The Guangyuan Mountain Range, Qiling Sect.
A flock of long-bodied white cranes leisurely flew across the mountain peaks. From the misty forests came the resonant sound of awakening bells. On the flat ground halfway up the mountain, a group of Daoist disciples in robes were practicing palm techniques.
The middle-aged Daoist leading them wore his hair neatly bound with a Daoist crown. His movements—both hands and feet rising and falling—flowed like drifting clouds and flowing water, giving anyone watching a sense of indescribable ease and harmony.
Behind him, however, the group of younger Daoists fell far short in comparison. Most merely imitated the form, without capturing the essence.
At the very back row, there was a youth with curved brows and bright eyes, strikingly handsome. He was practicing the sect's inherited Xuanqi Palm Technique with earnest focus.
This was the sect's rule: on the first day of every lunar month, at the beginning of the hour of Chen, unless exempted for important duties, all disciples had to gather at Qifeng's Lecture Platform, led by an elder, to practice half an hour of the Xuanqi Palm Technique.
Although Li Yuan didn't really understand what purpose such an outdated rule served, he was only a nameless, insignificant disciple under Lingfeng. His only duty was to follow along without question.
"Dong—"
A bell chimed from the mountain above. It was now three-quarters into the hour of Chen, exactly enough time to finish the palm technique three times.
The elder standing before the disciples brought his palms together, then clasped one hand behind his back. His sharp, intelligent eyes swept over the gathered disciples before he nodded and said:
"Not bad. This time we have seven or eight more disciples than in previous months.
Our Qiling Sect descends from the orthodox lineage of Daoist Xuanyuan. Though we are not as prosperous as in ancient times, the rules and traditions must still be observed.
Cultivate well."
With a wave of his sleeve, a large green lotus leaf appeared beneath his feet, expanding to several meters wide and lifting him into the sky. Watching him ascend, the disciples' eyes burned with envy. They bowed together, saluting:
"Respectfully sending off Elder."
Once the elder departed, Li Yuan also prepared to head back to his dwelling. Since he lived under Lingfeng, he had to get up in the dead of night to rush all the way to Qifeng.
As the forty to fifty disciples dispersed, three figures grouped together and approached him.
At their head was a narrow-eyed, thin young man. He smirked maliciously:
"Junior Brother Li Yuan, has the wound on your neck healed?"
Li Yuan froze for a moment, then turned around. He reached up to touch the shallow scar on his neck and cupped his hands with a smile:
"Thank you for your concern, Senior Brother Wang Chuan. It's already healed—it's nothing serious."
"Hehe, junior brother really is careless," laughed a short, plump disciple at Wang Chuan's side. "After all, you're a disciple of our Qiling Sect, a cultivator on the path of immortality. Yet you were nearly stabbed in the throat by a mortal swordsman.
If word of this spreads, people will laugh themselves to death."
Nearby disciples who hadn't left yet chuckled in small groups. Clearly, this matter was no longer a secret.
Li Yuan did not grow angry. What they said was true—his skills were inferior. As for humiliation, his skin was thick; he hardly felt it.
So he simply smiled, his brows curving. With a slightly embarrassed tone, he said:
"You've all had a laugh at my expense. It's my own dull talent and weak cultivation. I must thank Senior Brother Wang Chuan for stepping in to help me at that time."
From his sleeve pouch, Li Yuan produced a small glowing spirit stone, offering it to Wang Chuan with a faint blush:
"This is just a token of gratitude from your junior. Please don't dislike it."
"Ah?"
The words Wang Chuan was about to say caught in his throat. He stared at his blushing junior brother and the spirit stone in his hand. Surrounded by curious eyes, Wang Chuan stammered awkwardly:
"This… this…
We're all fellow sect brothers. Helping each other is natural. You just focus on healing your injuries. How could I possibly accept this spirit stone?"
With a wave of his hand, he pushed the stone back.
"Huh? What's with you today?" the short, plump disciple whispered, baffled. Wang Chuan, usually a notorious bully, had suddenly changed his tune.
"In that case, thank you, Senior Brother," Li Yuan said gratefully, as if he wanted to grab Wang Chuan's sleeve to express his emotion. This left Wang Chuan red-faced. Two men tugging at each other's clothes in front of everyone—how improper!
