Thirteen, thirteen.

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Fu Tingyun had no intention of getting involved; he never meddled in other people’s affairs. Perhaps because Longji Peak was so high, in his eyes the vast expanse of the Yunyu Sect was nothing more than a small puddle, and the Xuan Wing Sect and Wind Moon Sect were at most two insignificant minnows. Minnows jumping around in a puddle—what did that have to do with him? Although he was currently within Yunyu Sect, his perspective remained unchanged.

After spending some time setting up the formation, Su Xiaoyuan and Ruan Mianmian found they were running late for their next class and reluctantly spent a hefty sum to take a boat. A ferry boat could only hold two passengers; although the puppet wasn’t human, its size was considerable, so they had to pay for two boats. Ruan Mianmian, being a wealthy and recently fortunate young lady, didn’t mind spending two low-grade spirit stones. Su Xiaoyuan was different; she had to support the puppet.

She glanced at her puppet. The shimmering light on the water reflected on his fair, handsome face, the light sculpting perfect contours and giving his hair a dreamlike sheen—stunningly beautiful. So beautiful that every time she caught a glimpse, her mind would flood with fifteen or sixteen different outfit ideas; she really wanted him to try them all!

“Kaishan, class ends early tomorrow. Let’s go to the city,” she said. “Sure, sure,” Ruan Mianmian said cheerfully. “After paying for the wall that Song Jinshu just broke, I still have over three hundred left. Tomorrow, I’ll treat you to a good meal!”

Su Xiaoyuan sighed quietly to herself; in the end, she would have to foot the bill. Kaishan often had to compensate for damages, so she needed to save some money for emergencies.

“By the way, Xiaoyuan, what do you want to buy in the city?” Ruan Mianmian asked, remembering only now. “A few pieces of clothing...” “You’re so pretty; you should buy some nice outfits.” “Not for myself,” Su Xiaoyuan pointed at the puppet. “For him—a couple of replacement sets.” Ruan Mianmian gasped, “Xiaoyuan, you’re way too good to him! Puppets need clothes?”

Suddenly, Song Jinshu’s puppet crossed its arms and let out a soft whimper. Fu Tingyun lifted his eyelids. He didn’t need extra clothes; the set he wore was tolerable. Though it still had some faint patterns, at least it wasn’t a chaotic mess of colors.

Su Xiaoyuan had no idea how to explain her niche hobby to her best friend, but luckily the boat had docked by then.

The class was “History of the Three Realms and Sect Development,” held in Elder Jiang’s Twin Habitat Forest. Elder Jiang was the eldest among the seven elders of Yunyu Sect, though he appeared to be a delicate youth of fifteen or sixteen.

The course relied heavily on rote memorization. As a humanities student, Su Xiaoyuan found it manageable, but remembering all the splits, alliances, grudges, and rivalries between sects was mentally taxing.

“What’s the use of memorizing this boring stuff...” one disciple scratched his head in frustration and whispered a complaint.

Elder Jiang tilted his head and smiled: “If you don’t study, and you go out provoking people you shouldn’t, your life will be in danger. Also, knowing which sects have grudges can be useful; you can exploit their jealousy and rivalry.”

He glanced around, eyes glinting with a hint of danger: “You can’t imagine how easy it is to manipulate men consumed by jealousy.”

Su Xiaoyuan remembered that the advanced psychological warfare course for inner disciples was apparently also taught by Elder Jiang. Compared to that, rote memorization suited her better.

Elder Jiang clapped his hands: “Let’s review our sect’s history first; these are likely exam points... Starting from the establishment of the Hehuan Sect by the Immortal Bixiao on Wushan, one thousand eight hundred and thirty years ago, what was the most important event? Li Yiyue?”

“The three-way split?”

“Correct. In the Taiyan calendar year 1278—seven hundred and fifteen years ago—the Hehuan Sect’s internal divisions became irreconcilable, splitting into three branches: Yunyu Sect, Wind Moon Sect, and Wushan Faction. The Wushan Faction is the original branch, but it has declined over the past century; now it has only a few dozen disciples and remains hidden deep within Wushan, unconcerned with worldly affairs.

“The remaining two sects, us and Wind Moon Sect, face off north and south, evenly matched, hence the saying ‘North Wind Moon, South Yunyu.’”

“Elder Jiang,” a disciple asked, “I heard the Wind Moon Sect and our sect are enemies—is that true?”

