"Who is spreading these rumors again?" Fang Jinyu's eyes widened as he could no longer hold back his disbelief. He looked around in astonishment. The entire Heavenly Spirit Sect was saying that he was an "honest man"? Honestly, did it have to be this outrageous? He had done nothing wrong at all!
Hearing his exclamation, Du Man'er—whose eyes, often described as those of a graceful phoenix, sparkled with curiosity—glanced at Fang Jinyu with a subtle tilt of her head. In her quiet inner voice, she wondered: "Is this even a rumor? Because, after all, in my eyes, this so-called 'Uncle Fang' truly is an honest man…"
Her thoughts meandered back to stories she'd heard about Fang Jinyu. She recalled that the origins of this narrative were not completely fabricated. "I don't know exactly who started it," she explained slowly, "but I've heard that it began with some of the seniors in the Foundation Stage passing the word along. Soon enough, nearly every disciple at the Qi Condensation stage had caught wind of it. They even began confirming the story with the disciples at Xiaohe Peak…" As she spoke these words, she could not help but steal another glance at Fang Jinyu. The accounts she had listened to—told by people who were well acquainted with him—revealed just how remarkably straightforward and sincere he had been in the past.
There was a time when even a single "Foundation Fruit" had found its way into Uncle Fang's hands. Despite being entrusted with that fruit—and even though by that point he was already at the ninth level of Qi Condensation, desperately in need of a Foundation Pill—he never once allowed a mischievous thought to cross his mind. Instead, he faithfully honored the trust placed in him. In fact, Du Man'er mused that if she, herself, were a ninth-level cultivator in desperate need of a Foundation Pill, she would never be able to help but act – at most, she might refine her own pill and return one as repayment. But to simply do nothing... now that was a quality she could never muster.
Fang Jinyu fell silent at her words. Deep inside, within his own memories, he knew that his younger self had indeed been "a bit too honest." That unmistakable trait, which in less ruthless times might have been admired, now seemed to have become a label everyone was eager to attach to him. Noticing his quiet, Du Man'er softly added, "Master, I'll go and ask around a little more. Perhaps I can learn exactly who started this whole business." Although her words suggested that she might soon slip away from further discussion, they were borne more out of genuine curiosity than of any desire to abandon the subject.
"Actually, never mind—I'll go instead," Fang Jinyu declared, shaking his head as if dismissing the notion of leaving the matter to someone else. Without another word, he set off at a brisk pace toward Divine Maiden Peak. After all, when it comes to small‐scale grapevine news, nowhere is the network more open and fluent than at Divine Maiden Peak.
It was not long before he reached the peak, where he was immediately greeted by a lively and cheerful atmosphere. Xin Qianqian, with sparkling eyes and a lively spirit, was among the first to notice him. As soon as she saw him, her delicate hands reached out and clutched his arm, her face lighting up with an eager smile as if burdened with a trove of things to say. After a few moments of animated conversation, she finally blurted out, "Junior Brother Fang, you really are too honest sometimes! And come on—going down into the underground Spirit Vein to dig for spiritual stones is just unbearably harsh!"
Feigning exaggerated surprise, Fang Jinyu replied, "You already know about that?" His tone was mixed with mirth and a slight tinge of sarcasm as he tried to hide the inner sting the remark caused him.
Xin Qianqian laughed a little and rolled her eyes, "Well, who doesn't know by now? It's the talk of the entire sect." Then, with undeniable genuine curiosity, she leaned in and asked, "Junior Brother Fang, how exactly did you manage to come out of that ordeal? Did you never really go down at all? Or did the Sect Head personally pardon you?"
"Not exactly," Fang Jinyu said with a touch of affected gratitude as he replied. "The Patriarch had a certain task for me to complete, so my punishment was virtually waived. Had it not been for that intervention, I'd probably still be down there, buried under endless stone and darkness!"
Xin Qianqian's face lit up with relief as she said, "That's really wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" Without delving into further details about the mysterious task, she simply accepted his response and moved on.
After a few minutes of such banter, the conversation took a more serious turn. Fang Jinyu, his tone now laced with genuine concern, asked, "By the way, how did my situation become the subject of so much gossip? I heard from one of our junior disciples that almost everyone in the sect has been talking about it."
Xin Qianqian explained in a steady, matter-of-fact tone, "It all started when you voluntarily accepted the punishment. Those three guest officials who had clashed with you then went around, desperately pleading with various people in the sect in hopes of having your punishment lifted. And in doing so, the tale of how you willingly took the punishment spread indirectly. Before long, even the disciples at Xiaohe Peak were confirming the story."
At these words, Fang Jinyu sighed deeply and murmured to himself, "But there really was no need for them to all label me as an 'honest man'…." The slight reproach in his tone conveyed how absurd he found it that his every action was being simplified to mere honesty. He understood, after all, that the three insolent brats (as he thought of those guest officials in his mind) were responsible for spreading the narrative in a distorted fashion.
Xin Qianqian, catching the nuance in his voice, couldn't help but roll her eyes once again. With a playful chuckle, she said, "It's nothing new, really—it all comes back to those things you did years ago, Master Fang."
Her words touched a soft spot in him. In his quiet, reflective moments, Fang Jinyu remembered very well the times when his unadorned sincerity was his most defining feature. He recalled clearly how, even when entrusted with a single Foundation Fruit, he had never stooped to indulge in any devious schemes despite his dire need for a Foundation Pill. That pure dedication, which in simpler times might have been celebrated as a sign of integrity, now seemed to be the source of endless gossip and ridicule.
Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken understanding and a tinge of melancholy. Finally, Xin Qianqian spoke up again, "Master, I'll go ask someone else to get a clearer picture. Perhaps I can find out exactly who started these rumors." Although the suggestion seemed practical enough, part of her mind already sought an escape from this loaded conversation.
"No, I'll do it myself," Fang Jinyu insisted firmly. "I want to get to the bottom of it personally." With that, he turned on his heel and headed straight for Divine Maiden Peak once more—the place that, if there were any spot in the sect where rumors flew fastest, it was indeed Divine Maiden Peak.
