PID Chapter 7

Xiao Mo cared about points and cultivation because his sea of consciousness was perpetually shrouded in night. Lingering in such gloom, he feared for his mental health. Otherwise, he’d laze around even more, avoiding Chu Jinglan entirely.

 

The System displayed his earnings: one good news, one bad.

 

Good news: 300 points—a decent sum.

 

Bad news: Converting them to cultivation progress would barely move the needle.

 

If advancing to the Nascent Soul stage required a “score” of 100, his current points would add a pitiful +3.

 

Even Xiao Mo blurted, “I expected little, but *this* little!?”

 

A 100:1 exchange rate? *Exploitative.*

 

The System chirped, “True. Alternatively, you could practice inner demonic cultivation. Directly engaging with this world’s energy would aid your integration better than point conversion.”

 

Xiao Mo sighed. It seemed his fate was eternal toil—cramming for exams in his past life, grinding cultivation now. Life never eased up.

 

“But the shop has no manuals. How do I cultivate?”

 

The System perked up, eager: “I can replicate any manual from this world—*free of charge!*” It radiated pride, begging praise.

 

Xiao Mo clapped flatly. “Impressive. Recommendations?”

 

The System flashed several titles: *”The Ultimate Inner Demon’s Manual,” “Most Popular Among Inner Demons,”* etc.—precious texts others would kill for, now easily copied.

 

Xiao Mo noted these focused on mental and spiritual arts, lacking physical disciplines like swordsmanship.

 

“Can inner demons not become sword cultivators?”

 

“Sword intent clashes with inner demonic techniques. Combat styles must align with one’s core cultivation—mismatches risk backlash or qi deviation.”

 

Xiao Mo hummed. Most inner demons pursued music or spellcraft. He picked *The Demonic Tome of Music*, a nine-tiered path merging inner refinement with external manipulation through sound and gaze-based illusions.

 

The System added, “For this, you’ll need a musical instrument. Basic ones are cheap in the shop!”

 

Xiao Mo, frugal as ever: “Can’t I simulate one mentally first?”

 

“Without real practice, illusions breed bad habits. You’ll eventually leave Chu Jinglan—start building foundations now. Demonic cultivation converts spiritual energy into dark power. Practice outside the sea of consciousness.”

 

Xiao Mo deadpanned: “Remember I’m a limbless shadow outside?”

 

How to play an instrument? *Bounce on a drum as a blob?*

 

The System enthused, “Use your shadow! Hum through condensed mist, pluck strings with tendrils—you’ve got this!”

 

Xiao Mo: *…Thanks.*

 

Cultivation was harder than expected—crippled form, unconventional methods. He browsed the shop’s basic instruments: pipa, zither, guqin, flute…

 

His gaze lingered on the flute.

 

He was an excellent student, quick to learn, but he had little time for leisure or entertainment and hadn’t learned to play any musical instruments.

 

Even swimming was something he picked up while working part-time.

 

The schools Xiao Mo attended as a child never emphasized music or the arts. While living with relatives, no one was willing to pay for him to learn skills like playing an instrument at places like youth centers.

 

For Xiao Mo, the flute left an unforgettable mark on his childhood.

 

At the time, he lived with relatives, and one of his cousins was learning to play the flute. Xiao Mo envied him greatly but knew he wasn’t liked, so he only admired from afar, not daring to get closer or watch for too long.

 

Until one day, young Xiao Mo couldn’t hold back anymore. Summoning all his courage, the small child hesitantly stood in front of his cousin.

 

His little hands twisted nervously behind his back as he pleaded, “Cousin, can I look at your flute book?”

 

He didn’t even dare ask to touch the flute itself—just seeing the book would have been enough for him.

 

Xiao Mo’s reading ability far surpassed that of other children his age. He knew it wasn’t possible for him to learn the flute at that moment, but he hoped to memorize the knowledge from the book. Maybe someday in the future, if he ever had a flute of his own…

 

What if?

