Chapter 798: Don’t Believe Me — but Surely You Believe San Dong?

For cultivators, Loving Family Peak wasn’t actually all that large — and not every corner of it was worth a visit.

Where the ground sat bare and ugly, San Dong simply never took Qian Qing.

Everywhere San Dong did bring her was a good spot, hand-picked by San Dong himself.

For instance: from the lip of a little slope, they could gaze off at the flood dragon coiled up dozing in the distance — close enough that you could count the scales on her body.

Then they’d amble down to the creek’s edge, feel the bite of cold in the water, and watch the unafraid little fish weaving through the current.

San Dong could even find the little white tiger, and let it carry the two of them on a slow promenade across the mountain.

It was Qian Qing’s first sighting of the little white tiger, and her face held no small astonishment; even once she was seated atop the beast, San Dong could still feel how ramrod-stiff she was.

San Dong patted the little white tiger’s head and assured Qian Qing that the white tiger in front of them was a well-behaved, good tiger.

Qian Qing sat for a while and had to agree — the white tiger really was docile to a hair-raising degree.

Sometimes, facing things she couldn’t understand, Qian Qing had found a thought that let her make sense of them instantly — this is the way of immortals.

It was perfectly normal for immortals to have parts that weren’t.

For example, an obedient white tiger. For example, a flood dragon who puffed out clouds and mist with every sneeze.

There were cultivators who rode their swords like shuttles across the sky, and gentle, adorable flower spirits.

No wonder the world said heaven was big, earth was big, but the immortals were biggest of all — that a martial artist’s heaven-piercing skills amounted to no more than a cultivator’s glance across a hundred mortal years.

The world of cultivators was a wholly different kaleidoscope of wonders.

And besides — she had assumed that silly monk Yuankong couldn’t possibly know anyone important. After all, how could a fool of a monk with not two coins to rub together, who insisted on doing good deeds and earned his bread performing martial arts in the street, ever know anyone important?

But clearly, that Chu Xingchen she had met and drunk wine with last time truly was somebody enormous.

On the way here, the little monk from Daoxuan Temple had kept saying that Tianyan Sect was a zenith-star-tier sect — one of the eighteen greatest sects under heaven, on a par with Great Thunder Temple and the Buddhist sect itself.

The greatest dream of any cultivator under heaven was to join it.

A martial artist’s heart should know no fear; the heart of the fist is the heart.

Even so, actually seeing all this — just this one corner of it — made one instinctively feel lost.

Qian Qing felt the powerful, fluid motion of the white tiger beneath her, looked up at the flower spirit beaming brilliantly ahead, and asked a question whose answer she already knew:

“Cultivating immortality takes a spirit root, doesn’t it?”

“For a human… I suppose it does?”

“Without a spirit root, is it really impossible to cultivate?”

“The Sect Master says nothing in this world is absolute — but San Dong doesn’t know the answer to this one. When the Sect Master comes back, you can ask the Sect Master. San Dong’s Sect Master knows everything there is to know! Or ask the other Sect Master of Tianyan Sect — a grandpa named Lu Xuan. Everyone says they’re frighteningly good at telling fortunes. Or ask Yanyun — she’s very amazing too.”

A sudden, relieved smile came over Qian Qing. Both hands gently closed into the white tiger’s fur, and she said:

“Never mind. There’s no need to ask.”

If people without spirit roots could cultivate immortality, then the world would long ago have been nothing but cultivators.

San Dong’s gaze swung back to Qian Qing:

“Do you want to cultivate immortality?”

“I didn’t, originally.”

“Because of Yuankong?”

“Perhaps.”

San Dong thought for a moment, then took a jade token from the spatial ring hanging at his neck and poured spiritual power into it.

Qian Qing watched the jade token before San Dong dissolve into a flash of spiritual light and vanish. She understood at once — this absurdly kind-hearted flower spirit genuinely meant to figure something out for her. She spoke up immediately:

“I know I have no spirit root. I was just letting myself think about it, that’s all. Something you were never born with stays useless no matter how hard you try — there’s no need to spend any more thought on my account.”

San Dong scrambled up to stand right in front of Qian Qing, his tone earnest:

“Don’t worry — I called on a flood dragon with very little to do. They know a bit more than San Dong does, and they’re San Dong’s friend too. San Dong would like to introduce them to you.”

Qian Qing was speechless for a beat, then gave a soft nod and let it be.

