The Duan family was a prestigious name in the cultivation world, one that countless families sought to befriend but found no opportunity. Duan Qingming, the sixth young master, was recognized by the Duan family elders as the legitimate heir—barring unforeseen circumstances, he would become the next head of the Duan family. Now, while he was still young and naive, he had taken a liking to Gu Pinglin, a mere child. If they didn't seize this chance to befriend him now, once he grew older, he might not even spare the Gu family a glance.
The benefits of tying themselves to the Duan family were immeasurable.
Gu Jin, wholly focused on his schemes, flew into a rage upon hearing Gu Pinglin refuse to reply. "Impudent! Who is Young Master Duan? That he deigns to befriend you is your good fortune! How dare you refuse?" He sneered. "Chopping firewood all day—no wonder you've become such an unrefined thing. If not for Young Master Duan's favor, I'd have disciplined you long ago!"
Gu Pinglin listened calmly. Once Gu Jin finished his tirade, he asked, "What about Lady Duan?"
Gu Jin paused.
The Duan family head had married twice. His first wife, Lady Cheng, also from a noble family, had given birth to Duan Qingming before succumbing to pill poisoning after two years of suffering. His second wife, Lady Qi, was no less distinguished—she hailed from the first-class Qi family of the north. The Duan-Qi alliance had initially been a grand affair, but after Lady Qi bore two sons and a daughter, the situation grew delicate.
The Qi family had considerable influence and ambitions, but Duan Qingming's existence was a thorn in their side. Worse, the Duan family had several retired elders who, though uninvolved in daily affairs, all possessed core formation cultivation—even the family head couldn't easily oppose them. These elders upheld tradition, viewing a second wife as inferior to the first, ensuring Duan Qingming's position as heir remained unshaken.
After some thought, Gu Jin snorted. "With those old monsters in the Duan family, the Qi family can't do anything. What do you know?"
Unhurried, Gu Pinglin pressed, "The Qi family can't touch Duan Qingming, but can they touch us?"
Like a bucket of icy water, the words doused Gu Jin's fury.
Who was Lady Qi? Getting too close to Duan Qingming might mark them as his supporters. Duan Qingming was still young and powerless—he couldn't protect a mere friend, even if he wanted to.
The more Gu Jin thought, the more alarmed he became. Finally, he waved weakly. "Leave me."
Gu Pinglin wasn't one to let a child's provocation succeed—he simply couldn't be bothered to reply and, knowing Duan Qingming's troublemaking nature, wanted to leave him hanging. Having made his point, he left without another word, heading straight for the village shop.
Wang-shi greeted him cheerfully. "The herbs you brought this time sold for over two taels! The shopkeeper wants more. Little Ninth, you're getting more capable!"
Too little. Gu Pinglin shook his head, leaving the silver with Wang-shi for safekeeping before departing.
Meanwhile, Gu Jin agonized over the reply, never questioning how Gu Pinglin had suddenly become so insightful. Unwilling to draw the Qi family's ire yet loath to miss this chance, he finally had his eldest son, Gu Ping'an, write back, claiming Gu Pinglin was bedridden with illness and would reply once recovered. As expected, Duan Qingming didn't write again. Gu Jin's plan was shrewd—not refusing, just "ill," avoiding offense while leaving the door open. If Duan Qingming secured his position in the future, Gu Pinglin could "recover," rekindling the connection.
But events outpaced Gu Jin's schemes.
A month later, key members of the Duan family scattered abroad suddenly returned. Rumor had it that the heir, Duan Qingming, had committed some grave offense involving a maid who later took her own life. Such scandals in great families were rarely exposed, but what confirmed it for Gu Jin was that the family head now frequently appeared in public with Lady Qi's son, Duan Qinghou.
Gu Jin privately rejoiced. Meanwhile, Gu Pinglin, hearing the news, was stunned. He immediately retreated to his room, shutting the door and windows, sitting in darkness.
Clearly, the Duan family's heir had changed—Duan Qingming had been cast aside.
The timing aligned perfectly with his past life. The maid incident had indeed occurred, but Duan Qingming had understood his warning—why hadn't the outcome changed?
Carelessness? He was still young, after all.
Gu Pinglin pondered but found it unconvincing. In his past life, he might have accepted youth as an excuse, but now, knowing just how precocious Duan Qingming was, he couldn't believe it. Even if Duan Qingming couldn't outmaneuver his foes, with that warning, he should have had the upper hand. Things shouldn't have deteriorated this far.
To recognize danger yet do nothing—such a mistake was unthinkable for Duan Qingming.
What's really going on?
Time slipped by unnoticed as possibilities arose and were dismissed.
Finally, only one absurd explanation remained.
A twitch between his brows. Gu Pinglin's eyes snapped open, gleaming with a terrifying light.
The one who knows you best is always your enemy.
No one understood Duan Qingming better than he did.
A simple, ludicrous reason—no one would believe it if told. But that monster disguised as normal—what did he care about, besides that woman? What would he be unwilling to abandon?
Who was really scheming against whom?
Even that maid's death…
Gu Pinglin sat in the room for two hours, waiting for the chill in his heart to dissipate before exhaling slowly.
He had worried his warning might alter events, but now, seeing history repeat itself, he realized this was the outcome he'd hoped for—his rival was growing faster than expected.
Good. Duan Qingming is still Duan Qingming. His entry into the Profound Darkness Sect isn't far off.
