered, “Did those officials in the Heavenly Mechanism Department make a mistake? Is she really a phoenix? Shouldn’t she be in the Celestial Feather Ministry? Another mess to clean up.”

    Ming Jian Su: “…”

    She turned to Feng Chiyue.

    Well, she seemed perfectly fine, her expression calm and composed, not a hint of shame.

    Ming Jian Su was troubled. What had gone wrong?


    Only after they returned did she ask, her eyelids drooping, wanting to know what had happened. The Heavenly Soldier assessment was a piece of cake. If she couldn’t even pass that, would she have to become a servant in someone’s cave, serving tea and water?

    Feng Chiyue, after weighing her options, apologized first. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

    Ming Jian Su didn’t hear any sincerity in her voice. And what was with that “I’ve endured great humiliation” expression?

  • The Number One Good-for-Nothing in the Celestial Realm 75

    Chapter 75: Extra 1

    After enduring ninety-nine tribulations, the Heavenly Gate swung open, and five-colored rays of light cascaded from the sky. Ming Jian Su, sword in hand, soared towards the brilliant light.

    The thunderous cheers and celebrations from below gradually faded, and she thought she had finally escaped the drudgery of paperwork.

    Everyone yearned for the carefree life of an immortal, soaring through the heavens on six dragons.

    Ming Jian Su, a cultivator from the Mingxin Continent, ascended to the clouds and saw a Heavenly Gate, inscribed with the grand characters “Mingxin Gate.” Beside it was a table, its material unknown, where a young immortal, adorned with a golden crown and a crimson robe, sat diligently writing.

    Unfamiliar with the customs of ascension, she had assumed that, upon achieving immortality, she would be free to roam the heavens. As she was about to pass through the gate, the immortal called out to her, instructing her to register her name. She frowned slightly, a sense of foreboding washing over her. But she dismissed it. She was in the Immortal Realm now. What danger could there be? Wasn’t it a realm of peace and tranquility?

    “Official or wandering immortal?” the immortal asked enthusiastically.

    “What’s the difference?” she asked, her tone polite.

    He glanced at her and explained patiently, “A wandering immortal finds their own dwelling, refines their own resources, lives off the land, and answers to no one. They receive no benefits.”

    That sounded rather bleak.

    “What about an official?” she asked.

    His eyes lit up, his earlier apathy vanishing. His lips moved rapidly, saliva spraying as he spoke.

    He painted a beautiful picture, and she caught the keywords: Cinnabar Jade, elixirs, benefits denied to wandering immortals. In return, they had to complete certain tasks. But what could possibly go wrong in the Immortal Realm?

    “There are many paradises in the Immortal Realm, but most are under the Heavenly Court’s control,” he added. “If you become an official, you’ll be assigned a dwelling. If you choose to be a wandering immortal, you’re on your own.”

    A dwelling, like a mountain peak.

    She understood. “I’ll be an official,” she said, nodding.

    He quickly wrote down her name. She took the document, glanced at it, and asked, “Candidate Immortal? What does this mean?”

    Perhaps because she had already registered, he was no longer interested in talking to her. He waved his hand dismissively. “Just wait for someone to recruit you,” he said.

    She decided to trust him.


    On her first day in the Immortal Realm, she received her assigned dwelling from the Heavenly Mechanism Department: a cave in an unnamed mountain.

    The description was incredibly vague. What did “a cave” even mean? She wanted to ask, but the busy official, engrossed in a device called the Chaos Mirror, ignored her. She also received a Chaos Mirror, but, newly ascended, she had little interest in it. Her priority was finding her dwelling.

    She spent a Cinnabar Jade on a map, but the mountain peaks were poorly drawn. She could only guess. After hours of searching, as the sun began to set, she hadn’t found the unnamed mountain but had stumbled into a strange abyss. Looking up through the narrow opening, she could only see a sliver of sky. The sound of rushing water filled her ears.

    She was about to leave, but Undefeated hummed, the same way it had when she had discovered hidden treasures in the lower realm.

    Could there be something valuable down here? Adhering to her principle of “never missing an opportunity,” she walked towards the strongest concentration of spiritual energy. There was no water below, only a constant flow of dense primordial energy. It was pitch black at first, but then her vision was filled with blue and red crystals, shimmering with light. She didn’t recognize them, but as she approached, she was blocked by a barrier.

    Where there was a formation, there was treasure—this belief had been ingrained in her during her time in the lower realm.

    Her initial confusion vanished, replaced by a calm confidence. She drew Undefeated and struck the invisible barrier! Sword energy surged like a river of starlight, and with a crisp crack, countless shards of light, like jade dust, rained down. She reached the red and blue crystals, and a single touch told her they were merely decorative, useless for cultivation.

    She immediately looked away, as if even a glance was a waste of her time.

    The abyss hadn’t reached its end yet. A strange aura lingered within the flowing energy.

    She continued walking and suddenly caught sight of a figure. Her grip on Undefeated tightened, and her eyes narrowed, her entire body tense as she watched the figure emerge from around the corner.

    It was a woman.

    She wore a crimson cloak, her long, black hair cascading down her shoulders, her head uncovered.

