Chapter 12: A World Collided
“Leave for now.”
Zong Ji, deep in thought, subtly summoned his top confidant, Guard One, and probed with indirect questions before dismissing the bewildered guard with a wave.
The notion was staggering. He sat alone on the top floor for a long time, cross-checking jade slips, questioning subordinates, and reviewing Xuanshu’s latest updates, finally forced to accept the heavy truth.
At the close of Carefree’s plot, One Sword to Immortality had crashed into it, merging their worlds.
The fusion was subtle, its mechanics unclear, as if everyone’s memories were warped, with no one noticing anything amiss.
The whole continent sees nothing wrong—except me.jpg
Crucially, One Sword’s plot was only halfway through, the main antagonist yet to emerge. In simpler terms, Zong Ji’s million-word epic was half-written, its plot barely unfolded when he transmigrated.
Too much time had passed. He vaguely recalled posting Jing Zhe’s emergence chapter before waking up in this world, no longer on Earth.
Now, with the worlds fused, the deed was done, and Zong Ji couldn’t undo it. He could only sit atop the Star-Plucking Tower, inwardly screaming ten thousand curses.
He could only confirm One Sword’s plot had reached Jing Zhe’s solo quest for vengeance at the Ten Thousand Devils Sect, far from its conclusion. Beyond that, he was uncertain—his Carefree memories were clear, but One Sword’s were hazy, especially since he hadn’t written the later parts, only sketching a rough outline.
Zong Ji: Amitabha, leave it to fate.
Since both novels shared the same world, aside from sect names, their frameworks were identical. For instance, Carefree’s Heavenly Mechanism Sect and One Sword’s Mysterious Gate were essentially the same, just renamed. Now, as separate entities post-fusion, their heirs would likely clash fiercely.
But the critical issue was the vast power gap between the worlds.
The Dark Hall Master sat behind stacks of dossiers, his face a mask of despair.
Zong Ji did some mental math—One Sword had so many powerhouses stronger than him, he couldn’t count them on both hands.
In its timeline, Jing Zhe was the true number one. Yet, inexplicably, the Mysterious Rankings placed Zong Ji, a mere Saint-tier Second Star, above a Seventh Star peak cultivator, stubbornly holding the top spot. His name blazed atop every jade slip, a glaring target drawing untold enmity.
Why, damn it?!
After diligently cultivating from a weakling to number one, he hadn’t even basked in his glory before the fusion reset him to square one.
The more he thought, the more frustrated he became. Standing, he flickered through ghost-like steps, shrinking distance with spiritual energy, instantly appearing in a room filled with faint incense and soft zither notes.
Casually lifting his robe, he plopped onto a wooden chair, grabbing a purple clay teapot to pour himself a steaming, fragrant cup.
“…”
The zither player’s eyelids twitched, sensing him but continuing to play. The music shifted abruptly from gentle strums to rapid, soaring notes—clear and vibrant, flowing from babbling brooks to clashing armies, seamless in transition.
Zong Ji knew the player’s stubbornness—nothing trumped finishing a piece. Unhurried, he sipped his tea.
Oddly, though the music was intense, it soothed his restless mood by the end, like a gentle breeze, calming silently.
“Five years apart, and Bei Qing’s zither skills have grown even finer.”
Zong Ji’s posture was lax, nearly cross-legged, utterly unrefined.
The player, seeing this, frowned but said nothing, sweeping a harmonic before pausing to speak slowly.
“Hall Master flatters me.”
Young Master Bei Qing, Xuanshu’s most renowned zither master, was Zong Ji’s old friend and right-hand man. In Carefree, he was the protagonist’s first ally, unwaveringly loyal. During Zong Ji’s five-year seclusion, Bei Qing managed the Dark Hall, sorting jade slips and overseeing the Star-Plucking Tower.
Incidentally, he was the tower’s star attraction.
Yes, the top zither player.
Not only was he striking, his aloof aura and divine zither skills made him a legend. Though weaker in combat, his art let him roam the five continents fearlessly, known to all.
Countless music lovers spent fortunes to glimpse him in Shengyang, but Zong Ji, ever cunning, used scarcity marketing. Bei Qing appeared twice monthly, with tickets only through exclusive Star-Plucking Tower membership cards.
These cards, valid across Dark Hall properties and partner chambers, offered premium service, becoming Xuanshu’s ultimate status symbol within months. The revenue left Zong Ji grinning ear to ear.
Continental natives: …This Dark Hall Master is a genius.
“I’ve reviewed the past five years’ slips. I’ll head to the Eastern Kingdom tomorrow.”
Among the dossiers, the Eastern Kingdom’s matters were urgent. A key Dark Hall member there had provided critical intelligence, making its Eastern branch the strongest. Having taken benefits, Zong Ji now had to repay. He’d planned a carefree journey post-seclusion, but this fusion changed everything, making him consider retreating to Tai Xu Sect for more cultivation.
“Understood. I’ll handle the Star-Plucking Tower.”
Though Bei Qing seemed aloof, he was reliable. Zong Ji trusted him with Zhongzhou’s Dark Hall.
“By the way.”
Bei Qing recalled something, producing a square black invitation from his Qiankun bag and handing it over.
“What’s this?”
Zong Ji took it, raising a brow.
“From the Northern Continent.”
Bei Qing removed his finger picks, relighting a burned-out incense stick, leaving Zong Ji to stare at the invitation.
Invitation Letter
Esteemed Dark Hall Master, greetings! We cordially invite you to the First Demonic Sect Leaders’ Peaceful and Sustainable Development Conference in the Northern Continent next week. Beautiful Beizhou awaits your presence.
Signed: Your dear devil race
Zong Ji: …
Too many absurdities—should he first mock the devils’ sudden politeness or the invitation itself?
Shouldn’t demonic sect meetings involve a blade to the throat, demanding attendance? Their formal language was… oddly fluent. And a sustainability conference for devil leaders? Who’d believe that?
He recalled five years ago when Cold Hidden Temple’s monks rallied Xuanshu’s righteous to crusade against the devils in Beizhou. Zong Ji had prepared popcorn and Autumn Dew White to watch the show, only to be sidetracked by seclusion. Had those monks somehow tamed the savage devils?