What happened in the sea of consciousness could never be experienced again.
“Spiritual sense dual cultivation isn’t like ordinary training,” Gu Baiqing lectured sternly. “Each session carries huge risks. Last time we only did it because there was no other choice. How could we use it so casually?”
Mo Xuanli knew his master was right. Letting someone enter your sea of consciousness was like handing them your heart—it was incredibly dangerous.
But Mo Xuanli didn’t see it that way. To him, it was something he was more than willing to do.
Still, since his master was unwilling, he couldn’t force him. After all, his master only refused because he was worried for his safety.
“I’ll use my spiritual power to assist you externally,” Gu Baiqing said. “It’s safe here anyway, so even if you faint, it’s fine.”
Though this kind of external assistance couldn’t compare to the effect of dual cultivation through spiritual consciousness, Mo Xuanli could only agree.
Soon after, Mo Xuanli sat cross-legged while Gu Baiqing sat by his side, one hand placed on Mo Xuanli’s shoulder, helping to guide and regulate the spiritual energy within him.
Mo Xuanli hadn’t been exaggerating—his spiritual power was indeed in great disorder.
By rights, it should have been like this in the original text too, except…
As Gu Baiqing continued to channel energy into him, he couldn’t help but recall helplessly that not long after they had arrived here in that version, the master and disciple had begun their seaside “honeymoon suite” journey, their dual cultivation schedule packed full—so naturally, spiritual disorder hadn’t been an issue.
But now that was clearly not an option. Gu Baiqing didn’t feel guilty about it, though; after all, this was a challenge Mo Xuanli had to overcome on his own. It wasn’t his responsibility.
After Gu Baiqing finished one complete cycle of energy guidance, his assistance was no longer needed. Mo Xuanli only had to spend time slowly stabilizing the flow of spiritual power within himself. After several rounds of regulation, fatigue hit him hard. When he finally stopped, he felt the shoulder beside him stiffen.
He turned his head—only to see Junhua sitting right across from them.
Junhua was propping her chin in boredom, watching them. When she saw Mo Xuanli open his eyes, she couldn’t help but say, “Tell me, you two brothers… aren’t you a bit too close? Are you really inseparable or something?”
Mo Xuanli froze, then followed her gaze—just in time to see Gu Baiqing leaning against his shoulder, fast asleep.
So his master had fainted again after exerting spiritual power. Fortunately, Mo Xuanli had been beside him, letting him rest there.
Mo Xuanli’s lips curved slightly. He shifted his shoulder gently, and Gu Baiqing slid down. Mo Xuanli reached out to catch him, carefully lifted him up, and carried him to the bed, setting him down before returning to the table.
By then, Junhua’s brows were furrowed, her gaze sharp as she stared at Mo Xuanli.
“You came to confirm whether the formation works?”
“It does,” she said, “but I’m starting to feel like I don’t. You two… are you really brothers?” Junhua looked at him suspiciously.
Mo Xuanli sat down calmly. “There’s no blood relation. He’s someone very important to me.”
Junhua narrowed her eyes. “Very important—or very dear?”
“Is there a difference?” Mo Xuanli replied with ease.
Junhua clutched her chest dramatically. She knew it—the ambiguous atmosphere between these two had always felt off! Sure enough… no wonder! No wonder she, being so exceptional, hadn’t caught either of their eyes—turns out these two men had long since been entangled with each other. A perfect match of dog men hiding their relationship, and she’d almost wasted her youth admiring them!
“So he’s not really a rogue cultivator either?”
“His identity is confidential.”
“Why? We’re friends, aren’t we?” Junhua pressed.
“We do consider you a friend,” Mo Xuanli said evenly, “but not every secret can be shared. You have things about your merfolk clan you can’t tell us, don’t you? It’s not out of malice—just inconvenient.”
Junhua blinked, suddenly sitting upright. “What are you implying? What secret have I kept?”
The conversation could’ve ended there, but Junhua’s relentless curiosity left Mo Xuanli feeling helpless.
“I don’t actually know,” he said mildly. “But from the way you’ve spoken about your people’s past, I’d say there’s still a secret about the merfolk you haven’t mentioned. It’s true that everything about your kind is valuable—but that’s no secret. Your clan and the Beast-Taming Manor have lived peacefully across the sea for so many years. Why did things suddenly turn hostile? Could it be that they discovered something—some secret—that led to the disaster your people suffered afterward?”
Junhua suddenly shot to her feet, her face pale with shock. “How did I not think of that? Maybe it was exposed—and that’s why it happened! But… no, that can’t be right, it wouldn’t have been so easy…”
Mo Xuanli didn’t interrupt, watching quietly as she muttered to herself.
After a while, Junhua regained her composure. “There is a secret about the merfolk I haven’t spoken of. But it’s one our kind only ever reveals to the person we’ve chosen as a mate.”
