Chapter 1: The Scorned Bastard Son

Within the Yin Heavenly Domain, in the territory of the Ghostly Realm of You, at the foot of Maple Mountain.

Along the muddy path leading to Lingbao Temple, a carriage rolled at an unhurried pace, flanked by five or six armored riders.

Inside the lavish cabin, wisps of agarwood incense curled through the air.

An old man and a young man sat facing each other, the atmosphere heavy and oppressive.

The elder was Yin Xunshan, Head Steward of the Marquis of Qinghe's Manor in Qinghe County.

The youth was the Third Young Lord of the manor — yet merely a bastard son born of a concubine.

He had fine, delicate features, with a refined and noble air between his brows, appearing to be around fifteen or sixteen years of age, though his complexion was far from healthy.

His handsome face, still touched with a hint of youthful innocence, was a sickly pale — not a trace of color to be found.

"Third Young Master, Lingbao Temple is nearly upon us. From here on, you will serve before the Dao Lord's seat, with only the eternal lamp for company. My Lady bids this old servant ask — do you harbor any resentment in your heart?"

Yin Xunshan was dressed in fine robes, his complexion a pallid, ashen white, his gray eyes unsettling — wearing a smile that was not quite a smile as he regarded Li Qingyun across from him.

The question was laced with unmistakable insolence and provocation.

"Hmm?"

Li Qingyun narrowed his eyes slightly, as though he hadn't heard a word, and gently stroked the large cat in his arms — a creature of pure jet-black jade coloring.

Only the corners of his handsome lips curled, slowly, into a faint and distant sneer.

"It seems the Young Master does harbor some dissatisfaction after all!"

Seeing Li Qingyun narrow his eyes and ignore him, Head Steward Yin's gaze sharpened slightly. A cold, sinister aura rose from his body and pressed toward the youth.

In his estimation, Li Qingyun — who had "squandered" over a decade's worth of painstakingly cultivated Essence, Qi, and Spirit along with his future prospects — was now no better than a toothless, clawless tiger cub. He was nothing.

"Though it's a shame for him — that beautiful Wan'er girl, the Heir himself asked for her several times and was refused every time…" Yin Xunshan thought with a twinge of envious resentment.

Thinking of how the Third Young Lord was now effectively exiled, Yin Xunshan grew ever more brazen.

"Meow, meow!" The black cat named Yuanbao in Li Qingyun's arms clearly sensed Yin Xunshan's malice and grew restless and agitated.

Its fur, dark as ink-jade, bristled like needles, and it let out a low, warning growl at the old man — though it was clearly wary of him.

Faced with Yin Xunshan's intimidation, Li Qingyun — his heart already somewhat cold and despondent — had no real desire to engage.

His mind kept replaying the events of five days ago, scene by scene.

That night, he — the Third Young Master of the manor — had celebrated his sixteenth birthday, a milestone of special significance. The manor had gone to great lengths to mark the occasion. The Mistress of the Manor, Lady Cui, had worn an unusually warm and benevolent smile. Even the normally haughty Elder Brother, the Heir, had been effusively enthusiastic, raising toast after toast.

The entire manor seemed to be celebrating his imminent ignition of the Yang Blight energy he had painstakingly cultivated over more than a decade — which would make him the second member of the Marquis of Qinghe's bloodline to truly enter the Yang Refinement Realm.

Li Qingyun had been on guard in secret, testing every cup of wine and every dish with a silver needle for poison, and had taken antidotes in advance.

Yet, despite all his precautions, something had still gone wrong.

After returning to his chambers somewhat drunk, his blood and qi had suddenly surged into turmoil, the Yang Blight energy within him running wild.

A scorching, unbearable heat overtook him, and desires flooded his mind.

In his alarm, he struggled desperately to rein in the rampaging Yang Blight energy.

But then — of all moments — that was precisely when Cui Wan'er appeared at his door. She was the cousin who had arrived in Qinghe County just the previous month to "clear her head," a young woman doted upon by the Mistress of the Manor, Lady Cui. She swayed into the room with an alluring grace.

She smiled with bewitching softness, trailing a faint, enticing fragrance, claiming she had come on her aunt's orders to bring a sobering soup.

Cui Wan'er was strikingly beautiful — even innately seductive — her every movement radiating a soul-stirring, captivating charm.

From the moment she had arrived at the manor, even the Heir had been utterly bewitched, his eyes filled with longing. He had even set aside the matter of their being cousins and petitioned Lady Cui to let him take her as his wife.

In that critical moment, Li Qingyun caught a whiff of a strange and peculiar fragrance drifting from Cui Wan'er.

Then, before his eyes, Cui Wan'er seemed to transform into a breathtakingly radiant celestial maiden.

