Even storybooks wouldn't dare write something like this.
In truth, if someone like Pei Ling had been in any other sect, he probably would have been locked up as a monster long ago. Someone would always question how he advanced, and someone would surely covet his method.
Righteous cultivators were best at weaving splendid excuses: his origins were suspect, his cultivation methods were questionable, he threatened others' safety. Then they would use threats and inducements to make him prove there was nothing wrong with him, forcing him to hand over his cultivation method along the way—he had seen this performance countless times.
Only the Profound Heart Sect was an oddity. He had already displayed such abnormalities, yet although everyone in the sect found it strange, none of them made a move. They could even calmly sit back and enjoy the spectacle. Inside the wooden house, Pei Ling saw everything outside clearly and couldn't help giving a cold sneer.
Qiao Ranran had indeed been in seclusion. Having just returned from her training journey, she had gained quite a few new insights. Yet she had barely settled down when the Little Wooden Puppet hanging at her waist suddenly stirred, as though its divine soul had sensed something. Even the toxins inside it began to grow restless.
The only possible cause of such a disturbance was that something had happened on Pei Ling's end.
For the past ten years, the Little Wooden Puppet had stayed by her side. Even when she traveled, she always kept it hanging at her waist, afraid of missing anything. But it had remained quiet. Aside from its increasingly distinct human shape and ever more expressive features, nothing else had changed. Even its toxins had been so quiet that they might as well not have existed.
With a thought,