A long wind ran for a hundred thousand li, sweeping through a boundless sea of clouds.
Dishitian. Sword Immortal Sect. Piaomiao Mountain.
On top of Spirit Vulture Rock, a young man sat cross-legged in meditation.
He had clear brows, clean features, a face almost too mild for this world of cultivators. Sitting there in that cold immortal mist, he looked out of place, like a man dropped into the wrong life.
Below the rock, a few Sword Immortal Sect disciples stood together, pointing at him and sneering without trying to hide it.
“Little Martial Uncle is cultivating again?”
“Little Martial Uncle?” one disciple said with a cold laugh. It was Aldous Blackthorn, and contempt was written all over his face. “That trash is worthy of that title?”
“Trash?”
“You forgot what happened ten years ago?” Aldous curled his lip and spoke louder, as if afraid others might miss a chance to mock. “Dreadmaw Bloodmantle set his eyes on our Sword Immortal Sect’s spirit mountain and blessed land. He picked the very day the nine Martial Uncles were all getting married and led a full invasion. Back then, our grandmaster and the nine great Martial Uncles joined hands, blew their own dantians apart, and forced out the Myriad Swords Mountain and River Grand Array. That was the only reason the mountain gate survived.”
He gave a harsh snort.
“And Tristan Leafwood? He did nothing. Nothing at all. Got struck by lightning, ruined his spirit root, and turned into a complete cripple.”
Another disciple picked up the thread at once, his tone dripping with scorn.
“This waste puts on a show every day, sitting here like he’s really cultivating. In the end, he’s still a waste. He only gets by because his sisters-in-law shield him. A proper kept man. The king of living off soft rice.”
“Shh! Keep your voice down!” someone hurriedly warned. “If the Sect Master hears this, you and I are finished.”
Only then did the few disciples shrink their necks and leave in a hurry.
On the rock, the “Little Martial Uncle” remained still as a mountain.
As if he had heard none of it.
As if those cold jabs had never reached his ears.
Then, in his mind, a crisp and sweet female voice rang out.
“Ding-dong… Daily check-in successful!”
Only after hearing that voice did Tristan Leafwood finally loosen up. The strength seemed to drain from his body at once, and he flopped back against the stone, long and limp.
He was not from this cultivation world.
Ten years ago, he had crossed over here from the modern world.
And the moment he arrived, he had walked straight into a war between immortals and demons.
The Blood Demon Sect had come out in full force. The Sword Immortal Sect had fought like men driven to the wall.
Nascent Soul experts churned rivers and seas with a lift of the hand.
Ancient monsters of the Divine Transformation realm tore open the sky itself.
The Sword Immortal Sect had been on the brink of destruction.
At that last desperate moment, his master and the nine direct disciples joined hands, detonated their dantians, and forcibly activated the Myriad Swords Mountain and River Grand Array!
All of space and time split wide open.
The cultivation world and the mortal world slammed into each other in an instant.
Tristan Leafwood came with that bolt of lightning...
And by some damned miracle, it struck Dreadmaw Bloodmantle right on the head.
Dreadmaw Bloodmantle was blasted black outside, cooked inside, badly wounded on the spot, and fled in miserable defeat.
The junior disciple who looked exactly like Tristan Leafwood, and was also named Tristan Leafwood, had no such luck. He was struck dead where he stood, body gone, soul scattered.
So Tristan took his place and became the only remaining second-generation disciple left in the sect.
Only...
He had no “spiritual root” at all.
In the cultivation world, no spiritual root meant no cultivation. That was no different from a man missing the one thing that made him a man. What was there left to play with?
Good thing he had come through with a system.
The system left him just one line:
“Check in for ten years, and karma will come.”
After that, no matter how he called for it, cursed at it, or begged it, the thing stayed dead silent.
For ten full years, Tristan Leafwood kept going to Lingjiu Stone every single day, through wind and rain, to punch in and check in.
