Transmigrated as the Narrator of a Danmei Novel

The striking young man arrived at the riverbank, his sharp eyes scanning the water's surface before plunging his hand into it. With a swift motion, he yanked the spider demoness out by her hair. She gasped, sputtering as water spilled from her lips, her soaked form trembling. He glanced around with clear irritation. "And the beauty? Where is she?" he demanded, his voice laced with impatience. Without waiting for an answer, he gracefully lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs sitting down in one fluid motion.

He was tall and arrestingly handsome, his bronze skin gleamed. His hair, cut short and shaggy, framed his face with an almost careless charm, save for a single, meticulously braided rat tail that fell all the way to his waist. His bangs drew attention to his strong jawline, lending him an imposing aura that commanded respect. His left arm was an intricate tapestry of tattoos, crawling with images of insects and venomous lizards, and his long nails were stained a deep purple, a sign of the poison that ran through them.

"How many times have we done this, Xiao Zongzi?" he asked, his tone both bored and amused, eyes still closed.

"573," Xiao Zongzi muttered, crawling nearby, her sullen face mirroring his frustration.

"And in all those times, how many times have we failed?" The man cracked one eye open, fixing the drenched spider demoness with a lazy gaze.

"Not once, Master," Xiao Zongzi replied, voice low.

The man groaned, throwing his hands behind his head as he sprawled back onto the flat grass. "Ugh, I was hoping to get laid tonight. Was she at least beautiful?" His tone was half-joking, half-disappointed. 

"She was breathtaking," Xiao Zongzi murmured, slinking up into a tree with fluid grace. She began spinning her web, the silken threads glistening in the dappled moonlight. "She was bathing when I arrived." Her voice had a soft, almost wistful tone as if recalling the image.

"Bathing?" The young man shot upright at the thought of what he'd missed, his eyes wide with regret. The idea of a beauty in the water, vulnerable and unaware, stirred something deep within him. "Didn't I tell you to put on your ugliest face and scare them senseless?"

Xiao Zongzi sighed as she settled into the crook of the tree, her legs dangling lazily. "But, Master, I did. She was definitely terrified—but then she punched me square in the face before bolting." She rubbed the still-tender red lump on her cheek, a reminder of the beauty's strength. 

The young man groaned, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation, deeply exhaling at the lost opportunity. He could already picture himself, gallantly saving the terrified woman, cradling her trembling form. The missed chance to play the hero stung more than he cared to admit.

This was their routine—one they had perfected countless times. Xiao Zongzi would locate an unsuspecting beauty, luring her into a vulnerable moment before scaring her into unconsciousness. And then he, the handsome savior, would arrive just in time, swooping in like a knight in shining armor. The women would awaken in his arms, dazed and frightened, and he would deliver his signature line with practiced ease: "The demon is no more." Xiao Zongzi would play her part, lying motionless as if vanquished, while the woman, overcome with gratitude, would fling herself into his embrace. The encounter always ended the same way—passion and adoration, his favorite rewards for his 'bravery.'

But this time... it had gone wrong. The beauty hadn't fainted. She had fought back. She hadn't fainted in terror or fallen into the trap that had worked so many times before. She hadn't needed her knight in shining armor to come to her rescue. Instead, she had punched Xiao Zongzi and fled, her strength and resolve leaving the young man bewildered.

He scowled at the thought of it, his frustration obvious. Reaching for the drinking gourd fastened at his waist, he uncorked it with a flick of his thumb and brought it to his lips. The liquid soothed him as he chugged it down, but it did little to quench the disappointment gnawing at him. He had missed his moment. 

Xue Laohu, Li Zhameng, and Xue Tuzi finally arrived at Mount Dingbu, the imposing home of a vast and revered sect. As they stood before the gates, Li Zhameng and Xue Tuzi couldn't help but gawk at the breathtaking sight before them. The sect sprawled across the mountain with countless temples, their spires piercing the sky like golden needles, while the elegant, ethereal architecture seemed to float above the clouds. Everything about the place felt as though it truly belonged under the heavens, a sanctuary of divine power and wisdom.

At the entrance, Lord Mao stood waiting, casually smoking from a long, slender pipe. His robes, though simple, exuded an air of timeless elegance. He acknowledged their arrival with a slight smile and a respectful bow, his eyes lingering on Xue Laohu. "Greetings, Grandmaster Xue, and company," he said smoothly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

Li Zhameng, who had been riding on Xue Laohu's back, slid down gently to the ground, while Xue Laohu stomped toward Lord Mao, his irritation clear. Without a word, he snatched the pipe from Lord Mao's hand, holding it up in front of his face. "This," he said sharply, pointing at the offending object, "is bad for you!"