Upon his next arrival at Divine Maiden Peak, the atmosphere seemed even more charged with clandestine chatter and secret exchanges than before. Xin Qianqian, ever the energetic soul, immediately ran up to him. Her small hands reached out to gently grip his arm, her smiling eyes brimming with unsaid stories and chattering excitement. Before long, she couldn't hold back any longer and said, "Junior Brother Fang, you really are too honest! And not only that—but going down to the underground Spirit Vein to collect spiritual stones must be agonizingly hard!"
"Really?" Fang Jinyu asked, feigning a look of astonishment while trying to mask the irritation underneath.
"Of course," she replied with a laugh, "who doesn't know these days?" Then, without missing a beat, she added, "Junior Brother, how exactly did you manage to get out of that ordeal? Did you not actually go down at all? Or did the Sect Head personally grant you a pardon?"
"Not exactly," Fang Jinyu answered, his tone mixing genuine relief with a dose of theatrical gratitude. "The Patriarch had an important matter that required my presence, so my punishment was nullified. Otherwise, I'd probably still be down in that suffocating darkness, trapped under countless layers of spiritual stone."
"That's truly wonderful!" Xin Qianqian exclaimed, clearly relieved for him while not prying any further into the mysterious circumstances. The warmth in her voice made it evident that, despite the absurdities of the rumor mill, she was sincerely happy for him.
After this light-hearted exchange, Fang Jinyu decided it was time to address the heart of the matter. "By the way," he said gradually, "how exactly did my 'story' – the fact that I willingly accepted my punishment – begin to spread so wildly? I've heard from one of our junior disciples that nearly everyone is talking about it."
Xin Qianqian briefly summarized, "It started when you accepted the punishment voluntarily. Those three guest officials who had once quarreled with you then went around pleading on your behalf, trying to have your penalty lifted. In doing so, the mere fact that you had been willing to bear the punishment spread indirectly from the Foundation Stage seniors to every Qi Condensation disciple, and soon even the disciples at Xiaohe Peak were confirming it."
Fang Jinyu's expression grew somber as he murmured, "But I really don't see why they have to label me as an 'honest man'…" He found it ridiculous that his willingness to do his duty—which, in his mind, was simply part of being a respectable cultivator—had turned into a catchphrase for ridicule.
Xin Qianqian gave him an affectionate, teasing smile and said, "It's all because of the things you did back in the day, Junior Brother."
Her gentle teasing struck a chord in him. Despite his frustration with the label, he couldn't wholly disown the fact that his unadorned, sincere nature from earlier years had earned him this reputation. In his memories, he recalled that very moment when a single Foundation Fruit had been entrusted to him. Even though he was already at an advanced ninth level of Qi Condensation and desperately needed a Foundation Pill, not once did he entertain a stray thought of deceit. He simply carried out his responsibilities with a steady, unyielding heart.
That recollection made him sink into a reflective silence. For a long while, he merely stared ahead as if pondering the weight of that past. Finally, Xin Qianqian said softly, "Master, I'll go ask around further—perhaps I can get to the bottom of who really started this rumor."
Yet even as she spoke, Fang Jinyu's internal voice rejected further discussion of this matter. "I'll handle it myself," he resolved firmly. Determined, he set off again toward Divine Maiden Peak—the one place where the truth of such rumors was said to be most reliably handed down by word of mouth.
Days slipped by as Fang Jinyu pursued his own inquiry into the origin of these circulating stories. Every new piece of gossip was like a small weight added to his already heavy heart—a constant reminder that even the simplest virtues, such as honesty, could be twisted by jealous tongues in their ruthless world of cultivation. The gossip, despite being nonsensical in some respects, had the potential to cast a long shadow over his reputation.
Deep in thought one afternoon, as he labored in his private study over methods to discreetly dispose of or distribute the surplus Foundation Pills he had refined earlier, he recalled another incident from his past. There was a time when an entrusted Foundation Fruit had come inadvertently into his possession. Instead of exploiting that opportunity for personal gain—despite desperately needing a Foundation Pill at that moment—he had rather chosen to honor his commitment and simply do his duty. That act, which in simpler times might have been lauded as a sign of unwavering integrity, now became the very point of this baseless rumor. "I have done nothing more than fulfill my responsibilities," he muttered to himself, disliking that his natural tendencies were now fodder for gossip among his peers.
At that moment, as if on cue, his trusted attendant from Lingyao Peak arrived with two sealed letters. One letter was a formal challenge—a war declaration from the notorious Qin Haoyue, daring him to settle scores by dueling. The other letter, devoid of any signature and scrawled in slanted, almost hasty handwriting, read simply, "Sage Brother, hurry to Spirit Beast Valley."
His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Who delivered this second letter?" he asked the attendant, who was accustomed to handling such matters.
With a slight bow, the attendant replied, "Master Fang, it was carried by a few spirit sparrows. They are known to possess a trace of higher spiritual sensitivity and often serve as our messengers."
Fang Jinyu couldn't help but muse silently at the juxtaposition of everything happening around him—the ridiculous rumor of his "honesty," the challenge from Qin Haoyue, and now this mysterious summons to Spirit Beast Valley. Each new message was like a thread in an ever-growing web of intrigue, pulling him deeper into the complexities of sect life.
As he closed the letter and reviewed his thoughts, he wondered why such a simple event—the fact that he had always been honest—could be blown into something monumental. In his mind, he repeated, "I have done nothing wrong... I have merely followed the rules." Yet, the gossip mill, fed by the petty ambitions of a few insolent disciples, churned on relentlessly.
In the days that followed, Fang Jinyu devoted himself to his alchemical work at Lingyao Peak, all the while keeping a wary eye on the undercurrents of sect gossip. His thoughts naturally wandered back to the conversations he had shared with both Xin Qianqian and Du Man'er. Their words, filled with admiration, teasing, and even mild reproach, only deepened his introspection.
