Opening the book cover, the pages of the *Record of Monastic Practice* were slightly yellowed, carrying a faint musty scent. The neatly written inscription read: "The way of water and fire lies in balance; only by transforming them into yin and yang can one master the Master's technique of Cold Ice and Fiery Refinement. After three years of training, I finally came to this realization..." Another cultivation journey? Zhang Yuanqing raised an eyebrow. The last time he had seen such a description was at the Mountain Spirit Temple, in the hand-written notes left by the shoulder-pressing spirit of resentment, which mentioned certain aspects of the practitioner's journey—breath control, drawing talismans, and so on. "In the Ming Dynasty, professions were advanced through cultivation, rather than through character cards? Perhaps it's simply part of the spiritual realm's worldbuilding. Figures like the Yin-Yang Wanderer are NPCs, much like Wang Po and Xu the Widow. The Demon King himself followed this path—he presumably killed them, but later they were reset. Unless we can verify that the Yin-Yang Wanderer truly existed in past historical records." With these thoughts in mind, Zhang Yuanqing opened his laptop and logged into the official database, searching Yet, aside from a few scattered guides, there is little information about Yin-Yang Town in the official archives. "Even the temple of Lady San-Dao Mountain is documented, yet there's nothing on towns where people have settled? Are the officials incompetent? What's going on?" Zhang Yuanqing muttered under his breath, then paused, startled. How did I suddenly become so irritable? After a moment's reflection, he realized—one of the costs of being a Yin-Yang practitioner: emotionally unpredictable. "Hmph. Calm down, calm down..." he took a deep breath. "The Yin-Yang wanderer was a figure from the Ming Dynasty, but he has passed away. As far as I know, the only other living strong figures from that era are the old man, perhaps even just the old man himself..." He continued reading, though the characters were in traditional form, which slowed his pace. After about fifteen minutes, he had a general sense of the wanderer's background. He came from a sect known as the "Water and Fire Sect," founded by a divine figure from the Song dynasty. The sect held considerable status in the Central Plains, yet its number of disciples remained small—not because the sect lacked ambition to recruit more, but because few individuals possessed the innate qualifications for cultivation. Yin-Yang San Ren introduced a concept: "When the heavens and earth undergo change, only a few succeed." "This is remarkably similar to the temple attendant's observation—the secret behind a thousand-year cycle of rise and fall..." Zhang Yuanqing quickly flipped back through the text, but couldn't find the specific reasons behind the change of the heavens and earth. He couldn't help but mutter under his breath. Perhaps Yin-Yang San Ren himself didn't know the precise reasons either. Moreover, Zhang Yuanqing noticed that, according to Yin-Yang San Ren's own account, disciples who had achieved the "Cold Ice and Fire Refinement Technique" were exceedingly rare—true elite among the elite. "Are water and fire both embodied? According to the concept of a Lingjing traveler, that would mean excelling in two distinct professions simultaneously—something utterly impossible within the Lingjing realm. If any member of the Wu-Xing Alliance possessed such dual expertise, I would surely have heard of it, unless they had kept it confidential... Could it be due to the unique effects of cultivation?" He pondered while reading the Daoic Records. "After mastering the Cold Ice and Fire Refinement Technique, my cultivation steadily advanced, allowing me to rise as a dominant force in Central China. I then ventured northward, where I encountered few rivals. Subsequently, I journeyed south to challenge the masters of various sects, achieving successive victories. I heard that a colleague from Song Fu's Three Mountain Estate was skilled in summoning wind and rain, capturing ghosts and demons, and in alchemical preparation and seal-making. I thus went to challenge him, only to suffer a decisive defeat. Disheartened, I returned to my monastery and reported the matter to my master, who smiled and said: 'Even my own ancestor experienced the same.'" "San Dao Mountain... this must be referring to the old, sturdy master—indeed, the old master is that strong? Wow, I never thought the old master was so formidable. When I encounter him again in the Spiritual Realm, I'll have to consider what kneeling posture would best convey my sincerity... Zhang Yuanqing gritted his teeth quietly, then, after a moment, suddenly realized something was off, and focused his gaze on the words "my own master has also been similarly treated." To his surprise, during his travels, the Yin-Yang Hermit had made many friends across both the righteous and the evil paths—by "evil path" friends, he means those from evil-aligned professions. His assessment of these evil-aligned friends is: generous, bold, and driven by a sense of justice and personal loyalty. "The Yin-Yang Hermit doesn't seem like someone with a flawed worldview. Then, his friends from the evil professions—aren't they