Chapter 6: Modern Netizens Refuse to Believe in Immortal Cultivation!

In the chamber of the Celestial Summit Sect's leader, the sect master and Xie Yunji were meditating together when, all of a sudden, a fresh surge of spiritual energy flooded into their bodies. Both opened their eyes in astonishment.

“Master, I can feel spiritual energy flowing within me, though it’s only a trace,” Xie Yunji remarked, his expression calm despite the delight flickering in his heart.

This was the very first time since their arrival in this eerie world that they had sensed the stirring of spiritual power!

The sect master stroked his beard, brows lowered in silent contemplation.

Xie Yunji closed his eyes again, focusing his spirit; the true energy in his dantian was undeniably real.

He was a sword cultivator—his art depended on cultivation, and cultivation relied upon spiritual veins.

To sense spiritual energy meant that he could cultivate once more.

The day he could summon his life-bound Lone Azure Sword was near at hand.

The sect master lifted his eyelids, casting a glance outside.

Beyond the chamber, thick clouds billowed and surged, the biting night wind sharp as a blade.

The spiritual veins shimmered, half-concealed and elusive.

Overcome with emotion, the old master’s hands trembled, the wrinkles on his aged face twisting into a broad smile.

“Heaven has not forsaken our Celestial Summit Sect!”

Xie Yunji sat cross-legged, cautiously circulating the breath within his body.

But in the blink of an eye, like a dream, the spiritual veins vanished once more. He opened his eyes, voice flat and devoid of inflection.

“Master, the spiritual veins are gone.”

The sect master sighed, “…Heaven truly intends to destroy our Celestial Summit Sect!”

*

In the Library Pavilion, Lu Qingfei stared at the now-blackened livestream, glancing at the clock.

The stream had been running for an hour.

To prevent AI or hosts from faking broadcasts, the Whale platform had set up an hourly verification challenge to ensure the host was human.

This measure both diversified the streaming experience and allowed viewers to know their host from different angles.

Lu Qingfei gazed at the verification prompt that popped up on the stream, momentarily stunned.

—Sing two lines from “Madame Butterfly.”

[I love these spontaneous challenges! Sing! Sing!!]
[See, I told you, such a beautiful host should be in the beauty category, not the wellness one.]
Lu Qingfei strategically sipped some plain water, then spoke unhurriedly:

“Thank you all for your support. That’s the end of today’s stream.”

[Host: Nothing in this world is difficult if you’re willing to give up. Could she be tone-deaf?]
[I just joined and she’s logging off—what’s going on!]
[She must have run out of material, so she’s bailing.]
[Modern netizens don’t believe in cultivation; anyone faking the supernatural, just leave! Leave! Leave!]
However, Lu Qingfei realized that even if she closed the stream now, next time she went live she’d still have to sing.

Unless she quit streaming or switched platforms, there was no escape.

Lu Qingfei sensed that as the number of viewers grew, the spiritual veins on Mount Lingxiao faintly stirred.

If she stopped streaming, the veins would awaken, then vanish again.

Other platforms lacked Whale’s audience traffic, and she’d researched it: Whale’s economic growth was robust—no risk of collapse for at least two decades.

Weighing her options, Lu Qingfei decided that singing a song wasn’t such a big deal.

In this vast world, nothing mattered more than cultivation.

A novice streamer’s self-discipline was simply adaptability.

She composed herself, cleared her throat, listened to the original song once, and then began:

“The rain has fallen all night…”

[Is this singing? Are you sure she isn’t just reciting poetry??]
[This is a clever move—she’s found a loophole, and there’s some rebellious spirit!]
[Hahaha, her singing is funnier than the comedy host next door!]
Every word Lu Qingfei uttered was out of tune, but her diction was clear. After reciting two lines, she passed the challenge, and the stream returned to normal.

The immortal-like host, once detached from the mortal world, now seemed touched by its warmth; the viewer count, far from dropping, actually climbed higher.

Unfazed by the teasing comments, Lu Qingfei remained serene, her bright eyes sparkling with amusement.

She’d guessed right: as long as the pronunciation was correct, she’d clear the test.

With that episode behind her, Lu Qingfei faced the camera, interacting with the viewers.

“If you have any questions, type them in the chat—I’ll answer some at random.”

Her voice was crisp and poised.

Most viewers thought her cultivation was just a metaphor, that she was really there to promote calligraphy and sell hand-made pills. Many asked which pharmaceutical or food company she worked for.

Lu Qingfei browsed the chat until she found a more serious question.

[Host, your calligraphy is impressive. I’d like my family to learn too; how should we start?]

The question came from a user named National Treasure Siblings.

Although it had nothing to do with cultivation, Lu Qingfei didn’t mind. She replied unhurriedly:

“As the saying goes, handwriting reflects the person. Calligraphy is an expressive art, filled with profound subtleties. When learning, choosing the right script is especially important.”

“There are five main styles: Seal, Clerical, Standard, Running, and Cursive. You can pick whichever you prefer.”

[Host: Step one in learning calligraphy—choose your script!]
[National Treasure Siblings: Did you really need to say that???]
[The host is so earnest it’s funny, hahaha.]
“Selecting the right tools is also crucial: brush, ink, paper, inkstone, and copybooks,” Lu Qingfei continued in an even tone. “Brushes come in many types. For beginners, I recommend a mixed-hair Lake brush—the bristles are firm and easy to control.”

“As for ink, there are two main kinds: oil soot and pine soot. Don’t worry about that at first; bottled ink works fine for beginners.”

Lu Qingfei went on to briefly explain how to choose suitable ink, paper, and inkstones.

[Is the host actually a calligraphy teacher?]
[Some people pretend to be selling goods, but they’re actually giving a class—doge.jpg]
[With her knowledge of calligraphy, I’m tempted to buy, but why does she only sell one kind of pill? That’s not reasonable!]
Originally, Lu Qingfei knew nothing of calligraphy. But in the world of cultivation, there were no keyboards, pencils, fountain pens, or gel pens.

They wrote only with the brush.

When Lu Qingfei crossed over, her lack of calligraphy skills meant she was kept in the sect’s school hall, practicing daily under the stern eyes of the instructors.

Her fellow disciples were all martial cultivators; she alone pursued the scholarly path.

As a talisman-crafter, poor calligraphy could quite literally cost her life.

Recalling all this, Lu Qingfei suddenly laughed softly, her long lashes trembling.

Suddenly, the chat burst into chaos, messages flooding the screen like ants on a hot pan.

[Wait! Wasn’t that… wasn’t that the famous contemporary calligrapher Liu Zhenyan just now, entering the stream?]
[Shouldn’t he be asleep at this hour? Is he watching the stream in his sleep?]
[It’s him! It’s really him!]
[Master Liu Zhenyan actually requested to connect with the host—his account must be hacked!!]
Lu Qingfei’s gaze shifted, landing on the streaming page, where the pop-up stood out clearly:

—@LiuZhenyanV invites you to connect.