Floating Cloud City, Drunken Fragrance Tower.

On the stage, seven gorgeous dancers swayed their slim waists and moved like drifting petals.

Everett Blackwell lay slack in a beauty’s arms, drunk enough for his eyes to blur. A veil of pale violet gauze brushed lightly across his cheek. The faint scent of powder and rouge slipped into his nose, clean and soft, enough to make a man’s bones go loose.

A small fair hand trailed gently across his face.

“Master Huo, the dance you arranged is truly lovely,” the girl said with a sweet laugh. She pinched up a grape, placed it between her lips, then slowly lowered her head and fed it into Everett’s mouth.

Another girl got jealous at once. “Master Huo, you can’t favor one and neglect the rest.”

She dropped to her knees on the soft cushion, leaned over, and brought the wine cup to his lips.

Everett narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth. Wine ran down the corner of his lips. Then he suddenly sat up, threw an arm around each of the girls beside him, and rubbed his nose against their faces, one after the other.

A moment later, he caught hold of a little foot. The skin was pale and smooth, with faint blue veins barely showing beneath it. Her rounded toes looked like pearls laid on white jade.

“Hahaha! Master Huo, don’t! It tickles!”

The girl twisted and writhed in his hands. Everett laughed and hauled her into his arms.

Right then, he truly understood what it meant to lie drunk on a beauty’s lap.

He had crossed into a world of immortals and martial wonders, become the Sect Master of Bashan Sect, and now he had warm, fragrant women in his arms too.

Everett Blackwell had slogged like a beast of burden for half his life. At last, heaven had shown him a scrap of mercy. Feeling that soft body pressed against him, what was there left to say?

Bliss like this made a man forget every road home.

Then, all at once, a shrill voice tore the mood to pieces.

“Sect Master, bad news!”

The newcomer slammed the door open, caught his foot on the threshold, and tumbled headlong in. His round body rolled twice across the floor before stopping right in front of Everett.

“Sect Master, Lucius Greystone has brought a group of inner sect disciples and gathered outside the main hall. They’re forcing the palace—they mean to force you to abdicate!”

Everett’s brow tightened. He swayed to his feet, the drunken haze on his face thinning at once.

“Lucius Greystone?” His expression sank. “What the hell does he want?”

The man leaned in and dropped his voice. “I heard Lucius Greystone wants you to step down…”

Everett Blackwell’s face changed on the spot. Half his drunken haze vanished. He shook his head hard and started cursing.

“That old bastard… damn him. Quick. We’re going back.”

The shapely girls sprang up at once, one on each side, clinging to his arms.

“Master Huo, don’t go. Let the music play, let the dance go on.”

“Next time… next time for sure.”

“Then it’s a promise, Master Huo. Next time, you still have to teach us sisters ‘Subject Three.’”

“Easy, easy.”

He walked out of Zuixiang Tower reeking of rouge and perfume, climbed into the carriage, and by then most of the wine had burned out of his head.

The carriage tore down the road.

Inside, Everett Blackwell propped his chin on one hand and fell into thought.

This was his second month in this world.

In his last life, he had been a somewhat known game streamer. Young, tough, thought his body could take anything. So he streamed for forty straight hours and then… well, that was that.

When he opened his eyes again, he had become the young sect master of Bashing Sect, a second-rate sect.

At first, he had been worried sick that someone would see through him.

In the end, before he even had time to panic, the original body’s sect master father dropped dead that very day.

Before the old sect master died, he shoved Bashing Sect into Everett Blackwell’s hands and left behind one last line—

“My son, Huo Hai, bears the makings of a Great Emperor!”

Everett Blackwell had been completely at a loss.

Then, out of nowhere, he got bound to the [Shared Branches System].

[Congratulations, Host, on taking over Bashing Sect. From this day onward, if Bashing Sect prospers, Host will gain Luck Value, which can be used to raise cultivation and receive mastered martial arts through direct infusion.]

[If Bashing Sect declines from this point on, Host will unlock the ‘After Extreme Misfortune Comes Fortune’ achievement, prove the Dao of the Emperor Realm, and return to Blue Star.]

A chance to rise in one step and reach the heavens—only an idiot would choose to work himself to the bone.

Besides, Bashing Sect was already a rotten mess.

Everett Blackwell knew his own limits. Asking him to build Bashing Sect into something great?

That was pure lunacy.

So for two whole months, he had done nothing but squander and drift, drinking, feasting, chasing pleasure every day, never once bothering with sect affairs.

In the fine craft of squandering a family fortune, Everett Blackwell could be called tireless. Diligent, even.

And now someone wanted to kick him off the Sect Master’s seat.

“No... no way.”

