The alchemy furnace had become a chaotic pile of broken shards, light smoke mingling with black fumes swirling all around, and her roast goose lay quietly on the ground.

That dark skin, like a blooming flower in Ethiopia, Grace Carter was willing to call it the second coming of Bao Zheng.

She finally understood.

She could never become the Goose-Tasting Fairy—at best, she’d just be a goose without the fairy.

This scene of utter chaos had yet to settle down. Just as Grace Carter picked up her Ethiopian flower and held it in her hand, she heard a gentle knock at the door: “Senior Sister?”

〔Ding, mission issued!〕

〔Standing outside the door is Tian Xianzi’s newly accepted personal disciple, Evan Parker. As his senior sister, you’ve always been jealous of him for stealing your master’s favor and want to take revenge.〕

〔Please open the door for him and proceed to seduce him according to the original plot!〕

Grace Carter: ?

With her current disheveled hair and soot-covered face, she wanted to seduce someone? She looked more like a ghost from a horror movie.

The system’s chime echoed in her ears. She remembered this character, Evan Parker.

The little prince of the East Sea Dragon Palace, a swordsmanship prodigy in the spotlight. Having grown up in the palace, he rarely interacted with outsiders and gradually developed a shy, introverted personality—he’d blush at the slightest contact with women.

In short: social anxiety.

After he became Tian Xianzi’s disciple, he took away the original host’s status as the youngest disciple. With his sharp sword intent and rapid progress, he made her even more jealous.

Evan Parker was born noble, so the original host wouldn’t bully him openly, but instead took a more subtle approach—seduction.

Her real intention was to trick Evan Parker into trusting her, then slowly squeeze out his usefulness and turn him into her tool. Unexpectedly, this young lord was naturally afraid of women—the closer the original host got, the more he resisted.

Tonight was the first time the two of them would face off directly.

Grace Carter temporarily calmed herself and replied softly, “Come in.”

So when Evan Parker pushed open the door, what he saw was this—

The whole room looked as if it had been ransacked and then set on fire, and just to be safe, someone had set off a massive explosion. Amidst the rising smoke, his senior sister’s nose was dusted with gray-black ash, and the pitch-black, unidentifiable object in her hand glowed with an eerie light.

Evan Parker was truly startled: “Senior Sister, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Grace Carter gave him a reassuring smile and waved the pitch-black object in her hand. “I was roasting a goose.”

Evan Parker was stunned again, studying the object with a complicated expression.

This thing… If you took it grave robbing, even zombies would think it was a black donkey’s hoof.

But that wasn’t the most important point.

The handsome youth, elegant as jade, frowned slightly and fixed his gaze on the shattered remains of the furnace, his voice unconsciously hoarse: “Senior Sister, is this your alchemy furnace?”

“Yeah.” Grace Carter didn’t understand why he was so worked up, and touched her nose. “Do you know where I can buy a new one?”

The atmosphere grew strangely silent for a while.

When the junior brother’s clear voice finally sounded again, it was like a death knell from hell.

“But… Senior Sister, don’t you still owe a lot of money?”

Grace Carter: pupils quaking.

Seeing her look of disbelief, Evan Parker lowered his head to avoid Grace Carter’s gaze and continued softly, “Master told me you owe a lot for forging the Star Mark, and you haven’t paid it off yet. This furnace cost ten thousand spirit stones, compensation for the damaged residence is five thousand, and your sandalwood incense table is—”

“Wait!”

Grace Carter couldn’t handle so much information at once. “Aren’t these just cheap mass-produced sect furniture?”

Evan Parker seemed a little afraid of her, clutching his sleeves. “Senior Sister said she liked sandalwood, and wanted the best for alchemy.”

“Then what about my family? Isn’t my family super rich?”

“Master forbids disciples from squandering family wealth.”

Grace Carter was shocked, suppressing the urge to cough up blood, and finally asked, “Shouldn’t the sect pay for training expenses?”

“Senior Sister, get a grip.”

Evan Parker was a little anxious. “We’re sword cultivators—we have no money!”

A single sentence woke her from her dream.

Grace Carter was suddenly enlightened.

Oh, right.

She was a sword cultivator.

What are sword cultivators like in the eyes of the public? Aloof, cold, decisive, able to split the sky with a single sword.

But what are they really like? Straightforward, single-minded, violent maniacs.

Most importantly, they’re poor.

Of all the sects, sword cultivators always wield the coolest, flashiest swords, use the sharpest sword techniques, but their clothes are always the cheapest.

The reason is simple: all their money goes to their swords.

Not to mention the huge expenses on sword cases and decorations—just the cost of maintaining and repairing their swords is enough to drain everyone’s private savings.

For sword cultivators, you could break their heads and spill their blood, but making their swords suffer was absolutely impossible.

To save money for their swords, fasting and not eating or drinking was commonplace. Things like learning to sew or performing on the street were also nothing new.

What impressed Grace Carter most was a certain senior brother surnamed Miller in the original story.

Rumor had it that, to save money, he even competed for the top spot at a brothel. When people discovered he was a sword cultivator, he shamelessly claimed to be a disciple of the Myriad Sword Sect, only to be exposed on the spot by the real Myriad Sword Sect.