After traversing to the apocalypse, I am extremely delighted as a Demon Cultivator

Chapter 21: Each family came to give gifts, wanting me to take the blame.

The word about Wu Ping had spread throughout Nanyang Prefecture City, and everyone knew of him. Some folks claimed, “Wu Ping is towering at eight feet, with arms that could outpace horses. He sports iron and bronze teeth like a demon descended from the heavens!”

Others insisted, “Nonsense! Master Wu inherited his striking looks from the Deng family. Born with a dignified appearance, he weathered the bandit turmoil in his impoverished beginnings.”

For regular demons, folks typically associate them with horror. However, Wu Ping’s story in Nanyang City Palace took on an intriguing twist. The prevailing narrative depicted him as a hardworking man of impressive stature and good looks, emerging from humble origins and surviving village banditry. Perhaps due to his excessive hardships, some minor character flaws emerged.

Compared to the typical tales of ugly, vicious demons, this version, with its dramatic elements, became the most widely circulated. By the time Wu Ping woke up, it was already afternoon, and he was in Deng’s house hall. Outside, boisterous announcements echoed, presenting gifts from various families to congratulate the Deng family.

“The Pei family from the West City presents a pair of jade Ruyi, along with a sum of silver, to congratulate the Deng family.”

“The Xiao family in the east city presents a golden Buddha with a certain amount of money to congratulate the Deng family.”

“South City…”

Despite all the well-wishes directed at the Deng family, each gift was promptly handed over to Wu Ping upon arrival. The Pei family patriarch remarked, “A small gift for Master Wu, not a tribute.”

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“Elder Wu, your extraordinary handsomeness is truly admirable. Regret fills my heart for not meeting you earlier. This modest gift is a token of our encounter, please don’t take offence at its simplicity.”

One by one, gifts were pressed into Wu Ping’s hands, leaving him puzzled. “Huh?” He thought, but before he could figure it out, a sudden sound filled the hall, bringing an instant hush. The silence was so palpable that even the fall of a needle could be heard. All eyes were on Wu Ping, and a collective pallor spread across the onlookers. A cold sweat broke out on Wu Ping’s forehead, feeling like he had missed something crucial.

Having just woken up and not eaten since Wu Ping caught on to the fact that the gifts were piling up. Could it be a trap? He furrowed his brow, scanning the people around for signs of conspiracy. However, nothing seemed amiss. Why were they so fearful? It perplexed him. Were people in this world so fearless?

Formerly a disciple of the Qingfeng Sect and now the patriarch of these families, Wu Ping noticed some trembling legs among the group, adding to his confusion. Despite his bewilderment, he spoke to break the tension: “It’s okay. I’ve just woken up after a day of sleep. Please continue.”

His words had a slight calming effect, but an uneasy atmosphere lingered. A sense of oppression emanated from Wu Ping, making everyone feel like they were facing a natural enemy. It was a chilling sensation. People tried to rationalise it, attributing it to Wu Ping having killed too many, branding him as an otherworldly figure. The lingering aura of blood and malevolence only reinforced their belief.

As the gifts continued to pour in, Wu Ping was torn between confusion and the practicality of accepting the offerings. The opened gifts revealed spirit stones, silver tickets, and more. Unsure of the situation, Wu Ping went along with it, adhering to the adage of not refusing gifts from friendly faces, even though he was still grappling with the mysteries surrounding him.

As the night wore on, the banquet persisted, and Wu Ping found himself in a daze once again, benefiting from the unexpected windfall of spirit stones during this journey down the mountain.

In the Deng family mansion, four individuals sat together.

“Brother Wu, when will we head back? I’ll follow your lead,” Du Yucui asked with a smile. Despite their initial unpleasant encounter, her admiration for Wu Ping had grown.

“Wasn’t the mission’s time limit seven days?” Wu Shuangqing chimed in.

Wu Ping pondered silently. Spirit stones were abundant, and there was no urgency to upgrade techniques. Why rush back? Delaying his return would allow him to explain his sudden cultivation breakthrough more smoothly.

“I might not be in a hurry to return. I have personal matters to attend to. You all can go ahead,” Wu Ping informed them.

While curious, the three companions refrained from prying and agreed. That night, Wu Ping discreetly left Deng’s residence. Fewer people knowing his whereabouts meant greater safety and maintaining an air of mystery for self-preservation.

The next day, as Wu Ping journeyed out of the city, his name seemed to echo in his ears. Overnight, his reputation had spread across Nanyang Mansion, and many labelled him a rising star of the Magic Road. Wu Ping was infuriated.

“I haven’t even done anything! Why are they making such a fuss?” He grumbled. Despite complaints, Wu Ping contemplated why the city’s leaders showed him gifts. Were they intimidated? He questioned the courage of cultivators in this world.

While accepting the benefits, Wu Ping’s reputation continued to soar. Seeking solace, he found a hilltop to enjoy the moon and a drink, as was his nature. The following day, however, he discovered a gap in his memory. Had he been drinking in the mountains last night?

“Did you hear? There was a massacre in the water village last night. Not a soul survived!”

“Indeed, there are reports of evil spirits in the sky. They suspect it might be the demon star, Wu Ping, attempting to refine his soul streamer.”

“The water bandits in Shuixiang didn’t deny it either!”

Boom!

The rice bowl in Wu Ping’s hand crashed to the table at the adjacent conversation.