similar to the kind of people like Aunt Xiao Yuan? Moreover, throughout his life, it seems the righteous and the evil paths aren't as opposed as one might expect. Unlike today's spiritual realm travelers, who often clash the moment their camps meet, eager to spill brains and blood." Zhang Yuanqing flipped through the pages quickly, showing little interest in the details of his travels. Notably, the Yin-Yang robe he acquired during one of his journeys in an ancient tomb is what prompted him to adopt the title of the Yin-Yang Hermit. He then went on to challenge the old stickler at San Dao Mountain once again—yet, once more, he suffered a decisive defeat. The Yin-Yang Hermit now settles down, spending his days drinking and feasting, enjoying company and companionship. Whenever injustice arises, he steps in to rectify it; whenever a petty official proves troublesome, he simply takes them out. As he enters his later years, he begins to earnestly pursue immortality, lamenting his unfortunate timing—born during a time of profound transformation in the world. With each passing year, his obsession with immortality grows stronger. The "Record of Cultivation" no longer focuses on cultivation practices but instead dedicates itself daily to analyzing various immortality plans. Even the idea of using an infant's vital blood as a catalyst to concoct an elixir of eternal life begins to take shape—thankfully, he manages to halt this course in time. Yet his yearning for immortality continues to deepen. At this point, Zhang Yuanqing feels a sudden sense of alarm. Previously, he considered the cost of the Yin-Yang Robe to be moderate—after all, immortality is something everyone naturally aspires to, and thus not an especially heavy price. Now, witnessing the Yin-Yang Hermit's intense, almost frenzied pursuit of immortality, he realizes just how serious One day, the Yin-Yang Hermit heard that the Lady of San Dao Mountain had attained enlightenment, and was deeply moved, recording in the Record of Daoist Practices: "A beauty of national caliber, yet could not escape the passage of time—alas, what a pity." Afterward, the Yin-Yang Hermit founded the Yin-Yang Town and fell into a long, eternal dream of immortality. The Record of Daoist Practices contained a wealth of information—quite overwhelming. Zhang Yuanqing pinched his brow, absorbing and organizing the insights: The old sturdy fellow was far more ancient than I had imagined, and his strength was astonishing! During the Ming Dynasty, the chaotic and lawful professions did not enjoy particularly harmonious relations, though they were not destined to perish one against the other. The Ming-era professions advanced through cultivation, not through character cards. If the Yin-Yang Hermit and the old sturdy fellow were indeed real historical figures, then my understanding of the spiritual realm would have to shift significantly. Yet among the NPCs I know, only the old sturdy fellow remains alive. Not quite—perhaps I don’t need to ask them directly; I have a way to verify this. Zhang Yuanqing set the question aside for now and carefully stored the Next, he intended to try out the new skill—heavenly wandering. The moment this thought arose, Zhang Yuanqing felt an inexplicable restlessness, eager to begin immediately, with no one able to stop him. The young man's pupils glowed a bright crimson. The middle-aged man froze instantly. Sitting by the bedside, the young man gently twirled the fruit knife in his hands, smiling warmly. "I'm someone who absolutely hates to punish without explanation. Before I kill you, I'll tell you the reasons—so you can die with clarity. First, accepting quid pro quo arrangements, forcing the good to become the compromised... Second, acting as a shield for corrupt forces, concealing their crimes of murder... Third..." His tone remained calm and steady, listing a dozen such points. Human nature is flawed; the world inhabited by people is dirty. Thus, this world needs to be cleansed. At that moment, the phone rings. The young man pulls out his phone, holds it high with two fingers, and uses the other hand to answer the call with a fingertip: "Yin Yue, what's up?" "Magical Eyes—have you had enough? Get back to headquarters right away. Mistress Zhi-Sha of the Palace of Stopping the Kill has slain many of us in the northern realm. She's exceptionally good at hiding herself. I need your eyes." The voice on the other end is loud and agitated. "Mind your tone!" the young man smiles, saying, "You're a divine general—how dare you speak to me like this?" "I'll mind your Gansu plateau!" the voice on the other end grows even more furious, breaking into a tirade: "Your four Heavenly Kings are all in disarray. The first one, the most ridiculous of all, constantly shouts about freedom but can't find anyone to listen. The second one even sent me a formal challenge to battle Mistress Zhi-Sha—she refuses to fight, and yet she doesn't show up?" "The third-ranked rookie who just entered the Spiritual Realm—well, we eight divine generals could easily dispatch that woman, but we can't seem to find her!" The young man scratched his head. "Alright, you know my rule—give me a solid reason to kill her." "Do we need a reason to kill someone?" "Not really?" "Well... when she was hunting our organization