A huge thanks to Katy for the Kofis. Enjoy the bonus chapters!

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After arguing with his father, Qin Zhou drastically cut back on his gaming time. 

Fortunately, *Small Cultivation Mountain Village* was a game that leaned toward single-player mode, allowing him to save and pause anytime, anywhere.

During the many years Qin Zhou spent away from the game, only a little over a hundred years had passed within it. In the past, given his login frequency, a year of real-world time would have equated to at least two or three hundred years in-game.

Over the course of those hundred-odd years, Qin Zhou gave Lu Yi a hairpin and sent him off to the Cangyun Sword Sect. He also stockpiled quite a few materials, intending to upgrade Xiao Wu’s furnace and replace the weapons of the others.

But plans don’t always go as expected.

During the final six months of his senior year, even Qin Zhou couldn’t manage everything with ease.

Qin Zhou knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted financial independence in the future and the ability to take control of his own life. Getting into college was a crucial step toward that goal.

Left with no choice, he had to put the game on hold for the time being.

What Qin Zhou didn’t realize was that he would lose something very important as a result.

Naturally, Qin Zhou was admitted to a prestigious university with outstanding grades.

The moment his studies ended, he returned home and immediately launched *Small Cultivation Mountain Village*.

However, a server shutdown notice was prominently displayed on the game client. 

Qin Zhou’s hands trembled as he opened the shutdown notice.

His gaming life came to a complete end that day. That day, the sound of cicadas was so piercing it nearly left him temporarily deaf.

He sat back down at his computer, but didn’t know what to do.

In a daze, he seemed to recall the day his mother passed away—he had sat at the computer just like this, his hands and feet ice-cold.

Qin Zhou realized he had fallen for a guy after saying goodbye to the game.

He entered college as planned and saw a broader side of the world.

Then, suddenly, it seemed he didn’t really like girls.

This lack of interest was simply a matter of not being able to bring himself to look at them. Among the girls Qin Zhou knew, there were certainly some who were outstanding, but he just couldn’t look at them with that kind of admiring gaze.

More often than not, he would subconsciously go out of his way to look after girls a bit more—perhaps because he had once raised several daughters himself.

Coming to terms with his sexual orientation wasn’t that difficult.

After all, with Qin Zhou’s qualifications, he was considered quite attractive even within the gay community.

Standing 1.9 meters tall, with excellent grades and strong leadership skills, he was quiet but steady. Even among men, there were plenty who pursued Qin Zhou during his college years.

Even in bars off campus, there were plenty of men who pursued him.

However, by the time he graduated from college, Qin Zhou had never been in a relationship.

Perhaps because he’d never been in a relationship, whenever Qin Zhou thought about it, he always felt that being attracted to men was more like a belated rebellious phase.

At first, Qin Zhou had been troubled by this for a while, but later, he stopped worrying about it. After all, there wasn’t anyone he particularly liked. Although he was attracted to men, he wasn’t interested in just anyone.

He just had a vague feeling that he’d be drawn to the well-behaved ones.

“Want a drink?” As usual, the person striking up a conversation spotted Qin Zhou sitting alone in a corner of the booth at a glance.

Qin Zhou raised his hand to politely decline.

The other person didn’t press the issue, just gave a sheepish smile and walked away with his glass.

“Don’t like this one either?” The bartender skillfully swirled the cocktail glass as he struck up a conversation with Qin Zhou.

“I like the well-behaved ones.”

The bartender sized him up from head to toe. “Are you talking about well-behaved in personality, or well-behaved in that department? Or do you have some special kink?”

Qin Zhou paused. “No.”

“If you really like the well-behaved ones, I can set you up.”

“No need,” Qin Zhou waved him off.

He didn’t go for one-night stands, and he’d never pinned his hopes on finding a partner in a bar.

It wasn’t as if Qin Zhou hadn’t met “well-behaved” types later on.

Yan Qi was well-behaved enough, wasn’t he?

A solid technical expert in the team, not very old, fair-skinned, and with a soft-spoken personality. Plus, Yan Qi’s sexual orientation was the same as his.

He seemed like the perfect match for Qin Zhou.

But Qin Zhou had never once looked at Yan Qi that way.

A mutual friend of Yan Qi and Qin Zhou had even tried to set them up.

But Qin Zhou simply waved them off.

Yan Qi’s docility reminded him more of Lu San or Xiao Wu; no matter how he looked at it, he could only see him as a younger brother or a son.

“Team leader, I get it. I prefer 2D characters too,” Yan Qi said.

2D characters, huh.

He liked the docile types—maybe he really was influenced by Lu Yi.

But the “2D” type he liked was someone he could no longer see.

Yet Yan Qi’s words gave him an idea.

And so, he decided to place Lu Yi into the Spirit Mountain Realm.

Sculpting the same face, creating the same model.

In his new game project, he incorporated Lu Yi.

Later, Lu Yi, slumbering in the Red Cloud Sea, became Qin Zhou’s screensaver.

Logically speaking, Qin Zhou would have kept his sexual orientation hidden forever.

But when he happened to run into his father—whom he rarely contacted—shopping at the mall with his stepmother and stepchildren, Qin Zhou couldn’t hold back.

As if to provoke his father, he told him this, a heated argument naturally erupted.

But this time, Qin Zhou didn’t change his stance—nor was it a compromise.

Qin Zhou’s father was just as fierce.

Qin Zhou was gay.

An ashtray landed on Qin Zhou’s forehead, blood gushing out, but by then, he had already taken control of his own life.

‌The two remained locked in a bitter feud for years.

Until Qin Zhou died in a car accident.

“Back then, I was probably just acting on impulse, jealous that the kid was getting more love than I was.” That’s why he’d frantically revealed his sexual orientation.

Qin Zhou absentmindedly stroked Lu Yi’s head.