One evening, as the setting sun bathed the ancient stone corridors of the sect in a golden hue, he sat alone in his study and recalled those moments with bittersweet clarity. He remembered how, not long ago, he had risked everything to rescue someone in dire need without expecting any favor in return. His actions were simple, driven by a sincere sense of duty and compassion—qualities which, in a world built on cunning strife, had ironically come to define him in the eyes of others. "They call me honest…" he murmured under his breath, "but what does that even mean in a world where to be honest is often to be seen as weak?"
At that moment, he resolved that he needed to clarify the truth, not for the sake of his own reputation alone, but for all those who might one day misinterpret the meaning of sincerity in their own paths. "If my natural character can be twisted into an insult," he thought, "then perhaps it is time to show that honesty need not be a vulnerability, but a strength." But even as he formulated this internal pledge, his mind was drawn back to his more immediate predicament: the surplus of Foundation Pills.
He had refined more pills than he initially expected. The extra refined pills were a treasure—but also a curse. Their value was high, and if word got out that his conversion rate was nearly perfect, it would not only attract envy from rival cultivators but also expose his true potential far more than he wished. Moreover, the Foundation Pill was uniquely delicate. Even with the best sealing methods, its potency would wane in only a couple of years. "How can I possibly dispose of such a surplus without inviting unwanted attention or causing a spike in their market price?" he wondered.
His thoughts were interrupted by yet another reminder of the relentless pace of cultivation politics. A subtle knock at his door led him to remember that not only were there challenges from rivals like Qin Haoyue, but his every move was now under close scrutiny from the higher elders. "If I am too open about this perfection," he cautioned himself, "then every petty soul might assume I have a secret, magical touch—and that might cause more trouble than it solves."
So, he began considering various strategies: discreetly selling the surplus out to trusted allies, perhaps even using the pills as a form of collateral or barter with other sect members who needed them desperately but would never question their source. In the cutthroat world of the Heavenly Spirit Sect, every artifact—even a simple medicinal pill—became a symbol of power and an invitation for schemes.
At Divine Maiden Peak, news flowed even more freely as Fang Jinyu sought to uncover the true source of the rumor about his honesty. Every whispered conversation, every half-heard remark, was a clue. He recalled the coy words of Xin Qianqian as she playfully teased him earlier, and he could not help but feel that her admiration for him, however unconsciously expressed, was intermingled with a practical curiosity about how such reputation had taken root.
One day, as he wandered among the tall, ancient trees and marble walkways of Divine Maiden Peak, he found himself in a quiet garden where several senior disciples were engaged in hushed conversation. Slipping quietly into their midst, he listened carefully. A voice, soft yet definite, mentioned that the rumor had started with an incident at a Foundation Stage gathering. The words were spoken with a mix of disbelief and a sort of rebellious pride, as if the very fact that Fang Jinyu had accepted his punishment without yielding any semblance of cunning was something to be both admired and ridiculed.
Someone had said, "It was from the senior cultivators who all knew him before he even reached the Qi Condensation stage that the story began. Once it was confirmed by the disciples at Xiaohe Peak, it spread like wildfire among all the lower-level disciples."
Fang Jinyu's heart sank further with each word. How could something so simple be transformed into an epic of humiliating praise? "I have done nothing more than follow my duty," he thought bitterly. "Yet, they all insist on calling me honest—as if that were a mark of either shame or unwanted publicity."
It was then that he realized the absurdity of it all. In a realm where strength was measured by secret techniques, cunning alliances, and the unchecked power of hidden energies, a reputation for honesty was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it might offer him some protection from those who appreciated straightforward action. On the other, it might also be interpreted as a lack of the sharper instincts necessary to navigate the dangerous undercurrents of sect politics.
He recalled how, in the past, when a simple incident had occurred—such as the time a Foundation Fruit had accidentally been entrusted to him—he had simply carried out his duty without deviation. That was the essence of his nature, and now that very nature was being paraded about as if it were something to be mocked.
As the days turned into weeks, Fang Jinyu's inquiry at Divine Maiden Peak finally began yielding small fragments of truth. He learned that the rumor had indeed originated from a cluster of alumni and senior disciples who remembered his early, unadorned ways. They recalled with vivid details the moment when he had received a Foundation Fruit and, even though he was well advanced in his cultivation, had not exploited the opportunity for personal gain. The exact names of those who had first spread the word, however, remained shrouded in semi-conscious recollections. Yet one fact remained clear: the gossip had been amplified by the three guest officials who, after their physical altercation with him, had scourged the networks of communication within the sect, pleading all the while that his decision to accept his punishment was something to be both commended and pitied.
This understanding made him feel a curious mix of anger and resignation. On the one hand, it was infuriating that a simple act of honesty could be twisted into a potent weapon of mockery. On the other hand, it was a reminder that in the ruthless world of immortal cultivation, even the most virtuous qualities could be manipulated by those with ulterior motives. He thought to himself, "Perhaps I should simply let them label me as they wish, for in truth, the quality of being honest has its own strength."
Yet the matter was not so easily cast aside. For the moment, his mind was burdened with more pressing concerns—the extra batch of Foundation Pills that he now possessed in abundance, a surplus that could either elevate his status if carefully managed or ruin him if allowed to be misinterpreted as an overt display of alchemical genius. The weight of that secret perfection was a precarious one to bear in a world where envy and ambition ran rampant.
He began working on methods of discreetly channeling the surplus pills into hidden deals—secret auctions among trusted disciples, exchanges with clandestine circles, and even personal gifts designed to build alliances. Every plan was weighed carefully against the risk of exposing his true conversion rate, a number that, if revealed, might invite both envy and reproach from adversaries lurking in the shadows.
Amid these swirling thoughts, another event unfolded. One bright morning, as the first light of dawn filtered through the ancient trees of Lingyao Peak, two sealed letters appeared on Fang Jinyu's workbench. He recognized them immediately. One was unmistakably a formal challenge—the war declaration from Qin Haoyue that had long been rumored to be coming his way. The other was more cryptic: no name, no sender, just the hastily scrawled words "Sage Brother, hurry to Spirit Beast Valley!" in disjointed strokes.
