"Life is great…"
Lin Fan let out a long, content sigh as he lay stretched out on a hammock strung between two sturdy trees.
The warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the sky above was a brilliant blue — not a single cloud in sight.
He folded his arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
It was hot, sure, but not unbearable.
A little sweat was a small price to pay for this kind of peace.
Lin Fan chuckled to himself.
The past few days had been like a dream — from being accepted into the sect, to finally escaping a life of obscurity and oppression.
No more sweeping floors.
No more being treated like a stray dog.
He was an outer disciple now.
Not much yet, but it was a start.
And for the first time in his life… people looked at him with something that resembled respect.
"Soon enough," Lin Fan said, grinning lazily, "I'll have my own harem…"
He laughed, not even bothering to hide his delight.
Inside his mind, a long-suffering sigh echoed:
'Boy… why are you so focused on women? Shouldn't you be working on your cultivation? When you're strong, women will come on their own.'
Lin Fan lazily wagged his finger left and right in the air. "No, no. You've got it all backwards, old man. Women come first. With a strong foundation—"
'You mean lust.'
"—I can grow stronger," Lin Fan finished, ignoring the sarcasm.
The old man groaned audibly inside his sea of consciousness.
'So you're telling me you need to be horny… to cultivate?'
Lin Fan shrugged with a wide grin. "Who knows? All I know is, before long, every woman in this sect will belong to me!"
He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into his fantasy.
He imagined himself sitting on a throne surrounded by beautiful disciples, each one vying for his attention — a girl feeding him fruit, another girl massaging his shoulders, even a girl resting her head on his lap…
Lin Fan was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the sudden roar that echoed from somewhere down the mountain — the cry of a furious beast.
The trees shook slightly from the force of it.
So did the hammock.
Lin Fan blinked just in time to feel the ropes snap loose.
The world spun.
"Wait, wait, wa—!"
THUMP.
He hit the dirt back-first, dust kicking up around him.
"Ouch…" Lin Fan groaned, staring up at the swaying leaves above:
"Ugh… My harem…"
'Heaven save me… I got sealed into a clown.'
The old man felt like weeping.
Never in his long life — not in war, not during his tribulations, not even when he once faced a heavenly tribulation while poisoned — had he encountered such a hopeless, horny fool.
'A cultivator should be disciplined. Tempered. Above base desires.'
Instead, here he was, stuck inside the body of someone who cultivated with his lower half more than his spiritual core.
Meanwhile, Lin Fan stood up, patting the dust off his robe and stretching like a lazy cat.
His hammock dream was over — but something else had just caught his eye.
Across, walking with the quiet authority of pure ice, was a woman surrounded by other female disciples.
The crowd seemed to part for her naturally, heads turning in admiration.
Lin Fan's jaw practically dropped.
'The Saintess?' he thought, blinking rapidly.
Long, flowing blonde hair shimmered under the sunlight like strands of silk.
Her light blue eyes were glacial — cold, clear, and piercing.
Her face was devoid of expression, calm like still water, but her beauty was divine.
Her figure was perfect — graceful curves, flawless posture, elegance in every step.
She wore a refined snow-white robe, embroidered with silver cloud patterns, and on her back rested a pristine spiritual bow, faintly glowing with ethereal energy.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Even the birds flying overhead seemed to quiet as she walked beneath the trees.
Lin Fan stared, completely awestruck.
'She's perfect… like a goddess descended to the mortal world…'
Then, with the focus of a man who had just discovered his life's true purpose, Lin Fan licked his lips, spat into his palm, and slicked back his messy hair.
The old man watched in silent horror.
'What are you doing…?'
Lin Fan clenched his fists dramatically. "It's time to show off my flirting."
'No, no, no, please — we can still turn back! Just meditate! Focus on your meridians!'
But Lin Fan was already moving, chest puffed out, striding forward like a peacock in mating season.
His inner monologue ran wild:
'I'll make her laugh. Then I'll impress her with my unique charm. And then… she'll be mine.'
The Saintess didn't even glance his way as he approached, but her followers noticed him — and not favorably.
A few of the inner disciples gave him strange looks, clearly unamused.
One even frowned.
Lin Fan didn't care.
He moved directly into the Saintess's path and stopped right in front of her.
He smiled, lowered his voice a few octaves — trying to make it sound deeper, smoother, more seductive.
"Hey, Ice Beauty," Lin Fan said with a wink, "I couldn't help but notice how perfect we'd look together."
Silence.
The Saintess, without changing her expression in the slightest, gave him a brief glance —
A flicker of her icy blue eyes — then gracefully stepped to the side and walked around him, as if he were no more significant than a pebble on the road.
She didn't say a single word.
Her entourage followed behind her.
One of the inner disciples snorted. "What an idiot."
Another smirked, shaking her head. "Does he seriously think someone like him is worthy of our Saintess?"
A third one, voice full of mockery, added, "Even the heavens mock that kind of delusion."
Lin Fan stood frozen, blinking, hand still in the air as if trying to reach out for her attention — attention that never came.
The old man inside him was silent for a long moment.
'...This might be the most embarrassing thing I've ever witnessed — and I once watched an elder's pants get disintegrated during a fight to the death...'
Lin Fan slowly lowered his hand, cleared his throat, and put on a forced smile.
"Playing hard to get. Classic Saintess move," he muttered to himself.
'You're delusional.'
"Shut up, old man. I just need a few more chances. Girls like her always test a man's persistence."
Lin Fan turned to walk away—tried to keep his swagger—but he tripped over a tree root, stumbled, and barely caught himself from faceplanting.