 

But this tiny hope was cruelly shattered on the spot.

 

“What? Why should I let you see it?!”

 

His cousin looked at him as though he were something filthy, full of disdain and disgust. The cousin, feeling superior despite being just a child himself, mimicked his parents’ attitude and pointed at Xiao Mo’s nose as he scolded: “Who do you think you are? You’re just some kid without parents! How dare you ask me for anything? If you want to see a book, go find your parents! Get out of my house already—you’re so annoying!”

 

Xiao Mo’s eyes widened in shock. The color drained from his face in an instant, leaving him pale as a sheet. His shattered hope and the humiliation of being scolded burned through him, leaving him utterly ashamed. The courage he had painstakingly gathered meant nothing in his cousin’s eyes and was crushed into pieces.

 

Little Xiao Mo was only a few years old. Though he had endured countless grievances in silence before, this time tears burst from his eyes uncontrollably. He fled from the “home” as though escaping. The wind stung his tear-streaked cheeks as he ran, and for the first time, the child vaguely understood what self-respect meant.

 

He also became painfully aware that this wasn’t his home—it was someone else’s.

 

No matter how obedient or well-behaved he was, he would always be an outsider who could be bullied at will.

 

Later, when Xiao Mo was found by the police, his face was numb with despair as he listened to his relatives accuse him in front of the officers. They claimed that he was disobedient and had run away from home just to cause trouble for them.

 

If not for a passerby reporting a lost child to the police, those relatives would probably have been happy to let him stay lost.

 

From then on, Xiao Mo no longer held any expectations for those people.

 

Now looking at the flute in the shop—a simple beginner-level artifact with a beautiful green hue—Xiao Mo said, “I’ll take this one.”

 

The system chimed in: “A flute is great! A wonderful choice! Host, do you know how to play it?”

 

Xiao Mo exchanged points for the flute. A flash of light later, a smooth and delicate green bamboo flute appeared in his hand. He gently stroked it and replied: “No.”

 

The pain of the past had long been buried with those memories. Xiao Mo was someone who bore grudges but never tormented himself over them. In quiet moments, he never let past events haunt him; instead, every hardship became nourishment that propelled him forward.

 

As Xiao Mo grew up and worked hard to support himself while studying, buying a flute wouldn’t have been impossible if he really wanted one. But with new goals in mind—like getting into a good university—he decided to prioritize those first. Occasionally passing by music stores, he no longer looked at them with longing like he did as a child.

 

Xiao Mo touched the flute again. What he couldn’t achieve in his previous life could now continue in this one.

 

Finally, he had his own flute.

 

The system enthusiastically said: “You’ll need sheet music and tutorials too! Let me search for them right away!”

 

—

 

Chu Jinglan possessed extraordinary talent but never slacked off in cultivation. He woke early every day without fail—rain or shine.

 

He was extremely diligent.

 

Originally, his mornings were peaceful and undisturbed. However, ever since acquiring an inner demon, his solitary meditation time had been significantly reduced. Thankfully, only his early morning training sessions remained untouched—for now.

 

After all, the inner demon was lazy and couldn’t wake up early. Chu Jinglan hoped this bad habit would persist.

 

But this small comfort was broken today.

 

About halfway through his sword practice in the bamboo forest clearing that morning, Chu Jinglan saw the inner demon’s misty form lazily float out earlier than usual.

 

Much earlier than usual.

 

Chu Jinglan froze mid-swing with his sword and stood there for a moment before a sense of foreboding crept over him.

 

That feeling quickly became reality.

 

The black mist ball seemed slightly puffier than usual and appeared to contain something faintly visible inside—though it wasn’t clear what. Suspicion filled Chu Jinglan’s gaze as he warily watched the misty form perched on a leaf tip.

 

One breath… two breaths… three breaths later—a short and trembling whistle emerged from within the black mist ball.