“I did it! I finally held out for ten years!”
At this moment, Tristan’s eyes turned red with emotion. He was so worked up he almost cried for real.
He stared ahead, waiting like a starving man watching a pot, hoping the system would finally hand him this so-called “karma.”
Best case?
A heaven-defying cheat that would let him become a god with a single thought.
Fine. If not that, then at least a one-click cultivation function.
Hell, even ten thousand years of cultivation would do!
A cup of tea passed...
Then an incense stick...
Then a full shichen...
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Tristan Leafwood stood there dumbstruck, eyes a little blank.
“That’s it?”
Ten whole years.
Ten years of clocking in day after day, and in the end he got jack shit?
His face darkened on the spot. He nearly bit the words out.
“You damn scam system. No honor at all.”
Just then, a slender hand, smooth as warm jade, came down and rested on his head.
A soft fragrance drifted over him. Not quite musk, not quite orchid from some deep mountain vale. Rich, cool, and mature. It slipped straight into the chest and stirred the heart.
At some point, a woman had appeared beside him.
She stood there like an empress fallen into the mortal world, but with the cold grace of an immortal. Her long black hair was loosely gathered into a phoenix coiffure. A few strands hung lazy by her cheeks. Her bearing was noble, her figure swaying with quiet charm, every movement full of power and ease.
Tristan’s scalp tingled. He jumped.
“Ah? Big Sister-in-law?”
The next breath, the whole mood shattered.
That beautiful jade-like hand shot out and pinched his cheek hard.
“Little brother-in-law, you’re too cute. Hehe. The moment I saw you, I couldn’t hold back. I adore you to death. This face, this skin...”
Evangeline Leafwood went straight into a full storm of pampering, kneading and pinching him without mercy.
Tristan’s hair was soon a mess, his bun half ruined. He struggled like always and cried out in protest,
“Big Sister-in-law, have some restraint! Someone might see!”
The immortal woman who started touching him the moment she appeared was none other than the Sect Master of Sword Immortal Sect, the Nine Heavens Mystic Maiden, Evangeline Leafwood.
She only smiled, lazy and calm, still squeezing his face.
“Relax. I already cast an Illusion Form Spell. With my cultivation, no one can see us.”
“...”
The sister-in-law and brother-in-law messed around for a bit, neither giving an inch. Evangeline Leafwood did as she pleased. Tristan Leafwood wasn’t the type to take a loss either.
Then Evangeline straightened, the playful look fading from her face.
“Who were you calling shameless just now?” she asked, voice turning cold and sharp. “Did someone start wagging their tongue at you again? If so, this Sovereign will punish him hard.”
Tristan looked broad-minded, all easy smiles.
“It’s nothing. Aldous Blackthorn, one of Ashton Blackthorn’s disciples. I’m his martial uncle. Why would I stoop to his level? Hah…”
Evangeline’s brow lifted.
She flicked a finger.
A peak Nascent Soul old monster. Divine Finger Snap!
“AAAH!”
From far off, Aldous Blackthorn’s scream tore through the air, shrill and broken like a pig being butchered.
Tristan put on a mournful face, as if he could not bear it.
“Big Sister-in-law, calm your anger. He only said you were a tigress…”
“What?” The Sect Master snapped her finger again.
“AHH! Sect Master, spare me!” The cry turned even more miserable.
“Oh, right, my mistake,” Tristan said, blinking. “He also said your peaks were sagging.”
“Hm?” Rage flashed across the empress’s face. Her phoenix eyes went icy. Snap. Snap. Snap.
“AAAAH!”
That scream came out even worse than before, like his soul was being ripped loose.
“Oh, oh, let him off,” Tristan said again, sounding almost kind. “He only called me a trash waste, that’s all.”
“Hm?” Evangeline’s eyes turned colder still.
He dared curse him?
That made her even angrier.
Snap. Snap. Snap-snap-snap!
The screams kept coming... then stopped.
