“Ah yo, ah yo!” That plump figure struggled to get up from the ground, looking thoroughly frustrated. “Ninth Junior Brother, Little Grace, can’t you two find somewhere else to practice your swordplay? You’re always coming here and disturbing my peaceful nap!”

This was a short, chubby youth, about the same age as the white-robed boy, but clearly half a head shorter, and his waist was at least a full circle thicker than the white-robed youth’s.

The girl in red, upon seeing this youth, smiled even more brightly, rushed over, and stood in front of him. “Fifth Senior Brother, you’re slacking off and napping here again instead of practicing! Just wait, I’ll go tell Fourth Uncle and have him punish you!” As she spoke, she reached out, trying to twist the boy’s ear.

Although the chubby youth was rather large, he was surprisingly agile. With a twist of his plump waist, he dodged away, calling out, “Go ahead if you want! Master is probably wrestling with his wine jar right now—he can’t be bothered with me!”

The girl, having missed his ear, stomped her foot in annoyance. “Ninth Senior Brother, let’s catch him!” she said, and with a flash, lunged at the chubby youth again.

The white-robed youth, hearing her, was quick to act as well. The two of them attacked from front and back.

The chubby youth, seeing this, didn’t panic. He ducked his head, twisted his body, and slipped through the gap between them like an eel.

“You two, don’t go too far! If you keep pestering me, don’t even think about eating my delicious roasted food!”

As soon as he said this, both of them stopped at once—especially the girl, whose big, dark eyes flashed with a captivating spark as she stared at the short, chubby youth.

Although the Luofu Sect didn’t forbid eating meat, it was, after all, a Daoist sect, and meals were usually light and vegetarian, with meat being a rare treat. However, this chubby youth’s master was an exception on Luofu Mountain, known as the Drunken Sword, but in truth, he was just a drunkard.

His greatest passion wasn’t cultivation, nor teaching disciples, but wine.

There was wine on Luofu Mountain, but not much, so he often went down the mountain to find it himself. He wasn’t picky—he’d drink fine wine worth a thousand taels a cup, or cheap swill for a single copper coin a jug. After taking on a disciple, this habit didn’t change. When the little chubby one was younger, he’d carry him down the mountain to buy wine. Now that the boy had grown, he was free, and went down even more often.

Normally, under the influence of such a drunken master, the little chubby one should have become a drunkard too.

But, in this world, there are always those who remain untainted by their surroundings. This little chubby one seemed to have a natural aversion to alcohol. No matter how his unscrupulous master tempted him, he simply wouldn’t touch a drop. Of course, “not a drop” is a bit of an exaggeration—every time he drank, it was never more than three cups. Any more, even if his master tried to force it down, he’d just throw it up. After several rounds of this, his master finally decided to let his unique drinking skills die with him.

However, while the little chubby one didn’t like drinking, he loved good food, and his talent in this area far surpassed his talent for cultivation. When he followed his unscrupulous master down the mountain, his favorite thing besides eating was sneaking into restaurant kitchens to watch the chefs cook. At first, he’d get chased out, but eventually, he learned to hide in the kitchen for a whole day and night without being discovered, honing his skills in stealth and evasion. Naturally, when he returned, the small animals on Luofu Mountain suffered greatly.

From wolves, insects, tigers, and leopards, to flowers, birds, bugs, and fish—all became his backup ingredients. He’d been punished countless times for this, but fortunately, he had his unscrupulous master to cover for him.

His master realized that, although this disciple couldn’t inherit his drinking legacy, he could forge his own path. He figured the boy’s future achievements would be no less than his own. Thinking back to that rainy night eight years ago, when he “happened” to pass through a canyon, “happened” to encounter Henry Clark’s family after they’d been attacked by bandits, and “happened” to find that everyone but the little one had died, and “happened” to be moved to save him—so many coincidences added up to just one thing: fate!

So, he treated this disciple quite well, with few demands. As a result, Henry Clark developed his current personality and habits—never practicing properly, always eating or sleeping, as fat as a pig. Thus, among the third-generation disciples, he was the first to earn a nickname: “The Pig of Luofu”!

But he had a good temper, never getting upset when people called him that. He spent his days laughing and joking, often bringing a few close friends to Qingsongping, where the patrolling disciples wouldn’t find them, to roast rabbits, wild wolves, stew snake soup, fry bird eggs, and so on. Thanks to his ever-improving cooking skills and gentle nature, he got along well in the Luofu Sect. Though his cultivation wasn’t much, he had no trouble, and despite being called the Pig of Luofu, he was quite popular among the disciples.

The white-robed youth was named Brian Foster, one of the Five Swords of Luofu and the last disciple of Floating Cloud Sword Zhou Qing. The girl in red was Zhou Qing’s only daughter, Grace Carter.