Villain System in a Cultivation World-Chapter 55: Grandpa in the Ring

In the following days, the Xuantian Sect hummed with eager anticipation, its jade-crowned peaks glowing in the dawn's warm light. Word of Qin Ting's imminent anointment as Holy Son, to be sealed in a grand ceremony in one month, had spread swiftly, igniting fervor across the sect.

A flood of sycophants and schemers ascended Taixu Peak, their silken robes trailing like comet tails as they vied for the favor of the rising star. Their ceaseless flattery, cloying and calculated, grated on Qin Ting's nerves, each word a transparent bid to share in his growing renown.

With a sharp flourish, he announced a period of secluded meditation, retreating to the shadowed heart of his palace. The declaration hushed the crowd, their murmurs of awe rising like incense.

"Such dedication in our Holy Son!" they whispered, eyes shining with reverence. "The Xuantian Sect's glory is certain under his reign!"

'Let them spin their praises,' Qin Ting thought, a faint smirk curling his lips as he stood alone in the vast hall. 'Their devotion is a leash, and I'll pull it when the moment is right.'

The main hall of Taixu Peak was a vision of grandeur, its jade pillars carved with coiling dragons that seemed to shift in the flickering glow of spirit lanterns. The air pulsed with dense spiritual energy, flowing through the starstone floor, where each slab bore runes whispering of ancient power.

Beyond the arched windows, mist wreathed the sect's peaks, cloaking them in ethereal mystery. Qin Ting's amethyst robes shimmered as he moved, their golden dragons catching the light like living flames.

In his hand, he held a plain metal ring, its simple form masking the profound power within. A faint, otherworldly glow pulsed across its surface, as if it were alive.

For hours, Qin Ting channeled qi into the soul-nourishing jade at his side, a translucent relic radiating gentle warmth. With precise care, he wove its nurturing energy into the ring, threading spiritual essence like a master weaver crafting a tapestry of fate.

Time slipped away, the world beyond the hall fading, until the ring trembled and rose, hovering as if called by an unseen force.

'At last, the ancient soul stirs,' Qin Ting mused, his sapphire eyes gleaming with predatory anticipation, keen as a hawk's gaze.

A faint silhouette formed above the ring, its edges shimmering like heat over desert sands. It solidified into an elderly man, his presence heavy with the weight of ages.

Elder Ling Lao, ancient master of the fallen Child of Destiny, Ye Qiu, stood before him.

His spectral robes, regal yet faded, flowed as if stirred by an unfelt breeze, their silver threads hinting at past glory. His weathered face, etched with wisdom and loss, held eyes that gleamed with guarded intensity, like twin moons veiled by storm clouds.

Though intangible, his aura pressed against the hall, a silent testament to a power that once shook the heavens.

Ling Lao's gaze fixed on Qin Ting, calm yet unyielding, a fortress of experience revealing no weakness. Yet beneath his stoic exterior, Qin Ting sensed a flicker of sorrow, a deep wound from the loss of his disciple.

'Qin Ting? If I'm with him... it means Ye Qiu is dead,' Ling Lao thought, the realization slicing through his ancient heart. 'And judging by this young man's poise, he must've orchestrated it.'

He had guided Ye Qiu through countless trials, nurturing a spark he believed would rival the stars. Yet Qin Ting had snuffed out that flame with ruthless precision, leaving only ashes and a master's quiet grief.

Qin Ting offered a shallow bow, his movements graceful, his voice smooth as polished jade. "Greetings, Elder."

Ling Lao's eyes narrowed, sharp as frost-kissed steel. "Why have you awakened me, boy?" His tone was a cold wind, each word heavy with centuries and the sting of betrayal.

A faint, disarming smile curved Qin Ting's lips, masking the predator within. "May I know how to address you, Elder?"

After a measured pause, Ling Lao's voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. "You may call me Ling Lao." His eyes glinted, probing for intent. "What is your purpose in rousing me?"

Qin Ting's smile widened, a serpent's charm cloaked in courtesy.

"I'm curious, Elder Ling. Ye Qiu's talent was respectable, yet hardly divine. But his cultivation surged at an unnatural pace—he even survived an encounter with a Great Demon. I'd like to understand how. Would you enlighten me?"

Ling Lao's expression darkened, his spectral form seeming to solidify with indignation.

"You are the one who ended my disciple's life," he said, his voice a low growl, like distant thunder over a barren plain. "And now you dare seek secrets from me?"

Qin Ting's smile held firm, though his sapphire eyes gleamed with cold calculation, sharp as a blade's edge.

"You are mistaken, Elder. Ye Qiu brought his fate upon himself. In your absence, he fell to the demonic path, desperate for power to challenge me. It seems your teachings failed to guide his heart."

He paused, his smirk sharpening as he caught the flicker of shock in Ling Lao's eyes—a crack in the ancient master's armor.

Ling Lao searched for deception, for some shadow of falsehood in his words. But to his despair, he found none. He knew Ye Qiu better than anyone—knew the tempest in his blood, the reckless ambition that had always threatened to consume him.

"And as for your knowledge..." Qin Ting's voice softened, a velvet lure laced with menace. "Everything has a price, does it not? The question is whether the offer is tempting enough."

Before Ling Lao could reply, Qin Ting pressed on, his words a silken net cast with precision. "Elder Ling, once, your name shook the heavens—you were a god among men. Do you not yearn to walk the Eastern Wilderness again? To feel the pulse of the world beneath your feet?"