He picked up the second letter with a measured frown on his face. "Who could have sent this?" he muttered under his breath and then called over one of his trusted disciples from the Spirit Medicine Peak. "Who delivered this letter to me?"
The disciple answered courteously, "Master Fang, it was borne by a handful of spirit sparrows. They, as you know, have a touch of true spirituality about them."
The simple reply carried with it an air of inevitability. Fang Jinyu couldn't help but reflect on the sequence of events: first the rumor about his honesty, then the challenge from Qin Haoyue, and now this mysterious summoning to the Spirit Beast Valley. It was as if everything was converging at once—a convergence that both threatened and beckoned him toward further tests of his character, skill, and determination.
In a moment of introspection, he mused softly, "I've always been faithful to my path, doing what needed to be done without contrivance. And yet, every single step I take is now scrutinized by those who would twist my nature into something less than what it is."
His mind, heavy with both the burden of expectation and the allure of new challenges, turned back to the conflicting voices he had heard earlier—from Xin Qianqian's teasing to Du Man'er's investigative determination. Each voice added a layer of complexity to his internal monologue, making him both resentful and strangely proud of the person he was.
At one point, as he paced quietly along a secluded corridor lined with ancient murals depicting revered founders of the Heavenly Spirit Sect, he recalled Du Man'er's earlier remark. "It's all because of the things you did back in the old days," she had said. He pondered this deeply: had his intrinsic, unyielding honesty really been the seed from which all this gossip grew? Quite possibly it was, for every memorable deed he had ever committed was etched into the minds of those around him—etched so deeply that even the passage of time could not erase it.
Yet even as he weighed these memories, he knew that personal truth was fragile in the face of relentless rumor. In the immortal world, reputation was like a blade with two sharp edges: it could either protect you or expose you to harm. "If being honest makes me vulnerable, then perhaps I must learn to wield that very strength with wisdom," he resolved silently.
Time passed, and the network of rumors continued to swell like a tide that could not be stemmed. Every new day brought with it more questions, more whispered conversations among the younger disciples, and more news of Qin Haoyue's latest provocative challenges. Fang Jinyu, now caught between his own internal code and the external machinations of rival cultivators, began to realize that every action – even one as simple as fulfilling one's duty – could serve as either a shield or a target.
One afternoon, as he returned from a brief outing to survey the progress of his alchemical experiments, he encountered Xin Qianqian waiting near a fountain. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of amusement and sincere concern. "Junior Brother Fang," she said softly, "now that you've returned, tell me—have you discovered more about who started these rumors?"
Fang Jinyu paused, carefully choosing his words. "I've learned bits and pieces. It seems that the story began with a few senior cultivators at the Foundation Stage—people who once knew me when I was just another disciple. Then, when those three guest officials got involved after our quarrel, they amplified the news so that it spread far and wide. In truth, it is not that I did anything extraordinary; I simply did what needed to be done. Yet, in a world where every detail is scrutinized, even that becomes fodder for gossip."
Xin Qianqian nodded as if she understood far more than she let on. "It's so odd, isn't it?" she whispered. "Sometimes, I wonder if people would see you differently if they knew the whole truth. Honestly, there's a quiet strength in your honesty—one that few among us possess."
Her words, warm and sincere, struck a chord deep within him—a reminder that perhaps his naturally honest nature was not entirely a curse. Even if countless tongues wagged in mockery, it also meant that his reputation was spreading, and with it, the promise of unforeseen opportunities. But beneath that gentle comfort lay an ever-present challenge: the challenge of managing a reputation that was both admired and reviled in equal measure.
"Thank you, Sister Xin," Fang Jinyu said finally, "for your kind words. I suppose I must learn to live with this label – to use it as both shield and weapon. For now, though, I have more pressing matters."
He glanced down at his notes and recalled that his true plan was to refine his Yuanling Pills. If he could produce even seven or eight of these miraculous pills, he was confident that within half a year he would break through to the third level of the Foundation Stage – a transformation that would not only bring him greater strength but also potentially silence his critics. The basic Yuanling Pill was renowned in the sect for its almost magical ability to catalyze such breakthroughs.
Yet his plans were again interrupted by the arrival of two new letters. One, as he knew well, was the battle declaration from Qin Haoyue, and the other, as mysterious as the summoning that had often haunted the lower halls of the sect, bore only the scrambling call: "Sage Brother, hurry to Spirit Beast Valley."
Once again, Fang Jinyu inquired of the Spirit Medicine Peak disciple who delivered the letters, "Who sent this second letter?"
The disciple's reply was as succinct as it was familiar: "Master Fang, it was sent by a few spirit sparrows with a trace of true spiritual insight."
That simple answer, echoing through the corridors of his mind, seemed to encapsulate everything that now defined his existence—a constant barrage of challenges, rumors, and tests that were as much a part of sect life as the ancient rites themselves.
In the quiet hours that followed, Fang Jinyu found himself sequestered in his study, pondering the swirling events. He thought back on the tedious and sometimes painful process of alchemy. The extra batch of Foundation Pills he had refined was both a triumph and a dilemma. On one hand, it proved his exceptional skill in alchemy—a nearly perfect success rate that, if revealed, could catapult his reputation to heights he had never desired. On the other hand, the surplus represented a dangerous vulnerability. In the volatile economy of the immortal world, such an abundance of precious pills could attract the greed and envy of rivals, and even a slight misstep in their handling could expose his secrets.
His mind raced with possibilities. "How can I dispose of these pills without drawing unwanted attention?" he wondered. Perhaps discreet auctions, carefully arranged exchanges, or even secret gifts among trusted allies might be the way forward. Each idea was weighed carefully against its potential to create further scandal. After all, if the true extent of his alchemical prowess were to become public knowledge, it might incite challenges from those who felt little more than envy, and even lead to covert plots by rival factions within the Heavenly Spirit Sect.
