Much Thunder, Little Rain

Gong Ning found it utterly absurd.

At such a young age—even if technically an adult—she should still hold reverence for her elders.

This era’s education was built on the principles of ruler and subject, father and son.

People raised here were deeply conditioned by rigid feudal values.

Unlike her, who had rebelled against them.

“Have you lived this long without anyone teaching you about etiquette, morality, public order, and decency?”

“Hm? Elder, are you interested in me now?”

Tang Qiaohuan was still nestled against Gong Ning’s chest.

She was light—small, almost childlike—curled up in her arms, her head resting on the soft warmth of her chest, like sinking into a downy quilt.

Gong Ning even sensed a hint of attachment.

She tilted her head back, unsure how to respond.

“As the Sect Master’s daughter, you’ve certainly had no shortage of teachers.

Why are you so defiant?”

“Elder, do you remember when you first learned the Sect Master even had a daughter like me?”

Gong Ning honestly couldn’t recall.

Who paid attention to such trivial details?

“I came to Xuantian Sword Sect when I was four.

Do you know where I was born?”

“Where?”

“Fox Dream Valley.”

Gong Ning’s eyes widened. “You were raised by fox spirits?”

“My mother is a fox spirit.”

So she carried fox blood?

Gong Ning hadn’t sensed any demonic aura.

And she had met the Sect Master’s wife—just an ordinary mortal woman of modest beauty.

She’d assumed the Sect Master had made a mistake in his youth.

Never imagined he’d fallen into a fox spirit’s trap.

The Sect Master had truly outdone himself this time.

“You’re telling me this—aren’t you afraid I’ll use it to blackmail you?”

“This is our secret.”

An exchange of leverage?

Interesting.

Now she wondered what game the girl was playing.

She continued, “Though my mother is a fox spirit, she’s only a minor one—nothing compared to my father.

So I was born a human child, with no obvious demonic traits.

But growing up there, I naturally picked up a few tricks for deceiving people.”

Demons valued bloodline more than humans.

Due to their innate differences, demonic blood carried greater power—emphasizing talent over cultivation.

But fox spirits were an exception.

Most demon tribes were scattered—living in isolated clans or territories.

Due to their forms and other issues, they lacked the unity of humans.

Fox spirits, however, were the first to unite, the first to form a true culture.

Like humans, young foxes were extremely weak.

But unlike humans, they didn’t grow quickly.

Weakness was a catalyst.

Life that finds a way always develops its own unique skill.

Foxes could shift forms easily, were born alluring, and were the first to attach themselves to humans—learning knowledge, thriving through symbiosis, and developing unique illusions.

They were the only demonic race not only independent of Demon Mountain and spared from Great Yan’s purges—but recognized as a sovereign entity.

The strength of fox spirits lay in their cultural inheritance.

If Tang Qiaohuan had grown up there, her current personality made perfect sense.

“Didn’t your father… try to correct your behavior?”

“Heehee, what does he know?

He still thinks my mother is a virtuous, dutiful wife.”

Gong Ning didn’t know what to say.

It was deception, yes—but if you could maintain the lie for a lifetime, that was a skill in itself.

Like those who spent their lives doing good deeds.

Even if their hearts weren’t pure, as long as their actions and results were sound, it didn’t matter.

A sudden thought struck Gong Ning.

“Do you have a true form?

I’ve seen many fox spirits—what color are yours?”

Tang Qiaohuan gave her a sideways glance, feigning offense. “Didn’t I just say? I’m human. No true form.”

“What about tails and ears?

No demonic traits at all?

I’ve heard powerful fox spirits can have multiple tails.”

“If you want to see, I can show you.

But it’s just an illusion. Fake, silly.”

That was truly a pity.

They chatted idly, and before long, they arrived at Yongdu.

Though nothing had happened, Gong Ning straightened her robes—just in case anyone noticed something amiss.

Just as every place had a government office, since the Involvement System was enacted, every region had a Governance Institute to help cultivators connect with the authorities.

At the local Governance Institute, Gong Ning saw many renowned figures.

Master Jichen of Yuqing Sect.

Xugu Zi of Changsheng Abbey.

Tingzhu Long Hanxi of Cold Moon Court.

When they noticed Gong Ning, their gazes turned toward her.

Especially Long Hanxi—her serene, beautiful eyes lingered on Gong Ning.

“Esteemed elders, I am Gong Ning, come at the Sword Immortal’s request.”

Gong Ning had met them before.

All were famous figures in Great Yan.

They had interacted at various cultivation gatherings and Dao exchanges over the years.

Yuqing Sect’s greatness needed no explanation.

Changsheng Abbey was no less impressive—their refined Changsheng Formula suited all cultivators and was freely shared for the world’s benefit.

As for Cold Moon Court, they had no overt contributions.

But they were the hardline faction of the righteous path—swift and merciless in slaying demons.

And they only accepted female disciples, making them a dream destination for countless.

Master Jichen suddenly recalled something. “Gong Ning?

I remember you.

You once came to Yuqing Sect as an exchange disciple to study medicine.

But… weren’t you a man?”

Exchange disciples—students sent between sects to learn and share knowledge.

“A few days ago, I was struck by a demonic mirror from the Xuan Yuan Sect and transformed into this form.

I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Just a healer’s instinct.”

It was said Master Jichen remembered every disciple, every patient’s name.

Now, Gong Ning saw it wasn’t a rumor—it was fact.

To cultivate to his level and still cherish the smallest lives—he had seen the vastness of the universe, yet still pitied the grass and trees.

Master Jichen paused, then asked, “Can it be reversed?”

Gong Ning nearly laughed.

She remembered Yuqing Sect’s motto: All things are illness.

Deficiency? Illness.

Excess? Illness.

Anything causing discomfort? Illness.

If there is illness, it must be treated—never tolerate temporary hardship.

Yuqing Sect was a unique place.

Stay there long enough, and anyone would grow kind.

Perhaps she should send Lingling there for advanced training someday…

“Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ve grown accustomed to this different life.”

“Enough small talk.”

Jiang Yuyao finally stepped forward.

“We have a problem.

The Xuan Yuan Sect took those disciples into a secret realm.

We single-path cultivators don’t know how to enter.

You’re well-traveled—help us find a way.

And why did you bring her?”

“She… insisted on finding her father.

I couldn’t stop her.”

Tang Qiaohuan kept saying she was looking for her dad—but now, she wasn’t going to the Sect Master at all.

She stayed right by Gong Ning’s side.

“As for finding the secret realm—aren’t you overestimating me?”

“Don’t show weakness in front of outsiders.

Not even humility is allowed.

I know you can do it.”

So sharp.

Calling someone an outsider while speaking to them?

She was still the same as ever.