Cannon Fodder’s Guide to Getting Rich

Chapter 125

Every great master’s legacy hall has its own unique style, each distinct from the others.

Take Ye Qingrong, for example—she hid her inheritance within the illusory sea of mirrors, a place unknown to outsiders, concealed yet vast.

Or consider the great elder of Qingling Mountain’s music cultivation sect, whose legacy hall was an exact replica of Qingling Mountain’s Music Pavilion, openly displayed before the world without the slightest concealment.

When Yin Xuan pushed open the doors of the legacy hall before him, he was greeted by a scene of leisurely, idyllic countryside.

It was the season of spring’s third month, and the terraced fields were blanketed in golden rapeseed flowers.

Following the winding country path upward, he arrived at a thatched cottage at the end of the road.

In front of the cottage stood a peach tree in full bloom, its delicate pink petals dancing in the breeze.

Inside, the wooden door was slightly ajar, revealing the faint silhouette of a figure busying about.

Yin Xuan stared at the scene, momentarily lost in thought.

The Sacred Tower truly held wonders.

This sight before him was the embodiment of his heart’s deepest desire.

Yin Xuan had never been an ambitious man. All he wished for was to raise his two junior sisters well, then find a peaceful and beautiful place to laze about—eating, sleeping, and repeating the cycle.

When boredom struck, he could visit his two junior sisters or drop by Little Lu, Little Shen, and Little Li for a meal or two.

After a brief pause, sensing no danger, Yin Xuan sheathed his sword and walked toward the thatched cottage.

Before the Mystic Heaven Mirror, everyone’s eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the scene.

They were far too curious about what would happen next.

Even Xu Jingshu set down the novel in her hands and unconsciously straightened her posture.

But at that very moment—crack!—the Mystic Heaven Mirror suddenly went black!

“??” The elders of Qingling Academy craned their necks, immediately turning to Cao Xing with accusatory glares. “Cao Xing, what’s going on? Did the Mystic Heaven Mirror break?”

“Honestly, your Administration Hall is so stingy—this Mystic Heaven Mirror has been in use for decades!” One elder grumbled as he pulled out his own, only to find it equally dark. “This is bad. I think the Sacred Tower itself is malfunctioning! What are those fools from the Violet Flame Realm doing?!”

Similar conversations erupted across the Xuantian Continent.

“Brother Zhang San, can you see anything? I was watching Yin Xuan receive his inheritance, right at the climax, when suddenly—black screen! It still hasn’t come back!”

“Fourth Brother, I can’t see either! I was watching Senior Sister Zhuohua battle a great demon—she was about to win, damn it!”

“Same here. It’s not just Qingling Mountain—the Divine Abyss Temple and Jade Rhino Valley are down too.”

“I thought it was just me… So the Sacred Tower’s projection system crashed? Can they fix it? Hurry up—I need to see the final flag battle!”

“……”

Outside, the world was in chaos.

But inside the Sacred Tower, the disciples remained unaware.

Yin Xuan stopped at the cottage door and knocked gently. “Hello, may this junior come in and rest awhile?”

After a pause, a strange old man’s voice answered from inside: “No.”

“Alright~” Yin Xuan nodded, not insisting. His gaze swept over the doorway before his tall frame collapsed bonelessly onto the ground, settling right at the entrance.

The warm spring sunlight lulled him into drowsiness, and he yawned.

Still, he remembered he was here for a trial, so he fought off the sleepiness and asked bluntly, “This junior is Yin Xuan. I’ve passed your test. When will you teach me your sword techniques?”

The odd old man inside was shelling beans, not even turning his head. “When I’m done.”

Yin Xuan offered, “Do you need help?”

“No. Take a nap.” The old man finally looked up, revealing a deeply wrinkled face. His sunken eyes bore into Yin Xuan with a meaningful smile. “Kid, dare you sleep?”

Yin Xuan: “?”

Since when was sleeping a matter of courage?

So, with a tilt of his head, Yin Xuan happily obliged—and was instantly asleep.