She didn’t wait long. A streak of rainbow light dropped from the sky in the blink of an eye, and with it came a haughty voice:

“San Dong, what urgent business made you call upon Lord Qinghe?”

Qian Qing narrowed her eyes. Only when the rainbow light faded did she make out the newcomer.

A girl with dragon horns upon her head and a thoroughly pleased-with-herself look on her face.

“Qinghe!” San Dong greeted her with a laugh first, then introduced Qian Qing at his side: “This is Qian Qing — a guest who’s just come to Loving Family Peak.”

Qinghe’s languid gaze drifted over to Qian Qing — and in an instant her smug expression sobered by a measure, her eyes sweeping over her properly, head to toe.

Qian Qing understood the meaning of that scrutiny at once. She hurriedly spoke up:

“A martial artist. Not a cultivator.”

Qinghe arched a brow at this, then nodded in relief:

“You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought that black-hearted brat had sweet-talked yet another heaven-shaking powerhouse out of somewhere.”

“Though in Tianyan Sect, a pure martial artist like you is rarer than a great power.”

Qian Qing gave a wry laugh at that, unable to decide whether it counted as a compliment.

Qinghe turned back to San Dong: “You called me over — surely not on account of this guest Qian Qing?”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm! Does a person absolutely need a spirit root to cultivate immortality?”

“Of course they do. Humans don’t have a noble bloodline like mine.”

“Is there truly no way at all? Aren’t you Lord Qinghe the omnipotent?”

“Well…” Qinghe’s gaze slid to Qian Qing, and her mind began to churn.

Forcing cultivation without a spirit root — it could technically be done. Before, there had been the evil cults’ blood spirit roots; after, there was pouring wish-power into the body and forcing the way open.

Except of those two, each cultivated the lowliest, dirtiest road there was.

If one’s fortune in the Dao ran strong, reaching Foundation Establishment in this lifetime would count as a blessing.

Still, force it, and one really could cultivate.

There might be other methods — but Qinghe understood that even if other methods existed, they couldn’t possibly turn out much better.

“There’s no need to trouble Lord Qinghe,” Qian Qing suddenly spoke up. “If there truly were a good way, Yuankong wouldn’t have held anything back either. Today, all I want is to wander Tianyan Sect and see the wonders I’ve never seen — that would be enough.”

“After all, Yuankong taught me too: forever craving what you can never have is only tormenting yourself.”

“San Dong, don’t put yourself out. Just take me around and see some more.”

Qinghe folded her arms and gave the honest answer as well:

“You have a core of real steadiness there. Without a spirit root, even if you cultivated you’d be capped — you couldn’t walk far, and the side effects would outweigh the gains.”

San Dong’s gaze turned to Qian Qing, thick with regret.

Not a trace of regret showed on Qian Qing’s face.

She had walked the martial path all her life and, at her age, had nearly reached the Grandmaster Stage.

Among countless martial artists she was the Heaven-Blessed Prodigy — a heaven-piercing talent — the envy of more people than she could count.

Yet of all those who yearned, few and far between were the ones who actually reached where she stood.

Qian Qing understood perfectly well how important root and bone could be.

“Still, if you want the true flavor of the immortals, trailing San Dong around this peak blindly won’t get you there.” Qinghe arched a brow. “Since you’re Chu Xingchen’s guest… then a guest ought to be made to feel utterly at home.”

“Come on! Lord Qinghe here will show you the length of Tianyan Sect — and eat you through the width of it!”

San Dong instantly threw up a hand and cheered: “Yay! Lord Qinghe!”

Tianyan Sect, the Hundred Flavors Hall.

Qinghe’s palm came down on the table with a great slap:

“Why are you gawking at the menu? Pile on the signature dishes — pile them on till there’s nothing left!”

“What do you mean, ‘spirit stones upfront’?”

“Can’t you see who’s standing beside me?”

“What do you mean, ‘Li Yingling said that even bringing San Dong doesn’t mean a free ride’?”

“The one I’m pointing at is standing NEXT to San Dong — that’s Chu Xingchen’s honored guest!”

“Would I dare lie about something like this?! I’d get my face beaten in for it! If you won’t believe me — surely you believe San Dong? Ask San Dong!”

Qian Qing stared, jaw slack, at Qinghe, who had walked in and instantly unleashed a full combo on the waiter.

The immortal world… really was like this?