I Just Wanted to Teach Cultivation, But Goddesses Keep Coming!

While Long Aotian was being trained and reeducated in his new life, a storm was already brewing within the Long Clan.

“Who dares provoke my Long Clan?!” a thunderous voice roared within the grand hall.

“I want his nine generations uprooted and slaughtered!”

The speaker sat high upon the main seat, his aura suffocating the entire chamber.

Veins bulged along his temples, his fury barely contained as killing intent seeped into every corner of the hall.

A servant hurriedly knelt below, not daring to lift his head.

“Master… the one responsible… is a Medicine King.”

The words caused the atmosphere to shift instantly.

“…A Medicine King?”

The man’s rage paused, his expression darkening.

The killing intent did not disappear, but it sharpened into something colder and more restrained.

“This will be troublesome,” he muttered.

A Medicine King was not someone that could be casually erased.

The influence they held was vast, their connections deep and unpredictable.

Acting rashly could bring consequences even the Long Clan would rather avoid.

“Do not act yet,” he ordered after a brief silence. “Send people to track that Medicine King’s movements. Watch him closely… but make no move.”

“As you wish, Master!”

The servant hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“There is… another matter.”

“Speak.”

The servant swallowed. “Young Master Long Aotian’s soul lamp… is still burning.”

Silence.

A heavy, oppressive silence fell over the entire hall.

“…What did you say?” The man’s voice dropped, dangerously low.

“According to all witnesses, Young Master was reduced to… nothing in the Medicine Pavilion,” the servant continued carefully. “Yet his soul lamp burns brightly. It shows no signs of extinguishing.”

The air grew colder.

The man leaned back slowly, his eyes narrowing as thoughts rapidly turned in his mind.

“This… makes no sense.”

If Long Aotian had truly died, his soul lamp should have gone out instantly. That was an unchangeable fact.

Yet it still burned.

Which meant…

“He’s either alive…” the man murmured, “or something far more complicated is at play.”

A deeper shadow crossed his face.

“There is a bigger scheme behind this. All the more reason we must not act rashly.”

He tapped his fingers lightly against the armrest, each sound echoing faintly in the silent hall.

“…Send a message.”

The servant immediately straightened. “To whom, Master?”

The man’s gaze turned distant, as if recalling someone both trusted and dangerous.

“Drunken Sword.”

The servant’s eyes widened in shock, unable to hide his reaction this time.

But just as quickly, he suppressed it, lowering his head deeply.

“As you command.”

Without another word, he vanished from the hall.

Left alone, the master of the Long Clan stared into the distance, his expression unreadable.

***

Several minutes later, the message was sent… and received.

“Medicine King Lin Feng?”

A man muttered softly as he held a jade slip between his fingers.

He appeared young and refined, even handsome but what stood out most was the strip of white cloth tied over his eyes, concealing them completely.

Despite that, his posture was steady, his presence calm yet unfathomable.

He exhaled slowly.

Without hesitation, he moved.

Within an hour, his subordinates returned, kneeling before him as they presented every piece of information they had gathered… details of the Medicine Pavilion incident, Lin Feng’s identity, and the strange death of Long Aotian.

After listening in silence, the man rose to his feet.

Moments later, he stepped beyond the gates of Dao Origin City.

And just as expected… Someone was already waiting for him. An old man stood quietly in his path.

He looked ordinary at first glance, but the air around him felt heavy, as if even space itself bowed slightly in his presence.

His aura was restrained, yet impossibly deep like a dormant volcano.

The blindfolded man stopped.

“So the rumors are true,” he said calmly. “Medicine King Lin Feng truly succeeded in healing you… Asura.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

The old man chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing.

“And I didn’t expect you to come personally… Drunken Sword Immortal.”

The man with the white cloth over his eyes known as the Drunken Sword Immortal tilted his head slightly, as if studying the old man before him despite his covered gaze.

“Go back. I simply don’t want you to die, Long Changsheng,” the old man Xiao Yan said mentioning Drunken Sword Immortal’s real name.

There was no hostility in his voice. Only quiet certainty.

For a moment, the two stood facing each other in silence, their auras clashing invisibly, causing the surrounding air to grow tense and heavy.

Then…

Long Changsheng suddenly laughed.

“Alright,” he said with a casual shrug. “I’m not someone difficult to persuade.”

He lifted the jade slip slightly before tucking it away.

“I love my life and I still have a bottle of wine waiting for me, after all.”

He turned, taking a few steps back toward the city gates.

“But you should understand something,” he added without looking back. “Even if you stop me… my clan won’t.”

“I’m only one man.”

With that, Long Changsheng walked away, his figure gradually disappearing into the distance.

Xiao Yan remained where he stood, watching silently.

The wind stirred faintly.

And though the confrontation had ended without a single move…

The tension it left behind lingered, like the calm before a far greater storm.

“Even a million of you wouldn’t be enough to hinder that man…”

Xiao Yan muttered under his breath, his gaze lingering in the direction Long Changsheng had disappeared.

The calm on his face slowly gave way to a trace of solemnity.

He hadn’t spoken those words lightly.

Lin Feng… was unfathomable.

The more Xiao Yan thought about it, the more he felt a quiet chill in his heart.

The methods Lin Feng displayed was something that defied common sense.

Even now, Xiao Yan could not fully grasp the depth of that man’s abilities.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Then, as if recalling something, his expression turned slightly strange.

Fragments of their earlier conversation surfaced in his mind, small hints, offhand remarks… and a certain unmistakable preference.