Seeing Ye Chen hesitate, Fan Qinghe clung to his arm, shaking it with a honey-sweet voice, cooing, "Holy Son, please… just this once… I promise not again…"
Ye Chen sighed, as if helpless, fondly patting her head. "Fine, your filial heart gladdens —it sets you apart from selfish female cultivators. I cultivated so fast for you, saved all my Dao charms for you. If you want to share with your Master, that's your choice. But you must promise: only give her what's left after you're full. Your cultivation cos first. If not, after this ritual, we part ways, done forever."
His tone was doting but firm—Fan Qinghe's growth was paramount. Higher multipliers ant more feedback.
Feeling his care, even his threat stemd from concern for her progress, Fan Qinghe's heart overflowed with emotion. She pecked his chin lightly, whispering, "Holy Son, you're so good…"
Smiling at her Master, she said, "Let's go to my cave!"
Ye Chen nodded. The Sect Master, thrilled at his consent, had no objections. She was just tagging along—Fan Qinghe's transformation was priority. But she tempered expectations: Fan Qinghe's low realm and dual needs—advancent and transformation—would likely leave only a trickle, if anything.
With a tenth conversion rate due to Ye Chen not being her protector, even with a divine seed, it'd likely fall short for her Mahayana breakthrough. Still, her longing for Mahayana drove her to follow, her mature figure gliding behind them into the cave.
Heavenly Desire Sect elders noticed. Learning Ye Chen arrived, they wanted to approach, but the Sect Master, intent on her chance, kept them away. Seeing her enter the cave with them, they were stunned. Why join their ritual? To guide? Or did Ye Chen demand it?
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Her steadfast refusal of the All Being Dao suggested it wasn't her initiative. It had to be Ye Chen, eyeing her, and she, wary of jeopardizing Fan Qinghe's reliance on him, complied reluctantly. It fit the fourth Holy Son's reputation—he didn't even spare his own Master, so why another's? This, they concluded, was the truth.
Unaware of being slandered despite his good intentions, Ye Chen entered the cave. Fan Qinghe and he sat facing each other. The Heavenly Desire Sect Master, though experienced, felt awkward at her first ritual attendance, staying silent to minimize her presence beside Fan Qinghe. This ritual was vital for Fan Qinghe's advancent and transformation, so she focused on Ye Chen, explaining key points.
"Dao charms surpass Yin-Yang Qi. Previous spirit sense and second-channel transfers won't suffice now. We must remove all barriers, connect palm-to-knee, and link every pore to form dense, tiny connections. With normal flow, it takes three days. Given your vast foundation, maybe half a month."
The Sect Master, listening, felt complex emotions, envying Fan Qinghe's luck. Ye Chen's deep foundation, rapid progress, and restraint—waiting for her Mahayana—made him the perfect protector.
If only I'd t him first…
Despite an outsider's presence, Ye Chen, focused on aiding Fan Qinghe, didn't care. Fan Qinghe was unbothered by her Master watching. They sat as required.
Ye Chen's eyes widened—Fan Qinghe, like a flawless amber statue under the cave's moonlight stone, glowed breathtakingly, nearly shaking his Dao heart. Fan Qinghe, gazing at his perfect Innate Sacred Body Dao Embryo, was equally stunned.
The Sect Master, whose protector died at Transformation's peak, had cultivated 200 years to Unity's peak and stalled 100 more. Three centuries without such a sight, she swallowed hard.
re distractions. Both were resolute, quickly focusing. Their spirit senses connected effortlessly, forming the first transfer point, then the second. Soon, imperceptible pores glowed, channeling divine light.
Ye Chen's divine seed vibrated, forging more links. His Dao charms flowed through the seed, drawn from every part of him—slowly, then faster, stabilizing. The third Nirvana ritual had begun.
Fan Qinghe shone like amber; Ye Chen's body radiated gold. Both sank into deep cultivation. The Sect Master, watching, felt a mix of envy, hope, worry, and loneliness—everyone busy but her.
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