The night in Yunzhou City was unusually vibrant, with countless lights blending into a neon tapestry against the sky, the clouds tinged like the flush of drunkenness. Before heading out, Li Mo went to check on Murong Xiao.
Still as stiff as ever.
Placed in the backyard, he resembled a solemn statue.
"Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Brother Murong. Don’t say I forgot about you."
Li Mo was nothing if not loyal.
He placed a plate before Murong Xiao, stacked with mooncakes arranged like a pagoda.
Not just loyal, but thoughtful too.
The lakeside tavern was swarming with mosquitoes, so he lit three coils of incense, stuck them in a burner, and set it before Murong Xiao.
Murong Xiao: "....."
Hmm.
Suddenly, he looked positively divine.
"Too bad you’re busy tonight and can’t join the fun. In that case, stay here and bless my endeavors."
Li Mo clasped his hands together and bowed earnestly.
Many townsfolk made offerings today—mountain dwellers prayed to mountain gods, riverside folk to water deities.
He wasn’t particularly devout, but he had a flair for ceremony.
Stepping out of the tavern, he spotted the girl by the lake, gazing absently at the bustling streets. The noise surged around her but never touched her, a perfect embodiment of ethereal detachment.
Only when her eyes landed on a certain young man did they flicker with warmth.
"Where to first?" Li Mo asked.
"Zhuangyuan Tower."
Ying Bing tied up her hair.
During dinner, she’d overheard the lively chatter about Zhuangyuan Tower. The market there was Yunzhou’s liveliest, lined with stalls selling trinkets, all accessible via Yulong Street.
She hadn’t decided what to give Li Mo yet.
Nor did she know what couples did on dates.
But that was fine. She could always "see how the pigs run."
"Alright."
They stepped into the street, and the splendor of a thriving era enveloped them.
Ying Bing studied the stalls with newfound focus, her eyes lingering on trinkets.
Li Mo, familiar with every vendor on Yulong Street, paid them little mind...
His gaze kept drifting to Ying Bing. She’d changed into a shorter dress after dinner, revealing slender, pale calves. Her dark hair was tied with a red ribbon, her jade-like face radiant enough to eclipse the moon.
Elegant, aloof—standing beside her was intimidating.
But Li Mo’s mind flashed to her first attempt at cooking, when she’d smeared her face like a messy kitten.
Noticing his amused stare, Ying Bing recalled the couples they’d passed, all chatting and laughing.
"...The moon is beautiful tonight," Ying Bing said.
"It is," Li Mo agreed, eyes still fixed on her.
"......"
Ying Bing didn’t know how to respond.
You didn’t even glance at it, yet you answer so decisively.
Silence settled between them.
Yet beneath the dazzling lanterns, Ying Bing felt oddly at peace.
Saying nothing was... comfortable.
Perhaps this was what it meant to go with the flow.
Speak if you wish, stay silent if you don’t—no awkwardness, even in wordlessness.
Soon, they reached Zhuangyuan Tower, where the crowd was even thicker.
The eight-story tower loomed over the surrounding pavilions, surrounded by layers of people, their voices a downpour of excitement.
"What’s going on here?"
Li Mo scanned the crowd and spotted familiar faces—the Three Heroes of Hengyun, who’d visited him earlier that day.
Wu Chushu wasn’t alone. A well-dressed young lady, likely from a wealthy family, stood beside him.
He was speaking with smug confidence, as if he had everything under control.
Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu, meanwhile, were shooting him death glares.
So this was why the bastard had invited them to the lantern festival.
He’d brought a date!
No honor among bros.
"What are you all discussing?" Li Mo interjected.
"......"
Wu Chushu’s smile vanished.
Bad memories resurfaced.
The smiles didn’t disappear—they just migrated to Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu’s faces.
"I, uh, brought Miss She to the poetry contest at Zhuangyuan Tower," Wu Chushu coughed, then gestured to the woman beside him.
"This is—"
"The Wife-Luck Battle Soul!" Miss She blurted.
Li Mo: "......"
Can’t we pay to change the Hidden Dragon Ranking’s descriptions?
Take a bribe or something.
He changed the subject. "What’s this poetry contest about?"
Eager to impress, Wu Chushu launched into an explanation.