“……” The old man stared at the young man who had dozed off in seconds, his spectral bean-shelling hand twitching three times in exasperation.

Yin Xuan had already drifted into dreams.

As always, his dreams were warm and comfortable.

Until he felt someone patting his face. “Wake up, lazy boy. Wake up.”

Yin Xuan groaned, eyes stubbornly shut, refusing to rouse.

The intruder pried his eyelids open, forcibly dragging him back to consciousness.

Head throbbing, Yin Xuan struggled upright and blinked—only to realize he hadn’t truly woken.

Or rather, he had awakened within his dream.

No wonder his dreams always felt so cozy. He had been nestled all this time in a soft bed of clouds.

The bean-shelling old man frowned as he surveyed the dreamscape, clapping his hands in realization. “No wonder, no wonder! I always sensed something odd about you. So this is it.”

Still disoriented, Yin Xuan mumbled, “Odd?”

“Mhm.” The old man paced around the dream before returning to Yin Xuan. “Kid, have you never questioned why you’re so prone to sleep?”

Yin Xuan hesitated. “I… lost a portion of my memories once. Maybe it’s related?”

The old man pressed, “What memories?”

“When I was young, my family was slaughtered by demons. My master happened by and saved me.” Yin Xuan explained. “But I forgot that period. My master said it was a trauma response—not a big issue, even beneficial, since it spared me from inner demons.”

Since his master had said so, Yin Xuan never doubted it.

Besides, raising two junior sisters and managing their sect’s finances kept him too busy to dwell on himself.

The matter was left unresolved.

The old man sneered. “What a trash master.”

Yin Xuan: “……”

The old man studied the young man before him, his expression shifting.

On one hand, he was pleased with Yin Xuan’s aptitude. Though the boy’s training was eclectic—clearly not a conventional swordsman—it suited his own unorthodox path.

After all, the old man himself had been a rogue cultivator four centuries ago, dabbling in myriad arts before forging his own sword style in seclusion.

Once perfected, he had challenged the seven great sects alone, defeating their leaders in single combat. After achieving fame, he vanished without a trace, eventually passing within the Sacred Tower.

The world knew neither his true name nor his appearance, dubbing him only the Nameless Sword Saint.

But he took issue with Yin Xuan’s master.

With a dark tone, the old man asked, “Can you kill your trash master?”

“……” Yin Xuan shook his head, hesitating. “...My master is already gone.”

“Oh? Dead?” When Yin Xuan nodded, the old man grinned. “Good, good! Well done, death!”

Yin Xuan: “...”

"Listen, kid, I can pass my sword dao on to you," the eccentric old man said. "But the path I’ve forged isn’t something you can master overnight—it’ll take a lifetime of contemplation. I’ll leave an inheritance imprint in your spiritual consciousness."

"However," the old man added with a teasing tone, "my inheritance imprint will inevitably shatter the Yunmeng imprint in your consciousness. Once that happens, all your sealed memories will return. So, kid, what’s your choice?"

The Yunmeng imprint?

Yin Xuan gazed at the soft white clouds before him.

He remembered—this was a memory-sealing imprint.

It locked away a specific fragment of a person’s past, and it was nearly impossible for others to detect.

So, the memories he’d lost as a child hadn’t simply faded. Someone had deliberately erased them.

Why? And who?

Yin Xuan wasn’t one to dig too deep into things. Most of the time, he preferred to let things slide, embracing the philosophy of "ignorance is bliss."

But when it came to his childhood memories, he didn’t hesitate. He nodded.

"Senior," he said, "please proceed."

His consciousness felt as if it were being sliced apart, layer by layer. The dreamlike clouds stacked in his mind were reduced to ashes by an unnamed sword intent.

As the mist dispersed, his memories gradually sharpened.

And then Yin Xuan learned—Yin wasn’t his real surname. He wasn’t from the Yin family.

He was from the Helan family.

The infamous Helan family of the Xuantian Continent, whose entire lineage was branded as demons.

Because he was born with faint silver hair, his parents had named him—

Helan Yin.

The memories Yin Xuan recovered were the most crucial fragments from ages one to three.

