After the Chubby Boy Became the Gong of the Sect's Beauty - Reviews

The pacing in this section is genuinely masterful, and I want to break down why. The author takes an entire chapter to describe a flying ship journey that could have been summarized in two paragraphs, and instead we get this immersive experience of boarding, the excitement of the other disciples, Xu Yifan's boredom, the gossiping scenes, the secret trailing behind, the near-miss encounter with Xian Qinglin, and then—just as we think the chapter is winding down—we get Ma Xiu's soul lamp going dark and Ma Xiang attacking the Sixth Elder on arrival. That is a structural pivot that changes everything. Before that moment, the story feels like a slice-of-life cultivation comedy. After that moment, it becomes a story with real consequences and blood on its hands. Let me also talk about the sleeping scene. Two days of Xu Yifan sleeping, neither eating nor drinking, scaring the Sixth Elder half to death. The Seventh Elder checking whether he is still breathing. This could have been boring filler, but the author uses it brilliantly to build mystery. Why is he sleeping? What is he hiding? The pacing here is deliberate—slow, almost meditative—but it serves the larger narrative by making us lean in and wonder. The chapter structure also plays with perspective shifts. We start with world-building exposition about spiritual roots and sect hierarchy, move into character interaction and comedy, then pivot to Xian Qinglin's quiet longing, and end with violence and grief. That is a lot of tonal ground to cover, and the author navigates it without feeling jarring. The transition from the Sixth Elder and Seventh Elder bickering about whether Xu Yifan is chubby to Ma Xiang demanding justice for his dead son is abrupt, yes, but that abruptness mirrors how cultivation world politics work—peace one moment, blood the next.

Okay so let's talk about the plot mechanics here because this book is quietly doing something really clever. On the surface it looks like a cultivation novel with a chill protagonist, but the whole thing is built on top of this massive unresolved murder mystery—Ma Xiu is dead, literally vaporized, and nobody knows who did it or how. The Sixth Elder drops this bombshell that the crater left behind requires at least early Golden Core power, and then immediately undercuts himself by saying even he doubts he could carve that deep. So what, we're saying the killer is either super overpowered or using some third-grade artifact that a random village cultivator couldn't possibly afford? That's a plot hole waiting to be filled, and I'm here for it. What I love is how the author threads this mystery through seemingly unrelated scenes. You've got Xu Yifan casually dealing with Xian Qinglin's predicament after Ma Xiu's incident, then cutting to the elders panicking about Ma Xiang's revenge, then the demonic plant getting swung around like a wet noodle. None of these scenes feel connected on the surface, but they're all orbiting the same gravitational center—that dead boy and the mystery of what happened. The plot doesn't rush to explain anything. It just drops breadcrumbs and lets you connect them yourself. That's how you build suspense without making it feel forced. Also the recruitment subplot is genius misdirection. The Sixth Elder strolling into Xu Yifan's house like he owns the place, declaring destiny, asking about food and handsome men as his only qualifications for joining a sect—this feels completely random until you realize the author is setting up Xu Yifan's entry into the cultivation world through the funniest possible door. And that spatial ring the Seventh Elder hands him? The narrator explicitly notes it felt like Xu Yifan had been 'prepared for this.' Prepared by whom? That's a question the plot is asking, and I need the answer. But here's what keeps me up at night: Ma Xiang. 'Sinister, cunning, never forgets the smallest grudge, twists and turns like a maze inside.' That's not just character description, that's a threat forecast. The elder literally says Ma Xiang will vent his anger on them regardless of whether they killed his son. So the next arc is basically walking into a trap, isn't it? The plot is setting up a collision course and I can't look away.

