“Ugh! Why me?”
Little Mengyao immediately pulled a long face. After all, carrying someone else while flying on a sword was a completely different beast compared to flying solo.
It didn’t just drain spiritual energy—it was mentally exhausting too. Honestly, it was more tiring than sword practice!
She couldn’t help but grumble inwardly, Would’ve been better off staying home and swinging a sword!
“Alright, alright! No time to waste—let’s get moving!”
Under Ye Ping’an’s relentless urging, Mengyao finally stepped onto the flying sword, clearly reluctant, like a kid being dragged out of bed.
Following Ye Ping’an’s directions, the three of them headed downstream.
The Heavenly Profound Sacred Land was divided into four major tributaries of spiritual veins. As these veins stretched across the land, they naturally split into branches.
Based on their flow, divergence, and spiritual power, they were ranked into four tiers: upper, middle, lower, and terminal.
The spiritual energy difference between these levels was like night and day—absolutely worlds apart.
These four main veins extended in the cardinal directions—east, west, south, and north. Each upper stream was claimed by a top-tier sect.
When a vein branched for the first time, it split into 4 to 8 smaller streams—this was the middle stream. Each sub-vein here had a sect settled upon it, referred to as a mid-tier sect.
Further downstream, each middle stream would split again into 10 to 20 more streams—this was the lower stream, with sects known as low-tier sects.
And finally, when these lower streams branched one last time, each would split into over 20 micro-streams—this was the terminal stream.
At this stage, the spiritual energy was so thin that the vein would barely split again.
Depending on the strength of the source stream, the terminal stream could stretch further or fizzle out sooner. Along these final stretches, you’d find clusters of small sects barely hanging on.
Ye Ping’an’s own sect, Xuanxing Sect, was one of those small ones clinging to the tail end of a terminal stream. In fact, along this entire stretch of vein, there were more than a dozen tiny sects like his.
Fortunately, Ye Ping’an’s father was in the Core Formation stage, whereas most of the other sects only had Foundation Establishment cultivators at best.
That’s why Xuanxing Sect had claimed a relatively advantageous spot, close to the Lianhua Sect in the lower stream.
Of course, the world didn’t revolve around the Heavenly Profound Sacred Land. Other powerful factions existed too—but without exception, all were built atop spiritual veins.
Outside these veins lay the spiritless lands. That didn’t mean there was zero spiritual energy, but it was so scarce that even after a lifetime of effort, you might never reach the seventh layer of Qi Refinement.
So naturally, all sects were built around veins. The rest?
Known simply as the mortal realm, where everyday folk lived and even the occasional cultivator was usually just a weakling stuck in the early Qi Refinement stages.
Real cultivators rarely bothered with such places.
The stream Ye Ping’an belonged to flowed southward.
Its upper stream housed a sect called Ao Shi Sect, the middle stream hosted Wuhua Cong, and the lower stream was home to Lianhua Sect.
Ye Ping’an only remembered these names from the original story; his father probably didn’t even know who the top-tier players were.
Luckily, Xuanxing Sect wasn’t too far from the lower stream—just a bit downstream—so even with Qi Refinement level flying, the trip only took a little over two days.
And Ye Ping’an’s destination?
Somewhere near the lower stream where the protagonist’s family was located.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far. Ye Ping’an estimated that with Little Mengyao’s flying speed, they could reach it in about five days.
He’d already told his parents he’d be gone for a while.
As for the excuse?
Something vague and mystical, like:
“I had a sudden feeling, like there’s treasure glowing in the mountains out there. Dad, Mom, I just know fate is calling me!”
Ye Ping’an had used similar lines before whenever he wanted to sneak off.
Naturally, his dad Ye Lingtian and mom Shen Mengting just assumed he was off chasing some “fated opportunity” again, and didn’t press further.
Now, here’s the thing—a flying sword wasn’t exactly a luxury vehicle. With three people on it, space was tight. Really tight.
They had to stand so close, they were practically glued together. One misstep and—whoosh!—someone could fall right off.
In terms of positioning: Mengyao, as the one steering the sword, was up front. Originally, Ye Ping’an wanted to put Ning Yue in the middle and himself at the back.
But alas, after a few years of growth—and considering how girls mature faster—Ning Yue was now the tallest of the three.
So naturally, she took the back, while Ye Ping’an stood in the middle to help guide Mengyao’s flight path.
With fear of falling ever-present, the three of them clung tightly together. Their flying formation looked like this: Mengyao steering in front
Ning Yue hugging her from behind
Ye Ping’an sandwiched in between
At that moment, feeling the contrast between Mengyao’s smaller frame in front and Ning Yue’s, uh, more developed figure pressing from behind, Ye Ping’an couldn’t help but feel a little thankful.
Good thing I haven’t awakened yet…
Otherwise, Mengyao would definitely ask something along the lines of:
“Senior Brother, is your sword poking me?”
Just imagining it made Ye Ping’an want to die from embarrassment.
Even without “awakening,” the full-body sandwich—especially with Ning Yue pressing forward for stability—had Ye Ping’an feeling all kinds of soft pressure on his back.
His senses were overloaded, and a strange warmth crept up his nose. His mind began to drift, and suddenly…
He didn’t want to “drive” anymore.
And by “drive,” we mean he was literally steering the flying sword—not using the euphemism.
Technically, Ye Ping’an should’ve been the one holding Mengyao, with Ning Yue behind holding him.
But the wind during flight was so loud, words didn’t travel well.
So to ensure smooth navigation, they’d tied Mengyao’s hair into twin ponytails before departure.
Now, Ye Ping’an had a hand on each ponytail. If they veered right, he tugged the left; if they veered left, he pulled the right—simple, effective, and a little bit silly.
After mustering enough willpower to ignore the soft distractions, Ye Ping’an finally managed to focus on steering again.
But just as he gripped those twin ponytails and looked forward…
He paused.
This position—this gesture—suddenly felt like…
He was bullying Little Mengyao.
If the story’s actual female lead ever finds out about this, Would she—uh—slice me into pieces?
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