Ye Huaiyao had been reincarnated into this world for more than a thousand years.
Originally, he had been a modern man from the twenty-first century. At the age of twenty-five, he had bravely rescued a puppy, only to be hit and killed by a car. He was then reincarnated into a male-oriented cultivation novel he had read, becoming a supporting male character who was born as a baby with memories of his previous life.
This supporting character did not even qualify as cannon fodder. In the original novel, he had hardly any part in the plot, yet lived an even more glorious life than the protagonist.
At sixteen, he entered Xuantian Tower, the foremost sect in the cultivation world. Possessed of incomparable elegance, extraordinary looks and exceptional intelligence, he was cherished by every elder and deeply admired by every fellow disciple. Before he had even reached six hundred, he became one of the people in charge of Xuantian Tower and was bestowed with the title “the Illustrious Sage”.
He was the object of every young martial artist’s admiration and the dream of every sheltered young lady. Rumours about Lord Yunqi, the Illustrious Sage, could be found everywhere throughout the martial world. Even the most vicious villains had to bow before him, while the most arrogant of enemies would be captivated by his bearing.
To live a life like that was more than enough.
However, the protagonist’s halo might arrive late, but it would never be absent.
The very first chapter of this book, titled Tale of the Useless Immortal Cultivator, was the death of the Illustrious Sage, Ye Huaiyao.
Ye Huaiyao, a pillar of the righteous path, and Rong Wang, the great villain and Demon Lord, agreed to duel at Yaotai (Jade Terrace), and both perished in the battle. Overnight, Xuantian Tower was blanketed in frost and snow, and the entire world mourned.
Eighteen years later, the protagonist, Ji Lanying, found one of the Illustrious Sage’s possessions and presented it to Xuantian Tower. Everyone in Xuantian Tower was immensely grateful and consequently believed that he was fated to be connected with the Illustrious Sage. From then on, he became one of the protagonist’s most powerful patrons.
At present, exactly eighteen years had passed since the battle at Yaotai.
The Illustrious Sage, Ye Huaiyao, sat leaning slightly to one side beneath the covered walkway, a blade of foxtail grass between his lips. He narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to shield himself from the brilliant golden sunlight pouring down overhead.
He… was still alive. “Ye-shixiong! Ye-shixiong*!”
(*TN: senior brother)
A group of junior disciples who had just finished their morning practice came noisily towards him from nearby. The moment they spotted Ye Huaiyao, they were delighted and hurried around him, each holding out a little hand. “We want sweets!”
Ye Huaiyao spat out the foxtail grass and laughed. He produced a packet of Li Ji pine-nut sweets from inside his robes and tossed it up and down, making the children’s eyes widen with longing.
“Come, come, same as always,” he said with a smile. “Say, ‘Ye-shixiong is so handsome’, and I’ll give you one sweet.”
His features were elegant and refined, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. His incomparable beauty was enough to stir the heart. One particularly well-behaved child immediately shouted, “Ye-shixiong is so handsome!”
Ye Huaiyao greatly admired the child’s willingness to speak the truth, so he gave him a sweet, along with a reward in the form of a pat on the head.
Seeing this, the others refused to be outdone and immediately began shouting in unison:
“Ye-shixiong is so handsome!” “Ye-shixiong is so handsome!” “Ye-shixiong is the most handsome man under heaven, I want two!!!”
Another child ingratiatingly said, “Ye-shixiong, you lost the grand competition, and my master said it was very embarrassing and won’t let me come and play with you, but I just like coming anyway!”
Ye Huaiyao burst into hearty laughter and pinched his cheek. “I think you just like the sweets, don’t you? You little glutton. Wipe your mouth clean, and don’t let your master, that old thing… that venerable gentleman, see it when you go back.”
The children happily stuffed themselves with sweets. Ye Huaiyao withdrew his hand and secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
He had no idea where the plot had gone astray. In that battle all those years ago, not only had he failed to die, but his severe injuries had actually caused him to regress into the body of a small child. He had collapsed unconscious in the snow and forgotten everything about his former life.
Afterwards, Ye Huaiyao had been rescued and brought to a second-rate sect called the Chensu Sect, where he had lived ever since. It had only been five or six days since he had finally remembered his past.
Although he had been lucky enough to keep his life, his present circumstances were not particularly favourable. A few days ago, during the sect’s grand competition, Ye Huaiyao had been ambushed and suffered a crushing defeat. Hardly anyone in the sect paid him any attention, so, with nothing better to do, he had resorted to using sweets to feed a group of children like lucky little carp.
