Chapter 5: A Passing Thought

The night was deep and the chill heavy. Zora sat at the table wrapped in her new clothes, with only a single lamp standing in the center of the round table, struggling to cast a dim, circular glow.

Vane had gone downstairs to the kitchen.

Bored, she tapped her fingers lightly on the tabletop. After a while, she leaned down, resting her left cheek on the crook of her arm. The soft flesh of her cheek pressed into a rounded curve, making her left eye crinkle slightly. Her fingertips pressed into the folds of the red-and-gold tablecloth, her gaze following the movement of her fingers closely.

"Oracle," Zora called out in her mind.

After a moment, the Oracle spoke up: [What is it, Host?]

"Did you heal my body?"

[Yes. Although the Host died in your original world, I reconstructed your body and successfully resurrected you. Your physical condition is currently at its peak.]

She asked, "What did I look like after I died?"

[...] The Oracle replied, [Fine enough. I managed to have you transmigrate just before they threw your body out.]

Her knuckles bent as her nails scratched against the coarse fabric, the raised golden threads making soft clicking sounds as she repeatedly picked at them.

The Oracle couldn't quite read her thoughts. The Host showed too little emotion—everything looked much the same on her face. People said the eyes were the windows to the soul, and while her eyes were clear enough to see through, one could only sense a certain purity—no shadows, but no sunrise either.

It only knew that the Host definitely didn't want to die, and that was enough. However, her method of completing the mission was truly... unique.

The Oracle, having just barely accepted reality, felt a bit choked up again at the thought.

The teenage villain seemed to have adapted incredibly quickly as well. This wasn't entirely surprising; he was a character who, once unable to resist successfully, would immediately adjust himself and master his position—until he grew stronger than his opponent. Then, he would tear off his mask and ruthlessly bite through their throat like a savage wolf.

In the original plot, that was how he treated everyone.

The Oracle couldn't help but offer a warning: [...Host, be careful. Don't let him turn on you. Never lower your guard against the villain! Since you've already started this way, try to think of how to make amends later... For instance, be a bit gentler to him, treat him well, show constant concern. When the time is right, tell him—'You aren't alone, I understand you!'—something like that. You can look out for plot events... like that massive scene where his demonic seed is exposed! You could stand in front of him and make him realize you’re sincere!]

Too noisy.

Zora buried her entire face in her arms.

[...Are you even listening to me!]

"..." She ignored it.

Seeing this, the Oracle sighed again: [Fine... Remember, the mission is considered successful after the point where the wave of evil strikes the Immortal Cultivation Realm. If the world hasn't been destroyed by the time that plot point passes, your mission is a success.]

[I’ll usually be in hibernation. Call out the system keyword and I’ll return. The timing is determined automatically, so don't worry.]

The Oracle went completely silent, entering its hibernation state.

At that same moment, the door opened.

Vane entered the room carrying a steaming bowl of noodles. His footsteps were nearly silent as he kicked the door shut with his other hand.

Zora sat up straight, her eyes fixed on the bowl.

The celadon bowl was placed gently before her. The noodles were distinct, reflecting a golden luster in the light. The fresh broth was garnished with green scallions, and the aroma was mouth-watering. A pair of chopsticks was laid neatly across the rim of the bowl.

"The chef wasn't in the kitchen, and there weren't many ingredients. The attendant cooked a bowl of noodles," Vane explained.

Zora gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and picked up the chopsticks.

Vane stood quietly by her side, seeing only the top of the girl's head as she focused on her meal. He was hungry too, but more than that, he was tired. The boy’s gaze drifted away from her, fixing on the flickering candlelight on the table.

Once Zora finished eating, he cleared the bowl and left again.

When Vane returned upstairs and pushed the door open, the candle was still burning, but the girl was no longer at the table. She was a bundled heap on the bed. This time, he could see the back of her head, her black hair spread out across the bedding.

"..."

Vane silently extinguished the candle, letting the darkness take over again. He returned to his spot on the floor and lay down. Though his stomach was empty, he had lived like this for years, so it wasn't unbearable.

The boy’s eyes closed and opened again. The person on the bed seemed to turn over, a strand of black hair falling over the edge of the bedframe. He glanced at it and then looked away.

Earlier, when Vane was carrying the noodles, he had moved upstairs soundlessly—minimizing the sound of his footsteps had long become a habit. Warm, hazy light had spilled from the room’s doorway, but the boy had paused at the entrance for a moment before pushing the door open.

Zora indeed lacked vigilance, so the three men from tonight must have been discovered by her when he pushed open the back door on the first floor.

The rich aroma in the room had yet to dissipate.

Only when the girl on the bed had fallen into a deep sleep and her breathing became steady did Vane truly fall asleep himself. Two shallow breaths dissolved into the cold darkness of the spring night.

She had completely forgotten that the villain needed to eat too. When she sat up in the morning and saw the empty floor, she remembered he needed sustenance. Otherwise, he would starve to death. He seemed to have no money, and as his master, feeding him was part of the job.

The morning sun crept through the cracks in the window. She was the only one in the room. Zora thought about how even raising a puppy required regular feeding. As she thought, her heavy eyelids gradually closed, and she lay back down in the warm covers to fall asleep again.

It wasn't until the half-day turned into a full sun and the day was bright that Zora slowly got out of bed. She put on her clothes—a brand-new set, the light blue hem embroidered with cranes and flowing clouds that swayed gently with her movements.

Zora opened the door.