Elder Jiang rarely dropped his half-permanent smile, but this time he pondered before replying: “It’s less a grudge than a clash of ideals.”

He paused. “I don’t want to speak ill of fellow Daoists behind their backs, but the Wind Moon Sect has always been aggressive, to be honest, ruthless—especially since their current sect leader took over sixty years ago.”

“I heard they want to annex us—is that true?” the disciple pressed on.

Elder Jiang’s expression darkened slightly and he nodded: “The Wind Moon Sect is ambitious. Over the years they have absorbed many small charm cultivator sects. Their intentions are hardly surprising.”

This question stirred up a ripple of unease among the disciples. Apparently, many had heard various rumors about the Wind Moon Sect.

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“I heard they can’t choose their mission targets; the sect orders you to gather from someone, you must go...” “It’s lucky if you can even get missions. My uncle said they even drug the good-looking, low-level disciples to make soul furnaces and gift them to powerful figures in the immortal sects...” “I heard they have no boundaries—if the target has a Dao partner, they don’t care...” Hearing this, Ruan Mianmian got riled up and rolled up her sleeves: “Right, shameless!”

“More than that. They also practice dark arts, toying with their prey, draining all their cultivation and fortune, then discarding them. Many have taken their own lives...” “What if our sect gets annexed? I don’t want to become a soul furnace!” “You look like you’d be pretty safe.” “Pah!”

...

Elder Jiang calmed everyone: “Our sect has deep roots and belongs to the Immortal Alliance’s jurisdiction. Everything operates under rules; they cannot act recklessly.”

But even Su Xiaoyuan, a clear-headed college student, could tell this reassurance was weak.

After a full day of classes, Su Xiaoyuan felt heavier in spirit. Though she had no appetite, she and Ruan Mianmian went to the dining hall for some food—it was impossible to survive on nothing but Fasting Pills every meal.

By the time she returned to her small room, the sun was nearly setting. She fetched water to wash her face and hands, barely soaking her skin before collapsing onto her bed, burying her face in a soft homemade pillow, unwilling to move.

Fu Tingyun stood nearby, watching, unsure what she was doing. Just as he began to wonder if she was dead, a faint, muffled voice came from the pillow: “Fu Tingyun, do you think there’s even the slightest chance I could seduce Immortal Lingyue?”

Fu Tingyun didn’t even lift his eyelids as he answered firmly, “No.”

Su Xiaoyuan shifted her body, flipping over to face the puppet. “Do you know Immortal Lingyue?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything else? Fu Tingyun?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, you’re impressive.” Su Xiaoyuan had heard that some advanced puppets came pre-loaded with knowledge databases. Though this one was damaged and malfunctioning, its knowledge base remained. No wonder it could cook stir-fried pork.

“Is it possible for someone born emotionless and desireless to regain feelings? Fu Tingyun?”

“No.”

Su Xiaoyuan felt despair, but then reminded herself her mission was to seduce Immortal Lingyue, and he didn’t need worldly desires.

“Well... someone born emotionless and desireless...” her gaze slowly drifted downward, settling on a certain spot, “could that... still function?”

If physiological functions were normal, there was a sliver of hope.

Fu Tingyun glanced at her but refused to answer.

An inexplicable chill swept over Su Xiaoyuan; she pulled the blanket over herself and muttered softly: “Right, you definitely wouldn’t know... How could such private matters be in a knowledge base...”

She sat up, cross-legged on the bed, hugging the blanket to her chest with her chin resting on the bundle, blinking.

“Fu Tingyun, do you think there’s even a one-in-a-billion chance I could sleep with Immortal Lingyue?”

Fu Tingyun looked into the girl’s eyes. In the slanting sunset light, her eyes were bright, like amber glass.

He didn’t understand why this strange girl was so fixated on him; he was certain they had never met.

She looked sad, but impossible was impossible. He answered without hesitation: “Impossible.”

“Ah...” Su Xiaoyuan lowered her head in dejection, biting the blanket.

The puppet, as expected, lacked intelligence and could not provide emotional comfort. If it were AI, it might try to console her.

“Forget it, I know it’s impossible...” She climbed down and began tidying the blanket.

“Why?” Fu Tingyun asked on impulse.

Su Xiaoyuan froze.

