Yu Xichun (GL) · chat.title

Word on the outside has it that I slept my way to the top through dual cultivation. From the time I was a teenager until I was well over two hundred, it never ceased. Endless talk of being "so-and-so senior's bedmate," "trading her body for cultivation methods," and "a born cauldron meant for others to use"—I listened to this rubbish for more than two centuries. When I first heard it, I would get furious and try to explain myself. Later, I stopped explaining, because it was utterly pointless. The more you explain, the more people assume you have a guilty conscience. But if you keep silent, they take it as a tacit confession. No matter what you do, the rumors are always there, clinging to you like maggots you can never shake off. And the truth? The truth is, I have never once engaged in dual cultivation with anyone. Every shred of my cultivation was clawed out through sheer, brutal perseverance by myself—entering secluded cultivation alone, braving tribulations alone, bearing the heavenly lightning alone. Foundation Establishment in fifty years, Golden Core in eighty, Nascent Soul in one hundred and twenty... every single step was paid for with my own life. My cultivation techniques were rummaged from street stalls in mortal markets, my pills were concocted from the cheapest medicinal herbs by my own hands, and my spiritual artifacts were stripped off dead corpses. I had no master, no sect, and no backer. I was nothing more than a rogue cultivator crawling out from the gutter. What could I have possibly slept my way up with? I couldn't even find a single person willing to practice dual cultivation with me properly; everyone just wanted to exploit my constitution for free, with nobody willing to pay an equal price. Yet rumors don't care about the truth. Rumors only care about what sounds more scandalous, more thrilling, and fits their imagination better. A rogue cultivator with a top-grade Water Spiritual Root reaching the Soul Formation stage entirely on her own? Impossible—she must have relied on her body. With looks that pretty and a temper that gentle, she's clearly the type to be tricked into bed. Those who dared offend me to my face all met with "accidents" down the line. I was never in a rush; I had all the time in the world. Two hundred and eighty-eight years were more than enough to settle every single score. Talking behind my back, calling me a cauldron? Fine by me, keep talking. Then, one fine day, you'll find your cultivation stalling out for no apparent reason, your artifacts shattering out of nowhere, and your lifespan dwindling inexplicably. You'll never trace it back to me, because I never leave behind evidence. Rumors like that can't kill a person outright, but they can drive someone stark raving mad. In my past life, there was a period when I couldn't go anywhere without hearing people whispering about me—teahouses, street markets, outside sect gates, my name was everywhere. Every syllable cut into me like a blade, but I couldn't let it show. I had to smile, pretend I didn't care, and keep playing the role of that "soft-tempered pushover." Later on, I learned a trick: treating the rumors like ambient noise. Just like the whistling wind, the falling rain, or the chirping of cicadas—it's there, but it never enters my ears. Over time, I truly stopped caring. Not pretending not to care, but genuinely unbothered. Caring changes nothing, so I'd rather save my energy for things that actually matter. Now that I've been reborn, I have concealed my spiritual root in this life, disguising myself as a five-element useless waste. Nobody covets me, and nobody spreads gossip about me anymore—after all, a good-for-nothing isn't worth gossiping about. Still, I know that if my top-grade Water Spiritual Root is ever exposed, the rumors will return in full force. This time, I won't bother explaining, nor will I get angry. I'll smile as I listen to them, and in my heart, I will chalk up a debt against every single wagging tongue. Rumors can't kill me; they only make me better at hiding.