I Might Be a Big Shot — Chapter 73 [extra 3]

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 This time, Yin Changkong was gravely injured. Even with divine pills, he remained in closed-door healing for five full years before waking. By then, Wanqi Xian was the new head of Kunlun, leading the sect in restoring its strength.

For cultivators, a century of seclusion after severe injury was not unusual — five years was barely a blink. Wanqi Xian had placed him on a mountain peak protected by formations that would alert him if anyone intruded or if the spiritual energy within changed. Normally, his awakening would trigger such a change, but after surviving the catastrophe, Yin Changkong’s realm had risen to the threshold of unity with Heaven and Man, and he woke without disturbing the formation. Wanqi Xian never knew.

Second only to Changkong Zhuoyu in formations, Yin Changkong left a puppet identical to himself in his place and quietly slipped out. He knew Wanqi Xian worried for him, but as the former sect master, his return could create awkwardness. Feeling his ascension near, he decided to fulfill his promise to the Azure Bird: to see the mortal world she had guarded at all costs. He would return to Kunlun to ascend before all, so as not to undermine Wanqi Xian’s position and to leave him the prestige of having a master in the immortal realm.

Descending Kunlun, he noted there were still protective formations, but no divine array remained.

He had once sought news of Changkong Zhuoyu and was reassured to find him free, roaming the world with Li Xinglun. His feelings for Changkong Zhuoyu were complex — as a youth, the Kunlun artifact had been his aspiration and pursuit; centuries later, realizing it was childlike in nature, his reverence had turned to affection. Since Changkong Zhuoyu had taken his name as a surname, Yin Changkong felt a self-appointed elder’s protectiveness, respecting and cherishing him in equal measure.

The only sour note was that Kunlun’s artifact had left with Li Xinglun, never to return — though traveling the world was fine, surely he could visit home sometimes.

Yin Changkong resolved to see the mortal world and to seek out the pair.

Many disliked the Azure Bird; Li Xinglun, whose family she had destroyed, hated her most of all. Had she not perished maintaining the Celestial Star Formation, she would have met a fate worse than death at his hands. Death was her best and only ending — none, not even Yin Changkong, mourned her.

His feelings toward her were also complicated. He resented her actions, yet pitied her as the closest being to a god in the world — hated by others, never understanding what hate meant, unable to comprehend sadness. Both she and Changkong Zhuoyu were relics of the ancient gods, but they were like two sides of a coin: she had once had emotions but erased them over endless lonely years, while he, born without consciousness, had developed a lively personality.

Her path had been her choice; no one had the right to pity her.

So he simply admired the mortal world in her stead.

Five years meant nothing to the cultivation world, but in the mortal realm, it was an age. The catastrophe’s effects were gone; the imperial court used it to urge the emperor toward virtue, resulting in a golden age. In such prosperity, society advanced quickly; the people improved their tools, and even alchemists sometimes stumbled upon strange discoveries. Yin Changkong could already hear the approach of the Age of Declining Laws.

Millennia ago, the Primordial Wilderness shattered, forcing the ancient gods to withdraw and leaving the mortal realm to cultivators. Now, after the catastrophe, the cultivation world was weakened, and mortals, through wisdom, would become the realm’s masters. Such was the turning of the ages.

After savoring the mortal realm’s vitality, Yin Changkong visited familiar sects.

Mount Shu disciples still practiced swordsmanship. Sage Yipin, having destroyed the Thorn Cutting Sword and severed his own right arm, had no life-bound sword and vowed never to touch a sword again. For a sword cultivator, abandoning the sword meant parting from the Dao; though he had survived the catastrophe, his choice shocked many. Yet his peers understood: if the road ahead held no sword, what was the point of ascension?

Without his sword or arm, Sage Yipin was undaunted. He had passed the sect mastership to a junior and now traveled the land seeking famous blades, intending to rebuild the Sword Tomb. The old tomb had been destroyed, but as long as sword cultivators endured, a new one would rise.

Relieved, Yin Changkong thought: mortal or cultivator, as long as hope remained, one could find the Dao anew.

Descending Mount Shu, he saw a surge of merit in a villager’s home. A quick calculation told him: Master Wuyin had reincarnated there with boundless merit.

Buddhists sought the next life; many eminent monks who had perished in the catastrophe had been reborn with merit, awaiting the day their past-life memories returned for perfect enlightenment.

He also checked on the demonic cultivators. The demonic sects had been destroyed, and he feared they might resort to desperate measures to recover. But he found Xuan Minglie had them well in hand, forbidding wanton harm. They had found a new mountain range for their sect and remained in seclusion. Perhaps when they grew strong, the next righteous–demonic war would begin — the urge to fight never truly vanished from gods, cultivators, or mortals.

But such things no longer concerned him. Feeling Heaven’s call, he knew his time was short and wanted to see Changkong Zhuoyu once more.