Let me just lay out the stakes because they are genuinely escalating in ways that make my heart race. On the personal level, Xu Yifan just agreed to leave his isolated life and join a sect. That's a huge conflict for someone who clearly values his solitude. He's walking into a world of cultivators, politics, and danger, and he's doing it for food and handsome men. Is he naive? Is he hiding something? The conflict here is internal—can this detached person actually handle connection, or will he bolt the moment things get hard? On the interpersonal level, the Ma Xiu situation is a ticking time bomb. Ma Xiang has lost his only son, he's described as 'sinister, cunning, never forgets the smallest grudge,' and he's the Hall Master of the Beast-Taming Hall with the Sect Master personally protecting him. The Sixth and Seventh Elders are completely powerless to defend themselves because 'neither of them was the type to kill casually.' That's a conflict where the protagonists are morally good but structurally vulnerable, and that's one of the most tense setups you can have. You know someone is coming for them, they know it too, and they can't fight back without becoming what they hate. But the biggest conflict looming over everything is the mystery of Ma Xiu's death. Someone with at least early Golden Core power—possibly much more—vaporized a Foundation Establishment cultivator who was armed with third-grade magic tools, protective arrays, and talismans. Who has that kind of power? Why target Ma Xiu? And why does the narrator keep implying that Xu Yifan might be connected to it? The demonic plant was near the scene. Xu Yifan has access to incredibly powerful pills. He carries a spatial ring. He seems to know more than he's letting on. The stakes keep rising because every resolution creates a new problem. The Sixth Elder finds his disciple—great, now Ma Xiang might attack the sect. Xu Yifan joins the sect—great, now he's involved in cultivation politics. The antidote is used—great, now Xian Qinglin owes him a debt that could become complicated. The author is playing 4D chess with conflict, and every move opens up three new possibilities for disaster. What keeps me engaged is that the author never lets you forget what's at stake. Even in the comedic scenes—with the plant sobbing or the elders bickering—there's this undercurrent of danger. Ma Xiang is out there. Something killed Ma Xiu. And Xu Yifan is at the center of it all, asking about food and handsome men like he doesn't hear the world burning around him. I need to know what happens next.

This man. This absolute man. Xu Yifan has lived in isolation for years, supposedly with his heart like stone, and then he sees Xian Qinglin and his entire composure just—crumbles. I need a minute. Let me break this down because the author did something really special here. First, Xu Yifan's reaction to Xian Qinglin being drugged isn't just heroics. It's personal. He's furious, yes, but it's mixed with something else. Something dangerous. And then when he's holding Xian Qinglin after the fight, the drug still coursing through the other man's system, Xu Yifan catches himself staring. His Adam's apple bobs. He swallows. He looks away because Xian Qinglin can't even see him through the concealment talisman, so it's safe to have this moment of weakness. The line that destroyed me was: "This person was gorgeous to death, really his type." That's it. That's the whole romance right there. Xu Yifan has spent years alone, probably suppressing any desire, and one look at this ethereal, defiant, beautiful man and he's done for. The tension is unreal. Xian Qinglin is half-conscious, struggling against the drug, and he can feel someone there but can't see them. He's vulnerable in the most dangerous way, and Xu Yifan is the only thing standing between him and ruin. That's not just romantic tension—that's narrative electricity. And the fact that Xu Yifan himself is startled by his own reaction? That's the best part. He thought he was immune to all this. He was wrong. I'm not okay.

The dialogue in this text is genuinely exceptional, and I want to highlight why. Xu Yifan's voice is the anchor — sarcastic, self-deprecating, internally dramatic but externally restrained. His internal monologue is where the comedy lives: "Having ended up with a master like this, he wasn't sure if it was too late to regret it." And later, when the Sixth Elder bluntly points out that his Qi Refining sixth layer is clearly propped up with pills, Xu Yifan's thought about having a big face but not being thick-skinned? That's a specific, human, funny voice that's entirely his own. The demonic plant's dialogue is distinctively childlike without being annoying about it. "Candy bean!" "I want it, I want it." "I'm going to cultivate. Keep your movements quiet. Don't disturb me." The contrast between its determined declaration and the established fact that it never lasts half a stick of incense is comedy gold, and it's all delivered through dialogue alone. The Sixth Elder is loud, blunt, and emotionally transparent in a way that makes every line memorable. "You hurt my disciple, are you looking to die?" followed immediately by "Chubby boy, come sit up on the platform with me. My stool is big, I'll share half with you." The whiplash between threat and kindness is the character in a single exchange. Even minor characters like Zheng Zhousheng get a line that defines them: "Whoever else I might look down on, I'd never dare look down on your disciple!" The narrative voice itself is wry and observant, never over-explaining, letting the scenes breathe. This is writing that trusts its readers.