At the same time, the incessant chatter about his personal nature—the label of honesty—cluttered his thoughts. Was this not an absurd overreach? He had always done what was right, simply fulfilling his responsibilities without any ulterior motives. And yet, every action, every whispered word in the communal corridors of the sect, had been twisted until "being honest" had become a punchline and a burden all at once.
It was late one evening when, after a long day of experiments and secret planning, Fang Jinyu allowed himself to reflect on the curious duality of his situation. The moonlight spilled softly through the latticed windows of his study, painting everything in pale silver. In that quiet glow, he remembered his earlier days when his honest nature had shone through unadorned. Back then, a single misstep—one unwitting act of sincerity—could have been the difference between mere survival and extraordinary achievement. Now, that same quality was under constant attack, dissected and reassembled by idle gossip.
He wondered, "If only the world could see that honesty, when tempered with wisdom, is not a mark of weakness but of strength." And in that moment, although a small pang of bitterness flared, a determined spark ignited. "I will use this reputation to my advantage," he resolved silently. "Let them call me honest if they must—but I will show them that true strength lies in the courage to remain authentic in a world full of deceit."
In the weeks following this internal vow, Fang Jinyu diligently pursued his dual challenges: managing the surplus Foundation Pills and unraveling the origins of the rumor. Slowly, the network of gossip began to settle, and tangible leads started to emerge regarding the murmurings of his past. He learned that the initial seed of the rumor had indeed been planted by some senior cultivators who remembered him when he was still a humble disciple. Their recollections—though fond in their simplicity—had been magnified, thanks in large part to the intervention of the three guest officials who had earned notoriety for their aggressive attempts to absolve him of punishment by spreading his "heroic" deed.
At Divine Maiden Peak, where the air always seemed charged with secrets and half-spoken words, Fang Jinyu engaged in quiet conversations with several trusted senior disciples. They recounted how, in earlier times, he had once received a Foundation Fruit on a mission out of simple trust and performed his duty without diversion. That single action, over the years, had grown in the retelling until it took on mythic proportions. "They say that when you were entrusted with that fruit, you never once even considered betraying that trust," one elderly disciple recalled with a gentle smile. "That very act of loyalty defined you," another affirmed.
Even though such praise might seem positive on its face, Fang Jinyu found it strangely limiting. "I was just doing what was expected," he would say in private. But to many, that was the essence of his character. And since then, every deed—even those that were polite, honest, and unremarkable—had been woven into a tapestry of legend, a tapestry that both uplifted and burdened him with an identity he never asked for.
All the while, the specter of the surplus Foundation Pills grew more pressing. His alchemical experiments had turned out far better than anticipated, producing 213 refined pills while he had only intended to create just enough to complete the old Patriarch's task. Now, with over a hundred extra pills clutched in his hand, he was forced to confront a dilemma that was as much economic as it was personal. The Foundation Pill, renowned for its delicate nature, was said to maintain its miraculous properties only for a limited time—roughly two years with the best sealing methods known to the sect. Beyond that period, its potency would begin to wane, effectively rendering it nearly useless. "I cannot let these precious pills go to waste," he thought bitterly. "Yet, if I simply hold onto them, the truth of my perfection will become known, and envy will surely stir the hearts of rivals."
He contemplated every practical option: perhaps distributing them secretly to loyal friends, offering them as discreet gifts during private transactions, or even leveraging them to broker alliances within the sect. Each possibility was fraught with risks and consequences. In a world where even the slightest misstep could lead to ruin, every single decision was made with careful calculation.
In these moments of deep consideration, Fang Jinyu's thoughts repeatedly returned to the label of honesty that haunted him. It was perplexing how something so seemingly virtuous could be twisted into a source of mockery and frustration. "I have always followed my conscience," he reminded himself. "I have done nothing to earn such an epithet—yet here it is, echoing in every corridor and whispered in every conversation." This paradox gnawed at him until he finally resolved that, like all things in the immortal realm, reputation was simply a double-edged sword. It could be wielded wisely or become a crippling liability, and the onus was on him to master that art.
One bright morning, as the chill of early spring still lingered, Fang Jinyu finally decided to act. With deliberate purpose, he sent word to a few trusted allies, discreetly initiating a series of transactions designed to offload the surplus Foundation Pills one by one. The deals were arranged far away from the public eye—through secretive channels known only to those who belonged to a small inner circle of enlightened disciples. In private gatherings held at hidden corners of the sect, under dim lantern light and behind closed doors, he negotiated deals, each one carefully structured to maintain the confidentiality of his true alchemical prowess.
As deals were struck and pills exchanged for discreet promises of future favors, Fang Jinyu felt a cautious sense of relief. Yet, with every transaction, he remained ever aware that his perfection had been laid bare, even if only in fragments, to those who knew how to read between the lines. In a world where magic and alchemy were the currency of power, being known as an exceptionally skilled alchemist was as much a blessing as it was a curse. And so he guarded his secret with the diligence of a master tactician.
During one of these secret meetings at a remote pavilion hidden deep within the sect's gardens, he overheard a few influential disciples discussing his reputation. "They say that Junior Brother Fang is the very embodiment of honesty," one murmured, half in disbelief, half in admiration. "Yes," another replied, "but isn't it ironic? Such a quality can only be dangerous in our world."
Hearing this, Fang Jinyu felt a surge of conflicted emotion. Deep down, he knew that his unwavering nature had always been his truest asset, yet in this endless dance of intrigue and ambition, it was also the very thing that made him a target. "Perhaps," he thought, "it is time I show people that honesty, when combined with wisdom and strength, is not a liability but a virtue that surpasses mere trickery."
He resolved then that if the world would continue to label him as "honest," he would use that very label to earn respect—and, if necessary, to strike first when provoked. After all, reputation was nothing if not self-fulfilling, and he could decide what it meant for him.