Having distributed most of the sweets, Ye Huaiyao noticed a tall, thin boy standing at the very back of the group.
He looked somewhat older than the others, perhaps eleven or twelve. Standing behind everyone else, he said nothing and merely gazed at Ye Huaiyao with longing in his eyes.
This child came every day as well, but he seemed rather withdrawn and never spoke. He looked quite pitiful.
Ye Huaiyao smiled and, as he had done on previous days, gave him all the sweets remaining in his hand, also reaching out to pat the boy on the head.
Caught off guard, the boy found himself holding a handful of sweets. Their sweet, fragrant scent rushed into his nose, then seeped, thread by thread, into his heart.
At that moment, a cough sounded from behind them.
The children had been dividing up the sweets with great excitement, but at the sudden noise they all looked towards it and immediately shivered at the sight of the tall figure standing not far away.
They swiftly hid their sweets and stood ramrod straight, feet together.
“Cheng-shixiong!”
It was a case of meeting an old adversary in a narrow path. The newcomer was Cheng Yuan, son of the master of Tai Xuan Peak of the Chensu Sect, and also the person who had inflicted Ye Huaiyao’s “crushing defeat” in the recent grand competition.
To be fair, there was no denying that the man was handsome. Unfortunately, he had been born with a mournful face, slightly drooping corners to his mouth and fine, elongated brows. He looked for all the world as though his father had just died, and the moment he appeared, he frightened all the children into silence.
When Ye Huaiyao saw him, the smile on his face faded slightly, though a faint trace of it remained at his lips. He said to the others, “Alright, off you go and play somewhere else.”
The moment he spoke, Cheng Yuan shifted his gaze away from the junior disciples and let it fall upon Ye Huaiyao.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves like scattered pieces of gold, landing just so upon his long robes. The hem of Ye Huaiyao’s robe fluttered gently in the breeze, making him look all the more elegant and refined, graceful and spirited.
Cheng Yuan’s expression softened slightly. He waved a hand in agreement and said, “Off you go.”
The children scattered as though granted a reprieve. Cheng Yuan watched only Ye Huaiyao and asked, “Has your injury improved at all these past few days?”
Ye Huaiyao raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling upwards. “No.”
He and Cheng Yuan had always enjoyed a good relationship. Who could have imagined that, during the sect’s grand competition held once every three years, the two of them would so “coincidentally” draw each other as opponents?
They were both disciples of the same sect, and ordinarily, regardless of victory or defeat, neither side would strike too heavily. What was more, the two competitors this time were friends.
Yet Cheng Yuan had taken the upper hand with a single move and shown no mercy. Not only had he defeated Ye Huaiyao, he had also struck heavily enough to cripple his spiritual meridians.
Ye Huaiyao had remained unconscious for more than half a month. After he awoke, another seven or eight days passed before Cheng Yuan finally came to visit him, and the first thing out of his mouth had been nothing but a load of rubbish.
Catching the sarcasm in Ye Huaiyao’s words, a sinister glint passed through Cheng Yuan’s eyes, only to be replaced in an instant by a gentle smile. He said softly, “I know you’re angry with me for being too ruthless, but I did it to save your life.”
Ye Huaiyao thought to himself, Here it comes again. That line again!
Tale of the Useless Immortal Cultivator was a very peculiar book.
In an ordinary underdog cultivation novel, the protagonist’s life was usually miserable when he first appeared. But the more miserable his childhood, the more spectacular his life would become once he grew up. He would trample his enemies underfoot, level up all the way, and eventually rule the martial world for generations to come.
But Tale of the Useless Immortal Cultivator took a completely different route. The protagonist really was useless, and he really was universally adored. From beginning to end, he relied on a group of men and women who were inexplicably drawn to him to climb to the pinnacle of life.
In the end, everyone lived harmoniously together for the sake of the protagonist, and that was the end of the story.
At the time, Ye Huaiyao had only skimmed a little of the plot before jumping straight to the ending, and the conclusion had left him utterly baffled.
Cheng Yuan, standing before him now, was also an important character whom the author had deliberately developed. Later in the story, as a mid-level piece of cannon fodder, he had frequently locked the protagonist away in a dark room.