Li Mo got the gist.
Legend had it that a swordsman from Yunzhou, peerless in both blade and verse, once aced the imperial exams, earning the title of Zhuangyuan (top scholar). But at the celebratory banquet, drunk, he penned a poem criticizing the court, angering the late emperor, who stripped him of the title.
So he quit officialdom and built this tower upon returning to Yunzhou.
"Every lantern festival, they hold a poetry contest here. Answer correctly, and you win prizes."
"This year’s prize is a jade hairpin. Quite exquisite."
Wu Chushu’s smile returned.
As a lifelong show-off (in his own eyes), he fancied his literary skills.
Zhuangyuan Tower was his chosen stage...
"Brother Chushu, I really want the contest prize~" Miss She cooed.
Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu trembled with rage, fists clenched. What nonsense! What absolute nonsense!
"By the way, Young Master Li, why are you out alone?"
"Don’t tell me..."
Seeing Li Mo solo, the two felt slightly consoled.
At least they weren’t the only ones suffering.
But then Ying Bing reappeared, holding a lantern. She wasn’t just attending the festival—she was a celestial being gracing the mortal realm.
Perhaps due to the crowd, she stood unusually close to Li Mo.
Bai Jinghong: "..."
Cao Mu: "..."
They exchanged a glance. Should’ve just rotted in Sword City. Why’d they have to come here?
"Ice block."
Li Mo suddenly reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed skin like satin, warm as jade.
"Hm?"
"Your hair keeps coming undone."
"The ribbon’s a bit loose."
Ying Bing was momentarily dazed, then nodded.
Her distraction wasn’t just from the lively scene—it was the past flooding back.
This time last life, where had she been?
Probably standing atop the lofty Cassia Palace, watching the mortal world ebb and flow.
She knew all too well the chill of solitude.
Yet, bound by vows of detachment, she’d never stepped into the red dust.
"Then... how about I get you a hairpin for Mid-Autumn Festival?"
Li Mo’s voice pulled her back.
Ying Bing lowered her gaze, studying the boy who’d led her into this world. A faint smile curled her lips, giving form to the moon’s gentle glow.
The crowd around them froze, stupefied.
Even Miss She gaped, forgetting to pout.
"Okay."
"......"
Li Mo was the one stunned now.
He’d been racking his brain, trying to recall a poem to plagiarize for clout.
But seeing that smile, he didn’t need to.
A verse—one he remembered but not its author—rose to mind.
g Yu was preparing for retirement when her organization decided to eliminate her. She transmigrated to a zombie apocalypse world. However, a tiny unexpected situation occurred: She somehow transformed into an adorable little girl?!
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
e, Immortal Body, Transmigration, System, Progression Fantasy, Academy Setting, Third-Person Perspective. Alternate Title: Transmigrating into a High Martial World and Reading Live Comments. Bad news: I transmigrated. This is a terrifying high-martial world, and my original, pathetically weak body fell into a coma and never woke up. Good news: I got a Popularity Points system upon arrival. I can see live comments and even create an unkillable alternate identity. Starting out, the alternate identity has all stats at 1. The system tells me that to grow stronger, I must participate in the plot, gain popularity points to allocate stats and grow stronger, and ultimately awaken my original body. And so, carrying my original body on my back, I officially entered Huaqing Academy, where the story's protagonist resides. From that moment on, Chen Guan kicked the original plot to pieces. Live Comments: [Doesn't anyone find this mysterious coffin guy creepy? He can summon indescribable grey misty hands.] [Is this guy a hero or a villain? What kind of onion became a spirit?] [By the way, does anyone know who's in the coffin? Shouldn't the debt for saving his life be repaid by now?] [According to unofficial histories, the person in the coffin was Chen Guan's first love. Their love was once passionate and earth-shattering, but they were separated by life and death due to worldly circumstances. What a star-crossed pair.] ... Years later, the world knew of a demon god born from a coffin, shrouded in grey mist, impossible to gaze upon directly. His foremost divine emissary often wielded a scythe, reaping lives like the god of death. As war approached, facing former friends and a boundless sea of enemies, Chen Guan merely raised his scythe. "Would you like to dance as well?"
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