Ling Lao's gaze flickered, a shadow of longing betraying his stoic mask. Hunger stirred within him—the hunger for life, for power—a spark undimmed by millennia of entrapment.

"What exactly are you proposing?" His voice was cautious, probing, a tempered blade testing Qin Ting's intent.

Qin Ting leaned in slightly, his tone coaxing, each word a calculated step in a dance of manipulation. "I know you are well-versed in the art of body possession," he murmured, his voice dripping with intent, honey laced with venom.

Ling Lao's pupils contracted, suspicion coiling like a serpent in his ancient eyes. Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring, as he weighed the offer. But desire betrayed him—that yearning to reclaim what had been lost.

Qin Ting pressed his advantage, steady, brimming with quiet confidence. "Body possession is a delicate art, Elder. The vessel must be worthy. Surely, you would not squander your essence on a mediocre husk."

Ling Lao's voice was measured, testing the waters. "What kind of vessel can you offer me?"

"A fresh body in the Divine Wheel Realm," Qin Ting replied, his tone resonant with the assurance of one holding all the cards. "A young prodigy, ripe with potential, crafted for greatness. My resources as the heir of the Qin Family and Xuantian's Holy Son are vast—such a vessel is within my reach."

Ling Lao's mind churned, thoughts circling in a maze of caution and ambition. He tested further, probing. "That won't do. I need a body in the Divine Palace Realm."

Qin Ting laughed softly, a sound edged with mockery, though his face remained a mask of refined courtesy.

"Elder, let's not indulge in wild fantasies. Divine Palace cultivators are titans of the Eastern Wilderness, legends forged in blood and time. To capture one would shake the land to its core, and even I would struggle to contain the fallout."

'Cunning boy...' Ling Lao recognized the gambit. His demand for a Divine Palace body had been a feint, a probe to gauge Qin Ting's sincerity. An eager agreement would have stunk of deceit, but Qin Ting's refusal carried the weight of calculated honesty.

Yet Ling Lao, tempered by eons of betrayal, trusted no one easily.

'This old relic thinks he can outmaneuver me.' Qin Ting sneered inwardly, though outwardly, he remained the picture of composure—the refined scholar, serene, awaiting Ling Lao's response.

The hall's spirit lanterns flickered, casting dragon shadows that coiled and unfurled across the jade pillars, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to the silent clash of wills.

After a heavy silence, Ling Lao's voice finally broke the stillness, low and resigned. "And if I refuse?"

Qin Ting's smile vanished, his voice turning cold as a winter blade, each word honed to cut. "Then I'll have no choice but to seal you away, Elder. A million years may pass before another disciple stumbles upon your remnants—though by then, you'll be little more than dust, a forgotten whisper in the void."

Ling Lao's silence deepened, his spectral form rigid with the weight of his choice. Qin Ting stood motionless, exuding patience, though his thoughts raced with ruthless clarity.

'Squirm all you like, old man. You'll bend to me in the end.'

At length, Ling Lao spoke, his voice heavy with reluctant acquiescence. "You drive a hard bargain... What do you want in return?"

A flicker of triumph crossed Qin Ting's face, swiftly masked by a gracious smile. "The cultivation technique Ye Qiu practiced," he said, his tone smooth, a victor claiming his prize.

Ling Lao's expression hardened, but he nodded curtly, his decision sealed.

"The Heavenly Mysterious Flame Scripture," he began, his voice thick with the weight of ancient memory. "A technique I mastered in my prime, born from a stolen scroll of the Heavenly Void Mystery Tome. It surpasses even your sect's Supreme Clarity Heart Method." ƒrēenovelkiss.com

He paused, his spectral gaze distant, as if peering into a forgotten era.

"Its power lies in merging with Strange Flames, using a unique method that ensures perfect bonding with your Dao Foundation, eliminating the risk of qi deviation. Fuse the flames with your body, and your cultivation will soar, each flame a stepping stone to greater heights. But such treasures are rare, and without them, the method's progress is slow. That is why it faded into obscurity."

With a subtle gesture, a jade slip drifted from the ring, its surface shimmering with faint celestial light as it settled into Qin Ting's waiting hand.

"This records the Heavenly Mysterious Flame Scripture," Ling Lao said flatly, his voice devoid of warmth. "Study it. And honor our agreement."

With that, his form dissolved back into the ring, a fading wisp of silver light swallowed by the metal's subtle glow.

Qin Ting turned the jade slip in his hand, its warmth pulsing against his skin like a living heartbeat. A cruel smile curled his lips, his sapphire eyes glinting with malice.

'You think you've bargained with me, old fool,' he thought, his mind a storm of ambition and deceit. 'But I'll strip you of every secret, and when the time comes, you'll serve me—or be cast into oblivion.'

He strode to the center of the hall, the jade slip cradled in his palm, its faint radiance casting shadows across the floor. The air thrummed with spiritual energy, the runes on the walls pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.

Qin Ting's thoughts turned to the Heavenly Mysterious Flame Scripture, its potential a spark igniting his ambition.

'The Strange Flames... elusive, but not beyond my reach. With the Code of All Gods as my foundation, this scripture will be a blade to carve my path to the heavens.'

He raised his gaze to the arched windows, where the mist-wreathed peaks of the Xuantian Sect loomed like silent sentinels.