I have a high-risk profession in the cultivation world.

After taking his seat, Yan Jian'an felt a strange unease watching Echo Valley Master occasionally pick up his teacup and take a sip.

This time, the Valley Master was dressed in a yellow and white robe, a beautiful middle-aged woman. Her movements were graceful and serene, every gesture exuding the elegance of a superior being, yet he still felt something was off, a certain...

Oh! Yan Jian'an slapped his forehead, thinking of a suitable analogy—it felt like his own father was putting on a cassock and insisting on going to eat vegetarian food and chant Buddhist scriptures.

Yan Jian'an narrowed his eyes. This was too deliberate.

There wasn't a single flaw to be found, but it didn't seem like a natural action; rather, it looked like someone had practiced on purpose, afraid of making a mistake.

Yan Jian'an suppressed a laugh.

He understood. He always acted like this when he met the other pavilion masters, afraid of losing face in front of everyone, especially his mortal enemies. He understood.

After taking their seats, they patiently listened to the Echo Valley Master's incessant chatter, boasting about the tea's incredible effects, and then heard the praise from others. But after a long while, not only was there no tea, but the dark table was completely empty, without even a drop of water.

Finally, the Valley Master of Echo Valley clapped his hands twice, and a row of maids brought tea, each person receiving a small cup.

stingy.

Yan Jian'an rolled his eyes, tilted his head back and poured the whole thing into his mouth in one gulp. He smacked his lips and said, "It's not that good. It's not as good as the one I had at the old man's place last time."

He's been fooled; he wasted a whole morning of his time. He should have written a story instead.

The Valley Master of Echo Valley was still rambling on. Yan Jian'an watched as the people around him drank it, and they all showed surprised and astonished expressions, as if they had drunk some holy water that was hard to find in heaven and earth. They could only praise it endlessly, but no one could explain why.

That's why he hates these kinds of occasions.

Calling a deer a horse is also a form of parroting others' opinions.

Even if some people think that this cup of tea is really meaningless, they won't stand against the majority in this situation and tear down the pretense of clinking glasses and exchanging toasts.

He tried to use his spiritual power to plug his ears, but as soon as he started circulating it, he felt heat rising in his lungs and internal organs, and his spiritual power became increasingly viscous, making it difficult to circulate.

Then he saw the Valley Master of Echo Valley sitting on the high seat with a mysterious smile on his lips.

Yan Jian'an's heart skipped a beat, sensing that something was probably wrong.

Seeing the fools below scrambling to drink the tea, Mo Qiluo, now the Valley Master of Echo Valley, couldn't suppress the smile in her heart even with her head down.

How hypocritical these people are! She casually rummaged through the Echo Valley Master's private room and found some old tea. She added a catalyst that could combine with the Thousand Miles of Clouds and Smoke Fragrance and temporarily prevent cultivators from circulating their spiritual power. She casually made some gimmicks and got everyone to praise her.

Look at these faces, they're utterly ridiculous.

Seeing that the medicine was about to take effect, she suddenly dropped the serene smile on her face and burst into an extremely arrogant "hahaha" laugh, the sound echoing in the empty hall. Amidst the puzzled gazes of the crowd, Mo Qiluo threw a cup into the open space. The sound of shattering rang out, and the demonic sect subordinates disguised as maids around her tore off their disguises and took control of everyone.

The group, who had been laughing and joking, suddenly changed their expressions. In their fear, they hurriedly circulated their spiritual power, but none of them were spared.

Like everyone else, Yan Jian'an's hands were tied behind his back, his feet were bound, and several spirit-suppressing talismans were pasted on his body, making escape almost impossible.

He stared coldly at the blade pressed against his neck, feeling little fear of death or the unknown. After all, he had the life-saving treasure given to him by the old man, which automatically protected its owner, so he was unlikely to die. His greater concern was how the old man would laugh at him if the talisman broke.

Mo Qiluo no longer disguised herself as the Valley Master of Echo Valley, revealing her original stunning beauty.

Several sects allied with Echo Valley spoke up, demanding, "You audacious vixen! Who are you! Where is the original Echo Valley Master? Release us now!"

Mo Qiluo covered her mouth with one hand and giggled, "Witch? I prefer you to call me Saintess. Besides—" Mo Qiluo stopped looking at the person who asked the question and casually ordered a subordinate of the Demon Sect, "This old thing is ugly and noisy. How dare he speak to this Saintess? Go cut out his tongue and feed it to the dogs!"

Hearing screams from nearby, Yan Jian'an shrank back, trying to minimize his presence. This crazy woman had a bad temper; he didn't want to be targeted.

The original owner had an ice spirit root, so he was more comfortable in a low-temperature environment. He hated the sweltering summer heat. Although it was only May, there was nothing to shield him in the square, and he was too lazy to release his spiritual power to insulate against the temperature. After a while, Chu Chenmu felt very uncomfortable.

He heard a sound coming from inside the inner hall, probably someone accidentally broke a teacup. He didn't take it to heart and even laughed at the fact that the powerful figures inside, who were at least at the Nascent Soul stage, could make such a basic mistake.

But in the blink of an eye, many men in black robes appeared out of thin air, surrounding the crowd without saying a word, and charged into the crowd with their swords drawn.

Many of the outer disciples were already dead before they could even understand what was happening. The rest, who reacted quickly, barely managed to dodge, but were caught completely off guard and were mostly seriously injured. The crowd erupted into chaos and began fighting with the man in black robes.

Chu Chenmu frowned as he looked at the dramatic change before him. He instinctively protected his three young disciples, and then fought with the black-robed man who rushed over near the Wuji Sect.

Most of these black-robed figures were Golden Core cultivators. Aside from Chu Chenmu, who was socially awkward, the Nascent Soul cultivators present had all gone into the inner hall for tea, and for some reason, no one had come out yet. Chu Chenmu thought to himself, "This is bad; they've probably been ambushed."

He fought a fierce battle with the three remaining Nascent Soul cultivators, trying his best to hold off as many enemies as possible. Even with the help of stronger Golden Core disciples like Huaisu, they couldn't stop the overwhelming enemy. At first, they were able to fight to a standstill with the help of their own lower-level cultivators, but as time went on, more and more of them fell, while the enemy acted like madmen who didn't care about their lives, killing wave after wave.

Chu Chenmu was struggling more and more, and could only watch helplessly as the encirclement tightened, more and more cultivators' warm blood splattering on his face, their screams rising and falling. He couldn't even tell friend from foe. His face was deathly pale, and the stench of blood filling his nostrils grew stronger, making him feel nauseous. In his previous life, he had grown up in a peaceful country, and the most horrific scenes he had ever witnessed were those of war depicted on television dramas; he had never seen anything like this.

He then realized that the excessive blood loss had caused it to stick to the soles of his shoes, making walking sticky.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Thank you to [发财我要发大财], [以朗道之名], [果果~], [无事小神仙], and [雾灯归音] for the gifts! Thank you to all my family members for following along!