After leaving the Founder's Shrine and crossing a grove, he came upon a small house with a tiny courtyard enclosed by a fence.
This was where Lin Xiaoyao lived.
Those in the sect who had reached the Golden Core Realm or above could choose places rich in spiritual energy according to their cultivation and establish their own caves.
Disciples like Lin Xiaoyao, who were still in the Qi Refining Realm, naturally didn't receive such privileges.
The sect did provide stone houses.
But with so many secrets to keep, he certainly didn't want to live alongside disciples his own age.
So, under the pretext that it was convenient for him to clean the Founder's Shrine, he built himself a little house nearby and even fenced in a courtyard.
No one objected.
After all, this wasn't some treasured place brimming with spiritual energy. It would have gone to waste otherwise, so he lived there, and naturally no one cared.
This place was even more secluded than the Founder's Shrine.
Utterly quiet.
In five years, no one had ever come to disturb him, and Lin Xiaoyao was perfectly satisfied.
He planted flowers and raised fish, content in his own little world.
After all, unlike ordinary cultivators, he didn't need to toil away at cultivation.
Wasn't earning cultivation through sign-ins much better?
So besides cleaning the Founder's Shrine, Lin Xiaoyao had plenty of free time each day.
Reading had become one of his favorite pastimes.
The sect's Library Pavilion housed all sorts of cultivation techniques, manuals, and cultivation insights, but none of them could be borrowed. Even sect disciples faced plenty of restrictions on what they could read.
They either needed permission from an elder or had to meet certain conditions.
Lin Xiaoyao didn't care about that, and had never gone out of his way to ask.
Because to him, the peerless arts everyone treasured and desperately sought, the cultivation insights of the ancestors, and all sorts of profound original spells—
Sorry, none of it interested him.
To him, this stuff was little more than trash—not even worth a glance.
Cultivation techniques?
Secret arts?
He had no need for them anymore.
A Saint had already comprehended the origin of the universe. The myriad worlds lay within his sight. How could he possibly need something as laughable as a cultivation technique?
What interested him in the Library Pavilion were the countless miscellaneous books on the first floor, which disciples could browse freely.
They covered every subject under the sun.
There were histories and classics of the mortal world, books on astronomy and water conservancy, martial arts manuals for mortals, and travel journals recording the experiences of the sect's ancestors and disciples on their journeys.
Lin Xiaoyao found them all fascinating.
These were the sort of miscellaneous books that ordinary cultivators wouldn't give a second glance. They helped pass the time and gave him a better understanding of this plane.
Yet the more he read, the more astonished he became.
The knowledge in any one book might be limited.
But as he read more and connected what he learned from one book to another, he couldn't help marveling at what he discovered.
First, the world was vast. Though the Feathering Sect was renowned far and wide, it occupied only a tiny corner of this world.
The lands beyond stretched boundlessly, with no one knowing where they ended—or what mighty experts might dwell in that vast expanse.
Perhaps there were countless powerful beings. Perhaps even Mahayana ancestors and Tribulation Transcendence cultivators were nothing special.
And there was so much waiting for Lin Xiaoyao to explore.
But for now, he had no intention of doing that.
Once his cultivation was restored to match his Saint Fruit Position, he could of course travel wherever he pleased throughout the myriad worlds. But as for now...
He would, naturally, stay quietly tucked away inside the sect.
The outside world was full of fighting and countless evil demons. Who would go out there looking for trouble?
Usually, after cleaning the Founder's Shrine, if he didn't feel like wandering outside, Lin Xiaoyao would return to his home, raise his fish, and read.
Life was pretty good.
But today, his expression seemed a little strange.
After returning, he didn't go inside or pick up a book. Instead, he lay down directly on a chair in the courtyard.
He had made this reclining chair himself, following memories from his previous life.
It was wide and comfortable.
Especially when he could lie back on it, bask in the sun, and read. It was pure bliss.
At that moment, Lin Xiaoyao was lying on the chair too, but he was turning a bottle about half a foot tall over in his hands.
A little while later, he opened the bottle and poured out a pill the size of a broad bean. It gave off a fragrant aroma.
This was a Marrow Cleansing Pill.
Lin Xiaoyao had already counted them: there were thirty in all.
For a Qi Refining cultivator, that was quite a generous gift.
He'd long heard that the sect leader was benevolent, but he hadn't expected him to give him such a present.
He had no use for it, of course, but he couldn't help remembering the kindness behind the gesture.
At the thought, Lin Xiaoyao furrowed his brow.
He had only glanced at Master Green Feather earlier and hadn't even used his spiritual sense or magical power to investigate, yet he'd still seen that the man was seriously injured.
And the injury was no small matter.
Demonic energy had congealed in his meridians, winding around them like maggots clinging to bone.
Clearly, Old Demon Jia had wounded him half a month ago, and he still hadn't recovered.
Lin Xiaoyao couldn't help sighing.
That injury would be difficult to treat.
At least, Master Green Feather probably couldn't do anything about it on his own.
The sect's spirit pills would be a mere drop in the ocean and wouldn't do much good.
If left to worsen over time, Master Green Feather's injury wouldn't heal. It would only grow more severe.
He probably wouldn't lose his life because of it.
But with the injury dogging him, his strength would be greatly diminished, and his path of cultivation would likely come to an end.
At the thought, Luo Xiaoyan flipped his hand, and another bottle appeared in his palm.
He pulled out the stopper. The same wonderful fragrance wafted out, but the bottle didn't contain Marrow Cleansing Pills. Instead, it held the "Mystic Heaven Clear Spirit Powder" he'd obtained through a sign-in last time.
To him, this stuff was trash. But if he gave it to Master Green Feather, it would easily heal the man's injuries.
The problem was, how should he give it to him?
Lin Xiaoyao didn't want his identity exposed. He only wanted to quietly remain an inconspicuous nobody.
But he also didn't want his treasures to be hidden away and go unrecognized. If he offered up a treasure, he ought to receive the other party's gratitude—and maybe show off a little while he was at it.
Those two desires seemed contradictory.
It looked like an unsolvable problem.
But this time, Lin Xiaoyao didn't agonize over it.
He muttered to himself, "Looks like I can only try that method."
Several years ago, when the Heart-Refining Path underwent a sudden transformation, he had secretly stepped in and resolved the crisis for the Feathering Sect. As a bonus, he'd signed in and obtained the Heavenly Demon Origin.
What was the Heavenly Demon Origin?
Put simply, it was the fundamental law of the Heavenly Demon Realm, one of the myriad worlds.
Saints detested it, so they didn't wish to cultivate it.
But as a transmigrator, he had no such qualms.
Water could carry a boat, but it could also capsize one. In Lin Xiaoyao's eyes, power had no inherent good or evil. What mattered was who wielded it.
In his hands, it could just as easily be used to benefit all living beings.
So he began studying it.
It wasn't difficult.
With a Saint's realm, he already understood the laws of the world. He had never studied the Way of the Heavenly Demon before, but it wasn't hard to draw parallels.
Though his cultivation was currently too weak for him to use it, Lin Xiaoyao had discovered a great secret—or, perhaps, a wonderful surprise—within the Heavenly Demon Origin.
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