Chapter Four: Reward Settlement

Su Bailu’s trust rating on her character card was not high. This value had nothing to do with feelings; the only criterion was whether, in times of trouble, she would see you as the person most worth relying upon.

For example, Xiao Bao’s trust was a perfect twenty points; in his mind, even if the sky collapsed, his master could prop it back up. Perhaps Su Bailu and the old Mr. Lin shared a deep bond between master and disciple, but her trust score of only three showed she had clearly realized Lin Ze’s lack of strength.

After this recent increase, her trust finally reached six. Lin Ze found this reasonable—after all, he had secretly written a few words in her palm.

“Frostfallen Leaves.”

He asked nothing, and directly pinpointed the sword technique Su Bailu wished to practice. The natural insight was astonishing.

It shouldn’t count as cheating, he mused. Even if it was, he’d accept it; Lin Ze urgently needed to raise her trust level.

The reason was simple: according to the simulator’s rules, low trust meant no chance of gaining the greatest reward of this simulation—the Foundation-Building Pill—unless something even better appeared.

That’s right: the Frost Sword Intent, praised so highly by the sect elders! This was what Lin Ze truly coveted.

Real, usable combat power—exactly what he needed most.

“Ha, believe him if you want. The day you regret it will surely come,” sneered Zhao Ling. Seeing the two cooperate, deliberately irritating her, she swept her sleeve coldly and stormed out of the thatched hut.

Su Bailu silently stared at her palm, her thoughts drifting elsewhere. Her master, able to discern her sword technique this way—and she had practiced it less than ten times—such insight, how could he possibly harm her?

She took out a letter from her bosom. She had wondered why someone in the sect knew her master enough to entrust her with delivering it. Now, it seemed her master must have once been a disciple of the Eastern Mountain Sect.

“Master, let me boil water for you.” She placed the envelope on the table and turned toward the kitchen, lighting the fire with practiced ease, retrieving a wooden basin from the corner without even looking—utterly familiar.

“Hmmph.” Xiao Bao, hands behind his back, was a little disgruntled; this was supposed to be his task.

“What’s this?” Lin Ze picked up the envelope in puzzlement, recalling the vague impression in his mind. Since Su Bailu hadn’t mentioned it, she likely didn’t know—the letter must have been entrusted to her for him.

He tore open the envelope.

A line of bold calligraphy met his eyes.

“To my disciple, Lin Ze, personally.”

“It has been forty years since you departed from the sect.”

“I once thought our bond as master and disciple had ended, never expecting to hear news that you still lived.”

“My heart is greatly comforted.”

“Back then, your anger led you to act. Though your master could not protect you, never did I bow to those beasts.”

“Alas, lacking strength, Little Green Mountain now has only this old fool left; my days are numbered, and I cannot rest easy.”

“Come back. Don’t let them sully these green hills.”

In just a few short lines, Lin Ze discerned many layers of meaning—initial delight, indignation and unwillingness, and finally a certain shamelessness: the trouble you caused, come home and clean it up, I’ll leave first.

An image of a strange old man surfaced in his mind.

Not quite the type to care for his apprentice; after all, if he truly cherished him, he wouldn’t send Lin Ze back to face death. But his disciple caused trouble, and he never bowed—showing a stubbornness.

“This is wielding gratitude as leverage,” Lin Ze chuckled angrily, drawing out a land deed beneath the letter, stamped with the red seal of the Eastern Mountain Sect and the emblem of a sharp little sword.

The gesture was saturated with the flavor of an old bachelor.

The old man had died, partly because of Lin Ze, so now he had to come back and guard the old home. If he couldn’t keep it safe, then they’d die together—living would only be embarrassing.

Holding the deed, Lin Ze used the letter’s contents to close his eyes and piece together scattered memories.

The old master had joined the Eastern Mountain Sect in his youth, detested certain sordid affairs, acted impulsively, and offended those he shouldn’t have.

His master spirited him away from the sect overnight, leading to years of wandering.

When the recollection ended, Lin Ze shook his head. No wonder the old man sent all his disciples to the Eastern Mountain Sect—home turf, surely more familiar than anywhere else.

If he were the original Mr. Lin, he would rush back at once on reading this letter.

But now, he was Lin Ze.

He calmly folded the letter and deed, tucking them back.

After a moment’s thought, he placed them in his packed luggage.

Whether he would go was yet undecided.

Though Lin Ze cherished life, he knew only those who climbed high had the right to cherish life; otherwise, it was mere surviving.

With the immortal cultivation simulator—a divine tool—what could be more efficient than inheriting the position of Elder of the Eastern Mountain Sect?

There, he could interact with the elite young disciples, with a legitimate identity as backing. The only concern was safety.

But with proper preparation, it might work.

From another angle, even with enemies in the sect, there were open rules; outside, nothing was certain. Perhaps he’d go years without encountering a single cultivator, or perhaps one morning he’d bump into a Nascent Soul powerhouse and be casually killed.

If you fear death, why cultivate at all? Before seeking immortality, you needed the means to keep yourself alive.

Otherwise, everyone struggled in this perilous world—why should he be spared?

“Since I’m here, it would be a pity not to see the place for myself.”

Lin Ze smiled, raised the cup from the table, and drank it in one gulp… mouthful of ashes.

“Pah!”

Xiao Bao swallowed, hiding under the chair and peeking at his master, timidly asking,

“Master, could you not hit Bao’er?”

“What do you think?” Lin Ze pulled him out, vigorously rubbed his shiny, round head, and scolded with satisfaction,

“Hurry and wash up for bed.”

The boy’s words reminded him.

Lin Ze reopened the simulator panel, gazing at the dazzling golden card.

Even the rare Su Bailu brought him a Foundation-Building Pill; how strong would the legendary Xiao Bao be?

He added the materials without hesitation.

[Character Card: Xiao Bao]

[Skill Card: Eastern Mountain Breathing Technique]

The level-one simulator could only add one skill card each time; otherwise, he would have tried tossing all three in, to see what kind of monster would emerge after three months.

[Start Simulation]

[Simulation Duration: Three Months]

…

The bald child stood outside the hut, face solemn.

He took a deep breath.

Suddenly, a white mist appeared beside him, transformed into a long dragon and poured into his nose and mouth.

Over and over.

Three months later, Xiao Bao pushed open the courtyard gate, his dark eyes clear as water.

A surge of late-stage Qi Condensation spread gently around him, pure and harmonious.

[Simulation Ended]

[Reward Settlement: None]

[Attempts Remaining Today: Three]

“…”

Lin Ze opened his eyes helplessly.

He had never expected the child’s growth simulation to be so dull.

The boy did nothing but cultivate and circle around him; there were no opportunities, nor did he bother to step outside the hut.

No insights arose in his cultivation.

Because Xiao Bao never encountered any bottlenecks, he simply absorbed spiritual energy and broke through realms—like drinking water.

Simple and monotonous.

The realm Lin Ze had taken sixty years to reach, Xiao Bao achieved in just three months.

Was this the power of perfect talent and character?

As for doing nothing, it was likely because his identity rating was zero—Xiao Bao had no faction, no motivation to get stronger; he cultivated only because Lin Ze had given him the breathing technique, nothing more.

“A lopsided waste card?” Lin Ze shook his head, dismissing the notion.

Character cards weren’t immutable; once the boy gained other identities, he would remain Lin Ze’s greatest support.

Besides, he already had a terrifying ninety-seven points.

If he gained some influence, wouldn’t he break through the hundred-point barrier—would that make him a golden legend?