In truth, Xue Laohu couldn't care less about the health effects of smoking. His real frustration stemmed from a deeper annoyance—the constant, grating sound of it coughing around him. He had endured the system's irritating voice enough as it was; he was not about to tolerate another character hacking up their lungs near his ears. Absolutely not, not on his watch.

Lord Mao let out a small chuckle, unbothered by the pipe's confiscation. "Ah, I forget that Grandmaster Xue practices a path of cultivation free from indulgence." His gaze shifted to the two younger men standing beside Xue Laohu. He eyed them with mild curiosity, taking in the contrast between them: Li Zhameng, clad in ragged, worn-out clothes, and Xue Tuzi, dressed in an opulent red nightgown, a garment more fitting for indulgent pleasures such as fornication. Lord Mao's smile widened, an amused glint in his eye. "Are these the new disciples you've been seeking?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully, tugging on the wiry strands of his beard. "Quite interesting. Quite interesting indeed."

Xue Laohu's expression remained stern as he introduced them. "Yes, these are my disciples—Xue Tuzi and Li Zhameng." Both young men bowed deeply, their movements sharp but filled with an underlying nervousness in the presence of such esteemed company.

Lord Mao's chuckle deepened, and he gave Xue Laohu a playful pat on the shoulder. "Well, this calls for a celebration! In all the thousand years Grandmaster Xue has resided on Mount Dingbu, not once has he accepted a single disciple. For you both to have caught his eye must mean you are truly exceptional." He looked at the two young men again, nodding in approval. "Very admirable." 

"No, we just have an auspicious mark on the bottom of our lips," Li Zhameng said casually, his tone betraying no concern for the gravity of his words. Before Lord Mao could lean in for a closer inspection, Xue Laohu let out an abrupt, nervous laugh, quickly interrupting. "Did I mention?" he said, his voice a bit too loud. "They have a great sense of humor too." His forced smile didn't hide the menacing glare he shot at Li Zhameng, his aura turning sharp and dangerous. The message was clear: stop talking.

Lord Mao, blissfully unaware—or perhaps pretending not to notice—laughed along. "Nonetheless," he said with a sweeping gesture, "this is now your home. Please, make yourselves comfortable. We'll prepare a grand feast this evening in celebration of your arrival." With that, he strode happily into the courtyard, his robes billowing behind him like mist in the breeze.

As soon as Lord Mao was out of earshot, Xue Laohu exhaled, the tension easing from his frame. He guided Li Zhameng and Xue Tuzi through the sect's residence, a winding maze of courtyards and corridors that seemed to glow with a serene, ethereal light. Xue Tuzi's wide eyes couldn't help but linger on the beauty surrounding him—lush gardens filled with rare flowers, delicate bridges arching over crystal-clear ponds, and the grand pagodas that towered above them, their intricate carvings whispering ancient secrets.

They were each given private rooms adjacent to Xue Laohu's own chambers. Inside, the rooms were spacious and tastefully decorated with soft mats and paper lanterns that gave the space a warm, inviting glow. In the corner of each room lay a neatly folded stack of fresh disciple robes, the fabric pristine and elegant.

Once inside his quarters, Xue Laohu collapsed onto his bed, kicking off his shoes with little care. The weight of the journey and the stress of their arrival caught up to him quickly, and within moments he had drifted off into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Meanwhile, Li Zhameng, feeling the grime of the road cling to his skin, decided to visit the bathhouse. The steaming water was a welcome relief as he scrubbed his scalp, watching the murky water swirl around his legs, carrying away the dirt, leaves, and twigs that had accumulated in his hair. 

When he was finally clean, what was left before him was the handsome reflection of a young man with long, inky-black hair and stunning emerald eyes dipped in gold. He combed his hair carefully, parting it to the side with precise strokes, his fingers gliding through the wet strands. As he gazed into the mirror, his eyes lingered on the bottom of his lip where a small scab had formed. Without thinking, his fingers drifted to it, picking at the edges, feeling the familiar sting as it tugged at the delicate skin. He just couldn't help himself. 

Xue Tuzi had requested threading needles from one of the maids, and once back in the solitude of his room, he set to work with precision. One by one, he threaded each needle, licking the ends of the delicate threads to guide them through the tiny holes. His movements were methodical, practiced. Carefully, he began inserting the silver needles into his scalp, each one placed at calculated intervals. His warm brown hair, kissed by the hues of autumn, concealed the needles expertly, the threads shimmering faintly like strands of silver woven through his locks. Once complete, his hair took on a new life, the gentle curls at the ends reflecting the faint light in his room, adding a soft, ethereal glow. Even his bangs, framing his delicate features, seemed to sit more perfectly, the slight curls enhancing the natural grace of his face.