Meanwhile, in another part of the sect, news of Fang Jinyu's dealings and the subtle changes in his character continued to trickle along the grapevine. Xin Qianqian, ever bright and inquisitive, found herself caught up in the swirl of gossip. Though part of her enjoyed the excitement of it all, she also felt a deep-seated curiosity about the real Fang Jinyu—the man who was so often accused of being overly honest. At times, she would find herself gazing at him with tender admiration, wondering if perhaps the very qualities that others scorned were the qualities that made him uniquely admirable. "I suppose," she mused to herself on more than one occasion, "if honesty truly is rare, then maybe it's not such a bad thing after all." But, at the same time, she resolved that once she herself achieved breakthrough and ascended to the Foundation Stage, she would not passively admire him anymore. There was a promise in her heart that equality in cultivation would demand more than idle affection—it would require decisive action.
Her thoughts meandered into secret fantasies, where she imagined herself as not only a breakthrough cultivator but as someone who could eventually take the initiative in matters of both martial and personal importance. "I'll even sneak a look at those forbidden manuscripts that Senior Sister has," she whispered inwardly, her cheeks flushing with excitement at the prospect. Such manuscripts, rumored to detail the most arcane cultivation techniques, held the promise of elevating her to heights yet unimagined.
But all these personal reveries had to be set aside. For his part, Fang Jinyu continued dutifully on his path. Returning to Lingyao Peak of the Spirit Medicine Realm after his brief detour, he refocused on his alchemical goals. His next major objective was the refinement of Yuanling Pills. According to sect tradition and ancient alchemical lore, if he could successfully produce even seven or eight Yuanling Pills, then within half a year his cultivation would burst forth, breaking through into the third level of the Foundation Stage. The magic of the basic Yuanling Pill was legendary, an almost mystical elixir that catalyzed growth beyond what was normally possible.
However, amidst the pressing demands of collecting rare auxiliary herbs and experimenting with various alchemical formulations, Fang Jinyu once again found his plans disrupted. Even before he had managed to harvest every necessary ingredient, two sealed letters appeared unexpectedly before him. The contents of the first were stark—a formal challenge, a war declaration from his perennial rival Qin Haoyue. That letter bore the unmistakable tone of someone who sought to settle scores through martial contest, to test Fang Jinyu's mettle in a direct confrontation.
The second letter was even more cryptic. Unadorned by a signature and written in hurried, almost crooked script, it contained only a single line: "Sage Brother, hurry to Spirit Beast Valley." Its message was sufficiently urgent and mysterious, compelling Fang Jinyu to immediately inquire of the disciple from Spirit Medicine Peak who had delivered it, "Who is responsible for sending this second message?"
The disciple responded simply, "Master Fang, it was delivered by a few spirit sparrows—creatures known to possess a subtle, heightened spiritual sensitivity."
That one brief answer, echoing the chorus of the unseen, seemed to capture the very essence of his current predicament—a convergence of long-held rivalries, unrelenting rumors, and the inexorable demands of cultivated power. In that moment, Fang Jinyu's mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions: annoyance at the rumor of his "honesty," determination to dispose of his surplus Foundation Pills without scandal, and a cautious alertness to the challenge now presented by Qin Haoyue's declaration of enmity.
He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as if to summon the clarity of a seasoned cultivator. "I have always done what was right," he silently assured himself. "Yet these seemingly trivial matters now threaten to define me." But deep inside, he also felt the stirrings of resolve. If destiny were to label him in any way, then he would let that label be his strength—a banner under which he would regroup, strike, and show that true sincerity, when backed by inner power, could overcome even the worst machinations of envy.
In the following days, as the challenges mounted and the internal politics of the Heavenly Spirit Sect churned with renewed vigor, Fang Jinyu began to put into motion his carefully devised plans. Each morning, he would wake with a steely determination, reviewing his strategies for both the surpluses in his alchemical experiments and the political games being played among his peers. His days were filled with rigorous lab work, discreet meetings in shadowy alcoves of the sect, and subtle exchanges with trusted allies. Each deal he struck regarding the surplus Foundation Pills was done in hushed tones in hidden corners, far from prying eyes, and always with the utmost care to conceal the true extent of his successful alchemy.
Yet, despite these efforts, the gossip continued unabated. Even as he managed the practical details of his work, whispers of his "unwavering honesty" spread through the corridors like an unstoppable tide. At times, Fang Jinyu had to pause amid his experiments to steel himself against the barrage of idle chatter. It was a constant reminder that no matter how diligent and careful he was, the nature of the realm he inhabited was such that even his most virtuous qualities could become instruments of ridicule.
One night, as he sat alone beneath the flickering light of an oil lamp in his small chamber, Fang Jinyu allowed himself a moment of introspection. The firelight danced across his thoughtful face, and in that quiet solitude he mulled over the irony of his situation. "I have always been true to myself," he whispered into the darkness, "but now that very truth is being weaponized against me." The resentment in his heart mingled with a grim determination—a resolve that he would not allow the labels imposed on him by petty gossip to derail his path.
In that moment, a flicker of inspiration sparked. If he could master the art of turning his reputation into a shield rather than a liability, then perhaps the very same honesty that others now mocked could become his greatest strength. With that thought in mind, he vowed to confront the challenge head-on. "Let them call me honest if they must," he resolved, "for I will learn to ensure that this truth transforms into an advantage rather than a weakness."
Little did he know that even as he was forming this internal vow, the currents of fate were aligning in unexpected ways. News of his actions—both his daring heart and his secret negotiations regarding the surplus Foundation Pills—reached even the loftiest corners of the sect's leadership. Rumors once again began to flow, this time mingling tales of his impeccable character with hints of a burgeoning ambition that could disrupt the delicate balance among the higher echelons of the Heavenly Spirit Sect.
Meanwhile, the battle declaration from Qin Haoyue stirred up a storm of anticipation. The challenge was not merely in the form of a letter; it was an overt provocation, a dare thrown at his feet in the hope of drawing him into an arena of martial contest where the strengths and weaknesses of the two rivals could be measured in full. Every detail of that letter bore the signature arrogance of Qin Haoyue—a man who had long sought to dominate his peers with a blend of ruthless cunning and sheer audacity. Fang Jinyu read the letter over and over, each time feeling a chill of excitement mixed with trepidation. He knew that accepting such a challenge could forever alter the way the sect viewed him, but if he refused, he might be branded a coward. It was a dilemma that weighed heavily on his mind.