“In the end, he just didn’t love my mother.” Father Qin hadn’t done anything wrong. Even if he didn’t love her, he still raised him—that much was true.

But the stark contrast between love and indifference was cruel to Qin Zhou, who had already lost his mother.

Eventually, Qin Zhou came to terms with it.

It was as if he were a village chief with a hundred villagers: he could ensure everyone was fed and clothed, but he couldn’t grant anyone the special favor he’d shown Lu Yi.

He simply wasn’t lucky enough; he wasn’t the “Lu Yi” of the village.

Wen Jue looked like a cat being stroked, her eyes half-closed, and said, “I don’t understand. Although your parents died young, you’ve always taken good care of me.”

He had grown up with Qin Zhou by his side.

Wen Jue pondered carefully and felt that perhaps the fact he hadn’t become a demon later on was truly inseparable from those first thousand years.

Happy people use their childhood to heal their entire lives; unhappy people must use their entire lives to heal their childhood.

“With all this, do you still feel sad?”

Qin Zhou shook his head.

‌‌In comparison, everything from the past felt more like a dream. It would take just an afternoon to recall it all.

It was the thousand years since he had returned, however, that remained vivid in his memory.

Compared to clashing with his father over there, he preferred his days in the village.

He wasn’t sad, and Wen Jue didn’t press the matter; he trusted Qin Zhou completely. But what moved him was something else—

“So while nine thousand years have passed in Zhutian, only a few years have gone by in the Realm Beyond the Heavens.”

“Mm.”

“I’d like to go see what that place of yours is like.”

Qin Zhou: “It’s not impossible.”

Wen Jue’s eyes snapped open. “Hm?”

“The game system can take me back. If you want to go too, you’ll probably have to become a Sage first.”

Wen Jue: “Become a Sage…”

He was clearly hesitating.

No one had ever become a Sage, and no one knew what he would become after the Tribulation Stage and Ascension.

“What if, after becoming a Sage, I turn into an emotionless, thoughtless immortal? I’d regret it to death.” Wen Jue turned around, wrapped his arms around Qin Zhou, and buried his head in his stomach. 

Qin Zhou: “That won’t happen.”

“Promise me.”

“I can’t promise that,” Qin Zhou said, “but I’ll be there. I’ll go with you.”

“Become Sages together?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Zhutian is expanding; whether it’s him or Lu Yi, they’re bound to become Sages sooner or later.

A thousand years have passed since the revival of spiritual energy; Wen Jue can’t keep suppressing his power forever.

The tribulation and ascension aren’t imminent, but they aren’t far off either.

Besides, Qin Zhou didn’t believe that becoming a Sage was the same as becoming a God.

Beneath the Supreme God lie the Ten Thousand Realms; the Zhutian Realm, and even the game universe of the Small Cultivation Mountain Village, are but a tiny speck within the Ten Thousand Realms. In other cultivation worlds, there must certainly be powerful beings who have attained Sagehood.

Given that the Ten Thousand Realms can operate stably, attaining Sagehood may simply be another tier of combat power.

He had a premonition that becoming a Sage would not change anything; rather, it would broaden their horizons.

The Ten Thousand Realms are vast, and they have only just glimpsed the tip of the iceberg.

So, Wen Jue chose an auspicious day and prepared for his ascension.

Most cultivators from Zhutian came to witness the ceremony.

After all, this was the first Ascension Ceremony in Zhutian.

Within a five-mile radius, no one dared approach the center of the thunderclouds, and the many cultivators could only watch from afar as the terrifying and fearsome thunder dragon slowly glided through the clouds on the horizon, unleashing bolts of lightning, each more terrifying than the last.

Nine lightning tribulations, lasting three days.

When the final lightning tribulation struck, the thunder shattered the rocks, sending up a cloud of dust.

Subsequently, the game system issued an announcement, essentially congratulating Wen Jue on successfully surviving the tribulation and becoming the first Sage in the Zhutian Realm.

Just as everyone was filled with joy and surprise, Qin Zhou furrowed his brows.

Wen Jue was nowhere to be seen.

As the dust settled, there was no trace of Wen Jue.

Even the Dao Companion Mark had grown scorching hot.

Sure enough, just as expected—it was an unexpected turn of events.

There was no trace of Wen Jue anywhere in the Zhutian Realm.

Finding Wen Jue was as simple for Qin Zhou as taking a pill to become a Sage.

First, he had the System; second, he had the soul-bound Dao Companion Mark.

After popping one batch of elixirs after another to forcibly push himself to the late stage of the Tribulation Crossing, Qin Zhou expected the Heavenly Dao to send down some thunderbolts for him.

But it didn’t.

Ascension was just ascension. Not only were there no thunderbolts, but the System didn’t even give him a notification.

Such low-keyness was actually right up Qin Zhou’s alley.

After all, he had become a Sage solely to find Wen Jue.

After using the System’s Dao Companion Mark to lock onto Wen Jue’s trail, a dizzying sensation of the world spinning came over him.

Then, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again—he heard the loud wail of a crying child.

Qin Zhou opened his round eyes to find that the one crying was himself.

He closed his mouth, and the crying stopped abruptly.

“Oh my, Big Brother Yi is here—our Zhouzhou stopped crying right away,” a gentle female voice said with a smile.

Standing by his crib was a bright-eyed, adorable boy, about three years old, as pretty and delicate as a doll.

“Auntie,” the boy called sweetly, but his eyes were fixed intently on Qin Zhou in the crib.

He gently poked Qin Zhou’s face with his fingertip, smiling so widely his eyes crinkled. “You’re so tiny.”

Qin Zhou: “……”

The imprint on his soul still stung.

The person in front of him was…

Qin Zhou wanted to speak, but, um, he couldn’t talk yet.