“That seat stays with me.”

“No one in this whole mountain knows how to burn through a sect’s foundations better than I do.”

“What if the next Sect Master actually has some skill?”

“Worst of all, if Bashan Sect just keeps muddling along as it is, then I get nothing out of this...”

The more he thought, the clearer his head became.

...

Bashan Sect. Qingfeng Hall.

A middle-aged man in a deep purple long robe stood before the hall. He wore a pointed goatee, his face stiff as carved stone, his lids lowered, but the chill in his bearing did not soften one bit.

That was Lucius Greystone.

Behind him stood a crowd of inner sect disciples, seventeen or eighteen of them. They had been waiting a long while, and it showed. Faces dark. Brows knotted. Patience long gone.

One disciple snorted.

“Hmph. That bastard Everett Blackwell’s got some nerve, making us wait this long.”

Another gave a cold laugh.

“You don’t know the half of it, Senior Brother Zhao. That man spends every night in brothels, drinking and listening to songs.”

Someone cursed under his breath, anger rising straight into his face.

“The old Sect Master was blind. How could he hand Bashan Sect over to Everett Blackwell?”

Another stepped forward half a pace, voice hard as iron.

“Today, no matter what, he has to hand over the Sect Master Token. Bashan Sect cannot be ruined in that dog’s hands.”

The air outside Qingfeng Hall had already gone taut. It felt like a bowstring drawn to the limit. Just one touch, and it would snap.

Then suddenly, someone shouted—

“Everett Blackwell is here!”

The crowd turned as one.

Their eyes all dropped down the stone steps, looking from above at the man in white climbing up.

Everett Blackwell came with a grin spread all over his face, like he was here for a feast, not a forced abdication. Behind him followed a plump man with his head lowered, sticking close step by step.

That was Percy Bonham.

Everett lifted a hand and waved at the disciples as if greeting old friends.

“Oh? Quite a crowd today.” He smiled broadly. “Hello, everyone.”

What answered him was a wall of furious eyes.

Everett Blackwell clicked his tongue and gave a lazy snort. “Tch. Rude lot.”

He could not be bothered to waste more words on them.

Lucius Greystone slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was dim, deep, hard to read as it settled on Everett.

Then the smell hit him first—wine, thick and sharp, mixed with the cloying scent of rouge and perfume still hanging on Everett’s clothes.

Lucius Greystone tugged at the corner of his mouth and let out a cold huff.

“The Sect Master is in fine spirits, I see.”

Everett looked at him and gave a dry cough.

“If the Third Elder had business with me, you should’ve sent word ahead.”

Before Lucius Greystone could speak, a disciple in green behind him stepped forward and barked, “Hmph! Everett Blackwell, what airs you put on. My master wants to see you, and you still expect advance notice?”

Everett turned his head and looked at the speaker. His eyes went cold at once.

Then he flicked a glance at the plump man behind him and snapped, “Percy Bonham. Slap him.”

Percy Bonham froze for a beat. Then he raised his hand and smacked himself across the face.

A crisp slap rang out.

At once, a bright red handprint bloomed on his fair, fleshy cheek.

Everett: “…”

His face darkened. Lowering his voice, he hissed, “Are you sick in the head? I told you to slap him.”

Percy Bonham scratched his head, looked left, looked right, and muttered in a small voice, “Then... you should’ve said it clearer…”

Everett let out a long breath, too tired to curse him further. He lifted his robe and strode into Qingfeng Hall.

“If there’s something to say, come inside and say it.”

The disciples all turned to Lucius Greystone.

Lucius Greystone stood silent for a moment, then followed him in.

The rest filed in after him.

Inside the broad hall, Everett kept walking straight ahead. Step by step, he mounted the stairs and sat down in the high seat.

Once he sat above them and looked down, something about him changed.

Whether real or not, a trace of pressure rose around him out of nowhere. Before all those eyes, he suddenly carried a little more weight.

He opened his mouth at last, slow and steady, and his voice rolled through the great hall.

“Lucius Greystone,” Everett Blackwell said, “say it plain. You brought disciples of my Bashan Sect here. What are you after?”

Lucius Greystone narrowed his eyes. He said nothing.

A disciple behind him stepped out at once, moving two paces to the side as if he had been waiting for that cue.

“Everett Blackwell, your talent is mediocre, your heart is crooked, you drown yourself in women and wine. You’re not fit to sit in that seat!”

Another disciple followed right behind him, voice sharp and loud.

“That’s right! Everett Blackwell, you care nothing for the sect’s affairs. If this goes on, Bashan Sect will rot sooner or later!”

The moment he heard that, Everett’s eyes lit up.

“Is that so?”