Aldous Blackthorn convulsed all over, gravely wounded, and dropped flat on the ground.
The disciples nearby stood stiff as boards, not daring to breathe too loud.
Evangeline Leafwood’s eyes turned red at once. She looked at Tristan Leafwood, and the pain in her gaze was plain as day.
“Tristan, you’ve suffered.” Her voice softened, but there was iron under it. “You may not be able to cultivate, but no one knows better than us how much you gave to the sect. How much you endured. How much you did.”
Tristan looked over at Aldous Blackthorn, who had dropped flat on the spot, and a crooked, wicked grin spread across his face.
Damn.
So what if he couldn’t cultivate?
He had nine sisters-in-law, every one of them peerless, fierce, and terrifyingly strong.
His eldest sister-in-law, Evangeline Leafwood, was a domineering empress through and through.
His second sister-in-law, Rosalynn Leafwood, was sharp-minded and full of schemes.
His third sister-in-law, Rosalind Leafwood, held the household together with a steady hand.
His fourth sister-in-law, Clara Leafwood, excelled at alchemy.
His fifth sister-in-law, Calista Leafwood, was unmatched in poison arts.
His sixth sister-in-law, Abby Leafwood, was skilled in artifact forging.
His seventh sister-in-law, Amy Leafwood, was a peerless assassin.
His eighth sister-in-law, Seraphel Leafwood, was the lady ruler of Qingqiu.
His ninth sister-in-law, Arabella Leafwood, was the greatest beauty in all the Four Seas and Eight Wastelands.
And the most outrageous part?
Every last one of them spoiled him rotten. Doted on him like he was treasure.
He, Tristan Leafwood, was the number one kept man in the cultivation world.
Who dared object?
Ten years ago, under Master’s careful arrangement, nine fairy maidens from nine different immortal sects—each one stunning, each one heaven-blessed, each one a rare genius—were married on the same day to the nine senior brothers.
The wedding had barely begun when Dreadmaw Bloodmantle came in force and threw Sword Immortal Sect under siege.
Master and the nine doomed senior brothers fought the demonic sect in a bloody battle.
Every one of them fell.
The nine sisters-in-law had just crossed the threshold, and in the blink of an eye, they were widows.
When Tristan had stumbled into this world, a bolt of heavenly lightning had come down with him and, by blind luck, struck Dreadmaw Bloodmantle.
Back then, all nine sisters-in-law had believed the same thing—
Tristan was the great hero who saved the sect.
After that, Tristan and the nine sisters-in-law stood shoulder to shoulder and held up the whole situation together. If not for them, Sword Immortal Sect would have collapsed long ago.
For ten years, the nine fairy maidens and Tristan had relied on one another for life, weathered hardship together, and built bonds deeper than blood. Though they were in-laws, their affection ran deep.
Then suddenly, Tristan’s body jolted.
A voice he had not heard in ages rang out in his mind again.
“Congratulations! Ten years of daily check-in completed successfully!”
“[God-Level Choice System] has awakened!”
“You have triggered a random choice mission!”
“Mission content:
A. [Beast, you damned beast] Hug Evangeline Leafwood tight.
B. [Worse than a beast] Do nothing.”
“Choose A and finish the task. Reward: one spirit root. Choose B, and this system shuts down forever.”
“Note: the longer and tighter the hug, the higher the grade of the spirit root.”
Tristan Leafwood froze on the spot.
“...”
Then his face twitched hard.
This damned system.
Shameless. Flat-out shameless.
It actually wanted him to do something this thick-skinned?
Evangeline Leafwood was the sister-in-law who doted on him most. In this life, she was the kin closest to his heart.
Did it really think he would stoop to something so beastly just for one lousy spirit root?
Uh.
Tristan Leafwood took exactly 0.001 seconds to make up his mind.
System... damn, that smells good.
Big Sister-in-law, forgive me.
Compared with being a beast without a root, he would rather be a beast with one.