She turned around, her eyes wide and round in disbelief: “Fu Tingyun, were you just actively speaking to me?”

“Yes.” Fu Tingyun didn’t understand her surprise; many puppets could communicate simply with their masters, though without true consciousness, only following set dialogue patterns.

But the girl was unusually delighted; her face seemed to brighten.

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“Fu Tingyun, what kind of clothes do you like?” Su Xiaoyuan asked.

“I don’t like any,” Fu Tingyun refused without hesitation.

“You can’t wear the same outfit forever.”

Fu Tingyun didn’t understand why that was a problem. Of course, his Taiji Hall had more than one outfit, but each was identical.

“Wearing the same thing all the time is so dull! You’re so handsome; you should try different styles. I’ll make you the best-dressed guy in this city.” The girl’s cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling.

Without consulting him further, she went to the table, pulled out drawing paper, clipped it to a wooden board, and began sketching enthusiastically with charcoal.

Fu Tingyun glanced at the sketches—it was all a bizarre mix of mismatched clothes.

He finally understood: she saw him as a doll.

He would not tolerate anyone treating him as a plaything.

Su Xiaoyuan designed three outfits. The sun set.

She rubbed her eyes and suddenly remembered her real task—though the chance of seducing Immortal Lingyue was zero, Elder Qin’s assignment still had to be done.

She dropped her pen, tossed a low-grade spirit stone into the lamp, and made room on the small stool she had just been sitting on: “Sit down, Fu Tingyun.”

The puppet eyed her warily but still sat down; the stool still held the warmth of the girl’s body.

Su Xiaoyuan stood before him, not much taller.

Following Elder Qin’s instructions, she cast a spell and successfully summoned the newly installed formation interface.

She opened the menu, found the “Expressing Feelings Through Eyes” option, closed the light screen, and took a deep breath: “Fu Tingyun, now I want to practice expressing feelings through our eyes...”

Being alone with the puppet doing this was incredibly awkward.

Especially since her puppet looked so aloof, he showed no reaction to anything she did.

“Fu Tingyun, please lift your head and look into my eyes...”

The puppet obeyed, tilting his chin up, revealing a slender neck and a subtle Adam’s apple. The spirit stone’s light hit from the side, outlining his artful features.

Each spirit stone’s light was slightly different; today’s was cool-toned, emphasizing his cold, indifferent eyes.

They sat and stood opposite each other; he was slightly lower, looking up. Yet Su Xiaoyuan still felt as if she was the one being looked down upon.

Her throat tightened, that inexplicable panic and suffocation returned.

She instinctively avoided his gaze.

“Failed,” the puppet evaluated succinctly.

“Huh?” Su Xiaoyuan was surprised. “Just like that?”

The result was expected; passing would have been strange. But when Elder Qin demonstrated, the formation gave grades and comments, why was it only two words here?

“No grade?”

There was a grade and a long list of comments, but Fu Tingyun wouldn’t let the puppet make those sounds.

“Grade E, Level 1,” he said briefly.

“How could that be...” Su Xiaoyuan hung her head gloomily. Grade E was the lowest.

After some mental adjustment, she continued to try, blinking widely, narrowing her eyes, even placing her hands on the puppet’s shoulders in desperation.

Of course, it was useless. After dozens of attempts, she felt like her retinas were about to fall out. The best score was Grade D, Level 2—still a long way from passing.

Su Xiaoyuan sighed, rubbing her sore, bloodshot eyes, and gave up.

If it were that easy, Elder Qin wouldn’t have given her a full seven days.

With only one-third of the spirit stone left burning, Su Xiaoyuan decided to wash up and sleep.

Just then, a gentle male voice came from outside: “Junior Sister Xiaoyuan, are you there?”

It was an unfamiliar voice, metallic and magnetic. Su Xiaoyuan, being a voice enthusiast, would remember it after one time.

“I’m here. May I ask who’s calling?” Su Xiaoyuan replied.

“I’m Xiahou Che, Elder Qin’s favored disciple. Passing by your residence, I came to say hello,” he said.

Su Xiaoyuan was startled. Xiahou Che was a top inner disciple, rumored to have talent surpassing the inner sect’s top four, though he joined a few years later.

She hadn’t met him but had certainly heard of such an influential figure. What could they have in common...

Then a sudden inspiration hit her—Elder Qin said he would arrange a senior brother to mentor her; could it be him?