Becoming a Saint by Cultivating the Fruits of Time
At the Web Novel Pit-filling Festival on December 1st, a great master will host the event, inviting you to read exclusive side stories and new chapters of popular serials for free. Just now, a female sword immortal flew overhead on her sword. You looked up and witnessed the scene from a hundred years ago, when she slew a demon dragon above the boundless Eastern Sea—her pride the greatest among mortals. Moved by what you saw, you condensed the Dao Fruit of Years: [Dragon Slayer]. A moment later, an old beggar passed by. You glanced at him and caught a glimpse of his past, three centuries ago, when he wielded the Dog-beating Staff and knocked at the tightly closed Gate of Heaven, laughing at all the immortals above. From this, you condensed the Dao Fruit of Years: [God-beater]. Then, a scholar asked you for a sip of wine. You squinted at him and witnessed his vigil five hundred years ago, reading by lantern light with sword by his side. Alone, clad in white, he stood on the frontier battlefield, his sword striking down countless enemies, his spirit fierce enough to swallow the world. You condensed the Dao Fruit of Years: [Righteousness Eternal]. ... An Le crossed into this world—a realm of chaos, where life is as fragile as paper. Fortunately, An Le possesses the ability to perceive the brilliance, grief, and helplessness of others’ past years and condense these memories into Dao Fruits of Years, strengthening himself. As a youth, he cultivates, refines his spirit, and accumulates Dao Fruits. Calmly, he knocks on the gates of cultivation and quietly ascends to sainthood.
Becoming a Saint by Cultivating the Fruits of Time
Great Zhao, Lin'an Prefecture.
By the banks of West Lake, alabaster railings stretched endlessly into the distance. The air, still tinged with the coolness and sweet freshness left by a recent spring rain, carried a delightful fragrance. The emerald waters rippled gently, stirring the lotus leaves that floated atop them. In the lake's heart, flower boats adorned with red lanterns began to stir with the restless energy of a spring night, their windows graced by graceful ladies leaning lightly against the sills, eyes as luminous as autumn waves.
Scholars and poets strolled upon the rain-washed flagstones along the long embankment, composing verse and exchanging couplets. From time to time, they craned their necks, hoping to glimpse a bewitching silhouette aboard the flower boats without having to board—seeking, in their own way, a forbidden thrill.
“Alas, it's too far. I can't see clearly.”
“Why not buy a pleasure boat and get a little closer? We might even see the courtesan of the night and save a good deal of silver.”
Among them, a young man in blue carried a wine jug, taking a light sip as he muttered to himself.
“But if I don’t go to meet the courtesan, I won’t have to spend any silver at all.” He frowned, arguing with himself. “Scholars are all hopeless romantics.”
“Forget it. Without silver, there’s no romance to be had. I can barely pay the innkeeper for my room.” The youth sighed, his inability to enjoy these fleeting pleasures leaving him somewhat dejected.
He raised his jug, drinking in the beaut
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