By the time evening arrived, Lord Mao had prepared a lavish feast to welcome the new disciples. The table was laden with steaming dishes, the rich aroma of cooked meats, seasoned vegetables, and fragrant broths filling the air. Li Zhameng, ever unrestrained, dove into the meal with no hesitation, his chopsticks moving swiftly from plate to plate. Across from him, Xue Tuzi ate modestly, quietly savoring each bite but maintaining his composed demeanor. He glanced at the various dishes, appreciating their presentation, but his restraint held him back from indulging fully.

When the sweets arrived, Xue Tuzi's calm façade nearly broke. His eyes sparkled at the sight of delicate pastries, sweet dumplings, and cakes arranged in colorful rows. His mouth watered, but he dared not grab any without permission. Meanwhile, Li Zhameng, unbothered by decorum, tore through the sweets with reckless abandon, stuffing one after another into his mouth until a dull ache began to throb in his teeth.

"That's enough," Xue Laohu said sternly, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. His gaze was sharp, unimpressed by Li Zhameng's lack of restraint.

But Lord Mao, already tipsy from the wine, waved his hand dismissively. "Let the boy feast! Here, have my share." He drunkenly passed the last few sweets down to Li Zhameng, who eagerly snatched them up and devoured them in a single, greedy bite.

Xue Tuzi's brows twitched in silent anger. He had waited patiently, too proud to ask, and now not a single sweet remained for him. His fingers tightened around his chopsticks as he glared down at his empty plate, a myriad of thoughts crossed his mind—among them the many creative ways he could prick Li Zhameng's belly open in retribution.

Xue Laohu, ever observant, caught the subtle flicker of frustration in Xue Tuzi's expression. Without a word, he reached for his own share of the sweets—a peach-flavored pastry with a thick, fragrant filling—and held it out to him. "I can't possibly have more," he said, his tone softening. "Why don't you try it? Or… do you not like sweets?" His grin was wide, almost teasing, as he extended the treat in his palm.

Xue Tuzi's eyes darted to the pastry, then back to Xue Laohu. He loved sweets, he rarely had the opportunity to indulge. His pride kept him from admitting this, but the temptation was undeniable. Slowly, he reached out and took the pastry, his fingers brushing against Xue Laohu's hand as he accepted it. He brought it to his lips and took a small, tentative bite.

The taste was heavenly—the soft pastry crumbling in his mouth, the peach filling sweet and fragrant. He savored every bit, taking small, deliberate bites, enjoying the flavor as it lingered on his tongue. 

By morning, Xue Laohu, Li Zhameng, and Xue Tuzi made their way to the ancestral hall. The once grand temple had fallen into disrepair, its former splendor consumed by nature's relentless grip. Moss clung to the stone walls like a second skin, while ivy twisted its way around pillars and archways. The roots of ancient trees had surfaced from the ground, weaving through the temple floor like gnarled veins, creating an uneven, hazardous platform.

Xue Laohu let out a heavy sigh, rolling up his sleeves. "This place is a mess," he muttered. Without complaint, he grabbed a broom and began sweeping the debris away, followed by mopping and tidying the neglected space. The other two watched as he worked, his movements brisk yet deliberate, until the temple looked at least passable, though far from its former glory.

Once the temple was cleaned to an acceptable state, they lit incense and kneeled before the altar, the curling smoke mingling with the scent of the damp earth. They bowed in reverence to the great grandmaster, offering their prayers.

As the incense wafted through the air, Li Zhameng broke the silence. "What was the great grandmaster like?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone as he gazed at the altar.

Xue Laohu paused, the question pulling him into deep thought. He stood silently for a moment, then began to speak. "The great grandmaster?" His voice took on a distant tone, as though recalling memories long buried. "She was a smoker. With an aggravating raspy voice. Always giving me impossible assignments, tasks that seemed designed to break me. Punishing me severely for every failure." He paused, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice. "And rarely... rarely did she issue rewards."

As he spoke, Xue Laohu's gaze darkened, the unreliable system had haunted him and he was simply venting his frustration in the name of the grandmaster. He continued his rant, his voice dripping with the resentment of the last five days.

Xue Tuzi, listening attentively, raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know the great grandmaster was a woman," he said, bowing low as he offered his own share of incense, the smoke trailing upwards like silent prayers.

"Neither did I," Li Zhameng added, bowing in turn, his expression showing genuine surprise as he placed his incense before the altar.

Xue Laohu, who had been complaining for the better part of an hour, suddenly cleared his throat, the weight of his words settling on him. Realizing he had perhaps spoken too freely, he straightened his posture, his voice taking on a more respectful tone. "Ahem," he said loudly, his voice resonating through the hall. "We offer our incense in exchange for your blessings, Great Grandmaster. Please, watch over us on our journey."