Okay, let me just say this upfront: the plot in this section is doing something really interesting with subversion. We have Xu Yifan, this seemingly mediocre recruit with only three spiritual roots and Qi Refining sixth layer cultivation, being personally taken in by the Sixth Elder after centuries of empty rosters. The narrative sets up this expectation that he must be extraordinary, then deliberately undercuts it by showing him sleeping for two days straight, being called chubby, and getting mocked by every other disciple on the ship. But here is what I love: the plot keeps layering in mysteries. Who is Xian Qinglin? Why does he seem to recognize Xu Yifan? What happened to Ma Xiu whose soul lamp went dark? And that ending with Ma Xiang attacking the Sixth Elder—boom, immediate stakes introduced right as they arrive at the sect. The author is playing with dramatic irony really well. We know Xu Yifan is the Sixth Elder's disciple, so when the other disciples mock him, we are waiting for the inevitable face-slapping moment, but the author refuses to give us that cheap satisfaction immediately. Instead, we get this slow burn where Xian Qinglin keeps glancing back, where Gu Qingyun's humiliation simmers, where the Seventh Elder and Sixth Elder bicker about whether Xu Yifan is too chubby. The plot structure here is not about big action set pieces; it is about building a web of relationships and unspoken tensions that make you want to keep reading. The recruitment arc is essentially complete, but the real story is just beginning.

I need to talk about Xian Qinglin because this character is doing something fascinating with restraint. The moment he spots Xu Yifan on the deck and takes that step forward, only to be met with complete indifference when Xu Yifan glances his way and turns away—chills. Absolute chills. The author writes: 'Xu—' He took a step, about to walk over, when Xu Yifan glanced his way, showed no expression whatsoever, and turned to leave. Xian Qinglin's footsteps stopped. Mocking himself, he murmured under his breath the words he hadn't managed to say in time: '...Yifan.' That ellipsis. That whispered name. That is a whole novel of unspoken history right there in one gesture. And then later, when Gu Qingyun is talking to Xian Qinglin and Xian Qinglin catches sight of Xu Yifan in the distance, his expression pauses involuntarily. He changes the subject. He smiles. But the narrative tells us directly: Xian Qinglin stared after his retreating figure for a moment. The obsession is real, but it is also carefully hidden beneath layers of sect etiquette and social performance. Meanwhile, Gu Qingyun is this whole other layer of toxic entitlement. He was rejected by the Sixth Elder once, called Xu Yifan unworthy, and when Xu Yifan shuts him down publicly, Gu Qingyun's face darkens severely. But what I find most interesting is how the power dynamics shift. Gu Qingyun is the top-ranked inner disciple, the Sect Master's foremost student, coming from a prominent noble family. Xu Yifan has three spiritual roots and can barely cultivate. Yet Xu Yifan holds all the cards because he carries the Sixth Elder's favor. The scene where Xu Yifan confronts the gossiping disciples is pure character revelation: 'You senior martial brothers really do have too much free time. All in your twenties or thirties, and only at mid-Foundation Establishment, so useless.' That is not just a comeback; that is a man who knows exactly what he is worth and says it without raising his voice.