 

It was shaky and weak, trailing off abruptly with no proper ending—a strange sound indeed.

 

Chu Jinglan: “?”

 

He tightened his grip on his sword without letting down his guard; any change in the inner demon could only mean trouble for him.

 

After that nearly inaudible opening sound came another attempt—the mist ball seemed to exert all its strength this time. A long and piercingly dreadful noise shattered the morning tranquility like an assault on one’s very soul—sharp enough to send shivers down spines and scatter minds!

 

Caught off guard by this horrific sound filling his ears unrestrainedly, Chu Jinglan felt both his vigilance and eardrums take a direct hit. He barely managed to keep hold of his sword instead of flinging it away instinctively.

 

…A flute?

 

How could anyone make a flute sound *that* terrible?

 

Even beginners rarely achieved such earth-shattering results!

 

After producing that single note of chaos-inducing noise, Xiao Mo stopped playing as well—the entire mist ball trembled slightly as if even *he* couldn’t believe how awful it sounded.

 

Chu Jinglan stood frozen amidst swirling winds for several moments before finally regathering himself after having nearly lost his soul to that dreadful soundscape. Gritting his teeth furiously: “Inner demon! What are you trying to do now?!”

 

For Xiao Mo himself, it didn’t feel quite as catastrophic—but even he knew it was far from pleasant-sounding. For once facing Chu Jinglan directly left him feeling slightly lacking in confidence; coughing awkwardly twice before stammering out: “Pr-practicing… uh… music theory.”

 

After speaking, Xiao Mo suddenly realized that as an inner demon, he shouldn’t show weakness in front of Chu Jinglan. The mist ball puffed up slightly, and he immediately adopted a more confident tone: “As you can see, I’m cultivating.”

 

Although he tried to maintain his inner demon demeanor, he still sounded less assured than usual, with hints of embarrassment in his voice.

 

Xiao Mo thought to himself: Help, it sounds terrible, and Chu Jinglan heard it!

 

Hearing the word “cultivating,” Chu Jinglan’s confused expression cleared, replaced by wariness. He coldly said, “You can’t possess me now.”

 

Was there some other plan behind this sudden urgency to cultivate?

 

Xiao Mo continued his act as the inner demon: “I’m planning ahead. You’re so diligent, I can’t fall behind. Let’s both do our best, host.”

 

Chu Jinglan’s dark eyes were filled with icy sharpness, piercing straight through Xiao Mo. Xiao Mo didn’t flinch, maintaining his stance and staring back—despite the mist ball having no eyes.

 

After a tense moment between man and mist, Chu Jinglan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and walked away.

 

He moved to the other side of the sword practice area, further from the inner demon. Chu Jinglan resumed his practice, each move now filled with even more killing intent, as if he wanted to viciously cleave something in two.

 

Without Chu Jinglan’s glare, Xiao Mo’s bravado deflated like a punctured balloon.

 

The bamboo flute was wrapped within his misty form, played using qi and spiritual energy. Though he had put on an act for Chu Jinglan, the truth was… he did care about his image.

 

After that practice attempt, he knew his flute playing wasn’t pleasant… well, it was actually quite awful.

 

If possible, he would have preferred to practice alone.

 

But!

 

Spiritual energy was only available in the outside world, and he couldn’t move more than fifty meters away from Chu Jinglan!

 

Wrapped around the flute, Xiao Mo’s expressions fluctuated unseen, swinging between cloudy and stormy.

 

“System, is there any other way?” he asked.

 

The system, silent for a while, finally spoke up. For some reason, its electronic voice had changed pitch: “There isn’t, Host. I’m sorry, but I believe in your learning ability. You can do it!”

 

After encouraging the host, the system carefully requested: “By the way, Host, please notify me before you practice the flute. I’ll temporarily mute my audio input. When you need me, just call ‘System’ to reconnect.”

