"Who wins the right to raise the little troublemaker."
The summit loomed above—a swirling cyclone of gold and crimson mist, wrapped around a spiraling path that defied physics.
And yet, Tian Shen was smiling.
His chest heaved. His clothes were torn. There was a mark on his left ear from some illusion beast that turned out to be a chair.
Because Lan Yueru had stopped using her sword entirely, opting instead to throw all kind of talismans like shurikens.
She was now in full smug mode, ears high, tail swaying, doing absolutely nothing to help except shout dramatic advice.
"Kyuu~, Kyuu~, Kyuuu~."
’Left, Master! No, right! No, dodge! Roll!Pretend you’re an acorn!’
"I’m ignoring you now."
The final section had no platforms.
Just a vertical climb, with wind blades, spectral chains, and cursed howls screaming through the air.
One misstep, and you fell.
Tian Shen looked to Lan Yueru.
"Step on my back. Launch off. You’re lighter and faster. Get to the summit."
Lan Yueru flew like a comet, sword igniting with spiritual flame as she cut through the winds.
Tian Shen, meanwhile, prepared to jump.
But a chain wrapped around his ankle.
A Lotus petal robed disciple, face pale and stitched, was dragging him down.
"Belongs... to the monastery..."
Tian Shen flared his Qi—his entire body exploded with golden light—and he dragged the corpse cultivator with him as he shot upward like a cannonball.
The summit was close.
Lan Yueru reached it first.
As her foot touched the summit’s edge, a formation flared.
And Tian Shen’s hand grabbed the final ledge a mere heartbeat after.
They landed together.
Breathless. Grimy. Beaten.
And the masked man reappeared, reclining mid-air on a golden fan.
A swirling vortex of crimson mist and golden lightning circled the spire’s peak, pulsing like the beating heart of a god who’d overdosed on chaos pills and regret.
Tian Shen stared up, panting.
Lan Yueru leaned on her sword beside him, windblown, scuffed, and still somehow elegant like a painting caught in a storm.
Little Mei had curled up inside his robe somewhere around the last gravity bridge and now only chirped out occasional "Kyuu~"s like a sentient stress ball.
"Are those... dragon phantoms?"
"Yup," Lan Yueru groaned.
"Guarding the summit. Because... I don’t know."
The phantoms circled lazily through the sky, each one at least thirty meters long, bodies made of storm qi and residual trial energy. They had no eyes, only seething sockets of pure intent.
Behind them, the other factions had regrouped.
From the Scarlet Sect came an elder with four flaming arms. From the Beast Pavilion, a half-tiger girl riding a wind serpent.
They all had one goal.
Or more precisely, prove themselves worthy of being the one who could handle the fox.
And also kind of flattering.
"...So this is what being a babysitter of divine beast looks like," Tian Shen muttered.
"Honestly," Lan Yueru replied, "if she weren’t adorable, I’d have left her already."
"Kyuu~," came the sleepy reply from inside Tian Shen’s robe.
Lan Yueru cracked her neck.
"I’ll take left. Distract the tiger girl."
"She flirted with me earlier. I owe her a beating."
"You’re hot when you’re righteous."
"Focus," she deadpanned, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Tian Shen shot upward in a blur, chaining together movement techniques like a madman on a caffeine pill. Wind sliced at his robes, but his Qi burned hotter.
Ahead, the dragon phantoms roared.
Behind, a voice howled.
It was the elder with no pants. Again.
Tian Shen ducked a bolt of flame, swerved to dodge a flying bone-snake, and then kicked off a mirror platform to gain altitude.
The summit was close now—so close he could feel the heartbeat of the trial pulsing through the air like war drums.
A phantom dragon slammed down in front of him, roaring with enough force to distort the air.
"Prove yourself," it said, its voice a chorus of ancient regrets and trial administrators.
Tian Shen glanced down.
"...I’ve got a fox that sets people on fire when she doesn’t like lunch," he said.
Lan Yueru, dodging behind him, stared in disbelief.
"I think I just... won an argument with a divine beast."
’My master is persuasive~.’
"You’re like the mold in an old rice cooker."
Still, she landed beside him seconds later, and together, they broke into the final platform.
Little Mei just giggled in his robes and played emotional soundtrack support.
Tian Shen collapsed onto the central pillar, panting.
Lan Yueru dropped beside him.
They looked at each other.
Sweaty. Bruised. Grinning like idiots.
Little Mei popped out, twirled mid-air, and landed on Tian Shen’s head.
A gentle pulse of power shot through the space.
The other factions—watching from the edges—groaned, cried, or simply stared in disbelief.
Scarlet Sect Elder: "How?!"
Beast Pavilion Girl: "No fair!"
Lotus Guy: "Can I at least get her autograph?"
Lan Yueru gave a slow nod.
The masked man drifted down.
A small golden tattoo appeared in Tian Shen’s arm. It pulsed in rhythm with Little Mei’s heartbeat.
"She’s yours now," he said.
Tian Shen glanced at the tattoo.
"...Uh, what exactly does that mean?"
"Means if she explodes something by accident, you get blamed."
The masked man smiled.
"And if she decides to do things a baddie could do, you get blamed."
Little Mei chirped, doing a little head-tilt dance.
’But I’ll love you forever~.’
Lan Yueru rolled her eyes.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
"You’re my doomed idiot."
"Hey. Does this come with bonus affection?"
They stood together at the summit, victorious, confused, and carrying possibly the most unpredictable creature in the continent.
The masked man turned away.
"Mmm. Not bad. I give this arc a solid 8.5."
He vanished in a swirl of ink and wind.
And the first phase of the expedition came to an end—not with a battle for resources or secrets of cultivation.
But with a battle to raise a mischievous fox.
The return to Feilun Sect wasn’t triumphant—at least not by sect standards.
When Tian Shen, Lan Yueru, and Feng Yin stepped through the sect gates under the rising sun, a few outer disciples nodded their way, but the usual enthusiasm for returning heroes was... absent.
They had expected their names to ring louder, their achievements to be more celebrated.
After all, they’d survived the brutal Central Battlefield Expedition. But reality? Reality was a silent courtyard and a lukewarm reception.
The Elders didn’t scold them. They didn’t say much at all. Which was, in its own way, worse.
"Report," said Elder Xuan, an old man whose beard was whiter than the clouds and who could crush boulders with a yawn.
The trio summarized their battles, the ruins, the desperate fight against the other factions, going with a excuse that they fought for great ancient treasures—and how most of the higher-tier resources had been devoured by others.
Elder Xuan nodded sagely at each point, but the faint twitch of his brow gave him away.
Compared to the other groups, who brought back sacks of spiritual herbs, beast cores, and rare artifacts, their returns were... light. Clean. Too clean.
Still, the man said nothing outright. Instead, he handed each of them a merit token and a single bottle of recovery pills.
"You’ve returned. That is merit enough."
The words were kind, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes.
After the short debrief, the trio parted ways without a word.
Lan Yueru cast a long glance Tian Shen’s way, her soft lips curving into a faint smile.
"We’ll spar tomorrow. I’ll win this time."
"You’ll need three lifetimes to catch up."
Tian Shen teased, though his tone was gentle.
Feng Yin chuckled beside him, giving Lan Yueru a playful wink before grabbing Tian Shen’s hand and leading him away like a queen claiming her king.
Back at his residence, the familiar scent of pinewood and incense wrapped around Tian Shen like an embrace. But even that couldn’t compare to the woman in his arms.