Chapter 9: Failed Possession

The carriage rolled along leisurely. The once-deserted muddy path gradually filled with clusters of passersby.
The coachman remained silent. Most of the refugees’ faces showed fear and confusion, their clothes caked with unbrushed dirt from their flight.
Amid the fleeing crowd, the carriage moving against the tide stood out starkly.
“Hey, brother, you’re going the wrong way! It’s a bloodbath up ahead—everyone’s scrambling to escape, and you’re driving toward it?”
“Is this guy thinking the bigger the storm, the pricier the fish? Or maybe he’s got relatives in the city?”

Facing the well-meaning warnings, the coachman nodded amiably:
“Thank you for the advice; I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m just a humble coachman. Once I deliver my passenger to their destination, I’ll head back. I won’t enter the city.”
His response silenced the concerned refugees. Their gazes shifted to the figure in the carriage, and with one look, they knew this person was on a different level from them.
“My apologies for disturbing your journey, my lady.”
The fleeing crowd fell quiet, their eyes filled with various thoughts sweeping over the carriage—mostly its occupant.

With so many staring, Baizhu lost interest in the scenery.
She’d overheard the coachman’s exchange with the refugees. For the first time, she grew curious about this driver bold enough to take her to Baihe City:
“In Anyang City, no one dared take my fare. Everyone knows Baihe City is in chaos. Aren’t you afraid for your life?”
The coachman chuckled:
“Of course I’m afraid, but your payment was generous. You didn’t ask about my background, just handed over gold beans. Leaving Anyang was easy, and you seemed curious about the scenery. I figured you’re a sheltered noblewoman, confident in your own and your family’s power. I just wanted to leave a good impression.”

Baizhu neither confirmed nor denied. She wasn’t interested in the scenery; she was adjusting to her new body. The experience of being in it differed vastly from observing it.
Perfecting this body had taken considerable effort. She’d reshaped its appearance and optimized its meridians for seamless control—a project tantamount to rebuilding from scratch.
Unfortunately, the body’s origin capped at the Golden Core realm. Enhancing it further would be a truly heaven-defying act, and only Baizhu, registered with the heavens, could attempt it.
But enhancing an origin would be like lighting a lantern in a latrine—impossible to miss.
As for the coachman’s thoughts, she didn’t care.

Though the Liu royal family’s efficiency was impressive for this world, to her, it was still sluggish.
Thankfully, a few kind souls had recently gifted her a grand package, allowing her to walk the world in this body.
As the saying goes, times create heroes, and strength determines status. A clash between the Great Han royal family and the sects was inevitable.
With the Qi Introduction Record she’d provided, if Liu Jun couldn’t handle those upstart sects, she’d consider kicking the Great Han Empire into the dustbin of history.

As they wound along, more carriages appeared, and Baihe City’s walls loomed larger.
The carriage stopped, and the coachman’s reminder followed:
“Young lady, we’ve reached Baihe City.”
Baizhu glanced at the sky, teeming with sword-flying cultivators. Those who wanted to flee the city had already left, and the gates were sealed.
Taking advantage of the pause, she spoke leisurely:
“Thank you for your effort. Until we meet again.”
Her voice seemed near yet distant, as if from the edge of the heavens.

The coachman shivered and whipped around, but the carriage was empty.
Baizhu reappeared at the base of the city wall.
She carried the National Teacher’s token, rendering the city’s gate lockdown a joke, but who walks through the front door? She hadn’t even used the token leaving Anyang.
Baihe City’s streets were deserted. Above, Zhang Jingfeng faced off with the sects, drawing every cultivator’s attention skyward. No one noticed a stranger in the city.

Baihe City was vast yet small.
By convention, those blessed with destiny typically had tragic backstories, often wandering the wilds, rarely lingering in crowded places.
Baizhu decided to test the waters, turning into a quiet alley.
In the shadows at the alley’s end, a small figure huddled, suddenly looking up.
It was a beggar, about twelve or thirteen, in tattered clothes, face smeared with dirt, but with bright eyes fixed intently on Baizhu’s figure.
There it was.

A faint smile curved beneath Baizhu’s veil.
Pretending not to notice, she deliberately slowed her steps.
Ling Qingli held her breath, her grubby hand fumbling behind her, pulling out a blackened object resembling a fire poker.
A ruthless glint flashed in her eyes. Aiming at Baizhu’s back, she pressed the trigger.
Zzzt—
A streak of ghostly blue lightning struck Baizhu’s back with precision.

Baizhu let out a short, stifled cry, her body trembling dramatically before collapsing forward with a thud, her veiled hat tilting askew, utterly silent.
“It worked!”
Ling Qingli was both shocked and elated.
This “Thunder Rod” was a treasure she’d scavenged, capable of felling a late-stage Qi Refining cultivator instantly.
Without hesitation, she pulled a clay pellet from her chest and smashed it on the ground.
Boom!

A muffled explosion released thick, choking gray-white smoke, instantly filling the alley.
Ling Qingli darted into the fog, pinpointing Baizhu’s position.
Her hands moved swiftly, stripping off the valuable snow-white robe and searching for other items.
Her fingers, eager, brushed the icy, silky texture of Baizhu’s clothes, her heart racing with excitement.
But at that moment—

A cold, jade-like hand shot out from the fog, seizing her wrist with precision.
The grip wasn’t violent, but no matter how she struggled, it wouldn’t budge.
Ling Qingli looked up in terror, meeting the indifferent molten-gold eyes behind the veil.
“!!!”
Her scalp prickled. Without hesitation, her other hand dove into her chest, reluctantly pulling out a small purple flower faintly glowing with spiritual light. She crushed it.
Pfft—

The flower turned into a pure purple stream, surging into her body.
In an instant, Ling Qingli’s speed skyrocketed, her body weightless. With a fierce tug, she broke free from Baizhu’s lenient grip, becoming a blurry afterimage as she fled deeper into the alley without looking back.
Baizhu rose slowly, gracefully brushing nonexistent dust from her white robe and straightening her hat.
“This little one’s quick, but your actions remind me of unpleasant memories.”