“What is there that can't be seen by your old man? Is it the newly released erotic illustrations from the Book Garden?” With a wave of his hand, the old man knocked Mo Yi into a mountain of scrolls before he even realized what had happened. In an instant, he was buried under the collapsing scrolls; the terror of a martial arts master was such that it felt like child’s play to him.
‘Damn it.’ Mo Yi cursed inwardly. The original owner of this body, before his transmigration, was considered a good-for-nothing playboy in his family. Following behind him were wicked servants, carrying birdcages to tease respectable women in the streets, and it was an understatement to describe him that way; swinging sticks to chase away tigers while laughing heartily was his true nature!
“What a pathetic position. Does my old man even know his son is a debauched wastrel?” Mo Yi grumbled in his heart, while also pushing away the piled scrolls in front of him. He stood up and looked at his father.
The old man was stroking his chin, intently gazing at the leather scrolls on the desk, and when he was engrossed, he even took a sip from Mo Yi's teacup.
“Stop looking. I suddenly became interested in these legends,” Mo Yi coughed as he moved closer to the desk. He noticed the gleam in his father's eyes and inwardly sighed that he was in trouble.
Who was his father, the old man before him? The current patriarch of the Mo family—Mo Tianjiao!
The word "legendary" is no longer sufficient to describe Mo Tianjiao's life. Starting from humble beginnings, he assisted the founding emperor of the Yi Kingdom in establishing the nation, then accompanied the Empress Dowager Yi and Emperor Wu Yi to stabilize the realm, and now he controls eighty percent of the military power of the Yi Kingdom. He is the one who manipulates both external threats and internal affairs; Mo Tianjiao is a living legend of a founding marshal in the Yi Kingdom.
That said, Mo Tianjiao is incredibly stubborn. To describe him in the words of the founding emperor: even if his wife and daughter ran off with someone, he wouldn't look back.
Mo Tianjiao believes in only three possibilities: implement! Implement! And implement!
He is so domineering, so cool, truly the best of the old men! And that’s not even the most thrilling part; the most thrilling part is that Mo Tianjiao has lived from the founding of the Yi Kingdom three hundred years ago to the present, a veritable living fossil capable of running, jumping, and fighting.
If Mo Tianjiao were to say now, “Stop thinking about these things and go study.”
In the next second, he would have no choice but to obediently hit the books and prepare for exams.
If he protested, Mo Yi would be dragged out and given a hundred strikes with a military baton, confined for a year to reflect.
That's right, it’s that kind of military baton that even a brawny man couldn't withstand. Mo Yi would have to endure a hundred strikes. What if he died? Don’t worry, the Mo family has renowned doctors; even Hua Tuo and Norman Bethune might be able to dig up a couple.
The most painful part is spending a year facing the wall, by then the Mo family would have long been dismantled by those three bastards with protagonist auras.
Mo Tianjiao slammed the table, causing the teacup on it to jump and then fall, producing a crisp clinking sound. Mo Yi's heart also skipped a beat; if there were an electrocardiogram nearby, he would find that his heartbeat had executed a perfect W maneuver.
Mo Tianjiao turned his piercing gaze towards Mo Yi and said, “You brat... want to cultivate immortality?”
Mo Yi opened his mouth; standing before him was his biological father, and the damned memories of his original body made it impossible for him to lie to this man.
“Yes, I have some interest, who wouldn’t want to cultivate immortality? Anyone with knowledge and courage should try to defy the heavens,” Mo Yi said casually while looking out the window, “Isn’t there an old saying? My fate is determined by me, not by heaven.”
“Child... has his own difficulties!” Mo Yi gritted his teeth and insisted. In fact, he had often comforted himself that those three were just coincidences; the reality was that there weren’t three bastards with protagonist auras coming to dismantle his family. But when he thought deeper, everything was too coincidental. He had transmigrated, encountered those three, and learned of the existence of cultivators. Everything seemed to be foreshadowing one thing: the family would soon face destruction.
“When did you start calling yourself ‘child’? Didn’t you always refer to yourself as ‘I’?” Mo Tianjiao shot Mo Yi a suspicious glance and said, “Did you go out with that brat Wen Chen and eat the wrong medicine?”
Mo Yi steeled his heart and said bluntly, “I just want to cultivate immortality, what’s wrong with that?”
The imagined fury didn’t come; instead, a hand slapped down on his shoulder, nearly causing him to fall to the ground.
“Oh? You’ve learned to act tough? You weren’t so bold in front of me before,” Mo Tianjiao squinted his eyes, sizing up Mo Yi, “Could it be that some immortal has taken over your body?”
Mo Yi broke out in a cold sweat; he had indeed been taken over, but he was no immortal—he was a Cambridge psychology PhD standing under the red flag of the twenty-first century.
“Look at how scared you are.” Mo Tianjiao plopped down on the table, using that invaluable scroll as a cushion, and what was worse, he fidgeted, nearly tearing the scroll apart.
Mo Yi watched this scene and thought that in the future, he would need a gas mask to consult this scroll, assuming that such a thing existed in this era... but at least there are masks, right?
From the fragmented memories of this body, Mo Tianjiao was indeed unruly, but Mo Yi never expected him to be so reckless as to use classified documents as a cushion.
Since he was such a rogue, it would be much easier. If he were a stuffy old man, Mo Yi would truly have no chance.
Mo Yi's eyes darted around, then he suddenly knelt down with a thud, prostrating himself and shouting, “Coach... ah no, Dad! I want to cultivate immortality!”
Mo Tianjiao didn’t even lower his head, reaching into Mo Yi's desk and rummaging for a while, pulling out a somewhat colorful and unhealthy little yellow book to read, enjoying it immensely, occasionally smacking his lips, behaving atrociously, truly deserving to be called the number one rogue in the Yi Kingdom.
What the hell! This bastard even dared to invade his last bit of personal privacy! Mo Yi looked up and saw what Mo Tianjiao was doing, nearly cursing. This old man was not just atrocious; it would be an understatement to say he was corrupting morals.
Before Mo Yi could react, Mo Tianjiao casually stuffed the little yellow book into his sleeve and walked towards the door, saying, “Your collection is too boring; next time, go gather some good stuff. I’ll check regularly.”
Watching that sturdy yet slightly hunched figure, Mo Yi fell into deep thought. What was this old man doing? He neither explicitly refused nor obstructed, and his words were incredibly vulgar. The external world and the fragmented memories of Mo Yi both positioned Mo Tianjiao as a martial artist, domineering, generous, and straightforward—someone who dared to criticize the emperor in court wouldn’t have so many twists and turns.
In an instant, like a thunderclap, Mo Yi, kneeling on the ground, suddenly looked up, mumbling, “Cultivate my sister’s immortality?”