 

“I don’t mean anything by it, really! It’s just that your flute sound is unexpectedly powerful and might affect my voice functions.”

 

Xiao Mo: “…”

 

No need to be so tactful. If it sounds bad, just say so. He might be petty, but he doesn’t hold grudges over everything.

 

Xiao Mo looked at Chu Jinglan practicing sword nearby and worried: Chu Jinglan’s cultivation progress was beneficial to him too, so he didn’t really want to disturb Chu Jinglan’s practice.

 

So when should he practice the flute?

 

The system, though it had closed audio input, still had output enabled. It chimed: “Mental attack successful, +30 points!”

 

Xiao Mo: …

 

Really? Just from that flute sound earlier?

 

As he spun around with the flute wrapped inside him, Xiao Mo had a sudden realization. Amidst the rising points, he understood when he should practice.

 

Chu Jinglan, unsettled and with an overly sharp sword, had jumbled thoughts: From today on, every day’s practice would surely be chaotic. What a vicious inner demon, constantly assaulting his ears with demonic sounds during cultivation. He might end up with unstable qi and emotions, and if he’s not careful, he could fall into qi deviation. The inner demon wouldn’t even need to do anything else to possess him then.

 

The more he thought about it, the more killing intent filled Chu Jinglan’s sword.

 

But after he had shredded a patch of bamboo leaves before him, Chu Jinglan realized the expected noise hadn’t appeared.

 

The bamboo forest was filled only with the sound of his sword cutting through the air and his heavy breathing. Chu Jinglan withdrew his sword in surprise, looking around to find that the inner demon had vanished.

 

Chu Jinglan knew from books that the inner demon couldn’t stray too far from him. If it wasn’t visible, it could only be hiding somewhere or back in his sea of consciousness.

 

There weren’t many places to hide in the sword practice area.

 

Had it returned to the sea of consciousness? Without bothering him?

 

Chu Jinglan’s expression went blank after his earlier anger.

 

What was the inner demon up to?

 

Though he couldn’t figure it out, it didn’t stop Chu Jinglan from acting on his anger. Before lunch, he specifically instructed the kitchen to prepare several elaborate dishes.

 

Sliced pork in chili oil, squirrel-shaped mandarin fish, and sweet and sour pork tenderloin—all dishes he had observed the inner demon would likely enjoy.

 

When lunchtime came and the delicious dishes were served one by one, the inner demon, never missing a meal, appeared as expected.

 

Chu Jinglan looked at him and clearly uttered a “Hmph.”

 

Then he leisurely picked up his chopsticks, prepared to eat lunch slowly, letting the lazy and gluttonous inner demon see but not eat, prolonging the torment.

 

Just as his chopsticks approached the edge of a slice of meat, a hoarse flute sound unexpectedly exploded in the room!

 

Instantly, the glossy red oil lost its luster, the fragrant meat slices became tasteless, and even the fish head of the squirrel-shaped mandarin fish looked grotesque in the flute’s sound, as if screaming in death!

 

The meal lost its appeal, the water its sweetness, and the dishes might as well have gone cold.

 

Chu Jinglan: “…”

 

With a crack, he snapped the silver chopsticks in his hand.

 

Xiao Mo retorted to Chu Jinglan with a very clear: “Hehe.”

 

Indeed, he was retaliating, and he even added an extra “hehe” for good measure!

 

Finally able to gain the upper hand at mealtime, Xiao Mo could now hold his head high: If it’s about mutual harm, who can’t do that? Bring it on!

 

Author’s Note:

 

Xiao Mo (17 years old): I’ve experienced the world’s warmth and coldness, seen the treachery of human hearts. I’m mature and steady. 0-0

 

Chu Jinglan (17 years old): I’ve witnessed scheming and intrigue, understood the crookedness of human hearts. I’m calm and composed. =-=

 

Until these two seventeen-year-olds meet—

 

Ha! Watch us scratch each other with cat paws!

 

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