20 Legacy

Shen Yihan was fine, aside from the intense discomfort of suppression.

He had only just experienced the effects of this parasite a day ago and had no desire to revisit the sensation so soon. Fortunately, while he had been unable to channel his spiritual power the day before, relying on the most primitive methods for relief, he was now able to circulate his inner essence to forcibly suppress the sudden flare-up.

He sent a telepathic message to Yun Ran: "I'm fine."

No sooner had the words left his mind than he realized the link between their spiritual marks had been severed. He had no way of knowing if his dishonest message had gotten through; he could only hear the "thump-thump" sounds in the distance of the tunnel growing closer.

The other sword-sect disciples had long since vanished. Only Shen Yihan, Chang Gexiao, and the slumped-on-the-ground Helan Ting remained at the fork.

Shen Yihan asked Chang Gexiao, "What exactly is that thing?"

"A bug," Chang Gexiao replied.

"A bug?" Shen Yihan gasped. "...That big?"

He genuinely couldn't fathom it. The "Founding Matriarch" was a woman as beautiful as a flower; why did she have to have such a peculiar obsession with insects?

Chang Gexiao nodded and said, "Remember to block your sense of smell. That bug sprays things."

Shen Yihan didn't have time to ask what it sprayed, for a dark shadow was already rapidly approaching through the tunnel. It stood over a man's height. Before he could make out its shape, it was clearly something quite unpleasant. Shen Yihan felt that using the Luan-Yuan swords against such an ugly beast would be distasteful.

After a moment's thought, he pulled a silk-handkerchief-like magical artifact from his storage bag and threw it forward. The handkerchief expanded in the wind, and by the time it reached the shadow, it draped perfectly over it, trapping the creature inside. No matter how the shadow struggled, it could not break free from the artifact's binding.

This item had also been a treasure of Shen Yihan’s mother, Shen Xu.

Shen Yihan’s maternal grandfather, the late Sect Master Shen, had been a legendary figure. By the time he passed away, his cultivation had reached the late stage of the Mahayana realm—the most accomplished sect master since the founding of the Myriad Sound Sect. Unfortunately, he had few heirs, with only his daughter, Shen Xu. While Shen Xu possessed extraordinary talent in music, she was frail and sickly, with damaged meridians, destined to never go far on the path of cultivation.

Her frailty was linked to her father’s past, and the old Sect Master felt deep guilt and pity for her. He wished he could compensate for it in every way imaginable, terrified that she might be bullied because of her weak cultivation. Thus, he had scoured the world to collect countless treasures to protect her. This handkerchief was one of them.

Seeing the ugly bug wrapped up and hidden from view, Shen Yihan felt a bit more at ease. "Can we just suffocate it inside?"

Chang Gexiao: "..."

Chang Gexiao: "Probably not. We'll still need to deliver a finishing blow."

"Then you do it," Shen Yihan said. "I don't have a blade."

Indeed, his flute-sword was not a blade.

Chang Gexiao, not wanting to point out that Shen Yihan simply didn't want to dirty the Luan-Yuan swords with the bug's filth, pulled a jade hairpin from his hair and flicked it forward. As the hairpin flew closer, it radiated a soft, emerald light.

Shen Yihan retracted the handkerchief, and a "squelch" echoed from the shadows. The dark mass collapsed into the corner and went still. A strange, pinkish liquid began to spread across the floor, and a sweet, cloying fragrance filled the cave.

Shen Yihan moved two steps away from the beast's blood flowing on the ground, complaining, "To be a music cultivator, and yet all we do is hack and poke, leaving blood everywhere."

Chang Gexiao couldn't be bothered to argue with his senior brother about who had forced him to deliver that blow. He stepped forward to check on the slumped Helan Ting. "He seems to have fainted."

Shen Yihan said, "Do you even know who he is? You go around provoking him."

"Just the young master of the Yingzhou Helan clan," Chang Gexiao replied dismissively. "So what? Is there some reason I shouldn't provoke him?"

Shen Yihan couldn't answer that right now. To date, Helan Ting hadn't committed any real crimes. If he were to say that Helan Ting was a closeted gay man who might fall for his own Shizun, he might just find common ground with his junior brother.

Shen Yihan said, "In any case, once we leave this heritage site, don't get tangled up with him again. You can flirt with whoever you want, but not him."

"I wasn't flirting with him," Chang Gexiao said. "We're just normal friends."

Shen Yihan let out a "Hmph," his response to the term "normal friends."

Chang Gexiao asked, "Should we take him with us? If we leave him here, he’ll likely just die."

Shen Yihan hesitated for a moment. He didn't think Helan Ting would die so easily, but leaving him alone might be risky. If he and his junior brother spent all their time searching while the exit to the illusion appeared right under Helan Ting’s backside, that would be a disaster.

"Take him," Shen Yihan said concisely. "You carry him."

Chang Gexiao had to submit to his senior brother's authority and hoisted the semi-conscious Helan Ting up.

"Are we really going left? Hey, why are you so pale?"

Shen Yihan was channeling all his spiritual energy to suppress the love-parasite, causing a massive strain. It was only natural that his face looked ghastly.

"Don't ask."

As he replied, he fished a pill bottle from his Qiankun bag and swallowed two or three pills. He felt nothing. He swallowed two or three more. Only then did he feel that the frantically depleted spiritual energy had been partially replenished.