Mo Xuanli nodded. “I won’t pry. I only wanted to remind you—if my guess is correct, the Beast-Taming Manor intends to monopolize that secret for their own ends. Otherwise, the entire cultivation world wouldn’t have stayed so silent. Which means that even without this recent attack, they’d have struck at you sooner or later. Recruiting talents so openly at Longan Port—even showing leniency to those who offended them—and trying to keep us brothers there… perhaps it’s not for their sect’s growth at all, but to prepare for conflict against your people. So relying on the Weakwater Barrier alone isn’t enough. You can’t remain isolated from the cultivation world forever. You need to seek protection.”
Even without knowing what secret the merfolk bore, Mo Xuanli’s calm analysis sent chills down Junhua’s spine.
“Seek… protection?” she echoed hoarsely. “In such a vast world, who could we truly trust? Who wouldn’t covet us—and could genuinely keep us safe?”
Mo Xuanli had merely raised the question; finding the answer wasn’t his role. He was, after all, only a Golden Core cultivator.
Junhua fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “Forget it. I won’t dwell on it. I actually came to find you about the formation. The priests originally didn’t want to agree, but…”
“What happened? News from above?” Mo Xuanli asked.
Junhua nodded. “The Beast-Taming Manor didn’t take much damage at all. They’ve already begun rallying other sects and disciples affected by the incident—likely preparing retaliation against us. The Weakwater’s impact was weaker than we thought. Maybe we overestimated its strength. So the priests finally relented and agreed to let you set up the formation at the coral reef. Of course, we won’t have you work for free. Whatever you ask for, we’ll provide.”
“No need,” Mo Xuanli said quietly. “Just help me advance in cultivation.”
“In truth,” he continued, “if the Weakwater Barrier truly blocks all spiritual force, it’s safe enough. The tsunami you created was temporary—it gave people a chance to escape—but the formation surrounding the reef will be permanent. That’s different.”
Junhua said, “I won’t hide it from you — there is a way to lift the Weakwater Barrier, but it’s a secret of the royal bloodline. It cannot be told to outsiders.”
“As long as no one else knows, that’s enough,” Mo Xuanli replied evenly.
Junhua frowned slightly. The thought of her younger brother, wandering somewhere out in the world, still unsettled her — though she didn’t believe he would ever betray the merfolk.
After that, Junhua brought Mo Xuanli a map of the coral reef’s layout, asking him to adjust it alongside the formation diagram. After some planning, they concluded that the entire process would take several days to complete.
Because the reef contained an endless supply of pearls, there was no need to worry about the spiritual energy consumption required for the formations.
Mo Xuanli set up three formations for them — defense, offense, and teleportation.
All three could activate automatically, though their power was limited. If someone could take position at the formation’s nodes to stabilize it, the effect would, of course, be vastly different.
“So you mean we need to select people to learn the formation from you — so they can hold the nodes when the time comes?” Junhua asked.
“That would be best,” Mo Xuanli nodded.
“I understand. I’ll find the right people,” Junhua said, rising to her feet and leaving.
She knew that if an emergency truly arose, someone strong would have to anchor the formation. But among the merfolk, there were few who actually practiced cultivation. Perhaps because they were born with the ability to control sea beasts, few possessed strong aptitude for the spiritual path. Most preferred a free and carefree life, living much like ordinary humans.
After Junhua left, Mo Xuanli entered meditation once more. He knew time was running short — and no matter how exhausted he felt, he had to recover as quickly as possible.
When Mo Xuanli finally opened his eyes again, he saw his master already sitting beside him, waiting.
“Master, how are you feeling?” Mo Xuanli asked.
Gu Baiqing frowned slightly at the sight of Mo Xuanli’s pale face and sweat-soaked hair. “It’s you I should be asking that,” he said.
Then Gu Baiqing reached out, probing Mo Xuanli’s spiritual power — the progress was slow. Inside, Gu Baiqing felt deeply conflicted. Although… well, technically, it wasn’t his problem.
“The disciple is fine. By the way, Junhua came just now and told me a few things,” Mo Xuanli said with a small smile, recounting what had happened.
At the mention of the merfolk’s secret, Gu Baiqing let out an “oh,” and said, “She’s probably referring to the mermaid bead. But that shouldn’t… have much to do with this.” At least, in the original text, it hadn’t been mentioned. But since the source material now offered less and less reliable information — with many errors besides — Gu Baiqing couldn’t be certain. So he went on to explain to Mo Xuanli the legend of the mermaid bead.
“It was discovered by accident, back when we shared a battlefield with the merfolk. It truly is one of their deepest secrets — something they reveal only to their chosen beloved. The mermaid bead is born from emotion — a pearl-like gem that grows within the heart.”
“Born from emotion?” Mo Xuanli asked, startled.
“Yes. Merfolk are deeply devoted creatures — they love only once in a lifetime. When one of them falls in love, a mermaid bead begins to form within their heart, growing slowly over time. The pace depends on the depth of their feelings — when love burns strong, it grows quickly; when love is gentle, it grows slowly.”
