Chapter 6: Preparations for the Journey

With plans to leave the sect, preparations were in order.

Zong Ji departed the main peak, shrinking the distance with a single step, teleporting from one distant peak to the next. He brushed snow from his shoulder and continued onward.

From afar, he seemed to tread on moonlight and stars, an ethereal immortal borne by the breeze.

He could’ve used a spiritual shield to keep the goose-feather snow off, but Zong Ji was lazy. After sparring with Mu Ye and warming up with his master, he felt overheated and let the snow fall where it may.

At his cultivation level, even if drenched, a pulse of spiritual energy would dry him instantly—a must-have for home and travel.

Longevity Cliff was remote, the only habitable peak in its vicinity. Backed by vast snow mountains and facing the Sea of Illusion, it was far from Tai Xu Sect’s eternal frost zone. In summer, hints of green appeared, evoking a scene of facing the sea with blooming spring flowers.

Others might not know, but as the author, Zong Ji was well aware. This place was a treasure trove crafted for Carefree’s protagonist. The small peak was a marvel, harboring a hidden top-grade spiritual vein and a steaming hot spirit spring—fully equipped.

It was once the retreat of Tai Xu Sect’s founder, Sword Immortal Ling He, who cleaved the peak with a single stroke, claimed half of Zhongzhou with his sword, and declared his sect’s founding without challenge. As Tai Xu grew, Ling He set heavy restrictions here before ascending, leaving it unclaimed.

Over ten thousand years, later generations gleaned only fragments of the founder’s legend from tattered records, let alone knew his name or this place’s significance.

This left Zong Ji to claim the magpie’s nest.

Longevity Cliff’s furnishings were pristine despite millennia, preserved by a peak Immortal’s array. Zong Ji moved in with a small bundle from Hidden Sword Peak, utterly satisfied.

Ling He’s temperament was aloof. Though the cliff boasted pavilions and a seasonally defiant water pavilion, they were superficially ornate. Inside, the decor was sparse—when Zong Ji arrived, the main hall held only a small meditation mat.

Zong Ji: …Complicated feelings.

He’d written Ling He in another novel, where he played a charming supporting role. That book, his second, was a Qidian-style cultivation story, learning from Carefree’s failure.

Carefree flopped miserably, unread by the end. Why?

First, the protagonist’s backstory wasn’t tragic enough. Zong Ji’s character was a pampered orphan, raised lovingly by the sect—cherished and protected. His talent was unmatched, advancing in days while others took years, making cross-tier challenges trivial. He faced no real peril, had everything, and was universally adored, lacking challenge.

Learning from this, Zong Ji made his second book’s protagonist suffer—orphaned by a massacre, reduced to a beggar, fueling reader sympathy and anticipation for revenge.

Zong Ji: I’m a genius!

Second, Carefree lacked satisfying face-slapping. Mu Ye was the only rival, a black-hearted but secretly obedient character. Readers grew annoyed by his persistence, abandoning the story. Tai Xu Sect was too harmonious, with juniors idolizing Zong Ji. He was everyone’s dream lover, leaving readers unfulfilled.

For the second book, Zong Ji added brainless villains—minibosses, idiotic passersby, and ultimate antagonists—lining up to trouble the protagonist, only to be gloriously defeated.

This formula, a Qidian staple, hooked readers, making them insatiable.

Thus, One Sword to Immortality topped the site’s charts. Big shots vied for its rights, daily earnings soared, and talks of film and TV adaptations followed. It felt like a dream.

Though written after Carefree, Zong Ji reused its world, setting One Sword ten thousand years earlier, copying names and all. Back then, before the Heavenly Dao’s barrier, Saints were common, and Immortals roamed—a golden era.

To ensure the protagonist’s cross-tier challenges and escalating ranks, Zong Ji planned for him to conquer divine realms in outer space, with strict hierarchies and obstacles for a multi-million-word epic.

Sadly, he transmigrated halfway through writing One Sword. Fortunately, he became Carefree’s protagonist, not One Sword’s, or he’d have ended it all. That protagonist, while satisfying readers with revenge, ended betrayed and alone, embracing a heartless path amid endless clouds and snow.

Zong Ji wanted no part of that.

“Phew—”

At Longevity Cliff, he relaxed. Striding into his hall, he headed to the study, spreading his black-gold fan on the desk and grinding ink.

Outside, the sky remained pale, endless snow sealing Zhongzhou’s plateau. The Sea of Illusion never froze, its waves roaring against reefs below the cliff.

Inside, a rich fragrance wafted, a deep-sea merman oil lamp flickering, casting a warm glow on the black-haired man.

Zong Ji, a man of comfort, had kicked aside Ling He’s mat upon moving in, furnishing the place with costly wood for elegance and comfort. He even crafted a large bed, defying cultivators’ sleepless norms, insisting sleep was life’s greatest joy, rolling in it whenever possible.

“Tch.”

After melting an ink block with spiritual energy, Zong Ji reached for his brush but remembered his fan’s black surface. He summoned a heavy gold ingot from the shelf, shattered half into powder with a palm, mixed it into the ink, and dipped his brush, writing with divine flourish in one stroke.

“Nice, nice.”

Tossing the brush, Zong Ji clapped, admiring his work.

The once-blank fan now bore four bold, wild characters: “Number One Under Heaven.”

Pleased, Zong Ji knew his face flooded jade slips, but he couldn’t resist flaunting. A strong man’s swagger inspired awe; only the powerless held grudges.

Unfazed by others’ gazes, he acted boldly. His fan wouldn’t raise eyebrows—being Heaven’s son, he had a natural charm boost. His carefree demeanor only earned admiration.

Tucking the fan back at his waist, Zong Ji released his divine sense, extinguished a spell, and teleported to Zhongzhou’s south, thousands of miles away.

Teleporting lacked flair. As number one, he needed to uphold his image. He planned to roam Xuanshu after business, seeking a lucky creature for a mount.

Southern Zhongzhou was milder, near Nanzhou, showing signs of spring. Trees greened, withered branches bloomed.

Though Zhongzhou had no nations, it rivaled the other four continents in prosperity, a cultivator’s holy land, a neutral hub of commerce.

It housed landmarks like Tai Xu Sect, the top sect, and the Star-Plucking Tower, the top building.

Zong Ji’s spell landed him atop the Star-Plucking Tower. Instantly, hidden guards received word, kneeling uniformly like trained puppets.

“Welcome, Hall Master.”

Who’d guess the Dark Hall, the overnight sensation advocating tri-racial harmony, was founded by Zong Ji, Xuanshu’s current star?

The Dark Hall’s reputation was mixed, its ruthless methods likening it to a demonic sect, far from the radiant “Sword of Eternity” or “Saint” Zong Ji.

Zong Ji: XD

As a Qidian golden-finger protagonist, how could he roam without his own faction?

Youth demands a touch of bravado.
Small scene, small scene.