The Cold and Aloof Palace Master's Daily Demon-Slaying Life

Zuo Chunqiu's residence is located in one of the areas with the richest spiritual energy in Zuojiayu, and it is an independent three-courtyard house.

The courtyard is not luxurious, but it exudes refinement and sophistication in every detail.

Artificial hills and flowing water, pavilions and terraces, and green plants embellishing the space clearly show a lot of thought and effort was put into it.

Instead of going to the study in the front hall to handle official business, he went straight through the corridor to the deepest part of his bedroom, which was also his most private room.

He waved away the servants who were standing by, closed the door, and activated the simple soundproofing and security measures in the room.

The interior furnishings are simple and elegant, mainly consisting of dark wood and jade, exuding a calm and aloof atmosphere that matches the impression the owner gives.

A large rosewood bed, a desk piled high with account books and jade slips, an antique shelf displaying several ancient ritual implements, and a bookshelf that occupies an entire wall—these were the room his mother left him before she passed away, and he has never changed them to this day.

He stood quietly in the center of the room for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the familiar scenery before finally settling on an inconspicuous dark compartment next to the desk, almost blending into the color of the wall.

There is a hidden box there.

Zuo Chunqiu walked over, gathered a wisp of spiritual power at his fingertips, and gently touched several specific spots on the edge of the hidden compartment.

"Click".

With a soft sound, the wooden panel of the hidden compartment slid open silently, revealing a space that was only about a foot square.

There were no dazzling gems, no magical materials brimming with spiritual energy, and no jade slips recording profound cultivation techniques.

There was only an ordinary old box, made of common peach wood, with a somewhat mottled paint finish.

Zuo Chunqiu stretched out his hands and took out the wooden box, his movements as gentle as if he were holding a fragile piece of glass, yet with an indescribable sense of preciousness.

The box is very light.

He walked to the soft couch by the window and sat down, placing the wooden box on his lap. He ran his fingers along the rough lacquered surface for a long time before gently opening the lid.

There was no dazzling light, no enticing fragrance.

The box was lined with a layer of soft, yellowed silk, on which lay several ordinary, even somewhat rudimentary...toddler toys.

A bamboo dragonfly made of thin bamboo strips and colored paper, the colors of which have faded considerably.

A large windmill with a colorful paper windmill inserted into a wooden handle, which makes a clattering sound when it turns.

Several smooth, round pebbles of various colors, which can be vaguely seen, were once played with as marbles.

A small wooden sword, with a crooked and blurred "left" character carved on the blade.

There was also a small grasshopper made of straw, which was dry, yellowed, and almost falling apart.

They were all the most ordinary things, the things that ordinary children play with.

In the market at the foot of Cuiwei Mountain, a handful of these items could be bought for just one or two copper coins. Many children from poor families could even weave them themselves using wild grass and bamboo strips.

(Note: Black Copper is the lowest-level currency unit in the [Immortal Coin] currency system. Above it are Mithril and Geng Gold. The conversion ratio between the currency units is 1:1000.)

But these things were carefully preserved in this wooden box, which was protected from dust, decay, and insects. After two hundred years, they still look exactly the same as when they were placed inside, and even the colors have not faded.

Zuo Chunqiu picked up the bamboo dragonfly and placed it in his palm.

The bamboo strips felt cool and smooth to the touch, while the colored paper was so fragile that it seemed as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.

He remembered that when he was six years old, he secretly asked a clever servant to sneak out of Zuojiayu and buy it from the market at the foot of the mountain.

He saved up his snack money for three whole months for this bamboo dragonfly—although his family didn't lack that money at all, his parents were very strict about his allowance, and he had to report every expense.

He gently twisted the thin stick beneath the bamboo dragonfly.

"call--"

The bamboo dragonfly's wings trembled slightly, but it did not take flight.

Ultimately, it's been around for too long, and the mechanisms have started to malfunction.

Zuo Chunqiu looked at the small, fragile toy in his palm, his eyes gradually becoming unfocused, as if he had traveled through two hundred years of time and returned to his oppressive and lonely childhood, which was surrounded by numerous rules and high walls.

-

When Zuo Chunqiu was born, both his parents were cultivators in the late Foundation Establishment stage.

His birth was seen as the culmination of a powerful alliance, and high hopes were placed upon him.

When cultivators unite, the probability of their offspring possessing an empty aperture is extremely high, almost reaching over 90%. The only difference lies in the level of the empty aperture.

Only a very small number of unlucky individuals will inherit the 10% chance of having "no aperture" from their parents.

This is the exact opposite of ordinary families—only one in ten thousand ordinary children might awaken the void, that's truly a stroke of great luck.

Therefore, from the moment he was born, Zuo Chunqiu's life was clearly planned out.

At the age of three, when the bones and muscles were beginning to develop, he began to soak in various precious medicinal liquids to strengthen his body and clear his meridians.

Apart from necessary sleep and meals, he spends most of his time in the medicine vat, and the air he breathes is filled with the bitter smell of medicine.

At five years old, I began to learn to read and write. Not only did I have to learn secular characters, but I also started to be exposed to the most basic cultivation terminology, herbal diagrams, and mineral identification. Every day there were endless books to memorize and countless characters to write.

At the age of six, he formally began practicing the family's fundamental "Qi Cultivation Technique." His parents took turns supervising him, and he had to complete his daily homework. Any slackness would result in severe reprimands or even corporal punishment. In addition to his practice, he also had to learn family etiquette, interpersonal relationships, and even simple accounting.

His childhood was devoid of mud, crickets, running wild across the mountains and fields, and carefree laughter with his friends.

There's nothing but endless homework, never-ending bitter medicine, and the ever-satisfied, critical gaze of my parents.

Other children envied him for his luxurious life, for his parents being high-ranking "immortals," and for being destined for greatness from birth.

But he envied the children from ordinary families.

He once secretly went down the mountain and looked at the farm children on the distant field ridges, barefoot, with tanned skin, chasing and playing, their laughter carrying far.

They can roll around in the fields covered in mud, climb trees to raid bird nests, catch fish and shrimp in the streams, and laugh so hard their eyes disappear for a roasted sweet potato.

That's what childhood should be like.

Free, vibrant, and full of life.

Instead of being like him, like a bird carefully raised in a golden cage, its feathers meticulously groomed, its calls trained to be rhythmic, every move required to be proper, even flapping its wings requires consideration of whether it will disturb its magnificent feathers.

These simple toys in the box were the only, clandestine glimmers of light in his gloomy and oppressive childhood.

They represent his deepest, most humble longing for "freedom" and "ordinariness".

Holding the bamboo dragonfly, he imagined himself running across a vast field, watching it soar high into the sky;

As he turned the large windmill, he seemed to hear the sound of the wind in the mountains and fields;

He fiddled with the pebbles, pretending to be like those farm children, squatting on the ground playing the simplest games.

These toys are his secrets, his insignificant yet significant "rebellion" against suffocating high expectations and strict discipline.

He always believed that the enormous price he had paid—sacrificing his entire childhood and enduring countless pains—would inevitably result in a cultivation speed far exceeding that of ordinary people and limitless future achievements.

He was born from the union of two Foundation Establishment cultivators, a "supreme immortal seed" who enjoyed the best resources and received the most rigorous training from a young age.

He should rightfully be the most dazzling among his peers.

Until... Zuo Qingqiu appeared.