Chapter 44
Chapter 44: Choosing a Path
“I…” Liang Xue Yao’s lips shook. He wiped his face, almost angry at himself. “No. I’m just… too excited.”
He’d forgotten how long it had been since he’d felt the ground through two complete feet.
He’d once been a proud prodigy, bright with ambition and certainty. Then one accident had crushed his world into pieces.
He never regretted saving someone.
But after he lost his legs, everything he’d wanted became a cruel joke. That kind of whiplash—before and after—wasn’t something most people could endure.
He’d truly believed he would never stand again.
“This… is this really a game?” he asked, voice thin, as if speaking too loud might shatter it.
“It’s a game,” Zhou Xiao said, blinking at him like he was adorable. She looked alive in a way no NPC should ever look. A puppet doll, yet no different from a real person.
“I’m Zhou Nu Zi,” she added brightly. “What’s your ID?”
“Xue Yao,” Liang Xue Yao said automatically. He kept looking around, as if the world might flicker or tear. He even pinched his thigh.
No pain.
It made it feel fake.
But the sensations were still there—the cool air on his skin, the damp scent of grass, the faint sweetness of wildflowers.
“Relax,” Zhou Xiao said, clapping his shoulder. “You’re in the game. There’s no pain, but everything else is there. You can even eat. And from now on, I’m your Senior Sister.”
She sounded delighted, like she’d won something.
“In real life I don’t have brothers or sisters. Who knew I’d get to be someone’s Senior Sister in here?” She puffed up a little. “I was one of the early players. Sect Master gave me the task of guiding you newbies and supervising the land-clearing down here.”
She leaned closer, grinning. “Call me Senior Sister.”
Liang Xue Yao was still too overwhelmed to argue. “Senior Sister.”
Zhou Xiao nearly sparkled. “Good! Good, good, good. From now on, Senior Sister will take care of you. Come on—I’ll show you the area.”
“This is a sect branch. The main sect is up the mountain, but we ran out of space, so you new players get the foothills.” She pointed ahead. “Once all twenty newbies arrive, Sect Master will come to open your spirit roots and pass down techniques. Until then, I’ll walk you through the environment and the daily tasks.”
Liang Xue Yao nodded, still half-trapped in shock, and followed her.
They’d chosen a site near a forest. The huts leaned against a rocky slope, backed by the mountain wall. If they were unlucky, wild First Rank demon beasts might wander down—exactly the kind of dangerous demon beasts Song Jiu Lai had been killing.
It wasn’t an accident. It was training bait.
If a First Rank demon beast showed up, twenty-plus players—even at Qi Refining Stage—could bombard it with fireballs until it died three times over.
Too much safety made people careless. They needed to remember this was a cultivation continent, and danger hid under every shadowed tree.
The mountain here wasn’t as tall as flying sparrow mountain—just a small peak. There was room to open a few spirit fields up top, but most of the work would happen below.
Twenty wooden huts stood in a neat row. They were all temporary builds—rough timber, simple joints, old-fashioned and plain.
“This is what we’ve got,” Zhou Xiao said with a shrug. “If you want it prettier, renovate it yourself. With spiritual qi, tearing down a house takes minutes.”
“Our daily tasks are mostly farming spirit fields. If you think that’s boring, you have two paths right now. One: follow me or Fan Gu Zhou and do small business. Two: go out to train—hunt demon beasts or gather materials.”
She smiled. “Grinding in the wild, basically. There’s a ton of stuff out there. Mostly First Rank spirit herbs, timber, that kind of thing, but the quantity is huge. If you’re diligent, you can earn a mid-grade spirit stone in a month.”
Then her expression sharpened. “If you’ve got bigger guts, you can go out and kill demon beasts for real training. But think carefully. This game has no revive system. If you die, your account gets banned. That’s it. You’d have to wait and grab a new slot later.”
She started counting off on her fingers. “Once you make money, you can decide your development path: alchemy, forging, or beast-taming. Alchemy means making pills—very profitable, very expensive, very hard. Forging is just as hard, and it covers all kinds of tools cultivators use day to day.”
“Weapons and treasures,” she continued, “storage items like mustard seed pouch, and a whole bunch of random stuff.”
“Beast-taming is simpler. Catch demon beasts or raise spirit beasts. Spirit beasts are hard to buy—basically none for sale—so most people catch demon beasts and tame them.”
She finished with a lazy shrug. “Or you can do none of that. Just cultivate and chill. Be a lifestyle player. It’s a game. Pick what you want.”
Liang Xue Yao listened, absorbing every word.
This place wasn’t made of recycled textures and copy-pasted props. Every tree, every stone, every breath of wind felt like it followed rules of its own.
No wonder his cousin had been frantic.
No wonder his cousin said this game would change him.
Standing here felt no different from standing in reality.
He felt like he’d come back to life.
Liang Xue Yao breathed in and steadied himself. “I understand. Thank you, Senior Sister.”
What he did next… he wanted his cousin present for that. He was too curious, too eager, about the spirit-root opening. “When will Sect Master come?”
“The moment everyone arrives,” Zhou Xiao said. “But honestly, you don’t need to bother Sect Master for normal things. Ask the System. She usually doesn’t come out.”
She said it lightly, unaware of what the old players already knew.
They hadn’t seen Song Jiu Lai since the first day. They had no idea their Sect Master had been grinding outside for half a month, killing demon beasts and even taking down a cultivator. They had no idea she’d already stepped into mid Qi Refining Stage.
But Song Jiu Lai had another problem pressing down on her: the taxes collected by myriad immortals sect.
Judging by the schedule of the immortal sacrifice grand ceremony, she had at most one in-game month left. She had to pay.
And on top of that, ten players still needed to reach mid Qi Refining Stage.
The road ahead looked bleak.
Song Jiu Lai had considered stalling.
But after she remembered the deadline, she chose something else.
She would force the players to move.
Dangle the carrot high enough—and she didn’t believe they wouldn’t jump.