Simultaneously, the mysterious unsigned letter from Spirit Beast Valley added another layer to the unfolding drama. The succinct directive—"Sage Brother, hurry to Spirit Beast Valley"—was like a clarion call that promised unforeseen trials and perhaps even hidden opportunities. Fang Jinyu wondered what new tasks awaited him there. Could it be another test set out by the Patriarch, or was it an opportunity to confront yet another rival? The uncertainty only deepened the complexity of his situation.
In the corridors of the sect, debates raged among those who knew him well. Some hailed his unwavering honesty as a bastion of virtue in a realm rife with duplicity, while others whispered that such simplicity was a dangerous naivety that left him exposed to the intricate plots of more ambitious cultivators. Every voice, every opinion, added to the mosaic of his reputation—a reputation now as multifaceted and unpredictable as the ever-shifting nature of spiritual energy itself.
As days turned into weeks, the challenges continued. Fang Jinyu's daily routine became a constant juggling act between refining his alchemical formulas, secretly negotiating the sale or barter of his surplus Foundation Pills, and cautiously investigating every scrap of gossip that might shed light on the origins of the "honest man" rumor. Despite the weariness that tugged at his shoulders and the constant pressure of maintaining secrecy about his true talent, he pressed on, determined to prove that the core of his being was not weak but resolute and adaptable.
During one particularly long night, as the sect's corridors lay silent except for the gentle hum of distant chanting and the rustle of ancient papers, Fang Jinyu sat by his window, staring out into the ink-black sky. He allowed his thoughts to wander freely, recalling the many times in his early career when he had embraced his honest nature without fear—times when his straightforward actions had earned him quiet respect among those few who truly valued integrity. But those days belonged to a past era, and now the realities of sect politics made him question whether that very trait was now a liability. "I must learn to adapt," he murmured, "to ensure that what once was my greatest virtue becomes the very foundation upon which I build my future."
He resolved to refine his methods, both in alchemy and in the subtle art of managing his reputation. In the days that followed, he began experimenting not just with new formulas for the Yuanling Pill, but also with ways to present himself differently in public. In discreet meetings with trusted disciples, he began to offer advice that was more measured, slightly tempered by caution so as not to reveal too much of his inner workings or true potential. He even started to hint at mysterious experiences and unpublished insights that only a cultivator of supreme caliber could possess—always careful, however, not to let his restraint slip.
This gradual transformation did not go unnoticed by those around him. Slowly, rumors evolved: now the chatter was not only that he was "honest" but that he also possessed a rare, enigmatic quality—a blend of humility and profound strength that hinted at a deeper well of mastery yet to be tapped. Some senior disciples remarked privately that his reputation was shifting, that the label "honest" was gradually being reinterpreted as a sign of quiet fortitude instead of naïveté. Though still a subject of discussion, Fang Jinyu's name began to evoke not just a simplistic picture of an upstanding man, but a more complex image: one of a cultivator who could weather both the pressures of internal politics and the fierce rigors of alchemical transformation.
And yet, even as he began to orchestrate these subtle changes, the challenge from Qin Haoyue loomed large. The day drew near when he would have to decide whether to accept the challenge or find some other means to defuse it. The war declaration, written in bold, uncompromising terms, promised a showdown that could raze alliances and force difficult choices. Every fiber of his being was tensed in anticipation, and every internal thought echoed with both determination and caution. "If I accept," he pondered, "then I reveal my true martial prowess—but if I decline, I risk being labeled weak and unworthy in the eyes of both rivals and friends."
In countless meditative evenings, he grappled with this dilemma. He would sit in the silent darkness of his inner sanctum, the only sound the distant murmur of wind through pine trees, and weigh the consequences in his mind. Images of past duels, of swift victories and crushing defeats, flashed by like visions. And always, beneath it all, lay the steady core of his being—the very honesty that so many now characterized him by.
Eventually, driven by a resolve that had been forged in both solitude and strife, Fang Jinyu decided that he would not shy away from his destiny. Whether by accepting a duel against Qin Haoyue or by maneuvering a more subtle contest of skill, he would demonstrate that what others considered "honest" was in truth a sign of his unyielding spirit and his readiness to face all challenges head on. With that decision, he sent word out through his discreet channels to the few who were privy to his inner plans.
At the same time, Xin Qianqian, whose admiration for him had only deepened throughout these turbulent days, continued her own quiet cultivation. Her challenges and breakthroughs, combined with the tender warmth she felt whenever she encountered him, formed a counterbalance to the harsh realities of sect rumors. In candid moments when they were alone, she would ask him about his plans and share her own secret hopes for future breakthroughs. And though their conversations often skirted around the painful subject of gossip, they also held the promise of an emerging partnership—a subtle, unspoken bond forged from mutual respect and the unyielding desire to overcome the challenges inherent in the immortal path.
One balmy afternoon, while the wind softly carried the scent of blooming lotuses through the corridors of Divine Maiden Peak, Xin Qianqian stepped forward with renewed determination. "Junior Brother Fang," she said quietly, "I've been thinking about all these rumors and the way people talk. I know it must be hard for you to bear, and yet I see something admirable in the way you remain steadfast. If there is any way I can help you clear your name—or at least help you understand these whispers—please tell me."
Fang Jinyu looked at her intently, the soft glow of the setting sun outlining his features. "Sister Xin," he replied, "I appreciate your concern. Truly, I have often wondered whether these rumors are more dangerous than they seem. In our world, even a simple quality can be manipulated and turned into a weapon against you. But I have made my peace with it—for now. My focus must remain on the work before me, and on the challenges that lie ahead."
Her eyes, filled with a blend of admiration and gentle mischief, shone brighter. "I know, Junior Brother. But sometimes, clarity can come from the simplest of conversations. Perhaps one day, once I have my own breakthroughs, we can work together to set the record straight."
