Starting with 50 Spirit Stones and 2 Hours with My Senior Sister as Daoist Consort

Li Chuan snatched the Five Elements Grass from Hu Min, then plopped his butt right on her back.

Sure, he’d lifted his hand off her head, but using her as a stool? She still didn’t dare fight back.

That split-second clash had smashed her confidence to bits.

Shaking dirt off the grass roots, Li Chuan said, “Senior Sister, you’re still green. I’ve got no talent, but everything I’ve got today? Earned by clawing through hell.”

“I’m just fourth level, sure—but a fourth level forged in blood’s not the same as your cushy seventh, Senior Sister.”

He’d skimmed the Yin-Yang Sect’s hunting tasks.

Most disciples picked targets weaker than themselves—easy steamrolls.

But throw in a same-realm foe with some tricky moves? They’d flounder.

Like Chu Mengyou’s gig against that evil cultivator—nearly got poisoned by its creepy vibe.

That guy wasn’t strong, just sneaky and nasty—hard to counter. Her pulling through? Props to her battle smarts.

Some might call Yin-Yang disciples overrated for that.

But think about it—guys like Li Chuan were one in a million.

Not everyone could cheat death a hundred times.

Especially rogues—prime fodder in life-or-death scraps.

And Li Chuan? Rogue through and through.

Plus, one glaring fact: cultivation speed in the Yin-Yang Sect.

Thirty years to hit third level as a rogue—swap that to a sect disciple, they’d be late Foundation by now.

Chu Mengyou, with less grit and skill than him, could crush him with raw power at twenty-two. Give her thirty years, she’d be Core Formation, easy.

Even Hu Min, this “senior sister,” was just twenty-four.

Mo Xiangling, older at twenty-eight, joined at sixteen and hit tenth level by eighteen—undisputed genius.

Why she’d stalled there ten years? No one knew.

Their youth and strength weren’t solo acts—the sect’s techniques carried half the load.

Otherwise, what made the Yin-Yang Sect top-tier? Pretty faces?

“Junior Brother, take the Five Elements Grass—just let me up, okay?” Hu Min caved fast—outmatched.

“Take it?” Li Chuan laughed. “Senior Sister, who gave you the guts to talk like that? My stuff, and you say you’re letting me have it? Think I don’t know why you’re here?”

Her back sank under extra weight. “Junior Brother, I messed up—blind as hell. I’m sorry, please let me go!” she blurted, desperate.

The icy vixen turned soft, voice all sweet.

But her hands weren’t idle—her fingers kept shifting positions, secretly forming a spell.

“Senior Sister, check out these boots—1,000 contribution,” Li Chuan said, pocketing the grass. Without warning, he stomped her slender hand, breaking her cast.

He’d been on both feet—now one pinned her hand, most of his weight grinding her back and wrist.

She yelped again, nearly cursing outright.

Caught sneaking, her heart tanked—she had no shot at fighting back.

“Junior Brother, I can’t breathe—get off, please. Total misunderstanding. Let me up, we’ll talk it out, yeah?” The gentleness Zhou Hanhe never got, she poured on for Li Chuan.

His reply? “Can’t breathe? Hold it.”

He leaned down, yanked a weed from the dirt, eyed it, then glanced at Hu Min.

She caught his look and played pitiful.

She was a mess—Li Chuan weighed like a brick, squirming on her back, damn near crushing her.

A weed dangled before her soft lips.

She stared at him, baffled.

“Eat,” he said.

Eat grass? Her face twitched—she was barely holding in the rage.

This was humiliating.

“Senior Sister doesn’t like it?” He sounded puzzled.

“Junior Brother, it’s grass—how could I?” she said.

Smack.

A slap crashed down, red fingerprints blooming on her pale cheek. Stars spun in her eyes, then a stinging burn.

“Senior Sister doesn’t like it?” Same words—déjà vu hit, like time rewound.

Facing his towering glare, she opened her mouth fast, chomping the grass.

Teeth bit down, snapping the blade. Bitterness flooded her tongue.

She chewed a chunk; he slid the rest forward. She bit again.

“How’s it taste, Senior Sister?” he asked.

She froze, unsure, then went honest. “Kinda bitter.”

“So it’s not good? Guess you haven’t had enough. Eat more, get used to it—it’ll taste better.”

He stuffed the rest in her mouth, then grabbed another handful.

Hu Min was wrecked—bitter in her mouth, bitter in her soul. Should’ve said it was good.

“Faster,” he urged, shoving the second weed up. She chewed quicker.

Weirdly, her munching grass looked kinda cute.

She wasn’t done with the first when he jammed the second in—total chaos.

Only someone pinned and force-fed grass knows how awful that pose is.

“Good now?” he asked again.

“Good!” she blurted, no hesitation.

“Good? Then eat more.”

???

Another weed came her way—she felt the sky collapse.

Good or bad, she was eating either way. Screwed up her last answer for nothing.

“Junior Brother, I—”

Smack. Another slap. “Senior Sister, you what?”

“N-nothing…” She opened her mouth, took the grass, tears streaming free.

Her heart drowned in regret.

If she’d known Li Chuan was this tough, she’d have stayed away.

Too bad—no gold buys foresight.