Chapter Three: If You Don’t Want to Rely on Others, You Must Be Strong Yourself

For just a fleeting moment, Mo Bufan was stunned, but he quickly snapped out of it. What a joke—he’d seen all sorts of beauties in his previous life, those who could be admired and even those one shouldn’t have looked at. The stunning woman before him, ethereal as she was, could not compare to the value of his own life. He immediately gripped the scissors in his hand more tightly.

But the scene he’d imagined—of a villain forcing himself on a maiden, the beauty threatening suicide with scissors to resist—never happened. As the "beauty" in this situation, Mo Bufan hadn’t even managed to raise the scissors, let alone utter the cliché line, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill myself.” Before he could react, a sealing spell had been cast on him, and the scissors slipped from his grasp and landed in the other’s hand.

“Oh no, this is the end,” Mo Bufan lamented inwardly, finally shutting his eyes in resignation, ready to suffer whatever fate awaited him.

“You don’t need to be afraid.” To his surprise, the beauty’s voice was cold but calm. “I won’t force you.”

“Huh?” Mo Bufan blinked, suddenly able to speak again.

Song Yuxuan, seeing him so, sighed softly. “I heard everything you said on the hill behind your home yesterday.”

Mo Bufan’s mind instantly conjured up the scene of his host grumbling in frustration last night. The host, proud to a fault, had complained bitterly—declaring that as a man of honor with unparalleled insight and talent for absorbing spiritual energy, he ought to have become a giant among immortals, not suffered the humiliation of being married off; it was a fate worse than death.

He’d even said more than once that if he truly had to be married off, he’d rather die.

Thinking of this, Mo Bufan said, “So at today’s wedding, you controlled me not just to prevent embarrassment, but also to stop me from killing myself?”

Song Yuxuan maintained her cold, aloof demeanor, but her expression tacitly admitted the truth.

Mo Bufan shrugged, forming his own assessment of this beautiful woman. Clearly, she wasn’t indifferent to her husband’s well-being—she’d secretly observed him yesterday, and by her manner, she wasn’t the sort to force her will upon another.

Song Yuxuan casually set down the scissors she’d taken back from Mo Bufan, sighing inwardly. This young man was truly stubborn, still thinking of ending his own life.

In truth, she felt more resistance toward this marriage than Mo Bufan did. Yet as the sect’s vice leader, she was left with no other choice. However, when it came to actually consummating the marriage, she found herself unable to go through with it.

After all, though she was nearly five hundred years old, she’d spent her life cultivating and carrying out missions, never forming attachments with men, let alone developing feelings. As the last disciple of the previous sect leader of Heavenly Mystery Sect, beloved by her master and senior brothers, few men dared approach her. Those who harbored ill intent were dealt with harshly before they could get close, often at the hands of her master and senior brothers.

She vividly remembered a time when a self-assured, talented disciple from Kaiyuan Sect became infatuated with her during a mission. Just as he was about to employ his so-called irresistible charms, her master—fresh from seclusion—and her newly appointed sect leader brother learned of it from their fellow disciples. Without a word, they stormed over, nearly razing Kaiyuan Sect to the ground.

In the end, both sects’ elders, protective of their own, fought fiercely within a barrier, flattening two mountain peaks of Kaiyuan Sect. Her shameless senior brother, disregarding sect dignity, ambushed and gravely injured the young man who’d tried to flirt with her, ending the matter.

Afterward, the two sects avoided each other for a century, and Kaiyuan Sect even established a rule: any disciple who sought a partner from Heavenly Mystery Sect would be expelled and stripped of their cultivation.

From then on, no one from any sect dared set their sights on her again.

This time, she agreed to marry Mo Bufan partly out of her own willingness, but also because both the Supreme Elder and sect leader were in seclusion.

To Song Yuxuan, the matter of a cultivation partner had weighed heavily. Most other peak leaders in the sect, aside from a few obsessed with cultivation, had found partners. Her ideal companion was certainly not like Mo Bufan. After secretly observing him yesterday, she concluded that her future husband was stubborn and ambitious, yet plagued by misfortune—a far cry from her dreams.

Yet someone with such potential, who could possibly elevate the sect to the pinnacle of the immortal realm, could not be left to fall into the hands of another sect. Even if she didn’t consummate the marriage, it was better to keep him within her own sect.

And as for the rumors about his Nine Yang Constitution, she hardly gave them any credence. She herself had achieved True Immortal status in just five hundred years—a rarity in the cultivation world, with a real possibility of one day becoming an Immortal Emperor. Thus, she had no ulterior motives regarding Mo Bufan.

In this, she felt she and her new husband were not so different. While she wasn’t as outrageously confident as he, she wasn’t far behind.

Mo Bufan couldn’t know her thoughts, but he could guess at them. He smiled, saying, “I thought you didn’t care what happened to me.”