The Yang Blight energy he had been desperately suppressing instantly broke free of all restraint — like a flash flood bursting its banks, like a raging fire consuming every last shred of his willpower.

That very night, word spread through the manor: the Third Young Lord had lost control in his drunkenness…

Afterward, Cui Wan'er wept with pear-blossom tears, threatening to hang herself.

The Mistress of the Manor, Lady Cui, cried out, "Such a wretched beast — this manor is not big enough for both of us!" The Heir watched from the sidelines with a cold, triumphant expression.

The Marquis of Qinghe flew into a rage, repeatedly demanding how his son could dare do such a thing, his face etched with disappointment.

With his Primal Yang Essence lost and over a decade's worth of painstakingly cultivated Yang Blight energy and vital blood "squandered" away, Li Qingyun had effectively forfeited his future.

And so, the present situation had come to pass.

Li Qingyun — the Third Young Lord of the illustrious Marquis of Qinghe's Manor, renowned throughout Qinghe County for his sharp wit and generous spirit — had been "banished" to Lingbao Temple on the distant Maple Mountain…

Throughout the journey in the carriage, Li Qingyun had been replaying every detail of what had happened, his mind growing clearer and clearer — yet utterly powerless to change anything.

"I've taken a tremendous loss here. Cui Wan'er's background and motives are far too suspicious…"

"In the end, I was too careless — I couldn't hold on. But this is a world where demons and monsters run rampant, where all manner of transcendent powers manifest openly. This is an age where one must fight for one's life and seize every opportunity. If I truly tried to keep a low profile, I'd end up with nothing at all!"

Li Qingyun harbored a secret he had kept hidden for several years.

Three years ago, he had transmigrated from another world, his soul attaching itself to the body of the manor's Third Young Lord, who had drowned under mysterious circumstances at the time.

After transmigrating and learning that this was a world where demons ran rampant and life was precarious, Li Qingyun had ultimately been unable to keep a low profile. He had begun to reveal his talents — displaying remarkable ability, managing affairs with skill, and practicing generosity — earning himself a great reputation in Qinghe County and the surrounding areas.

To win the Marquis of Qinghe's favor, and to accumulate resources for cultivation, he — as a bastard son — had no choice but to make himself stand out.

The family's inherited Yang Blight Refinement technique was a bottomless pit, demanding vast quantities of precious resources. Without "rising above," he would never be able to secure them.

After all, nearly everything that flowed in and out of the manor was controlled by the Mistress of the Manor, Lady Cui, and the Heir.

If he failed to ignite the Yang Blight at the golden age of sixteen, he would forever lose his chance to walk this Unorthodox Path.

He had known that his "excellence" was a double-edged sword — on one hand, it earned him the Marquis of Qinghe's regard; on the other, it inevitably drew the jealousy of Lady Cui and the Heir. And so he had been carefully guarding against them both.

Yet on the night of his sixteenth birthday, he had still fallen into a meticulously laid trap.

As the scenes replayed themselves, Li Qingyun's heart was now as clear as a mirror — yet he was powerless to undo what had been done.

In the span of just a few short days, he was no longer the Third Young Master of the manor, but a disgraced and fallen man who had been "cast out."

Qinghe County to Maple Mountain was nearly sixty miles away. He had made this long journey — ostensibly to seek the Dao and pursue the teachings, a pious and commendable act — but in reality, it was no different from being exiled far from home.

"My Lady says that since the Third Young Master will be formally initiated into the Dao register at Lingbao Temple — entering the sacred rolls that so many dream of — he ought to focus on his cultivation from now on. As for this wild-natured black cat, My Lady says it should not be kept by his side, lest it interfere with his practice…"

Yin Xunshan's eyes shifted subtly, and he smiled with cold malice, suddenly fixing his gaze with murderous intent on the large black cat in Li Qingyun's arms.

His finger flicked out, and a streak of dark light instantly struck Yuanbao.

"Mrow!"

The great black cat Yuanbao let out a pained cry and immediately sprang up, leaping out of Li Qingyun's arms.

It seemed a cold, sinister energy had long been lurking within its body, and now Yin Xunshan had triggered it to erupt. The cat — who had earned quite a fearsome reputation within the Marquis of Qinghe's Manor — was instantly left greatly weakened.

Li Qingyun let out a quiet sigh, rose swiftly to his feet, and placed his back between Yin Xunshan and the cat, buying Yuanbao a chance to escape.

"Yuanbao — go!"

Yuanbao let out a single meow, instantly understanding its master's intent. A fierce will to survive erupted within it, and it accelerated in an instant — moving so fast it was like a blur of dark light. One moment its sharp claws were scraping across the window ledge; the next, it had already vanished into the roadside thicket.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Outside the carriage, the guards drew their bows and loosed arrows at the cat — but in their haste, not a single shot found its mark.