Little Junior Sister, We Can’t Handle This Grind Anymore - Chapter 15

Forgemoon City, Azure Cloud Province

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The rhythmic hammering of metal echoed through the streets.

“Little Junior Sister, when exactly will the person we’re seeking appear?” Mo Jinghong’s voice carried an effortless elegance that matched his striking presence. Dressed in silver robes, he stood untouched by the soot and sparks of the forge-filled city.

“Soon, very soon.” Feng Qingran’s crystal-clear eyes darted around the bustling streets.

“If I recall correctly, you said the same thing three days ago.”

A flicker of guilt crossed her face. She didn’t know the exact day they’d encounter the Pavilion Master of Kunxuan Pavilion—only that in the original novel, around this time, Feng Qingran and Su Yanran had wandered these very streets.

Back then, they’d stumbled upon an old man with a sinister red line creeping up his right hand—a telltale sign of a rare poison described in ancient texts. Feng Qingran had wanted to warn him, but Su Yanran stopped her, calling it unnecessary meddling.

Yet after returning to the Heavenly Sword Sect, Su Yanran secretly doubled back. She presented the old man with a cure—a prescription Feng Qingran had prepared, paired with a ninth-grade spirit herb from her own jade bracelet. Grateful beyond measure, the man revealed himself as the Kunxuan Pavilion Master, and Su Yanran became its hidden young mistress overnight.

But now, history had diverged. Feng Qingran hadn’t joined the Heavenly Sword Sect, and no one had dragged Su Yanran here. If she didn’t intervene, the Pavilion Master would meet his end.

“Why not tell me what you’re searching for?” Mo Jinghong’s jade-like fingers tousled her hair gently.

Feng Qingran hesitated. How could she explain transmigrating into a novel?

“Little Junior Sister,” his voice dropped lower, “are you looking for the Kunxuan Pavilion Master?”

“You—how did you know?” Her eyes lit up. “Seventh Senior Brother… are you also a transmigrator?”

Thwack!

“Ow!” She rubbed her forehead where he’d flicked her. “That hurt!”

“Read fewer fantasy novels and cultivate more.” His gaze turned stern. “This is a ruthless world of immortals. A single careless word could make you a target.”

After multiple rebirths, she’s still this trusting?

Thankfully, fragments of her past memories had surfaced this time. Otherwise, her naivety would’ve doomed her to repeat history.

“Thank you for the guidance, Senior Brother.” Feng Qingran sobered instantly. The Lingyun Sect’s warmth had made her forget the brutality of cultivation.

A soul from another world like hers was a prized ingredient—forged into a Soul Convergence Pill, it could expand one’s consciousness without karmic repercussions. The ultimate tonic for divine sense.

“Everyone at Lingyun has secrets, so your quirks go unnoticed. But outside these walls?” Mo Jinghong’s tone sharpened. “Eyes lurk everywhere. Choose your words wisely.”

They walked in silence until Feng Qingran spotted a familiar figure ahead—Su Yanran, darting furtively through the crowd as if evading pursuit.

“This way!” She tugged Mo Jinghong’s sleeve around a corner, too focused to notice the killing intent frosting his gaze.

A sudden chill crawled up Feng Qingran’s spine. “Senior Brother… are we being followed?”

“No. But she is.” He masked his aura. Su Yanran must live—for now. She’s the key to opening the Heavenly Path.

Feng Qingran scanned the shadows. Had their stalker also used a Concealment Talisman?

“Their cultivation surpasses ours,” Mo Jinghong’s voice echoed telepathically.

Her breath hitched. He was at the peak of Nascent Soul realm. Above that…

Divine Transformation.

A single realm’s difference, yet worlds apart. To a Divine Transformation cultivator, Nascent Souls were ants to be crushed. Their Spiritual Domains could strip victims of all resistance with a thought.

“Let’s go back,” she urged. This risk wasn’t worth his life.

“The talismans are Master’s work. Unless we reveal ourselves, they won’t detect us.”

Still, Feng Qingran wavered. Wherever Su Yanran went, chaos followed. At the sect trials, she’d avoided the girl only to be ensnared anyway.

Then—thud!

Su Yanran collided with an elderly man.

Feng Qingran’s pulse spiked. There it was: the faint red thread coiled around his right hand.