Midnight. A jagged sliver of moon hung askew in the sky, its pale light struggling against the encroaching dark. Below, the Cauldron Pool lay still, a mirror of cold obsidian reflecting the fractured heavens. The only sound was the rhythmic drone of cicadas, amplifying the oppressive silence of the mountains.
A carriage convoy wound its way along the narrow foothills, the rumble of wheels crushing the stillness. It was no ordinary procession; the guards flanking the ornate vehicles were exclusively women, their expressions hard and eyes sharp.
A curtain on the lead carriage lifted, revealing a young girl. She was barely on the cusp of womanhood, yet her features already promised a devastating beauty. Her large, luminous eyes fixed on the pool outside.
"Master, Master," she chirped, her voice shattering the quiet like a silver bell. "Is that the fabled Cauldron Pool?"
Beside her reclined a woman, her face veiled in light gauze. She had been resting, eyes closed, but at the girl's question, her lashes fluttered. She cast a languid, misty glance out the window and sighed. "It is."
"They say it's a holy site, always guarded," the girl pressed, scanning the empty banks. "But there's not a soul in sight."
"Holy? A fairy tale for the gullible," the woman scoffed, a hint of mockery in her voice. "Guards were stationed here once, true. Centuries ago, when the Great Cauldron fell from the heavens and birthed this pool, the water was infused with leaking spiritual essence. The Imperial Family fenced it off for their own cultivation. But a thousand years is a long time. The essence has long since dissipated. It's just a stagnant pond now. The Royals lost interest a century ago."
"Truly? No magic left at all?" The girl sounded disappointed.
"None." The woman shot her a knowing look. "You just want a bath, don't you?"
Caught, the girl giggled, her innocence melting into a precocious, almost eerie charm. She leaned against her master. "You know me best, Master. We've been traveling for a day and a night. I feel... sticky."
"Your cultivation keeps dust from your skin. How can you be sticky?"
The girl's eyes danced with a mischievous light. "I'm sticky with longing for a man..."
She couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen, yet in that moment, she radiated the aura of a femme fatale, a dangerous siren in the making. It was a line no ordinary child would speak, yet the woman didn't scold her. Instead, she laughed softly.
"Fine. You just have a fastidious nature. We'll stop for a moment. I'll join you."
The convoy halted. Female guards melted into the shadows, securing the perimeter. The woman took the girl's hand, and together, barefoot, they stepped out onto the grass. Under the moonlight, their robes fluttered like ethereal wings. They moved towards the water, two silhouettes of dreamlike beauty treading on starlight.
Gauze robes fell to the grass. Two bodies, sculpted from moonlight and white jade, waded into the icy water.
"Master..." the girl whispered, tracing the water with a pale arm. "Nine Cauldrons suppress the world. Peace has reigned for a millennium. Can our ambition truly be realized?"
"The Cauldrons are dead objects. If the world were truly stable, the Great Sects wouldn't be growing like cancer, uncontrollable by the throne," the woman replied indifferently. She removed her veil, washing it in the water, revealing a face that could topple empires.
She looked no older than twenty-six, her beauty possessing a mature, intoxicating venom that her disciple lacked. It was a face that had seen blood and fire, noble yet demonic.
"You're so beautiful, Master," the girl said wistfully. "Countless men must have gone mad for you."
"Men are lowly creatures. They go mad only for what they cannot touch. Remember this, Chan'er: feelings are toys. Play with them, but never let them become real. If you do, you will be the one who goes mad."
"Furthermore," the woman continued, dragging a wet hand over the girl's developing chest, "seduction is for the lower disciples. We bear the weight of the Sect. If a man looks at you, gouge his eyes out. That is your role."
Suddenly, she froze. Her head snapped up, eyes piercing the night sky.
Ten zhang above, the air twisted violently. Violet lightning tore the sky apart, followed by a deafening roar of wind. A void opened in the storm—a hole in reality itself—and a figure tumbled out, screaming.
As quickly as it appeared, the storm vanished.
The two women stared, stunned, as the figure plummeted. Just before hitting the water, the man seemed to spot them. His eyes widened, and he shrieked, "Help!"
Splash.
He hit the surface like a stone, disappearing into the depths with a trail of frantic bubbles.
The Master and apprentice looked at each other, then down at their own exposed, glistening bodies. Their expressions shifted from shock to murderous rage.
The water settled. Only ripples remained.
Xue Mu was a modern shark in the entertainment industry, a man who manufactured idols and manipulated trends. He lived a life of luxury, shallow pleasures, and cynicism. His hobby was antiques. Tonight, he had been examining a bronze shard no larger than a fingernail. He had cut his finger on it, and in a flash of light, his penthouse apartment had vanished.
He knew what this was. Transmigration.
He hit the water hard. From forty meters up, the surface felt like concrete. The impact nearly shattered his internal organs. He spat a mouthful of blood and blacked out instantly.
He would have drowned, had a slender hand not slapped the water's surface. A jet of water surged up, catching his limp body and floating him gently to the bank.
"Strange... such intense poison..."
The two women, eyes originally cold with the intent to kill, now frowned. They sensed a terrifying miasma radiating from him.
"A monk?" the girl, Chan'er, muttered, eyeing his short hair. "Did a rival sect test a new poison on him?"
The woman pressed two fingers to his wrist. Her eyes widened. "Impossible..."
"What is it, Master?"
"This man... he is a vessel of a thousand poisons. From his skin to his marrow, he is saturated with toxins I have never seen. Many are contagious. If we dropped him in a city, he would be a plague source. Within days, everything within a hundred miles would be a graveyard."
Chan'er gasped. "And he's still alive?"
"Even the Poison Prince Zhao would be dead ten times over. Yet this man lives. His organs are damaged from the fall, but the poison... it's part of him."
"Is he a grandmaster of poison arts?"
The woman withdrew her hand, her expression a mix of confusion and horror. "That is the strangest part. He has no cultivation. None. He is completely mortal."