Shen Yihan weighed the bottle; he didn't have many energy-regulating pills left. At this rate, he wouldn't last long. He couldn't delay any longer; he had to find the exit.

The two brothers walked forward. After only a few steps, Shen Yihan suddenly felt the ground drop away beneath him, and a cry of alarm came from Chang Gexiao beside him. He felt a sense of weightlessness, and the scenery around him shifted violently. He tried to draw his Luan-Yuan swords to stabilize himself, but the next moment, he landed on solid ground.

The dark cave was gone.

He was now in a magnificent, gilded palace, half-reclining on a chaise longue. Before him knelt two maidservants, one massaging his shoulders and the other kneading his legs. Two others stood nearby, fanning him with great care.

The palace was filled with an intoxicating, pleasant incense that made one drowsy. Shen Yihan felt the burning heat of the love-parasite within him ease slightly. He extended his hand—five slender, jade-like fingers. This was clearly the hand of a woman.

Another illusion? And this time, it had changed his gender?

Shen Yihan felt helpless. He called out "Junior Brother" without any hope of a response, and indeed, there was no answer. The maid kneading his legs looked up with confusion. "Does the Lady wish to find a beauty for the night?"

Lady? Beauty? For the night?

Shen Yihan’s mind went blank for a moment. ...This sounded rather significant.

He hesitated and asked, "What beauty?"

The maid replied, "There are countless beauties serving the Lady. I do not know which one you fancy tonight."

A guess began to form in Shen Yihan's heart: Could this illusion be the Founding Matriarch’s...

Sure enough, even though he hadn't opened his mouth, he heard his own voice—the woman's voice—say, "Bring in those who arrived a few days ago."

The maid holding the fan replied, "Yes," and went out.

Soon, she returned with several men of similar build. Shen Yihan looked at their faces and found them strangely familiar. A flash of realization struck him—how did these men look so much like the portrait of the first-generation Dengyang Sword Master in Yun Ran’s cave?

The maid handed him a succulent purple grape. "Lady, these are the most similar ones the Demon Lords could find in the mortal realm over the last two years! Do they meet your approval?"

Shen Yihan heard "himself" say, "Hmm, bring them closer."

The maid who had brought them in urged, "Did you not hear the Lady? Get closer!"

One of them hesitated for a moment before trembling as he approached. Shen Yihan then noticed a leather collar around his neck—the kind he had seen in the black markets of the cultivation world. Mostly used by demonic cultivators, when placed on a person, it prevented them from developing feelings for others and rendered men unable to perform. They were usually used for playthings, concubines, or human cauldrons.

As the man approached, Shen Yihan saw "himself" reach out to lift the man's chin. Suddenly, his movements paused. He shoved the man's chin aside and said coldly, "Who told you to put this thing on him?"

The tone was flat, but the maidservants all began to tremble, kneeling in a heap.

"Get out, all of you."

The maids and the human cauldrons scrambled out as ordered.

Shen Yihan began to understand. He had lost control of the body for a moment, which was common in memory-based illusions. A naive novice might foolishly believe they were helpless and merely a spectator, allowing the illusion to play out according to its script. But that wasn't true. For instance, the "Junior Brother" he had called out earlier was no accident.

He tried to control the body. At first, it was sluggish, but after repeated attempts, the resistance faded, and the body felt as if it were his own again. It *was* his own body—ever since he entered the illusion, he could feel the parasite restless within him, constantly reminding him of his situation.

He almost wanted to thank it... otherwise, he would have spent quite a while stuck in the illusion.

Shen Yihan formed a hand seal, closed his eyes, and recited a dispelling mantra. When he opened his eyes and looked at his hand, it had returned to his own.

The surroundings, however, remained the same—the bright, luxurious palace. The Founding Matriarch’s cultivation was far superior to his; he could only restore his own appearance, but breaking her illusion was entirely beyond him. To break this, he had to find the formation eye.

Moreover, the inheritance was, at its core, the Founding Matriarch's trial. Whether it was the dangers in the valley and cave or this illusion, everything was part of the test. Having survived the "Gate of Death," the Matriarch was now testing him in other ways.

*I should have stayed closer to Helan Ting... at least I could have soaked up some of the luck of a heaven-favored one...*

He didn't know if the three of them had fallen into separate illusions, or if he was in one while Helan Ting and his junior brother had entered another.

Shen Yihan couldn't dwell on that now. He had an immediate crisis—the parasite had been suppressed for too long and was now on the verge of breaking through.

This type of parasite poison required release, not blockage. Yet he had forcibly suppressed it with his inner essence for so long that now, it was raging worse than it had the day before. Relying on yesterday’s method would be difficult. In his thousand years, he had masturbated only a handful of times, and he was quite unskilled in the nuances of it. Not knowing the right way to proceed, he found himself in even more torment.

Just as he was breaking into a cold sweat and his breathing grew ragged, a crimson sword light sliced through the air beside the bed, tearing open a spatial rift.

Sect Master Shen looked at the sword light, finding it intimately familiar, and stood there in a daze.

The next moment, a long, slender leg stepped through the rift.

The attire on that leg was also very familiar—a pristine, dark-black boot, a dark-colored Daoist robe, and half a fly-whisk dangling with its soft, white silk strands trailing behind.

It was indeed a good-looking leg...

It would have been even better if he didn't have to lock eyes with the owner of that leg, staring at each other in this posture.

Shen Yihan: "................................"

Yun Ran: "..."