Investiture of the Gods: Fellow Daoist, Please Stay

[Practice piece, practice piece, practice piece]

[Don't read, don't read, don't read]

"Fellow Daoist, Please Stay." In the Primordial World, those words were a death sentence.

When Shen Gongbao uttered those five words, even he was in despair. He knew that every fellow cultivator he "invited" would eventually end up on the Investiture of the Gods, discarded pawns in a game played by the Sages.

Abandoned by his master, robbed of the list by his junior brother, and mocked by the Three Realms, he thought he would rot in a tavern in Chaoge City, the first joke of the Investiture of the Gods tribulation.

That was until a young man claiming to come from the "future" sat down across from him.

"Fellow Daoist Shen, you're using that skill in the wrong place." Sun Ming opened a holographic projection, and a map of the Primordial World revolved in the light. "Inviting people doesn't mean you have to send them to the Investiture of the Gods."

"Then where do I send them?"

"Aboard our ship."

From that day on, Shen Gongbao's "Fellow Daoist, Please Stay" took on a new meaning.

Those he invited were no longer cannon fodder, but members of an intelligence network spanning the Three Realms. His words were no longer a curse, but a sincere invitation:

"Fellow Daoist, would you like to try living a different way?"

When the Golden Immortals of the Chan Sect realized the Jie Sect was becoming harder and harder to deal with, they finally traced it to a name that left them baffled:

Someone was behind Shen Gongbao.

That person was not part of anyone's destiny.