Next Time, The Heavenly Sect RESPONDS—And We Might Be Screwed... The message talisman buzzed violently on my table.
I stared at it. Yue and the Demon King stared at it. Infact, the entire sect stared at it.
"…Do we open it?" I asked.
A disciple gulped. "They responded fast." Too fast. I picked up the talisman and activated it. A calm, chilling voice poured out:
"Long Fei Jian. We heard your little song. How adorable.
You think you can challenge the Heavenly Sect with poetry?
Your rhymes are as weak as your cultivation.
Your insults are as pitiful as your sect's formation."
I blinked. Did they just....Did they just diss my cultivation level?!
The talisman continued:
"You claim our voices shatter the heavens,
but your sect's screams fill the caverns.
Even mortals laugh at your name,
a fallen lord if eventually, disgraced in shame."
I clenched my fists. The Demon King was trembling.
"…Master Long," one disciple whispered. "I think we lost."
"Like hell we did!" I snapped. We were going to war.: Writing a Diss Track… With a War Strategy
I paced across the training hall.
Yue sat cross-legged on a cushion, twirling a brush between her fingers. "So. Counterattack?"
I turned to the Demon King. "You've led countless battles. How do we crush them?"
The Demon King folded his arms. "In war, strategy is key. Precision. Power. Ruthlessness."
I nodded. "So?" He took a deep breath.
And then he said: "We need a better beat." I stared at him.
Yue nodded. "True."
One disciple chimed in, "Our rhythm last time was sloppy."
Another muttered, "Heavenly Sect has better instrumentals." I… I was losing my mind.
"WE'RE CULTIVATORS, NOT MUSICIANS!" I roared.
"Master Long," Yue said patiently. "This is bigger than a song. This is reputation warfare."
I rubbed my temples. "Fine. Fine." The Demon King slammed a table.
"GET THE LUTE PLAYERS. WE'RE MAKING HISTORY."
---
The Demon god Has Had Enough of Our Bullsh*t
I was in the middle of rewriting the most disrespectful diss track known to the cultivation world when—
BOOM! The great hall doors burst open. The entire sect froze.
Their Demon god stood there. Glaring. At me.
"…Oh," I said. He marched forward, robes billowing, spiritual pressure crushing the room.
"Long Fei Jian."
"Yes?" I answered cautiously. He picked up a scroll from the floor. Read it.
Then, slowly, he looked at me. "Are you wasting sect resources… writing a diss track?"
The hall fell dead silent. The Demon King coughed. Yue pretended to examine her nails.
I scratched the back of my head. "Um. Define… wasting?"
The Demon god's eye twitched. Then, with a deep breath, he sat down.
"…Give me a verse."
I blinked. "What?" He narrowed his eyes.
"If we're going to war, we're doing it right."
Well...Next Time, The Heavenly Sect Challenges Us to a Live Battle… in Front of the Entire Cultivation World.
And, Three hours... That's how long it took to gather the entire Nightshade Demon Sect for an emergency announcement.
We were all assembled in the courtyard—disciples, elders, one drunk panda spirit who might not have been invited—and I stood at the front, clutching the latest message talisman. It glowed ominously in my palm.
"Read it," Yue whispered, eyes sparkling with chaotic glee. I took a deep breath.
"From the Heavenly Sect," I announced. "It says—"
"IF YOU'RE SO BOLD TO RHYME, THEN SHOW UP IN REAL TIME. FACE US IN THE GRAND TOURNAMENT STAGE, WHERE EVERY CULTIVATOR WILL WITNESS YOUR RAGE. SEVEN DAYS. BRING YOUR BEST. OR FOREVER BE KNOWN AS THE SECT THAT CAN'T TEST."
There was silence. Then the Demon King let out a long, dramatic gasp.
"They just… called us out in iambic pentameter."
I clenched the talisman. "Oh, we're going."
A disciple raised his hand. "Uh, Master Long… do we even have a tournament-ready team?"
Another disciple added, "Do we even have matching uniforms?"
Yue raised an eyebrow. "Do we have dancers?" I turned slowly.
"…Why would we need dancers?"
She shrugged. "For the intro. Duh."
I was going to lose my mind. But I refused to back down.
"We've got seven days," I said. "Seven days to train, prepare, and compose the most savage pre-fight lyrics known to man."
The Demon King slammed a fist into his palm. "I'll gather the war poets."
"The what now?"
Yue tossed me a brush. "Time to make history, Long Fei Jian." I sighed deeply.
"Alright. Let's give these righteous hypocrites a show they'll never forget."
Recruitment Day—Why Is the Chicken Stronger Than Me?!
Seven days.... That's all we had to prep for a public, world-broadcasted, poetic, cultivation-fueled showdown.
So naturally, I did what any reasonable appointed temporarily sect Senior disciple would do. I hosted open tryouts.
"Next!" I shouted, perched on a judge's chair between Yue and the Demon King. "Name, specialty, and what you bring to this once-in-a-generation clash of sects!"
A jittery disciple stepped forward. "Jiang Wei. I… I specialize in fog illusions and mildly aggressive butterflies."
I blinked. "You mean like… fluttery distraction butterflies?"
"Yes, sir!" I turned to Yue.
She shrugged. "Could work as visual effects."
"Approved!" I barked. He bowed, beaming, and ran off.
"Next!" A huge, shadowy figure stepped up.
It was a chicken. A giant chicken.
It flapped once, and the sheer force knocked over half the audience.
"…Yue," I whispered. "Why is there a chicken trying out?"
"Oh, that's Elder Cluckthulhu."
"I'm sorry—what?"
"He's an ancient spirit beast. Failed his tribulation because someone interrupted his enlightenment with fried rice. Been mad ever since." The chicken stared directly into my soul.
"…Approved." Next up was a flute player who played death metal on a bamboo flute.
The Demon King wept tears of joy. Then came a pair of twin sisters who only fought while insult-rhyming each other.
Yue took notes. I rubbed my temples.
"What is this team turning into?"
Yue smirked. "A nightmare."
"Whose?"
"Everyone's." I looked out at the ragtag group forming in front of me.
A fog-butterfly boy, a vengeful chicken, a flute-metalhead, and twin rhyme-fighters.
This was either going to be the most legendary comeback in cultivation history.....or the world's most expensive public embarrassment.
Either way, we were committed. But it did not prepare me enough for Next time: Sect Training Begins....And the Chicken Learns to Rap. At Day one of training.
We had ten disciples, three support artists, one demon king, a very confused spirit beast, and one half-broken zither Yue insisted could "still drop heat."
I stood in front of the group, hands on my hips. "Alright team! Today, we turn this chaos into a well-oiled cultivation-diss-track-war-machine!"
The wind howled dramatically. Someone sneezed.
Yue handed out scrolls. "Basic rhyme structure. Master them, or Cluckthulhu gets your lunch."
Elder Cluckthulhu....our vengeful spirit chicken...stared at everyone with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.
Someone tried to protest. The chicken growled. The chicken growled...!!!
Day one goals:
Build group synergy.
Match spiritual flow with lyrical flow.
Keep Cluckthulhu from pecking out anyone's spleen.
"Okay," I clapped. "Partner up! Battle rhyming exercises!" It was Chaos.....
Twin rhyme-sisters broke into another civil war.
The fog-butterfly guy accidentally disappeared himself.
Elder Cluckthulhu squawked once, then freestyled...