Cloudfall Continent, Star River Sect. By the Sea of Bitterness, a figure in a plain white daoist robe lounged under a fisherman's hat, humming Hotel California as he fished. Never mind that this "sea" was just an artificial lake on Leisure Peak—ever since Sikong became its master, he'd rebranded the pond as the "Sea of Bitterness" and cultivated a Zen slacker persona: "Fish daily, stress less."
"Uncle Sikong!" A young man in a sword-patterned daoist robe landed with a sword, face etched with exasperation. "The Sect Leader and Eight Peak Masters are holding the Ascension Conference—they want you to pick disciples!" The Ascension Conference was the Sect's annual "draft," where grassroots hopefuls clawed to join the cultivation ranks.
"Got it." Sikong didn't look up, Red Dead Redemption sound effects still blaring from his phone. The sword-robed youth rolled his eyes, mentally roasting: You're just a Qi Condensation scrub! If your dad wasn't the former Sect Leader, you'd be delivering pizza right now!
Once the man left, Sikong stretched lazily, flipping his fishing rod like a joint-rolling prodigy. "System, hit me with that sweet, sweet fishing XP—gonna need a full bar to ignore today's chaos."
"Ding! Detected host has been *masterfully* slacking off fishing for **9 years, 265 days**! Earned **'Zen Slacker Legend'** title!"
"Word." Sikong nodded, flicking a potato chip into his mouth. "Ten years ago, I was out here simping for a basic bitch who dumped me for a trust-fund bro. Now? I'm a goddamn fishing sage with 3550 layers of Qi—bet the Sect's 'elite' couldn't handle my chill if their lives depended on it."
"Wonder if that Forbidden Wasteland phoenix tastes better with barbecue sauce…" He yawned, propping his feet on a floating lotus leaf. "Eh, whatever. Let the kids fight over sword slots—I'll be here leveling up while napping. Priorities, am I right?"
Meanwhile, the Ascension Conference was popping like the Super Bowl. The square teemed with auditioned "trainees," nine pagodas representing the nine peaks. Beneath the grandest Sky Sword Pagoda, fan clubs chanted: "Sky Sword Peak yyds!"
In the crowd, a red-clothed woman, Li Siwan, sneered. In her past life, she'd been a half-step Empress, betrayed by her bestie and buried in an imperial tomb. Reborn as a wealthy country girl, she saw Star River Sect as a "mid-tier sect"—but at least it offered a cultivation gig. A few decades of seclusion, and she'd rise as Empress again!
The white-haired Sect Leader hovered mid-air, special effects maxed: "Three thousand paths of the Dao—choose wisely!"
Instantly, chaos erupted under Sky Sword Pagoda: "I wanna be a sword cultivator!" "Sky Sword Peak, take me to the top!"
Li Qing, Sky Sword Peak's young master, twirled a flower between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. The sect's top idol, nicknamed "Little Sword God," his fan club could circle the Sect three times. Glancing at the empty Leisure Pagoda, he scoffed: This "retirement home" should've shut down ages ago.
Li Siwan frowned and headed for the quieter crowd. Too much noise—she needed to practice her Empress secret arts, not waste time on fan meetups!
Half an hour later, the Great Elder announced the list: "Sky Sword Peak, 1,200 disciples!" Gasps rippled through the crowd—over 2,000 applicants, and Sky Sword had snagged half!
"Flower Peak, 113." The Flower Peak Master's face darkened.
"Leisure Peak, ..."
All heads swiveled to Leisure Pagoda—the red-clothed woman looked like a Victoria's Secret model, but her aura screamed *Thanos*. Li Qing's pupils dilated—what hidden boss was this? He switched on charm mode: "Little sister, Sky Sword Peak has top-tier cultivation resources and private tutors~"
Onlookers instantly shipped it: "Is this the 'dominant sword prince falls for me' trope?!"
Li Siwan rolled her eyes. This "pretty boy"—she could grind him into the dirt after three months of seclusion! "Thanks, bro, but I'm into Leisure Peak's chill vibe."
Li Qing's smirk vanished, his ears turning red as a tomato. "You… you think you're better than me?!" His voice cracked, fingers tightening around the flower until petals showered the ground. "Do you have any idea how many disciples beg to wipe my boots? How many sects would kill to have me as their heir?"**
The crowd went dead silent—they'd never seen the "Little Sword God" lose his cool like this. Li Qing was usually all suave smirks and lazy confidence, not… this.
"Don't you dare walk away from me!" He yelled, summoning his sword with a clang. "I'll show you why Sky Sword Peak rules this Sect! I'll—"
"Chill, bro." Sikong flicked another chip into his mouth, not even glancing at the sword. "You're gonna give yourself a stroke before lunch. Not my problem, but like… bad look for the brand."
Li Siwan rolled her eyes at the tantrum. "Dude, you're literally throwing a hissy fit over a rejection. Maybe take a breather—like, meditate or something?"
The crowd snickered. Someone muttered, "Is this the 'entitled prince has a meltdown' trope?"
Li Qing's face paled, then flushed purple. He'd spent years building the "unflappable genius" image, and this nobody was shredding it in front of *everyone*. "I—You—" He sputtered, sword hand trembling.
Sikong yawned. "Anyway, back to my chicken." He took a noisy bite, grease dripping onto his robe. "Best 'phoenix' I've had all week. You sure you don't want a nibble, Little Chen?"
Li Siwan arched a brow at the greasy figure. Interesting… Maybe this lazy sage is exactly the master I need.