    Her beautiful face held a hint of drowsiness, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

    Her eyes, hidden beneath those lashes, were dark and deep, filled with curiosity. A thin line of blood trailed down from the corner of her eyebrow, marring her flawless skin.

    Ming Jian Su stared at her, speechless.

    She wasn’t one of those romantic poets from the lower realm, capable of composing verses to describe this unexpected beauty. For a moment, she simply wanted to pull the woman into her arms and lick away the blood staining her brow.

    Her heart pounded, a sensation she had never experienced before.

    A blush crept up her cheeks, glowing under the red crystals’ light, as beautiful as a plum blossom blooming in the snow.

    Could there be seductive heart demons in the Immortal Realm? She grasped at this thought amidst her muddled mind, desperately clinging to it.

    She finally moved, approaching the woman, her sharp sword pressed against her snow-white neck.

    If this were a life-or-death battle, her earlier lapse in focus would have been fatal. It was unacceptable.

    The woman tilted her head, unfazed by the thin line of blood welling up where the blade touched her skin.

    She looked at Ming Jian Su, confused.

    A wave of protectiveness washed over Ming Jian Su.

    Before her mind could even process this unexpected emotion, she lowered her sword. She pressed a finger against the woman’s forehead, sealing her movements, and asked, forcing her voice to remain cold, “Who are you?”

    The woman pursed her lips. “Feng Chiyue,” she said.

    An unfamiliar name.

    Newly arrived, she knew nothing.

    Frustration flickered in her eyes, but she pushed it aside. “Are there any treasures here?” she asked.

    Feng Chiyue blinked, ignoring her question. “Are you here to take me out?” she asked.

    Ming Jian Su stared at her, bewildered. Under her sincere gaze, she almost said “yes,” but her iron will stopped her.

    She stepped back, distancing herself from the captivating beauty. “You’re trapped here,” she said, avoiding her question.

    “Confined, not trapped,” Feng Chiyue corrected, her tone slightly annoyed.

    Ming Jian Su didn’t believe her.

    Feng Chiyue blinked again. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said.

    “Then why are you here?”

    “Yes, why am I here?” She had woken up in this place, her memories fragmented, unable to escape. She had spent decades here, alone, in this sunless abyss, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

    But today, someone had appeared, and she was beautiful.

    She had to get out! Feng Chiyue’s heart was usually calm, devoid of desires, but now, this single thought consumed her, shaking her to her core, her expression alight with longing and hope.

    “When are we leaving?” she asked eagerly.

    Ming Jian Su stared at her, bewildered. For a moment, she thought she had agreed without realizing it.

    She shook Undefeated, averted her gaze, refusing to look at that captivating face. “I’m not taking you anywhere,” she said.

    Feng Chiyue ignored her and continued, “Where will we live? What’s it like outside? Is it fun?”

    “I said, I’m not taking you,” Ming Jian Su repeated, her voice firm.

    The cheerful voice finally stopped, and she sighed in relief. But then a soft sigh reached her ears.

    “I swear, I’m not a bad person.”

    “If I ever do anything wrong, may heaven and earth be overturned.”

    “What kind of oath is that?” Ming Jian Su interrupted. Meeting her eyes, her blunt words softened.

    “We’ve only just met.”

    “Yes,” Feng Chiyue said with a sigh. “What a shame we didn’t meet sooner.”

    She studied Ming Jian Su for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “Are you looking for something?” she asked. “I can take you there.”

    Perhaps blinded by beauty, Ming Jian Su’s reason and vigilance abandoned her once more. She released the spell binding Feng Chiyue.

    Feng Chiyue walked ahead, then stopped beside her, taking her arm naturally, her voice soft and coaxing. “When you broke that barrier earlier, a lamp shattered and hit my head. It hurt so much.” She gestured to her forehead.

    Ming Jian Su didn’t like being touched and would have normally shaken her off, but seeing a small mark on her flawless skin, she felt a pang of guilt and allowed Feng Chiyue to lead her deeper into the abyss.


    At the end was a chamber, its walls bearing traces of powerful magic.

    There was only a single bed carved from white jade, its surface inlaid with countless intricate formations, channeling the surrounding primordial energy.

    Cultivating here would surely accelerate one’s progress.

    But was this the only treasure? Ming Jian Su, who had expected to find rare and valuable materials, pondered.

    Feng Chiyue, having reached their destination, let go of her arm. She fumbled around on the bed for a moment, then retrieved a small booklet and tossed it to Ming Jian Su.

    She glanced at it and saw that it was a journal left by someone from the past, bearing several seals. It spoke of a younger sister who had been injured and hidden in the Abyss of the Milky Way to recover. If a fated person arrived, they were to take her back, and a generous reward would be given. Ming Jian Su stared at the words “generous reward,” lost in thought, then another booklet was thrust into her hands. She flipped through it and saw only six large characters: “Phoenix Care Manual.”

    She looked at Feng Chiyue, her eyes wide with surprise. “Are you a phoenix?” she asked.

    Feng Chiyue tilted her head, studying her. After a long moment, she blinked. “I think so,” she said.