"Chubby boy, won't you be my disciple and come back to Xianhao Sect with me?" I have never laughed so hard at a single line of dialogue in my life. Let me just sit with that for a moment. This man walks into a stranger's house, sees a guy lying on a bed, and his opening pitch is basically 'you're round and I like you, come live with me.' And Xu Yifan's response? "Will there be food to eat? Can I sleep whenever I want? Are there handsome men to look at?" This is not how I would negotiate a master-disciple relationship and yet it is PERFECT. The dialogue in this book is genuinely exceptional because every character has a voice so distinct you could tell who's speaking without any attribution. The Sixth Elder sounds like a chaotic gremlin who happens to be a powerful cultivator—his speech is informal, impulsive, completely unfiltered. He calls people 'chubby boy,' he pokes bellies, he declares destiny after doing exactly zero background checks. His dialogue is pure id, and it's hilarious. The Seventh Elder, on the other hand, is the straight man to every joke the Sixth Elder makes. His dialogue is measured, polite, occasionally exasperated. "Junior Martial Brother, you're absolutely right"—said through gritted teeth while his colleague is physically harassing a prospective disciple. The contrast between these two in conversation is comedy gold. They've clearly known each other for centuries and their dynamic is fully formed. Xu Yifan's dialogue is another thing entirely. He's terse, pragmatic, almost deadpan. "No need. There's only me at home." Said about leaving his entire life behind to join a cultivation sect. The casualness of it is both funny and revealing—he doesn't have much attachment to anything, which tells you everything you need to know about his character without the author spelling it out. And the demonic plant's dialogue—"I'm just a little grass that nobody loves and nobody cares for, I don't want to live"—is peak comedic writing. It's pathetic, it's dramatic, it's absolutely unhinged, and it fits perfectly in a book that clearly doesn't take itself too seriously. The narrative voice itself is also worth praising. It's witty without being pretentious, observant without being overwrought. Lines like "Better left unsaid" when describing the Sixth Elder's build, or "That's what you get" when he's punishing the plant—these small asides from the narrator add so much personality to the prose. The author has a voice, and it's a good one.

The conflict structure in this section operates on multiple levels, and the stakes escalate in a way that feels earned rather than manufactured. Let me break this down. On the interpersonal level, we have Xu Yifan versus the gossiping disciples, which is a classic underdog confrontation. But what makes it compelling is that the author does not give us a simple victory. Xu Yifan shuts them down with words, yes, but he does not fight them. He does not reveal any hidden power. He simply speaks truth, and the power of the Sixth Elder's favor does the rest. The conflict is social, not physical, and that is more interesting. On the romantic tension level, we have Xian Qinglin's unspoken longing versus Xu Yifan's deliberate indifference. The stakes here are emotional: will Xian Qinglin ever confess? Will Xu Yifan ever notice him? The scene where Xian Qinglin takes that step forward and then stops is pure dramatic stakes—every word unsaid is a weight. But then the author pivots to the highest stakes of all: Ma Xiu is dead. His soul lamp has gone dark. His father Ma Xiang arrives and immediately tries to strike the Sixth Elder. 'Give me back my son's life.' That is a line that changes everything. The conflict is no longer about sect politics and romantic tension; it is about death, grief, and possibly murder. The Sixth Elder's response is cold and practical: 'My job is recruiting disciples, not being his personal bodyguard.' But Ma Xiang's grief is raw and immediate, and the Grand Elder's arrival to stop the fight suggests this conflict will not be resolved easily. The stakes have shifted from social humiliation to potential bloodshed, and that transition happens in the final pages of this section. What I find most effective is how the author uses the arrival at the sect as a structural turning point. The flying ship journey is safe, contained, almost comedic. The moment they land, the world opens up and violence becomes possible. Ma Xiang's palm strike being knocked away with a single counter-strike from the Sixth Elder is a power display that raises the stakes for everyone: if the Sixth Elder can do that to a grieving father, what happens when the real enemies appear?

