The white cat stood on the threshold.
Like a tightrope walker, it paced back and forth along the narrow wooden strip.
Its four paws trod in perfect alignment, steady as could be.
But its mood was far from calm. After each pass, it deliberately let out a cough, then another lap, another cough.
Trying to catch the attention of a certain cold-faced youth.
However, Wu Li simply kept his head down, earnestly folding one garment after another. The clothes were a riot of colors, all in soft shades—not garish—yet he insisted on separating each hue.
Pale green in one pile, light pink in another, water blue in a third...
The hairpins and ornaments in the jewelry box were treated the same way. Occasionally, when he found a bead that wasn’t glossy enough, he’d lean in, breathe on it, purse his lips, and carefully polish it with his sleeve before putting it back.
Watching this whole routine, the white cat fell silent, forgetting even to cough.
It squinted, studying him. Quiet and obedient—how strange.
Who would have thought this little scoundrel could have such a side to him.
The day they’d fought, he’d been ruthless, giving no ground, murderous intent nearly spilling from his eyes, showing no leniency in word or deed.
Yet now, tending to these trivial matters, he was meticulous and orderly, his brow serene as still water, the image of an ordinary young man from a common household.
The cat thought back to the four words on the invitation.
He... was nothing like his mother.
Wu Ying had refused to admit her wrongs to her dying breath. She loved the master, yes, but she wanted only to make him hers—to make him bend for her, submit to her, see her as his everything.
But this brat seemed to be the complete opposite.
Anyone watching would think Xiaomi had cast a spell on him, bewitched him into a daze.
How else could someone so clever be defeated so utterly by a mere illusion spell during their fight?
The white cat flicked its tail, then said loudly, as if making an announcement, “Ah, what a fine day it is today!”
No one responded.
It shut the door, jumped onto the table, and licked a paw. Spotting a paper frog folded into shape on the corner of the table, it nudged it gently with its claw, lifting it slightly. “This frog is folded so lifelike. I wonder who made it?”
Along the journey, it had often seen Wu Li weaving little trinkets from grass blades. It assumed this paper frog came from him as well.
Before the words faded, the paper frog was snatched away from its paw.
Wu Li carefully placed it inside the jewelry box, then lifted his eyes to glance at the white cat. “Old man, you’ve almost worn down the threshold. If you’ve got something to say, out with it. If not, get lost.”
Compared to his earlier, gloomy way of saying “Alchemist Ji,” the word “old man” actually sounded more pleasant.
The white cat cleared its throat and adopted a serious tone. “I’m here to apologize. What I said before, in front of that girl Xiaomi—I was too hasty, always holding a prejudice against you.”
It flicked its tail, as if trying to save face. “A true man can bend and stretch, own up to his mistakes, and seek to make amends. So, as an apology—”
It paused, muttering to itself, “Just Yu'er is enough of a headache...”
Then it produced a whisk, seated itself upright on the table, raised its tail high, and lifted its cat head. “Well, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll teach you the mystic arts. Take you on as my final disciple.”
“What do you say?”
Although it was phrased as a question, the words carried an air of absolute certainty. After all, across the entire Central Plains, cultivators hoping to apprentice themselves to Ji Bai or enter the Pure Brightness Platform for training were as numerous as fish crossing a river. Logically, there was no way it could fall to a youth from a foreign tribe.
This was practically pulling strings for him.
Unexpectedly, Wu Li looked down from above, his gaze light and arrogant. He let out a sneer and said, “You teach me?”
“Old man, have you got the wrong idea? That day, if you hadn’t played dirty, you’d probably be picking your teeth off the ground by now, bedridden for at least half a month. What right do you have to say all this in front of me?”
“You little brat—incorrigible!” the white cat scolded. “Skill carries the Way; martial arts are never about winning or losing. All your abilities mean nothing if your heart is unsteady. What a cultivator seeks isn’t to overpower others, but to overpower their own heart.”
The white cat’s eyes blazed like torches. “Don’t think I can’t see it. The malice in your body is always disturbing your thoughts. If you let it drag you down, you’re finished.”
Wu Li startled suddenly.
It had seen through him?
He lowered his eyes.
Beneath his feet was an abyss of condensed malice, bottomless and dark. Countless ghostly hands reached out from the shadows, clawing at his ankles, trying to drag him down.
Sharp jeers, curses, and screams surged up again, gnawing at his soul. Among them mingled his mother’s sobs and shouts—
“Useless! After all I did to bring you into this world, this is how you repay me?”
“Who is that girl to you? You run around at her beck and call, and a few sweet words from her are just like tossing a bone to a dog! Can you really stoop so low?”
“A’Li, that heartless man still lives carefree... are you going to betray me too?”
...
Only he could see these things. Only he could hear them.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His mother’s curse wouldn’t let him drop the thoughts of revenge, threatening to drive him mad if he did.
“Cultivate the heart...?” he murmured absently, his voice hoarse.
“Yes, cultivate the heart.”
The white cat’s gaze grew calm. With a gentle sweep of its whisking brush, it looked straight into the abyss in Wu Li’s eyes. “When the heart is clear and still, all thoughts fall silent. Then, you can see the path beneath your feet.”
Seeing Wu Li’s expression soften slightly, the white cat pressed its advantage. It poured itself a cup of tea and handed it over. “Chances like this are rare—time waits for no one. Now that I’m giving you an opportunity today, offer a toast, call me ‘Master,’ and I’ll teach you how to cultivate your heart.”
After saying that, it stared blankly at its own cat’s paw holding the tea cup.
Wasn’t this more like it was offering tea and begging to take on an apprentice?
The tea in the white porcelain cup was clear, with floating leaves spinning gently before settling at the bottom.
Suddenly—
A drop of dark red liquid fell drip into the tea.
The white cat looked up in shock. A streak of blood traced from the corner of Wu Li’s lips, his face suddenly turning an unhealthy white. He clutched his chest tightly. It wouldn’t last long before his knee slammed heavily onto the ground with a dull thud.
For the first time, the young man’s pale face showed a trace of barely contained pain.
“What’s happened?” the white cat scrambled, dropping the tea cup and jumping to Wu Li’s side.
“The mother insect...” Wu Li smirked, flashing a sarcastic grin. His teeth chattered violently, but his tone still carried that mocking, disdainful edge.
The High Priest planted a mother Bloodsilver Worm inside my heart, and it is gnawing at it.
This is already the third time.
Each attack is more severe than the last.
Lately, too many Bloodsilver Worms have been removed from me, and the High Priest has finally discovered it. This is his summons for me to return.
Only when I draw closer to Mount Chi does the heart-rending pain ease, until I stand once again before the High Priest.
The farther I go, the more frequent the attacks, and the more excruciating the agony. It makes life worse than death, yet I cannot die—I can only endure it helplessly.
This mother worm is like an invisible thread, one end tugging at my heart, the other held firmly in the High Priest’s hand.