The disciple froze for a breath, clearly thrown off. Then he stiffened his neck and barked, “Of course it is! I advise you to step down while you still can. The capable should take the position!”

Everett only smiled, faint and loose. He leaned forward in his chair and looked straight at the one speaking.

“Then tell me,” he said, “who exactly is this capable man?”

The disciple’s eyes flicked toward Lucius Greystone by instinct. Then he jerked them back and forced a stern face.

“Who else? Naturally, the Third Elder!”

Everett’s gaze shifted and landed on Lucius Greystone, who still stood there calm as an old well, not a ripple on his face. Everett gave a short laugh.

“No wonder the Third Elder hasn’t said a word. Turns out he brought someone to do the talking for him.” He paused, lips curling. “Lucius Greystone, if you want to be Sect Master, just say it. Why put on this whole show?”

Lucius Greystone’s brows drew together slightly. He had not expected Everett Blackwell to rip the mask off so bluntly. Still, the fire had already been fanned this far. There was no point shrinking back now.

“The disciples only said that the capable should hold the seat,” Lucius Greystone said in an even voice. “But Bashan Sect has withered in your hands. Talented men are fading, and no rising junior has appeared…”

He lifted his chin a little, righteous and composed.

“If the sect has no worthy man to stand up for it, then I cannot avoid my duty. I can temporarily take the position of Sect Master. Even if I must exhaust my heart and spill my blood, I will stop this decline—”

Before he could finish, Everett cut him off.

“So after all that, you still want to be Sect Master.”

Lucius Greystone’s eyes turned cold and hard, sharp as hooked blades.

Everett, however, just dropped back into his chair, stretched himself against it, and let out a sneer.

“But I’m not giving it to you.”

The crowd looked at one another. Then Lucius Greystone’s face dropped on the spot, dark as iron.

“Everett Blackwell, you... you shameless bastard!”

“That’s right! We’ve already laid it out this clearly, and you still have the nerve to squat on the Sect Master’s seat?”

Everett Blackwell got to his feet and gave a loose, careless grin, like none of this touched him.

“Doesn’t matter. The Sect Master Token is in my hand. If I don’t hand it over, what, you lot dare snatch it?” He spread his hands. “If you’re unhappy, then leave Bashan Sect.”

“This token was given to me by my father. As long as I’m not dead, the position of Sect Master is mine.”

When he said the last line, he stepped forward a few paces. The lazy look on his face thinned out. His eyes turned cold.

“Not convinced? Swallow it.”

That one round of words from Everett Blackwell slammed into the hall like a rock into oil. For a breath, everyone fell silent.

Then the whole place blew up.

“Everett Blackwell, you have no shame at all!”

“Do you not know your own worth? Today, we’ll force you to hand over the Sect Master Token. What can you do about it?”

“Senior brothers, junior brothers!” one disciple shouted, chest heaving, face red with anger. “I am a disciple of Bashan Sect. Today, I’ll cast aside rank, cast aside rules. For the sake of Bashan Sect, even if I’m cursed by all, even if I’m expelled from the sect, I’ll still offend you!”

The moment he finished, a whole pack of disciples really started walking toward Everett Blackwell.

Everett Blackwell’s expression changed at once. He quickly backed up two steps.

“You... you’re serious?!”

A disciple let out a cold snort. “Since you refuse to leave with dignity, we’ll just have to help you find some!”

Looking at those fierce faces, those eyes flashing with ugly intent as the disciples closed in step by step, Everett Blackwell’s scalp went numb.

By all rights, he was the Sect Master. So long as he did not personally hand over the Sect Master Token, nobody should have been able to drag him down from that seat.

But the damned truth was right in front of him.

These bastards were rebelling outright.

No reason. No rules. Just force.

Just then, a longsword tore in through the doorway, dragging a streak of azure sword-light behind it. With a sharp clang, it rammed into a pillar.

The sword edge hummed, hard and sharp. A blast of force burst out with it and slammed into the disciples closing in on Everett Blackwell, knocking the whole bunch back several steps on the spot.

Faces changed at once.

Shock flashed across every eye. Even Lucius Greystone’s expression stiffened.

Outside the hall, the person had not yet arrived, but the voice had already crashed in first, cold as steel and loud as thunder.

“Any who dare offend their superior shall be slain!

As long as I stand here, who among you dares!”

Then she appeared.

Her black hair was bound high, neat and clean. Silver armor hugged her figure, bright and cold, throwing back a harsh light. She stood tall and straight, valiant as a drawn blade. The whole air around her seemed to tighten the moment she stepped in.

Everett Blackwell looked up and nearly laughed from sheer relief. Joy hit him right in the chest.

“My wife— come on, back your husband up!”