The end of the year had come, which meant the lunar New Year was drawing near.
But Si Lian had no intention of letting the Bagpipe Squad prepare for the festivities, nor did she plan on giving the Little Monsters any time off to visit their families.
Training, training, training.
Ever since joining this team, Jiang Ke’er’s life had been reduced to just three things: cultivating, competing, and healing—a monotonous routine.
“Auntie Si Lian, the New Year is almost here,” Jie Shui reminded her in a small voice, a hopeful look on his face.
“Jie Shui, I found a Martial Technique Manual at the Auction House yesterday that’s perfect for you. You need to focus on your training now and master it within a month,” Si Lian replied, not acknowledging the topic.
“Oh.” Jie Shui nodded in disappointment.
Si Lian held her notebook, her brow furrowed in thought as she continued to jot down notes, occasionally glancing up to observe the Little Monsters’ training.
If anyone slacked off, she’d immediately scold them.
“The spots for the semifinals are based on a points system. With our current score, entering the semifinals shouldn’t be a problem,” Si Lian said as she turned to the first page of her notebook, which contained a detailed record of the Bagpipe Squad’s achievements.
“Since we’re already guaranteed a place in the semifinals, and they don’t start until February next year, shouldn’t we start preparing for the Spring Festival…” Jie Shui ventured weakly.
Si Lian still ignored him and continued, “Although your points are enough for the semifinals, skipping training for even a day will set your skills back. You need to keep training consistently and fight in at least one arena match every week.”
“…Devil!” Jie Shui wailed.
Jiang Ke’er, however, didn’t mind. She followed orders.
After all, even if the squad took a break, she had nowhere to go.
With an indifferent smile, Jiang Ke’er closed her eyes and entered the System Space.
If counted by the time in the System Space, she had already been cultivating inside for almost six years.
Six years was enough for her to guess an enemy’s next move just from a single lift of their arm.
Except for the System Dummy.
Once her opponent realized her calculation abilities matched theirs, their moves would become utterly unpredictable and erratic.
Headache.
What a hateful fellow.
At dusk, with sweat drenching his entire body, Jie Shui roared as he lifted the Gravity Stone, gritting his teeth and holding on desperately.
When the Gravity Stone finally crashed down, a new “Grade B” record appeared on the Achievement Screen beside him.
“I finally did it!”
Jie Shui threw his head back and howled with joy.
“Not bad,” Si Lian even allowed a rare smile, “You’ve been very diligent these past six months. You’ve finally caught up to the First Tier in strength—well done.”
“Then, about the Spring Festival…” Jie Shui rubbed his palms together.
“Keep it up.”
Si Lian ignored him for the third time.
Jie Shui slumped.
But with his stubborn nature, he wouldn’t give up until he got an answer.
Sure enough, as soon as they returned to the Hotel, Jie Shui brought it up again: “Auntie Si Lian, I want to go home for the Spring Festival. My mother wrote to say she misses me.”
“There’s an arena match tomorrow. Rest up tonight and be ready.” Si Lian replied as she returned to her room and closed the door.
Jie Shui fumed, but he didn’t give up.
Even though Gan Ruǎnruǎn and Lin Gang advised him to stop asking, he just couldn’t let it go.
Early the next morning, right before stepping onto the stage, Jie Shui tried again: “Auntie Si Lian! It’s almost New Year!”
Si Lian still paid him no mind.
The arena match ended quickly.
Jie Shui didn’t even wait for the referee to announce the winner—he dragged his broken leg down from the stage, sporting two black eyes and half his face singed by fire.
He looked at Si Lian with utter seriousness: “Auntie, it’s almost New Year, you know that, right?”
Yet even then, Si Lian remained unmoved.
It seemed like there really was no hope for a holiday.
Anyone with a normal mind could see that Si Lian had no intention of answering this question, and the answer was already obvious.
But Jie Shui was anything but normal—not even human, for that matter.
In the days that followed, Jie Shui asked Si Lian five or six times every day during training, but she never responded.
As the year’s end drew closer, Jie Shui only grew more anxious.
Until three nights before the Spring Festival.
“Jie Shui, you should go home.”
Jie Shui’s heart skipped a beat.
Though he was thick-skinned, even he realized he’d been a bit over the top lately.
Was he about to get kicked off the team?
“Don’t overthink it,” Si Lian ruffled his messy hair with a rare smile.
“There’s no reason not to have a holiday for the New Year. I didn’t answer you before because I didn’t want your state of mind to be affected and mess up your training.”
Si Lian’s answer took all the Little Monsters by surprise.
She never seemed like such an understanding coach.
In her eyes, there was only the Shenzhou Cup—she would sacrifice anything for it, let alone a holiday.
“Time with family should be cherished,” Si Lian said softly.
“You’re all dismissed for the holiday starting today. Just remember to be back here on the third day after the New Year.”
“Hurray!”
Jie Shui cheered immediately.
With leave granted, all the Little Monsters were thrilled.
After such a grueling and exhausting half-year, they had long been yearning for a carefree break.
Except for Jiang Ke’er.
She said her goodbyes to Jie Shui and Lin Gang.
A Miao said he was going to meet up with friends and left too.
Gan Ruǎnruǎn also said she wanted to visit the bars she used to frequent—after all, the bar owners had looked out for her before.
Jiang Ke’er sent Gan RuÇŽnruÇŽn off as well.
After bidding farewell to her four teammates, Jiang Ke’er yawned sleepily and walked back to her room, bored.
She planned to enter the System Space, sleep until dawn, and then keep getting tormented until the third day.
Si Lian looked on in surprise at Jiang Ke’er’s utterly different attitude, as if she wanted to ask something, but in the end she just shook her head and returned to her own room.
The next day, the Hotel bustled with activity.
The Innkeeper personally pasted new Chunlian with plain starch, and hung bright Red Lanterns at the door.
Si Lian leaned against the second-floor railing of the lobby, watching blankly for a while.
Then she took a swig of liquor and went back to her room.
At dusk, the sound of explosions woke Jiang Ke’er.
Annoyed, she rushed out to find the jovial Hotel owner setting off strings of Firecrackers, and she started pondering how to make gunpowder that could kill cultivators.
After a bit, she realized that ordinary Sulphur Charcoal couldn’t harm cultivators at all—it was no match for a simple Explosive Talisman.
With her interest gone, she was about to return to her room.
But as she passed by Si Lian’s door, she noticed it wasn’t fully closed, and a strong smell of alcohol drifted out.
“Auntie Si Lian?”
Jiang Ke’er frowned and pushed the door open.
Si Lian was sprawled out on the floor, clearly dead drunk and incoherent.
Jiang Ke’er hurried to help her up and dragged her onto the bed.
After finishing, Jiang Ke’er sighed. Just as she was about to leave, Si Lian suddenly grabbed her arm.
In her daze, a teardrop slid down from the corner of Si Lian’s eye.
The coldness in her voice was gone, replaced by the humblest plea.
“Little Immortal… don’t go…”
Little Immortal? That name sounded so familiar.
Wait…
Little Immortal???