Heaven's Tyrant

We reached the outskirts of Yuancheng in three days.

Normally, the trip should've taken half a day, tops.

For someone like my master, that distance should've taken half a minute, maybe a bit longer if he stopped to obliterate a passing demonic beast or sip tea midair. Even I—well, the OG Tianyu—might've made it there faster without a caravan tagging along.

And since I was still weak, barely stable in my foundation, Master slowed his pace without a single complaint. No sighs. No irritated tsks. No vaporization for me. That, I considered a small miracle.

And during that weirdly slow journey…

We talked.

Like, talked-talked. Not just "carry this," "shut up," or "try not to die, idiot." Actual conversations. About herbs. About battle formations. About—get this—favorite foods. Turns out, the ancient cultivator who probably could one-shot a dragon liked grilled fish and noodles. I told him I liked ramen.

He asked what ramen was.

I wept.

Of course he didn't know—this was a xianxia world, after all. Everything was Chinese.

So, I corrected myself, said I misspoke—that I meant lamian.

He smiled like I'd just revealed I was his long-lost son.

That smile almost made me call him Daddy Master.

This old man really loves noodles, huh?

He wasn't warm, exactly, but he wasn't cold either. Just awkward. Like a walking statue that suddenly realized it had vocal cords. The man had clearly spent eons meditating on mountaintops instead of learning how to hold a damn conversation without sounding like a murder monk.

Sometimes he'd drop gems like, "A straight back commands respect." Other times it was, "I never meant to have disciples... yet here we are."

He was a tsundere. Not the cute kind with pigtails and blushes. No, this was the lethal type. The kind that could vaporize bandits with a flick of his sleeve, then toss you dried jerky with a scowl and mutter, "Hmph! don't misunderstand. It's not like I doing this because I worry. It' just field rations."

So yeah. I had a tsundere cultivator master. A divine-tier, socially constipated immortal who couldn't flirt, couldn't smile, and definitely—definitely—couldn't cuddle.

Important clarification.

No cuddles were given on this journey.

If anything, he acted like a deadbeat dad who knocked up a celestial fox one drunken night, vanished for two decades, and only found out she had his kid twenty years later. Now he's awkwardly trying to bond, one silent walk and tea cup at a time.

Cute, in a tragic, emotionally stunted kind of way.

But again, let's be clear: zero cuddling.

We crested the ridge just as dusk bled across the sky, painting the clouds in streaks of orange and violet.

And there it was—Yuancheng.

The moment I saw it, I forgot the ache in my legs and the weight on my shoulders. Everything else just… slipped away.

Massive. Alive. Glowing.

Lanterns flickered to life in the streets below—or so I thought. Then I realized they weren't lanterns at all. They were spirit crystals. Floating spirit crystals. Soft-glowing, formation-powered tech hovering mid-air like ancient streetlights possessed by sci-fi ghosts.

The entire city looked like someone took Shanghai, stuffed it into a wuxia stage play, and injected three centuries' worth of cultivation steroids.

Layered rooftops. Jade-tiled towers. Floating bridges that arced between buildings like rainbow ribbons. Aerial gondolas coasting past sky pagodas. Cultivators zooming overhead on flying swords like it was the damn morning commute.

Even the streets were absurd—twelve lanes wide, paved in polished black stone etched with pulsing silver runes. Formation circuits blinked beneath every step.

I blinked hard.

What the fuck.

Xianxia cities were supposed to be ancient and rustic. This was neon-drenched fantasy cyberpunk with a dash of immortal cocaine.

"…What a beautiful city."

It slipped out before I could swallow the awe.

Master gave a quiet grunt beside me. Arms folded. Eyes half-lidded like a disappointed professor.

"…Yuancheng is one of the biggest cities on this land. Prime hub for trade, merchants, auctions, information, assassins, prostitutes, illegal beast trades, political exile housing, sect wars, poison rings, cursed artifact resales, and most of all…"

He paused, his tone shifting just slightly.

"…a very nice noodle stall."

I swear I heard reverence in his voice. Genuine emotion. This ancient fossil really liked his noodles.

"I always thought Feiyun was impressive… Guess I really was just a frog in a well."

Master turned, silver eyes glinting under the edge of his hood.

"And your clan never taught you this?"

"I might've skipped a few lectures…"

His gaze sharpened, narrowing like I'd just said something unspeakably stupid.

"Skipped?"

"Yeah. I thought breakthroughs were more important. Qi condensation, meridian sculpting… the big stuff."

Which, to be fair, wasn't a lie.

OG Tianyu had plenty of reasons to skip study sessions.

Mostly soft, warm, maternal reasons.

I used to sneak out of clan classes just to crawl into my mother's bed and nap between her thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes her lap. Sometimes her chest. Wherever was warmest. Her robes were always loose, her scent always sweet, and her hands always gentle.

She'd stroke my hair and whisper things like, "My poor baby, too tired to study again?" while cradling my face between her breasts. She never scolded me. She encouraged it. And if the elders asked? She'd wave them off with an excuse about headaches or "deep meditation."

She coddled the hell out of me.

Trade routes? Geography? History? All flushed from memory and replaced with milk, kisses, and silken thighs.

But now that I tried to remember her face—really remember—I couldn't. Not clearly. Just a soft curve. A fleeting smile. The way her robe hung loose around her chest.