He searched the mortal realm, but in the Hundren Flowers Sect learned only that the Xue Sect Master had visited two years ago. No one knew where they went after.

Others might have lost the trail, but on the verge of ascension, his attunement to Heaven was deepest. In Hundred Flowers Valley, he caught a trace of Changkong Zhuoyu’s aura — now in Mystic Fog Yao Valley.

That valley’s location was hidden to outsiders, but the Hundren Flowers Sect held a jade disc left by Nüwa, linked to the Sacred Yao Spirit’s aura. No matter where the valley moved, it could open the barrier.

Borrowing it, Yin Changkong studied it for days and opened the way, landing directly in Green Hills, disc in hand.

The Sacred Yao Spirit sensed the jade’s presence at once and panicked — it could seize her consciousness and grant Nüwa’s legacy, and she was powerless to resist. She called for Changkong Zhuoyu, who was on a honeymoon trip in the valley.

“The Yao Spirit says someone’s here with the jade to kill her,” said Changkong Zhuoyu, cradling a little white rabbit.

“Is that so?” Li Xinglun barely looked up — his eyes were fixed on the trembling rabbit that nonetheless clung to Changkong Zhuoyu.

He privately cursed Mystic Fog Yao Valley for not being destroyed in the catastrophe.

Their last stop had been the Hundred Flowers Sect, where he had shown off enough before coming here. Changkong Zhuoyu was worried for the Nine-Tailed Fox, who had regressed to an ordinary fox to suppress the demons and might not recover even with divine pills. His main aim was to help it heal; Li Xinglun’s was to flaunt himself before the fox clan now that he was married to his master.

But with Changkong Zhuoyu’s recovered memories, his Nüwa aura was irresistible to the valley’s yao. Fluffy creatures flocked to him, heedless of Li Xinglun’s killing intent. Changkong Zhuoyu loved them, lingering for two years without dual cultivating once, claiming his duty as Nüwa’s heir and semi-leader of the valley meant he couldn’t leave until the Nine-Tailed Fox recovered.

Li Xinglun bitterly regretted agreeing to come — these furballs monopolized his master’s attention. Worst was the Nine-Tailed Fox, using healing as an excuse to snuggle. When confronted, it protested that yao were naturally drawn to Nüwa’s aura, and without its full strength, it couldn’t resist.

Unable to harm creatures his master liked, Li Xinglun welcomed the intruder as a diversion. “I’ll handle it.”

Changkong Zhuoyu, trusting him, said, “Ask his purpose — don’t hurt the innocent,” while stroking the rabbit.

“Yin Sect Master, you’ve recovered?” Li Xinglun’s killing aura vanished at the sight of him — the only man in the cultivation world he acknowledged as having helped Changkong Zhuoyu take human form.

“So you are here,” Yin Changkong smiled. “I’m about to ascend, and wanted to see you before I go.”

“Thank you for your concern. My master and I are very close,” Li Xinglun said pointedly — a warning that their relationship was unshakable.

But Yin Changkong, already in the Heaven–Man unity realm, cared little for such matters. "I never doubted it, but lately things may be amiss."

Li Xinglun scowled — he could tolerate his master liking furballs, but neglecting him entirely was too much.

“I might have a solution,” Yin Changkong said, handing him the jade and whispering something.

Li Xinglun’s eyes lit up. “Your kindness to us will never be forgotten. Kunlun will always be our home.”

“Then I’ll accept you as Kunlun’s disciple,” Yin Changkong said, and, satisfied, left for Kunlun.

There, Wanqi Xian, in seclusion, dreamed of his master’s farewell: ‘Our fate in this world is over. If you one day ascend, we’ll reunite in the immortal realm.’ He woke to find no one.

Yin Changkong found a secluded spot to face his tribulation. In the current thin spiritual energy, ascension was hard — he left Wanqi Xian the obsession to succeed.

Now free of worldly ties, he drew heaven and earth’s spiritual energy. Purple thunderclouds gathered, nine gentle bolts fell, and, with his catastrophe merit complete, Heaven did not hinder him.

In Mystic Fog Yao Valley, a snow-white wolf cub leapt into Changkong Zhuoyu’s arms.

“Disciple?” He dropped the rabbit and fox, scooping Li Xinglun up. “You used the jade to turn into a cub?”

The wolf said nothing, licking his fingers with crystalline eyes.

Changkong Zhuoyu’s mind went blank — no yao in the valley could compare. How could his disciple be so beautiful?

He kissed the cub’s nose — so cute, and safe to kiss without risking anger. All his attention was now on the wolf.

The wolf licked his nose, then looked smugly at the defeated furballs.

Yin Changkong had been right — rather than resist, he could cater to his master’s tastes. As a cub, he could openly be close to him and scorn the valley’s yao.

The little wolf nestled in Zhuoyu’s arms, humming in triumph.

~ Chapter End ~

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Story complete.