In those memories, his family moved constantly, and he was often left alone at home, cared for by a deaf-mute old nanny.

His parents were always busy—though he never knew with what—vanishing and reappearing without warning, often returning covered in wounds.

One night when he was three, Yin Xuan was asleep when his parents burst into the room, snatched him up, and fled.

The drowsy little boy perched on his father’s broad shoulders, watching the trees blur past. He reached out with chubby fingers to wipe the blood from his father’s face and asked in a childish voice, "Daddy, does it… hurt?"

"It doesn’t hurt," his father replied, gripping his son’s ankles tightly. Despite the blood streaming from his body, he pressed forward, racing through the wilderness. His voice was grave. "Little Yin, you’ve always had a sharp memory. What I tell you tonight—you must remember. Do you understand?"

Beside them, his mother sobbed, "Helan! We agreed—this ends with our generation! It ends with us!"

"I’m sorry. I can’t. This is the Helan family’s duty." His father spoke rapidly, not caring if his son could comprehend. He knew the boy was gifted, with an exceptional memory, so he focused on the essentials. "Little Yin, five hundred years ago, our Helan family accepted a secret mission from Saint Tower’s master, Ye Qingrong. We’ve been investigating the City Lord’s Manor of Zhuoguang City. Back then, our family had 326 members. Now, after five centuries, only three remain. And after tonight… perhaps only you will be left."

"But we’ve fulfilled our duty. After our entire family infiltrated the demonic ranks as spies, we discovered the truth—this is linked to the Di Family." His father emphasized, "Remember, the Di Family. Behind Zhuoguang City is the Di Family. Behind the demonic forces today is the Di Family. All of this is their doing. Di—as in emperor. The Di Family is the ruling lineage of the Purple Flame Realm!"

His mother wept. "He’s only three! What can he remember? How can he stand against the Di Family? They’ve schemed in the shadows for a thousand years. Even the Saint Tower is now under their control. The world reveres them—who would believe us if we spoke out? What can Little Yin possibly do?!"

"Helan, let it end here! Tonight, we’ll risk our lives to deliver this message to Qingling Mountain. Whether we succeed or fail, let it be over!"

His father fell silent.

Ignoring his wife, he knocked the child unconscious and, at a certain point along their path, secretly placed Yin Xuan inside an empty water vat in the backyard of a residence.

Then he continued forward, drawing away the pursuing demonic soldiers and Di Family members.

Not long after, Yin Xuan was awakened.

It was his mother, who had risked her life to return.

And it was his mother who placed the Yunmeng imprint on him.

"The Di Family is a colossal force, with countless followers. They’re unstoppable now. I don’t know how much longer the Xuantian Continent will last, but I don’t want you to throw your life away like we did. I want you to live freely, happily, for as long as you can."

Tears streamed down her face as she gently closed the little boy’s beautiful eyes. "Little Yin, just sleep. When you wake up… everything will be better."

And when he awoke, Helan Yin became Yin Xuan.

Because after the Di Family led the demonic forces to slaughter Helan and his wife, they went on a rampage, massacring the nearby village.

Wen Feng happened to be in the area at the time. Hearing the news, he rushed over, drove off the remaining demons, and found Helan Yin unconscious in the backyard water vat.

The ravaged estate belonged to a rogue cultivator with the surname Yin.

So everyone assumed Yin Xuan was the Yin family’s child.

The truth, like his real surname, was buried forever.

No one knew that the Di Family, after lying low five hundred ago when the tides turned against them, had reemerged over the centuries—now standing proudly as the new rulers of the Xuantian Continent, commanding the Saint Tower and dictating the world’s fate.

In the Hall of Inheritance, the silver-haired man curled into a ball on the ground, clutching his head in agony.

The Yunmeng imprint shattered. The sword dao inheritance surged in.

The ruthless sword intent severed his spiritual meridians and shattered his bones. The torment of his memories ravaged his mind.

For a moment, blood seeped from Yin Xuan’s seven orifices as he teetered on the brink of life and death.