I need to talk about how this author handles pacing because it's honestly masterclass level and I don't say that lightly. Let me take you through a sequence that blew my mind. You start with this intensely intimate, almost romantic scene between Xu Yifan and Xian Qinglin—pill given, body healed, carried back to the bedroom, a kiss that turns out to be on the spot where someone else licked his face. It's tender, it's funny, it's awkward. And then—BAM—you cut to a demonic plant being swung through the air like a baseball bat, sobbing about how nobody loves it. The tonal whiplash is incredible. One moment you're thinking 'aww' and the next you're wheezing. That's not accidental; that's a author who understands that reader attention is a finite resource and you have to keep resetting the emotional dial. Then the structure shifts again into the recruitment chapter, and the pacing here is different—it's slower, more deliberate, almost meditative. The Sixth and Seventh Elders are drinking tea, discussing a murder, bickering about disciples. It feels like a calm before the storm, and that's exactly what it is. The author is giving you space to breathe between the high-intensity moments, but even in this 'calm' scene, there's underlying tension. Ma Xiu is dead. Ma Xiang is coming for them. The Sixth Elder has this weird sixth sense about finding his disciple. Everything is quiet on the surface but vibrating underneath. And then Xu Yifan asks about food and handsome men and immediately agrees to join a sect. The pacing of that exchange is so fast it's almost comedic—setup, question, answer, done. No hesitation, no drama, just straight to the point. It mirrors Xu Yifan's character perfectly and also serves the plot by not bogging down the recruitment in unnecessary deliberation. The chapter structure itself is also worth noting. Each chapter ends on a note that makes you want to keep going. The Xian Qinglin scene ends with Xu Yifan noticing his beautiful fingers and losing composure. The elder scene ends with the Sixth Elder declaring destiny. Xu Yifan's scene ends with that spatial ring and the ominous 'prepared for this.' These aren't cliffhangers in the traditional sense—they're curiosity hooks. You don't know what's coming next, but you know you want to find out. Some parts drag slightly—the investigation of Ma Xiu's death scene goes on a bit long with the elders theorizing—but honestly, that's the only minor complaint. The author knows when to accelerate and when to let scenes breathe. Most writers can't do both.

The atmosphere shifts in this chapter like nothing else. It starts so calm—Xu Yifan reading a book on pill formulas, waiting for his demonic plant to come home. You can picture it: evening light, a quiet room, the gentle rustle of pages. Totally peaceful. And then he senses something through the contract and suddenly he's grabbing a wooden stick like a concerned parent. The transition is seamless. Then he arrives at the courtyard and the noise hits him—jeering laughter, cries for help. The author doesn't shy away from making this scene uncomfortable. The wine being forced down Xian Qinglin's throat, the lecherous touching, Ma Xiu's obsession. It's visceral. But then the wooden stick smacks Ma Xiu and the whole energy changes. The fight scene is described with such vivid sensory detail—the spiritual energy pulverizing tables and chairs, Xian Qinglin spitting blood, the stray sword slices hitting the pinned disciples. And that explosion at the end! "The courtyard had already been blasted to dust, the foundation sunk dozens of meters down into a pitch-black crater." I could see this in my head like a movie frame. The contrast between the quiet village setting and this sudden burst of cultivation-level violence is what makes the world feel so alive. It's not just a backdrop—it's a place where danger lurks behind every courtyard door.

I need to talk about the dialogue in this chapter because it is absolutely stellar. Ma Xiu's voice is so distinct—he's arrogant, entitled, and completely unhinged. Lines like "You should feel lucky, having such good fortune" while he's drugging someone? That's the kind of villain dialogue that makes you want to throw the book across the room. And then Xu Yifan's response? "Hall Master of the Spirit Beast Hall? The way you talked big just now, I thought you were the son of Xianhao Sect's Sect Master! Turns out you're just some shit-shoveling official in charge of watching over livestock. You think I'd be scared of him? What a joke!" I am deceased. The mockery is perfect. It's not just funny—it's character-revealing. Xu Yifan isn't afraid because he genuinely doesn't care about sect hierarchy. He's operating on a completely different level. And Xian Qinglin! Even half-drugged and barely conscious, he still spits in Ma Xiu's face and says "I'm going to kill you all." That's consistency of character. He doesn't break. His dialogue stays sharp even when his body is failing him. The narrative voice is also doing a lot of work here—Xu Yifan's internal monologue about Xian Qinglin's beauty is written with this raw, almost comedic honesty that fits his personality perfectly. "Why the hell did he have to be born this good-looking." This man is trying so hard to be composed and he's failing spectacularly. The dialogue and narration together create a voice that's funny, tense, and deeply human despite the cultivation setting.