members, she accidentally injured two civilians. Does that count?" "Yes! I'm going there right now to dispatch her." "You're absolutely insane! Are you a lawful or a chaotic faction? No—your entire quartet is insane!" Silver Moon General exclaimed, then abruptly added, "Li Xianzong is dead!" "Wait?" Magician King raised an eyebrow, his smile fading. "What happened?" "She encountered the Prime Immortal in the realm and was defeated." "That's it..." King of the Mystic Eye smiled again, curling his lips. "Once I've dealt with the Master of the Halt Palace, I'll head to Song Sea to gather grounds for eliminating the Primordial Sovereign." As he thought, Zhang Yuanqing drifted into his grandparents' bedroom, where both elders were already asleep. He changed course, bumped into the wall, and arrived at his aunt's room. By the window draped with a soft pink curtain, his aunt stood in a light, flowing nightgown, silently gazing out at the night scene. On the bedside table lay her removed black lace bra, the size quite substantial. Jiang Yu'er slightly tilted her head, then suddenly straightened her back, murmuring, "I'm so tired. I'm going to sleep... I'm going to sleep..." Zhang Yuanqing watched her sink into the bed, close her eyes, and settle into a serene, gentle, and sweetly rounded expression. Who, he wondered, would be the lucky man to see this sleeping face every day? He gazed at his aunt's peaceful face, thinking: Could a spirit actually inhabit someone? Maybe he should try inhabiting his aunt. But then he thought—using family members as test subjects might not be ideal. So, he immediately plunged into the ceiling and made his way down to a neighbor's home. Below lived a young couple living with their parents. As Zhang Yuanqing stepped through the floor, he immediately heard the creaking sound of a rocking bed, along with faint, barely audible collisions beneath the thin blanket. Following the sound, he spotted two overlapping bodies. Oh dear, just not the right moment—how could he possibly manifest himself now? With the scene of intimate exposure unfolding before him, he sighed and reluctantly gave up. Then, the collision sounds intensified momentarily before settling down, and the rhythmic movement of the blanket ceased. Soon, his wife’s complaints came through: "Why is it always so fast?" "I've been working overtime lately, so I'm a bit tired." "You said the same thing last time." "Oh, come on, are you really that impatient? Just go to sleep—I still have work tomorrow." Brother, you need a stamina mist to restore your confidence—everyone upstairs and downstairs is offering you an 80% discount. Zhang Yuanqing gently lifted his spirit and returned to his aunt’s room. This time, he made a clear intention to enter his uncle’s house and headed straight for the master bedroom. Uncle and his wife didn't sleep. One was lying down with a face mask watching variety shows, the other holding her phone, immersed in hip-hop videos, occasionally dropping offbeat rhymes. "Look at Yuanzi—eating a warm, steaming baozi, so innocent and dumb-looking..." Suddenly, Uncle lowered his head, then immediately raised it again, fixing his wife with a serious gaze. "I think we should treat Yuanzi better." His wife kept her eyes on the tablet, responding, "Don't we treat him well already?" "I mean financially—perhaps we should give him more pocket money. Though his mother does provide funds, we as uncles and aunts should also contribute more." "Ah, then I'll give him several thousand every month." Mrs. Uncle said casually. "Uncle truly is wonderful... ah, I mean, Mrs. Uncle is truly wonderful." Mrs. Uncle wasn't paying attention to Uncle, didn't notice the slip-up, and continued watching the show with a dismissive tone. "You know your older sister—she's been so focused on making money these years. When has she ever thought about Yuanzi?" The parents never attend meetings, never pay attention to their child's studies. As a child without a father, he's constantly bullied at school, and yet no one cares—except you, who has to go to the school and complain. He constantly hands over money to her, thinking it's impressive, but honestly, with just that little amount, it's nothing at all." The uncle looked embarrassed, "You really need to tone it down a bit. After all, that's my mother. The aunt sighed, "Look at Yuanzi over the years. He'd rather accompany you dancing than accept a single cent from her. When he first came here, he was just in elementary school—he was so careful and cautious. Whenever you weren't around, he'd come to me to please me, afraid I'd dislike him and that he wouldn't be able to stay at home. He was equally careful with your father and mother. Back then, he wasn't close to them at all—so young, already learning how to live in someone else's household. I remember Yu'er used to be like that too, so that's why they've always been close since childhood." As she spoke, she noticed her husband's eyes growing dim. "This isn't Heart said, at this moment, you should deliver a monologue—something like: "With my uncle taking care of me, whether my mom is there or not, it doesn’t matter, really, doesn’t matter!" "Sleep, sleep!" Uncle put down his phone and pulled the blanket over himself. ... When did the first Lingjing travelers first appear?