Chapter 11: His Turn to Decide Life and Death

Chapter 11: Now It’s His Turn to Decide Life and Death

Xue Youtan felt puzzled, still unaware of what had just happened, when the next second he was yanked out of the water by Pei Zhi and shoved aside.

Judging by Pei Zhi’s reaction—could it be that what he’d just touched was…

Ahem. This kid—getting hard just from a cold soak. Talk about natural talent.

Xue Youtan coughed awkwardly and climbed out of the tub. He snapped his fingers, and his soaked robes instantly transformed into dry ones. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced over to see Pei Zhi already out of the tub, hastily pulling on his outer robe.

After exchanging brief pleasantries with Yueli, Xue Youtan took Pei Zhi and left.

Neither spoke on the way back—Xue Youtan walked ahead in silence; Pei Zhi trailed behind.

It wasn’t until they entered the northern compound that the temperature plummeted sharply. Pei Zhi lacked Xue Youtan’s cultivation level and couldn’t dry his clothes with a snap. Earlier, upon exiting the tub, he’d had no choice but to throw his outer robe over his drenched pants. Now, with the biting wind piercing through, the damp fabric beneath clung to his skin, sending shivers deep into his bones—and he sneezed repeatedly.

He rubbed his nose, preparing to hug himself for warmth, when Xue Youtan—who’d been walking ahead—suddenly stopped.

“Come here.” Without turning, Xue Youtan crooked a finger over his shoulder.

Pei Zhi hesitated, unsure whether Xue Youtan meant him. He glanced around—and only when he confirmed they were alone did he step forward to stand beside him.

Without a word, Xue Youtan reached out and grasped Pei Zhi’s wrist. Instantly, a steady current of warmth surged from their joined hands, flooding every limb and bone—banishing the cold entirely.

The sensation reminded Pei Zhi of that night in his room—there, too, warmth like this had bloomed in his dreams.

He looked up at Xue Youtan. The man’s face remained utterly expressionless—not even a glance in his direction. Yet as they continued walking, the hand gripping his wrist didn’t let go.

Pei Zhi couldn’t name what he felt. Moments ago, he’d plotted to feign unconsciousness and strangle Xue Youtan. And yet this man held no grudge—instead, he’d taken a blade for him and burned his own spiritual energy to keep him warm.

What was Xue Youtan thinking? Or more precisely—what did he want from Pei Zhi?

That was Pei Zhi’s first instinct.

Sure enough, the next second, Xue Youtan asked out of nowhere: “Do you want to get stronger?”

Of course he did. Once he surpassed Xue Youtan, it would be *his* turn to decide who lived and who died—Xue Youtan’s fate would rest entirely in his hands.

So Pei Zhi nodded.

“Then there’s a chance to get stronger—right now. You in?”

Xue Youtan studied Pei Zhi’s face, mentally rehearsing how to set the trap without making it too obvious.

He had no choice—the system’s countdown kept flashing in his mind. Four more hours had slipped away; dusk was near, and mission progress remained stagnant. Xue Youtan decided to make the first move.

No crime? Then manufacture one—for the male lead. Can’t convict him for harming fellow disciples? Then how about colluding with the enemy?

From what he recalled of the full story, the perfect opportunity was imminent.

Cangya Mountain prided itself on being a great cultivation sect—and viewed demons as mortal enemies. If he could catch Pei Zhi consorting with demons, those twenty discipline lashes would be guaranteed.

He remembered that, in the original plot, the Cold Pool incident was immediately followed by the “Netherworld River” arc. The original female Xue Youtan—eager to secure Top Disciple status for her favorite disciple Xiao Yiheng—had sent him to the Netherworld River to retrieve the Netherworld Ganoderma. But Xiao Yiheng had failed miserably: seduced by demonic charm poison, he’d lost the herb—and even unwittingly led demons into the sect. Fortunately, Feng Mingjue had intervened in time, preventing real damage.

Now that the “Cold Pool incident” had veered off-script, the “Netherworld River” plot would have to shift accordingly.

Xue Youtan didn’t wait for Pei Zhi’s answer before continuing. “The Netherworld Ganoderma in the Netherworld River blooms and bears fruit once every thirty years—and right now is its ripening season. I want you to go retrieve it. Think you can handle it?”

Pei Zhi’s dark eyes flickered—but he didn’t ask if it was dangerous, nor did he say yes or no. Instead, he asked: “If Master obtains the Netherworld Ganoderma—who will you give it to?”

What did that mean? Did the boy suspect he was being used as a pawn—that the herb would be seized and gifted to another disciple? Wow—the male lead’s mind truly worked in mysterious ways.

Xue Youtan quickly reassured him: “The Netherworld Ganoderma enhances cultivation. Don’t you want to grow stronger? Whatever you retrieve belongs to you. Bring it back, and I’ll have your Uncle Yue refine it into a pill.”

Pei Zhi agreed. “When does Master wish me to depart?”

Time was tight—how about *now*? But Xue Youtan lacked the nerve to say it outright. He released Pei Zhi’s wrist and replied, feigning casualness: “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Understood.”

Xue Youtan had assumed Pei Zhi would rest overnight before leaving. But when he rose in the dead of night and flew on his sword to peek outside Pei Zhi’s hut, he found the boy had already packed and departed.

No wonder the male lead succeeded in the end—with that kind of diligence, what *couldn’t* he accomplish?

The next day, in Cangya Mountain’s main hall.

Xue Youtan lounged half-reclined in his chair, mentally estimating Pei Zhi’s progress at the Netherworld River while listening to Feng Mingjue’s rambling. From the elder’s words, he gathered that a demonic spirit had surfaced in the Jiangnan region—and someone had come to Cangya Mountain requesting cultivators descend to subdue it. The elder had no intention of going himself, so he was asking whether Xue Youtan or Yueli would take the assignment.

As the acknowledged “waste” of Cangya Mountain among the older generation, tasks demanding actual effort rarely fell to him.

So Xue Youtan leisurely sipped his tea, stretched out his foot to hook the leg of a nearby chair, dragged it over, and propped up his feet—settling into a more comfortable slouch.

But whether it was the grating scrape of chair legs that irritated Yueli—or simply the man’s innate antagonism toward him—the moment Xue Youtan rested his feet up, Yueli’s voice rang across the hall.

“I heard Third Master has been overflowing with cultivation technique energy lately—practicing sword flight in the courtyard even at midnight. How about assigning *this* demon-subduing task to him?”

Yueli steered the conversation directly toward him, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, knowing smile—like a fox.

Wait—had Yueli installed surveillance in his courtyard? Otherwise, how would he know about the midnight sword flight?

Sure enough, Feng Mingjue perked up at the remark. “I never knew, Youtan—that you were so diligent.”

“What if I told you I flew my sword at midnight to find a good spot to relieve myself—would you believe me, Sect Master?” Better to claim that than admit to spying on a disciple.

Feng Mingjue wore an expression of “I believe you—I *totally* believe you”—and promptly assigned the task to Xue Youtan.

Xue Youtan was about to protest further when the system’s notification chime suddenly blared in his mind.