The boy standing by the door, arms crossed as he observed the many guests in the hallway, turned his head and looked down the instant her hand touched the door handle.

Zora looked up and met his gaze.

"I'll bring in the washbasin."

"Where do I wash my face?"

Both spoke at the same time and fell silent at the same time.

Although Zora knew a servant was supposed to handle trivial chores, her lack of understanding of the local master-servant dynamics and the fact she had never owned a servant before meant she often overlooked small details—like the fact this person had no wages but still needed to eat.

In the silence, she gave a smooth nod: "Mhm. Bring it over then."

Vane glanced at her and headed downstairs.

In the darkness of the previous night, his stature had already been described as straight as bamboo. Now in the light of day, the tall, slender boy revealed even more of a sharp edge, like a newly unsheathed sword—a fierce aura mixed with the vigorous spirit of youth.

Zora watched the people bustling back and forth in the hallway, every face reflecting a mix of tension and excitement.

"You must climb up this time and enter the December Sect, do you hear me?" Across the way, a father and son were having a final talk. The elderly father smoothed his son’s collar. He stared at his middle-aged son, wiping the corners of his eyes with his sleeve as if on the verge of tears.

"I know, Father. You should head back now," the middle-aged man said sorrowfully, waving him away.

At the corner, several people were struggling up the stairs carrying large bundles of food and cotton clothes, sweat soaking their foreheads.

"This should be enough, right? At least to last three days."

"I plan to go up with my brother."

It was loud and chaotic.

Zora closed the door and sat back down in the room.

In the plot, the sect where the protagonists resided was called the December Sect. The text stated:

On the third day of the third month, climb the Cloud Stairway, enter the Immortal Gate, and one can soar to the heavens. From then on, defy the laws of heaven and follow one's own path, practicing bitterly to ascend as an immortal.

She had arrived just in time.

Vane entered the room. After Zora finished washing up, they went to the first floor to sit down for breakfast. Brookside Town always stocked up on extra grain and silks during this period, so there was no need to worry about shortages.

"Sit," Zora said, looking at Vane who was standing nearby.

"Yes."

He sat down, and a basket of steamed buns was pushed in front of him by the girl.

"Eat," Zora said succinctly.

While they ate, people constantly entered and left the first floor. Some were crying, others were laughing.

Zora said, "The third day of the third month is the sect's recruitment."

"..." Vane turned his head, but she was looking at a vendor selling syrup at the door, her observations unclear.

"Yes, it is the entry recruitment for the December Sect," Vane replied.

"I'm going," Zora looked at him and said calmly. "You are going too. Today, go buy the things we need."

She handed him the coin purse.

A dark glint appeared in Vane’s eyes, but his expression remained normal as he took it. "Yes."

Zora watched the crowd for a while longer. She seemed to be looking at the common people out of mere curiosity. Within the messy scene, countless tangled emotions and mundane busyness mixed together, bursting with the immense hope that preceded the sect's recruitment.

Vane stepped out of the inn and walked along the crowded street. He lowered his head and squeezed the coin purse.

Everyone knew that the first trial of the December Sect’s recruitment was climbing the Cloud Stairway, commonly known among the people as the Immortal Stairs. Ten thousand, nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps. Spiraling through ninety-nine layers of illusions.

The December Sect had established a rule: From the third to the fifteenth day of the third month, any mortal, regardless of the method used, who climbs the stairway may enter our gates.

There were those who tried to use tricks, but strangely, over thousands of years, no one who committed crimes or used despicable methods while climbing had ever entered the gates. This was only the first trial. Although passing it allowed entry, the sect’s territory was so vast that no one could accurately describe it, and disciples were naturally divided into inner and outer disciples.

Inner disciples were self-explanatory, while outer disciples were further divided into idle cultivators who could practice normally and laborers. Little was known about what happened after climbing the stairs, and the method of classification was unknown; rumors said talent was paramount, with other factors being secondary. In any case, climbing the stairway guaranteed entry; even if the second trial tested talent and one lacked it, being a laborer in an immortal sect was still a happy life.

Whether this was true or not remained to be seen.

Even so, among those who climbed the stairs, there would always be those who were lazy or used others—having someone else block illusions for them, carry them up a few levels, or steal others' food. After all, evil acts came in different scales, and people always assumed the December Sect wouldn't mind. Furthermore, hundreds or thousands of people died during every climb. In a state of no return, starving and parched, who could guarantee they would always remain noble?

Vane was accustomed to the ugliness revealed in these people's hearts.

...What if Zora held such intentions?

The moment the thought of "taking her money and running away" crossed his mind, the Master-Servant Covenant activated instantly. A pain like bones shattering surged through his limbs and body in an instant.

The boy stopped in a corner of the street, cold sweat breaking out on his pale face. His hands were trembling slightly as he struggled to remain standing, yet he couldn't take a single step.

Only after he forcibly erased the thought did the pain slowly recede. He opened his mouth and breathed heavily, his chest heaving. There were bloodstains from where he had bitten his lip, making it an unnaturally vivid red against his deathly pale skin. Cold sweat soaked through his clothes on his back, a few drops sliding down his temples and chin into his collar.

Finally unable to stand, the boy collapsed. He barely propped himself up with his hands, staring at the ground with a pained expression.

The thought had only existed for a split second, yet it had tortured him to this extent.

The corner was empty. The veins on his tightly clenched fist on the ground protruded slightly. After a long while, when he finally relaxed, his palm was wet. His slender, pale knuckles looked like translucent jade in the light, unintentionally revealing a hint of fragile vulnerability.