He himself would join the Lingxin Sect in a year, but before that, there was something he had to do—though it required a substantial sum of money.
Duan Qingming's knowledge spanned countless fields—besides the calligraphy and painting expected of a noble scion and his own cultivation, he was proficient in swordsmanship, poison arts, alchemy… Gu Pinglin had also learned alchemy from him, even refining top-grade pills. But now, without any cultivation, he couldn't even control the furnace's heat—alchemy was impossible.
Unable to refine pills, gathering herbs was the most practical option. Gu Pinglin collected common medicinal plants and had the Wang couple sell them, avoiding unwanted attention.
Time passed. A year later, he had saved over thirty taels of silver.
At twelve, Gu Pinglin had grown taller, though still slender. His gait was steadier, his delicate features now edged with a sharp intensity.
That morning, he rose early, took all his silver, and boarded a hired ox-cart to the city. Since Duan Qingming's fall from grace, he had stopped attending the family school—no one cared. Gu Jin had long lost interest in this now-useless son, and Gu Pingsheng, forced by his mother to focus on cultivation, had no time to harass him. Gu Pinglin's movements had thus become freer.
In the city, he wandered the streets with a small bundle, searching for a particular person. By noon, he still hadn't found him.
Did I misremember the timing?
Frowning inwardly but showing no impatience, he continued to the next intersection.
By an old willow at the bridgehead sat a rough-looking man in his forties, a tattered cloth spread before him displaying a few common blood-clotting pills and an unremarkable gourd. Occasionally, passersby stopped to inquire before shaking their heads and leaving. The man grew anxious as his wares remained unsold.
Could it be him?
Gu Pinglin's eyes lit up. Instead of approaching directly, he hurried to a cosmetics shop on another street, bought powder and rouge, then slipped into a secluded alley.
Moments later, a young noble emerged—his face caked with white powder, unrecognizable, clad in Duan Qingming's resplendent red brocade robes.
Satisfied with his disguise, Gu Pinglin strode toward the bridge.
"Little brother, care to see my medicines?"
"What's this?"
The man had called out casually, noting the boy's fine attire. Seeing genuine interest, he beamed, lowering his voice mysteriously. "These are treasures—immortal elixirs!"
Gu Pinglin eyed him skeptically. "If they're so divine, why are you so poor?"
Brat. The man cursed inwardly but kept his smile. "What do you know? These are my family heirlooms! A fortune-teller said I lack the destiny for immortality—they're useless to me. But you, little brother, have an extraordinary aura. You're clearly destined for the Dao." And clearly rich—he wisely kept that to himself.
Unimpressed by the bragging, Gu Pinglin crouched, inspecting each item, sniffing them, asking questions. The man, taking advantage of his youth, spun tall tales.
Finally, Gu Pinglin picked up the gourd. "What's inside?"
The man wasn't entirely lying—these were indeed family heirlooms, though his ancestors would weep to see their legacy reduced to this. The best pills had long been sold; only these worthless blood-clotting pills and the gourd remained.
The gourd was mostly empty, a layer of white, viscous liquid at the bottom—left behind by some ancestor. Clueless about its purpose, the man bluffed, "This is the essence of a ten-thousand-year spirit mushroom! Consume it, and you'll shed your mortal form, gaining eternal life!"
Gu Pinglin opened the stopper, glanced inside, and set it down calmly. "How do I know you're not lying?"
Eager to close the deal, the man drew a small knife, slashed his hand, and sprinkled crushed pill powder on the wound. The bleeding stopped instantly. "See? Why would I lie to a child?"
Blood-clotting pills were the cheapest in the cultivation world, only useful for minor wounds—even commoners wouldn't waste money on them. Playing the part of a gullible child, Gu Pinglin asked, "How much for these miraculous medicines?"
The man grinned. "A mere fifty taels!"
Gu Pinglin feigned hesitation. "I don't have that much. Let me go home and—"
The man, who'd inflated the price as a test, couldn't risk him fetching an adult. He grabbed Gu Pinglin's sleeve. "How much do you have?"
"Thirty taels."
Though still overpriced, the man, seeing an easy mark, beamed. "For you, little brother, I'll make an exception. Consider it fate!"
Gu Pinglin jingled his silver. "Take it all!"
"Deal!" The man snatched the coins, fearing onlookers might expose his scam, and bolted. "Important business awaits!"
Tucking the pills away, Gu Pinglin cradled the gourd, ensuring no one followed before ducking back into the alley. He shed the noble disguise, washed off the makeup at the riverbank, and resumed his usual appearance.
Weighing the gourd, he allowed himself a rare smile.
This wasn't the "ten-thousand-year spirit essence" the man had boasted of—it was far more precious.
Spirit Stone Milk!
A treasure coveted by every cultivator! Breakthroughs were perilous—failure could damage one's constitution. In his past life, Gu Pinglin had failed once while forming his core. Though he succeeded the second time, it had hindered his path. This substance could repair such damage!
Years ago, the Zhan family had stumbled upon it. The buyer, Zhan Qiu, had bragged for decades, mocking the seller's ignorance, recounting every detail of the transaction—date, location—allowing Gu Pinglin to seize the opportunity.
Now, with the Creation Scripture, he didn't need it, but such treasures were never superfluous. Pleased, he pawned Duan Qingming's robes for a few taels, hired a cart back to the Gu residence, and carefully decanted the Spirit Stone Milk into a small vial.
Two days later, the expected visitors arrived.