That shouldn't be happening.

Why couldn't I remember?

"Typical. You young bloods chase breakthroughs like dogs in heat and forget the world is built on more than brute force. Influence. Infrastructure. Allies. Networks. These make legacies."

His tone dropped low, almost nostalgic.

"Cultivation is important. But so is knowledge. Otherwise, you're just a musclebound idiot with fireworks."

I exhaled through my nose.

"Guess I missed that memo."

"Mmm. Clearly."

We stood there a moment, the wind tugging our robes as the city pulsed below.

Then Master spoke again, ever so casually.

"Also, this city has many beautiful girls."

I didn't even look at him.

"Master, please don't kidnap anyone."

"I will."

"Please don't."

"I will," he repeated, completely ignoring me. "But first, we tend to your body. Before you can become horny dog."

"...Grrr…" I growled under my breath. "Fine."

He gave me a sideways glance. That usual ancient-bastard stare, laced with smug disappointment.

"NOPE! I still firmly believed in consensual union. Very firm. No surprise penetration, thank you."

Master let out the slowest, most disappointed sigh I'd ever heard in my life. Like I'd just told him I planned to cultivate by meditating with scented candles and tofu cubes.

"Haah… what a troublesome disciple I've taken in."

And there it was. The twitch. That barely-there smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He tried to play it off like an old man grumbling about back pain, but he was enjoying himself. Bastard was getting a kick out of it. He liked that I argued. That I had opinions. That I dared to banter back even after watching him snap a man's skull open like a watermelon with a flick of his fingers.

He'd never admit it. But he was starting to enjoy the company.

And I—well, I had no idea what I was becoming.

Some snarky sidekick? A future mass-murdering cultivator with a firm stance on consent? A tragic protagonist with excellent comedic timing?

Hell if I knew. But I did know one thing.

This world wasn't done with me.

And I wasn't done with it either.

We descended the slope toward the edge of Yuancheng, the city's glow behind us humming like a beast that never slept. The road split at the base of the hill—one path wide, clean, guarded, lit by glowing lanterns and the steady rhythm of patrols; the other half-eaten by weeds and talisman stakes, sloping toward a forgotten ridge that definitely had ghost energy and questionable real estate value.

Naturally, we took the cursed-looking one.

I glanced back once. Sword-riders zipped through the twilight above the rooftops, their streaking energy trails glinting like falling stars. Somewhere behind us, fireworks popped in quiet bursts of gold. Probably a wedding. Or someone finally becoming a Foundation Establishment cultivator and losing their virginity. Or both.

And me? I was off to break into a haunted ruin with a cryptic old man who thought necrophilia was a viable dating option.

Totally normal start to my cultivation journey.

"So," I said, stepping over a root thick enough to be considered sentient, "what's the vibe here? Abandoned workshop of talismanic horror? Secret ghost orgy site? Just a dusty ruin with some bad feng shui and a lot of regret?"

Master hummed, like I was asking him to rate teas, not ancient death-traps.

"A former talisman forge. Ancient. Protected. Forgotten by most. Hidden under layers of formation script no mortal can see. No rats."

I raised a brow.

"No rats?"

He gave me a glance.

"Just corpses."

"Huh."

I paused. Considered it. Then shrugged.

"Honestly, that's better."

He quirked a brow.

"What? I'd rather deal with vengeful spirits than something that might crawl into my pants while I sleep."

Master smirked.

"Practical. You'll do well."

We rounded a bend and the trees pulled back like curtains, revealing the ruins. The forge squatted between two jagged cliffs, half-consumed by ivy and time. The wooden doors dangled uselessly from rotted hinges, and the talisman seals plastered around the frame curled like old skin. If horror stories had an aesthetic department, this place would be the cover art.

But as we approached, everything shifted.

The wind stopped. My skin bristled. Qi stirred like a beast waking from a nap.

"Don't move."

Master's voice clipped and sharp.

He stepped forward and stomped once.

A pulse of light exploded from his foot in a perfect circle. Glyphs lit up beneath us, sparking to life like a thousand ancient eyes suddenly opening. The air buzzed, humming through my bones. It didn't hurt, but it felt like my soul was holding its breath.

"...Yup. Definitely not just an old shack with roof problems."

He gestured me forward.

"Enter. Slowly."

I obeyed. The moment I crossed the threshold, sound vanished. Not just muffled—gone. Like someone had scooped the noise out of the world with a ladle. Even my own heartbeat felt muted.

Master lifted a hand and the room bloomed with soft blue light. The old formation arrays etched into the floor flared awake, veins of glowing script webbing across the stone and wood. A forge sat in the center, cracked but still glowing faintly like dying embers clinging to memory.

"Sit."

I dropped to the cold floor with all the grace of a wet frog.

"We begin now. You have the body. You have the chance. I will not let you waste either."

Our eyes met. There was no more teasing in him now. No smirk. No sighs. Only sharp focus.

No more half-steps. No more excuses.

This was the moment. My first real step on the path of cultivation.

And for the first time since being dumped into this beautiful, insane world full of flying swords, bloodthirsty sects, and incredibly attractive murderers—

—I didn't feel like prey anymore.

I felt like I might actually make it.