His extreme personality, in which he could turn against someone as readily as turning a page, was described in the original novel as yandere, prompting many readers to cry out, “How cute!” In Ye Huaiyao’s opinion, however, “perverted psychopath” was a far more accurate description.
He smiled carelessly. “I’d be most interested to hear the explanation.”
His tone was perfunctory, but when Cheng Yuan was dealing with Ye Huaiyao, his temper and patience were usually considerably better than they were with others.
He asked, “At the beginning of last month, did you encounter someone from the Yan family of Yiyang in the training forest?”
Ye Huaiyao replied, “I run into plenty of people in the training forest every day. They all have one nose and two eyes, so it’s rather difficult to tell them apart.”
He had always liked to lace his words with a touch of mischief, something Cheng Yuan had long since grown accustomed to: “The Yan family’s third young master, Yan Jin, came to the Chensu Sect to exchange techniques. I’ll tell you the truth. He’s the one who wants you dead.”
Yan Jin. A very familiar name. He was one of the protagonist’s admirers in the early part of the story. True to his name, he was very self-important, very reserved, and extremely irritating.
Ye Huaiyao’s master was Xuanyi Zhenren*, the master of Tai Ning Peak, who had died several years ago. Ye Huaiyao himself had originally been someone he picked up from the snow, so he had no protector to rely on now.
(*TN: literally “true man” or “real person”. This is a Daoist title for someone who has attained enlightenment or immortality.)
The Yan family of Yiyang, however, was a prestigious cultivation family of great renown, with numerous disciples and profound foundations. Yan Jin’s status was distinguished. If he really had specifically ordered that Ye Huaiyao be killed, the Chensu Sect would certainly not refuse.
A flicker passed through Ye Huaiyao’s eyes. He had a vague feeling that, after all these years, he might finally be drawing close to the main plot.
He said, “Then I must ask, Shixiong, exactly how did I offend Young Master Yan?”
At Ye Huaiyao’s question, Cheng Yuan smiled.
That smile made his sinister yet handsome features seem to take on an even more peculiar charm. Yet there was nothing pleasant about it. Instead, it seemed to carry the satisfied air of a demon who had successfully tempted the hearts of mortals.
Cheng Yuan said, “You haven’t offended him. But have you ever heard of the Illustrious Sage, Lord Yunqi of Xuantian Tower?”
Ye Huaiyao’s eyes flickered, though his expression revealed nothing. “Lord Yunqi?”
—It seemed that merely mentioning those three words caused countless legends and anecdotes to flash through his mind all at once.
Even Cheng Yuan, as self-assured as he was, found his voice unconsciously becoming distant when he spoke of him. “That’s right. Him.”
Cheng Yuan said, “Lord Yunqi became one of the people in charge of Xuantian Tower, the foremost sect in the cultivation world, at a very young age, and was revered as the Illustrious Sage. I heard that everyone in Xuantian Tower admired and worshipped him, and held him in the highest esteem.”
Ye Huaiyao listened in silence.
“He once played drinking games with beggars in the street, and could just as readily spend a fortune to redeem the leading courtesan of a brothel.
He could draw his sword and kill a man, then hold wine and pluck a flower. Although I have never seen him myself, I have heard that he was a man of breathtaking elegance, a peerless beauty the likes of which the world had never seen.”
Cheng Yuan was an excellent speaker. It was almost as though Lord Yunqi’s heroic bearing stood before his eyes. Compared with this high-grade flattery, the sweets Ye Huaiyao had handed out in exchange for “Ye-shixiong is so handsome” were utterly beneath comparison.
Ye Huaiyao was very pleased with himself. He patiently waited until Cheng Yuan had finished the final word before slowly saying, “Oh? Then I wonder, where is such a hero now?”
Cheng Yuan sighed. “Eighteen years ago, he perished in a battle with the Demon Lord Rong Wang. Everyone in Xuantian Tower was plunged into grief, and even now they swear that they will fight Li Hentian to the death.”
“And you—”
He stared at Ye Huaiyao, who raised his eyes to meet his gaze.
Sunlight danced upon his curled eyelashes, creating a beauty that could take one’s breath away.
Cheng Yuan could not help thinking that, although he had never seen Lord Yunqi, judging from Ye Huaiyao’s appearance and bearing, the eight words “breathtakingly elegant, peerlessly beautiful” suited him perfectly.
He enunciated each word slowly.
“Aside from the discrepancy in age, your appearance is exactly the same as the Illustrious Sage’s was back then.”
