How did a bastard like him become an immortal?

"You can't learn it! Look at your elder brother! He mastered military strategy at the age of three and was destined for immortality at the age of five, but you are obsessed with such money and have disgraced the Zhu family!"

The emperor slammed his hand on the dragon throne, and a series of powerful magic coins shot out like a sudden gust of wind, striking his cheeks and drawing blood.

"What Father Emperor wants is a prince who can fight and win battles, not a miser who is obsessed with money!"

A row of brothers and sisters laughed together, their arrogant figures tall and imposing, almost completely obscuring his body.

Zhu Jiutong cried out in pain as he realized his body was shrinking.

The illusion began to rewind, and he returned to the year he was seven years old.

The molten iron splashed onto his back, his skin sizzling. Zhu Jiutong curled up into a ball, but dared not utter a sound, letting the molten iron fall on him.

The Crown Prince, dressed in a python robe, and his most respected elder brother, wore a sinister smile, their noses pressed tightly together, as he sneered repeatedly.

"Enjoy making copper coins? Why not try making one yourself?"

"I don't want to! I don't want to!..."

Zhu Jiutong roared and wildly waved his hands, but he was held down firmly and could only stare intently at the Crown Prince's extremely gloomy face.

In the prince's bloodshot eyes, he actually saw his own distorted reflection.

The character “废” (waste) is tattooed on his left cheek, and the character “奴” (slave) is tattooed on his right cheek.

"Do not..."

Zhu Jiutong trembled violently, his eyes turning bloodshot. Despite his inner screams reminding him that this was an illusion and that he needed to calm down, an uncontrollable rage surged forth.

As Zhu Jiutong's anger surged, the Samsara Mirror seemed to chuckle, and more and more smoke rushed out, filling his consciousness.

He roared incoherently, his internal energy becoming chaotic and unrestrained, bursting forth as he struggled and forced his way past the person who was suppressing him.

At that moment, he saw the Crown Prince with a wicked smile on his face, holding a Sun and Moon Coin in his hand, waving it at him in a gleaming manner.

This is the Sun and Moon Coin I had before, the one I drew from the lot!

"give me back!"

Zhu Jiutong shouted and lunged forward to snatch the Tongbao, but was kicked into the forging furnace by the Crown Prince.

The prince chuckled maliciously, then closed the lid of the forge, his expression arrogant and unrestrained.

The scorching flames burned his skin as he heard the prince speak.

"A piece of trash like you would be better off being forged into a weapon in a furnace and putting your value to use."

The Sun and Moon Coins were also casually thrown over, melting in the flames and liquefying along with the Zhu Jiu Copper, turning into streaks of golden light and forming extremely hot liquid.

Zhu Jiutong wept blood and tears, his body swelled, and his bones cracked, but he could no longer shed blood and tears.

When he opened his eyes again, he had become a sharp blade, held in the prince's hand to kill enemy soldiers and clear his path.

Each swing was accompanied by the wails of countless dead souls, while the prince's laughter echoed in his ears.

"This is how you should be, my dear Ninth Brother!"

……

In another Nightingale Illusion.

Nightingale is known for her volatile temper and is a feared leader in the Haotian Sect, where everyone focuses on cultivating qi and blood martial arts.

The disciple was afraid of Nightingale's fiery temper, but also amazed and admired her martial arts prowess.

The Haotian Sect is a traditional martial arts sect that cultivates martial arts techniques and relies on tempering blood and qi and honing muscles and bones to improve strength.

It has always been a place where only holy sons emerge, a place where men reign supreme. Due to the structural differences between men and women, female cultivators are often weaker in terms of blood and energy than male cultivators, and they experience more hardships and setbacks on their cultivation path, especially in the path of martial arts.

But Nightingale, through her own efforts, carved out her place as the Holy Maiden of the Haotian Sect in a land dominated by male cultivators.

The nightingale in the dream returned to its most humiliating moment.

When I was three years old.

Her adoptive parents abandoned her in a mass grave; a note in her swaddling clothes read:

"If I give birth to a daughter and do not raise her, I will be ashamed before my ancestors."

She huddled among the pile of corpses, surrounded by howling, mournful winds that seemed to be howling in injustice for a life about to end.

"I want to live..."

That was Nightingale's only wish at the time, and with this spirit and perseverance, she spent several unbearable months in the mass grave.

She finally got her chance.

The nightingale stared blankly at the scene flashing before her eyes, her expression cold and distant, as if those long-forgotten memories were suddenly being stirred up.

Once it's stirred up, it's like a tsunami, impossible to stop or conceal.

That anger, that despair, that terror, just like the panic and helplessness of a three-year-old, returned to her once again.

Nightingale forced herself to swallow her anger, trying her best to remind herself not to let her emotions change. It was just an illusion, everything that had happened was in the past, and she had to look forward!

Until the ethereal, misty illusion flickered and swirled once more, transforming into a captivating, mesmerizing laugh, something within the nightingale's heart was ignited.

Countless images suddenly flashed through my mind.

The sect's scriptures contain regulations stating that "female cultivators are not suitable for cultivation, female cultivators are not allowed to cultivate, and female cultivators are prohibited from cultivating!" and during a martial arts competition, her opponent deliberately tore at her clothes.

What stung her most was the elder's lecherous expression, his gaze fixed on her like a leech.

“If you weren’t so beautiful, you would have been expelled from the sect long ago. So, you should just give in to me.”

"Why...why are you doing this to me...why is there so much prejudice against me!"

Nightingale suddenly let out a furious roar, her uncontrollable rage erupting forth. Her blood energy surged wildly as she grabbed the elder by the neck and tore at his flesh like a madwoman.

The elder simply let out bursts of joyful laughter, seemingly thoroughly enjoying himself, before dissipating into a wisp of smoke.

The illusion twisted again, and she was now kneeling in the Haotian Clan Ancestral Hall, surrounded by several burly elders who shook their heads and murmured.

"Female cultivators have always been incompetent; it's too difficult for them to become saintesses. I object."

"I object……"

"I object!"

Then it jumps to the day of the saint's coronation ceremony.

When the Haotian Banner, symbolizing the holy son of the Haotian Sect, fluttered on the nightingale.

"Saintess? She's nothing but a harlot who rose to power through her looks!"

The laughter of the onlookers rose and fell, as they pointed and commented on Nightingale's outstanding and alluring figure.

"The elder must be having a blast, having such a stunning beauty under his crotch, tsk tsk..."

Unpleasant and dissolute words drifted up and reached the ears of the Nightingale, who had been sitting upright.

The nightingale looked lost and dejected. Her usually bright and determined eyes revealed a rare look of confusion and complexity, and her expression was utterly empty.

Is this always been the case?

Does that mean female cultivators must be weaker than male cultivators and always be suppressed by them?

Am I wrong to have so many prejudices?

The nightingale knelt in the thick fog, unable to rise, and as it looked back in bewilderment, it seemed to see its mother with tears streaming down her face again.

The mother held her infant daughter and wept, "I'm sorry...it's all my fault..."