Oh, scandalous! She could practically hear the gasps. "Legs? In public? How dare she!" she mocked. Immoral? Yeah, sure. If these people saw modern women's outfits, they'd probably drop dead of shock. How cute.
But honestly, who had time for ancient thinking when she had places to be and people to show up? So, there she was, running like she was in a race to escape this drama, heading straight toward the heroine and her gaggle of bootlickers—uh, sorry, pursuers. Real impressive, ladies.
And, just for a moment, she gave credit where it was due—the author actually did one thing right by making the path to the Heavenly Sect straight and simple. How considerate.
Just as her pleasant, fleeting thoughts were about to fade, reality decided to slap her with a big, fat "not so fast." The road? Gone. Poof. And in its place? A mountain. A colossal, unapologetic beast of rock and earth that seemed to say, "Yeah, climb me if you dare."
Divya tilted her head back, determined to size it up. Big mistake.
Snap.
"Ugh!" A sharp twinge shot through her neck, courtesy of her overzealous attempt to take it all in. Perfect. Just perfect. Now she had a mountain to climb and a crick in her neck. Could this day get any worse?
Oh, right. The author.
That invisible puppet master pulling the strings of her misery. The thought simmered as she clenched her fists. If—no, when—she made it out of this disaster, she'd find them. And when she did? She'd rip their plot twists apart, shred their narratives, and leave them crying over broken story arcs. Call it revenge or justice, but she'd make sure they'd think twice before messing with her again.
One day later, high above on the mountain, a group of disciples loitered around, grumbling under their breath. They'd been tasked with finding that damn fatty—the one who dared upset their beautiful Senior Sister Yuyu. It had been an entire day since their self-declared mission began, and still, not even a feather of the culprit in sight.
The plan? Hunt her down and serve some well-deserved mountain justice. After all, someone had to pay for Senior Sister's tears, and they were ready to dole it out, complete with dramatic flair.
Lost in their collective scheming, their imaginations were already playing out heroic rescue scenarios (with bonus points for style), when it happened.
Out of nowhere, a hand—grimy, dirt-caked, and clinging to life—appeared over the edge of the mountain. One disciple caught sight of it, and all thoughts of heroics vanished faster than his courage.
"Aaaaaaaagh!"
His shriek could've shattered glass as he launched himself backward, straight into the arms of the nearest unfortunate soul. Now, this wasn't some delicate stumble—oh no. He clung to the other disciple like a damsel in distress, arms wrapped tight around his neck, legs practically dangling.
"What—get off me!"
But the first disciple wasn't letting go, his face pale as a sheet and his eyes wide with horror, like he'd seen a ghost crawl out of the abyss. Meanwhile, the hand twitched, firmly gripping the rocky ledge, as if mocking their dramatics.
If Senior Sister Yuyu could see them now, she'd be furious—her rescuers cowering like frightened kittens. But hey, self-preservation first, right?
As the disciple continued to shriek like a broken whistle and the others scrambled to calm him down, Divya hauled herself over the edge of the mountain with one last, triumphant pull. She paused, taking a deep, dramatic breath, like she'd just conquered the world—or at least her patience.
It was then that the group finally noticed her. No ghost, no demon—just the infamous fatty, Pangpang, in all her sweaty, dirt-covered glory. The shock rippled through the group like a bad plot twist.
Their eyes darted between her and the mountain's dizzying height. She climbed the entire thing? The disbelief was almost comical. Who in their right mind climbed a mountain this massive? Especially when flying was an option. What kind of absolute lunatic—oh, right. Her.
Expressions ranged from wide-eyed horror to secondhand exhaustion. A few even softened into pity, as if she were a tragic figure in some misguided epic. But others? Oh, they weren't holding back. Their looks screamed, "What kind of idiot does this?"
Pangpang, of course, wasn't paying them any attention. She stood there, chest heaving, mud streaked across her robes, and wearing the unmistakable smugness of someone who just did the impossible.
As Divya stepped into the so-called Grand Hall, her first thought was simple: This is it? She had braced herself for something awe-inspiring—soaring ceilings, walls dripping in gold, pillars tall enough to intimidate the gods, maybe even a staircase that screamed "I'm too rich to use elevators." Instead?
This place looked like a retired Titanic cabin had been repurposed for a budget stage play. And not even a good one. The room barely stretched twice the size of an average living room, and the décor? Let's just say it wouldn't even make it to Pinterest.
Front and center sat the pièce de résistance: a wooden chair. Not a throne. Not even an elegant high-backed seat. Nope, just your typical grandma chair, the kind she used to knit sweaters in while watching soap operas. It had a few lazy carvings, probably slapped on to make it seem "regal," but honestly, it just looked like a chair having an identity crisis. Surrounding it were smaller chairs—just as underwhelming—set up for people who apparently believed sitting near grandma's chair made them important.
And the people standing by those chairs? Oh, they were a treat. Postures so stiff you'd think someone threatened to glue their spines straight if they moved an inch. Divya couldn't help but wonder: Do their necks ever crack? Or are they just this insufferable naturally?
Then, gravity decided to make her life harder. The second she crossed the threshold, it felt like the universe slammed her with all the weight of its poor life choices. Her chest heaved, her knees buckled, and her body was practically screaming, "Bow, or else!"
She managed to look up, barely, and there he was: the old man with his snow-white beard, lounging on that grandma chair like he was auditioning for Retired Emperor Weekly. His eyes were icy, sharp, and clearly judging her existence.