As Gu Baiqing said this, he couldn’t help but recall Junhua’s behavior — she must be an exception among the merfolk, he thought wryly.
“The mermaid bead’s purpose is to ensure the continuation of their kind. It’s said to contain tremendous power. On the battlefield, some once witnessed a merfolk detonating their mermaid bead — the destructive force was terrifying. But not every merfolk could do such a thing; otherwise, their people wouldn’t have ended up like this.
“Moreover, the mermaid bead comes with a certain… ability. If the merfolk’s beloved drips their blood onto the pearl, it forms a bond — like blood recognizing its master. From then on, the two can share spiritual power and lifespan, and even transfer half of one’s injuries to the other. In battle, this made a merfolk and their human partner nearly twice as strong.”
“There’s such a benefit? Wouldn’t that make many people want to take a merfolk as their partner?”
“It’s not that easy,” Gu Baiqing replied. “Once the blood bond is formed, it’s said that each year, the partner must endure the pain of having their heart pierced, dripping fresh blood onto the mermaid bead to sustain the merfolk’s life. If they fail, the pearl will shatter — and without it, the merfolk dies.
“In other words, if the partner dies, the merfolk will die too — but not the other way around. It’s terribly unfair to the merfolk. So unless under special circumstances, few would choose this path. And if one truly loves a merfolk, how could they bear to inflict such agony on the person they love?”
“It sounds romantic, but it’s also a test of faith between lovers,” Mo Xuanli said with a nod. “That being the case, the mermaid bead seems of little use to the Beast-Taming Manor. After all, how could a merfolk fall in love with someone from their sect, let alone stand with them?”
Gu Baiqing nodded firmly in agreement.
As for the formation work, Gu Baiqing fully approved of having the merfolk anchor it themselves. In the original text, Mo Xuanli had indeed taught the merfolk to control the array — but when the enemy attacked, it had been too dangerous. Mo Xuanli had led disciples from his sect to stabilize the formation instead, giving the merfolk a chance to flee. Though well-intentioned, it had cost Mo Xuanli dearly.
It would be better, Gu Baiqing thought, to let the merfolk take charge from the start — to understand that with only Mo Xuanli there, he couldn’t do everything for them. Protecting their home and their people had to be their own responsibility. Entrusting their fate to others was far too risky. All Mo Xuanli could do was offer what help he could.
Within the coral reef, everyone was busy preparing and strengthening defenses. Reports continued to arrive — though forces were gathering onshore, they still had no means to counter the Weakwater Barrier. The reef remained safe for now.
But from a lonely island deep in the sea came the sound of weeping merfolk.
“Elder sister, what do we do? How can I save you? Please, don’t let anything happen to you…”
Yu Yingwan hadn’t even managed to finish building the boat before her old illness relapsed. There were no medicines here — she was as good as doomed.
“Sister, I’m sorry… it’s all my fault for being useless…”
Pearl-like tears slid down Little Yezi’s cheeks — real, shimmering pearls. He blamed himself for being powerless. If not for the injury to his tail he’d suffered while saving sister, he could have swum back for help — or for medicine to save her life.
Yu Yingwan slowly opened her eyes, crushing the fallen pearl in her hand with force. She absorbed the last bit of spiritual energy and said coldly, “Get lost. I don’t want to die in front of a merfolk. Go. I don’t want to see you.”
Little Yezi froze. The sorrow was inevitable. He had already done everything he could for Yu Yingwan, but she had treated him with nothing but coldness and hostility these past days—proof of just how much she despised him. And yet, Little Yezi couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone.
“Elder Sister…”
“Get out!”
Yu Yingwan, with the last of her strength, swung her blade at him. Little Yezi’s arm was slashed open. He could only stare blankly as Yu Yingwan’s pale, cold face gradually went slack, her eyes dulling as she looked toward the sky—life slowly slipping away.
Little Yezi suddenly stiffened. Then, taking the knife from her weakening hand, he bit his lip, closed his eyes, and, enduring the pain, thrust it into his own chest.
Far away on the shore, Beast-Taming Manor suddenly stirred with alarm. Someone rushed in to report to Master Yu, “The young lady’s life candle has reacted—we’ve located the general direction. It seems her life hangs by a thread. I fear…”
“Alive or dead, I must see her. She’s… my only child.”
Once the servant left, a wave of danger silently filled the room.
“Who’s there!” Master Yu immediately grew alert. The two spirit beasts beside him began to stir restlessly.
“Father… long time no see.” A man’s voice drifted from nowhere.
“You… why have you come back?” Master Yu asked in shock, recognizing the voice.
“Of course—to tell Father the way to conquer Weak Water.”
…
“Let’s go,” Junhua said with a smile. “The formation is complete, and it’s time for you to advance. I’ll take you to the most sacred and powerful place of our merfolk tribe.”
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