Though the conversation meandered from the contentious topic of his reputation to plans for the future, one thing was clear: Fang Jinyu's journey was now even more complex than ever. The path laid out before him was laden with both personal trials and external challenges—from the unyielding expectations of his inherent honesty to the competitive pressures of refining mystical pills and contending with rival cultivators who sought to exploit every perceived flaw.
In the midst of all this, the two letters he had received loomed like dark omens. The formal challenge from Qin Haoyue promised a battlefield where martial skill and internal energy would be tested to their limits, while the cryptic call to Spirit Beast Valley hinted at further missions—missions that might hold clues to unlocking even deeper secrets of the sect or even the mysterious forces of fate that governed their world.
Through it all, Fang Jinyu steeled himself. Every new challenge, every piece of gossip, was merely another aspect of the intricate tapestry that was his destiny. He knew that to survive in the Heavenly Spirit Sect, he must always transform every hardship into a stepping stone toward greater power. And so, even as his heart ached with the weight of unwanted labels and as his mind raced over the countless strategies to manage his surpluses in alchemy, he vowed to use his reputation—however twisted by rumor—as a tool for forging his future.
Over the following weeks, while the rumor continued to swirl and the challenge from Qin Haoyue grew ever more insistent, Fang Jinyu's reputation began to take on new layers. Some among the senior disciples began to quietly admire him, not just for his unassailable honesty, but for the courage with which he faced every trial. They whispered that his very integrity was a sign that true strength did not always come cloaked in guile. And though many still mocked him for being "too honest," there were those who recognized that in a world rife with deception, his steadfastness was both rare and worthy of respect.
Meanwhile, the practicalities of alchemy marched on. Fang Jinyu's efforts to refine the Yuanling Pill advanced steadily, even as he juggled the delicate art of managing his surplus Foundation Pills. Day by day, he experimented, calculated, and negotiated with trusted partners in secret. Every new batch of alchemical results, every discreet deal concluded behind closed doors, was a measured step toward not only strengthening his cultivation but also consolidating his hidden power.
And then came the day when, after much anticipation, Fang Jinyu's efforts bore fruit. On a crisp morning, with the fragrance of fresh earth and blooming herbs permeating the air, he finally produced the critical number of Yuanling Pills. The sight of these miraculous elixirs was a triumph—a visible record of his mastery—and the promise that he would soon break through to the next level of the Foundation Stage. The success filled him with a cautious optimism, tempered by the realization that every victory was fleeting in the ever-shifting world of the Heavenly Spirit Sect.
Yet, even as celebration stirred within him, the letters still awaited resolution. Qin Haoyue's challenge was a call to arms, while the unsigned summons beckoned him to Spirit Beast Valley—each letter a testament to the turbulent times that defined his current existence. With a deep breath and that familiar determination burning in his eyes, Fang Jinyu resolved that he would confront these challenges in turn. He would meet Qin Haoyue on equal footing and, where circumstances allowed, use the opportunity to reveal that his so-called "honesty" was merely the foundation of an unbreakable will.
After sending his most trusted disciple with orders to arrange the meeting with Qin Haoyue, Fang Jinyu turned his attention to the mysterious call from Spirit Beast Valley. It was said that the valley was a place of rare spiritual manifestations—a realm where the boundary between the mundane and the magical was thin. Perhaps, he thought, this would be the arena where new secrets of cultivation disclosed themselves; perhaps it would offer him clues to further refine not only his alchemy but the very essence of his spirit.
On the eve of his departure, as the cold night pressed in around him and the stars shimmered like distant promises, Fang Jinyu took one last look at his neatly arranged workbench. There, among the vials and scrolls, lay not only the fruits of his labor but also the quiet hope that even in a world where every perceived flaw was exploited by rivals, his inner strength would lead him to ever greater heights. "I will show them all," he vowed softly, "that honesty, tempered by wisdom and resolve, is not a weakness but the very essence of true strength."
With that quiet promise echoing in his heart, Fang Jinyu stepped out into the night, ready to face whatever destiny had in store—whether that meant a duel with a rival of ruthless ambition, a clandestine journey into the mystical depths of Spirit Beast Valley, or the continued quiet success of refining elixirs that could change the course of his cultivation forever.
Thus concludes the expanded translation of the passage. In this retelling, we follow Fang Jinyu as he grapples with the absurd rumor that labels him as "too honest," the gentle teasing and genuine concern of his close acquaintances like Xin Qianqian and Du Man'er, and his own internal struggle as he balances responsibility with reputation. Every conversation, every internal reflection, is imbued with the complexities of life in the Heavenly Spirit Sect—a world where even the purest traits can become both a blessing and a burden. It is a realm abounding in intricate interpersonal dynamics, where the smallest act of sincerity is amplified by fervent gossip and where every cultivated virtue must be wielded with both caution and pride.
At its core, Fang Jinyu's journey is one of overcoming not only external challenges—ruthless encounters with rival cultivators, treacherous political games, and grueling physical tasks—but also the inner turmoil of defining oneself in a tradition steeped in inherited expectations and unyielding laws. As he moves forward, whether by dealing with Qin Haoyue's challenge or by using his unmatched alchemical prowess to refine the miraculous Yuanling Pill, he does so with a quiet acknowledgement of the irony that has made him both respected and mocked. His path, although beset by rumors and doubling responsibilities, is also paved with the promise of transformation—a promise that, in the immortal world, each hardship may ultimately pave the way for unprecedented strength.
In the end, Fang Jinyu's resolve, forged in the crucible of both external conflict and internal reflection, stands as a testament to the complexity of cultivation. His story reminds us that in a realm filled with deception and endless competition, true power lies not in counterfeit cleverness but in the unadulterated, steadfast courage to remain oneself—even when the world insists on labeling that very authenticity as a flaw. And with every step he takes, every challenge he meets, he redefines what it means to be a cultivator in the Heavenly Spirit Sect—a cultivator whose quiet honesty is not a hindrance but a foundation upon which the grand edifice of power is built.