“I...” Song Yuxuan’s cheeks flushed, but she quickly put on a stern face. “I know you don’t want to be a live-in son-in-law, nor to be used by Heavenly Mystery Sect. I’ll give you time to prove yourself. If you’re truly capable, the sect won’t mistreat you. If you’re not... then you’ll have no say in the matter.”

Seeing her response, Mo Bufan more or less understood his new wife’s thinking. Though he retained an instinctive respect for immortals due to the host’s influence, it wasn’t too overwhelming. Her words put him at ease, and he grinned. “That’s great. It’ll give you time to get used to things, too.”

Hearing his cheeky tone, Song Yuxuan frowned and turned away, producing a token and tossing it to him. “This is my token. With it, you may go anywhere within Heavenly Mystery Sect. As long as you don’t leave the sect, no one will stop you.”

Mo Bufan caught the black token but hadn’t had time to examine it when his cold, beautiful wife said briskly, “Rest for now. I’m leaving.” Without waiting for a reply, her figure flickered and she vanished.

For a long moment, Mo Bufan stood there clutching the black token, his mind in turmoil. None of the elaborate plans he’d devised had come into play—the disaster he’d feared passed by with a few brief exchanges.

On reflection, though, it was a good thing. The host had tried every way to enter Heavenly Mystery Sect to cultivate, to no avail. Now the opportunity had arrived, and with the vice leader’s token, he could go wherever he wished. This would greatly aid him in repairing his own issues and proving his worth.

As his wife had just said, if he didn’t want to end up as a mere breeding stud, he needed strength.

As a man—and one who had died from overwork in his previous life—he certainly wasn’t content with his current predicament.

Most importantly, as the saying goes, “A dragon begets a dragon, a phoenix begets a phoenix, a rat’s son will dig holes, and a turtle’s son is still a turtle.” If his son could be a hero, why couldn’t he be a true man himself? That just didn’t fit the laws of inheritance!

With this realization, Mo Bufan shook off the indignities of being married into another’s household and allowed himself to relax. He walked to the center of the room, feasted on the wine and food prepared for the newlyweds, then lay down on the bed and slept soundly.

If he wanted to cultivate, he first needed to be well-rested. Though this place was unfamiliar, it seemed extremely safe for now.

Song Yuxuan, who had just left, sensed her husband’s actions and a flash of puzzlement crossed her eyes. She’d expected this proud man to wallow in self-pity or perhaps break down in tears, but instead he’d simply feasted and fallen asleep.

She sighed softly. “Ah, I hope you truly can prove yourself. Don’t let me down.”

With that, her figure flickered and disappeared from the courtyard. When she reappeared, she was already in her own sanctuary, where she closed her eyes and resumed cultivation.

Having just crossed over and gone through so much, Mo Bufan slept soundly until the sun was high before finally waking.

Still dazed, he found himself thinking about the unfinished work from his previous life, until he opened his eyes and realized where he was, managing a bitter smile.

After stretching, he opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard. Only then did he realize he now resided in an elegant, ancient-style residence near the mountaintop.

The courtyard spanned nearly a thousand square meters and included a fishpond of over a hundred square meters. In the pond swam five brilliantly colored koi, each nearly a meter long, exuding an unmistakably mystical aura.

The plants around the pond were equally lush, and clearly not ordinary species. Mo Bufan watched as a ginseng root the size of a radish, with a meter-tall, umbrella-like leaf, hopped from the ground, gathered its thick roots like a woman lifting her skirt, and scurried into the shade before burying itself—stretching its leaves out in evident contentment.

Mo Bufan’s brow twitched as he glimpsed a basin-sized lingzhi mushroom and another humanoid polygonum root shifting their positions. He could only chuckle wryly and ignore it. After all, this was the realm of immortals—strange spiritual herbs and medicines were to be expected.

Yet the most striking features were the peach tree in the corner—towering seven or eight stories high, its branches laden with peaches the size of bowls, enough to make one’s mouth water—and the two giant cranes, each over two meters tall, strolling the grounds.

As Mo Bufan approached, the cranes bowed to him and greeted in unison, “Good morning, son-in-law.”

One voice was gentle and masculine, the other clear and feminine—both extremely pleasant to hear.

“Oh... uh, good morning,” Mo Bufan stammered, nodding awkwardly.

Before he could recover from the embarrassment of chatting with immortal cranes, two figures emerged from the side chambers—an elderly man and woman, the former carrying a basin of water and the latter a tray of food, both moving with remarkable vigor.

“My, you certainly can sleep, young master. Hurry and wash up, then have breakfast,” the old woman said kindly, her words laced with humor but making Mo Bufan feel genuinely at home.

Mo Bufan dared not delay, quickly replying, “Thank you both for your trouble.”