Once away from the crowd, Li Yuan's face returned to calm. Such petty bullying from fellow sect members was trivial. To the people of this world it might be deeply humiliating, but to Li Yuan—who had endured endless insults in his previous life—it was nothing.
He had once been an ordinary young man on Earth, born with a hereditary illness. He died at twenty-seven.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in this world of cultivation.
This life, Li Yuan had been an abducted child from the lowlands. Fortunately, he was rescued by a Qiling Sect disciple, who discovered his spiritual root and brought him to the mountain to cultivate.
Li Yuan's aptitude wasn't terrible, but it was far from good.
According to the transmission elder of Lingfeng, spiritual roots were ranked into three grades: Heaven, Earth, and Human.
Each grade was further divided into upper, middle, and lower tiers. Heaven-grade roots were legendary; even Earth-grade roots were rare. Among Qiling Sect's hundred disciples, not even one might possess them.
As for the spiritual roots of the sect's two grand ancestors—no one knew.
Li Yuan's root was a mid-tier Human-grade. If he cultivated diligently for a hundred years, he might scrape his way into becoming an elder.
He leapt lightly over rocks, agile as a monkey, covering several meters with each step on the branches. He intended to reach Lingfeng before noon.
The Qiling Sect was a mid-sized sect, split between Qifeng and Lingfeng, with just over a hundred disciples. At the mountain's base lived tens of thousands of mortals who revered the sect and supplied them, giving the sect control over nearly a thousand li of the Guangyuan Range.
The sect's protective formation only extended a hundred li, and though its disciples spread out across the mountains, the area was still vast and sparsely populated.
Most disciples were at the early stages of Qi Refining. The peak masters and elders were in the later and peak stages of Qi Refining.
The sect's two grand ancestors, however, were genuine Foundation Establishment cultivators—true Dao builders—far beyond the reach of someone like Li Yuan.
At nineteen, Li Yuan himself was only in the early stage of Qi Refining. He had merely begun using the energy of heaven and earth to nourish blood and flesh. His spiritual power was meager—among crowds, he was just a background figure.
Still, compared to mortals, Qi Refining cultivators were worlds apart. Even just the words "Qi Refining for two hundred years" marked an insurmountable gulf between mortal and immortal.
If they cultivated steadily, Qi Refining disciples could live up to two centuries—longer than the rise and fall of a dynasty.
As for Foundation Establishment true cultivators, their lifespan stretched to five hundred years. Even Qi Refining disciples rarely had a chance to meet such lofty beings.
Crossing over the mountain ridges, Li Yuan finally returned to his cave dwelling near noon.
Lingfeng was more than just a mountain; it represented one of the sect's two factions. His cave-dwelling was built into a small hillside, a three-story courtyard left behind by a previous disciple—lucky for him.
At the gate, Li Yuan took out a jade token and waved it. A flash of green light opened a gap in the warding formation, and he entered.
For a mid-level sect like Qiling, with so few disciples, such simple wards could only block wind, rain, beasts, or mortals. Any early-stage cultivator could break them with a few spells.
Still, it was a symbol of sovereignty and identity. For a junior disciple like Li Yuan, even this much protection was valuable.
He sat beneath the courtyard's osmanthus tree, resting on a reclining chair. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he drained it in one gulp.
Since learning cultivation techniques and stepping onto the Qi Refining path, he no longer needed daily meals. Tea or a bit of spirit rice every few weeks was enough.
Now, lying back on the cushioned chair, rocking it gently with a push of his foot, Li Yuan inhaled the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms above and thought about taking a nap.
Cultivation could not be rushed. Resting well was the best way to continue forward.
Reborn in this life, Li Yuan yearned for the path of immortality. Yet he understood its difficulty. It was not a road of reckless seclusion or sudden breakthroughs.
Just last month, while running errands outside the sect, he encountered a wandering swordsman. In a moment of carelessness, he was nearly killed. Since then, he had become a laughingstock—not only within his own sect but even in neighboring ones, as word spread through the nearby Wenshan marketplace.
Still, Li Yuan felt no shame. In his past life, he had endured countless jeers and scorn, and he knew: reputation was meaningless.
Yes, his spiritual aptitude was poor. His talent for spellcraft was weak. He was ordinary.
But none of that stopped him from yearning for longevity.
Li Yuan recalled the words of the ancient sage Laozi: "The highest goodness is like water. Water benefits all things and does not contend; it flows to the low places that all disdain—thus it is close to the Dao."
He had no family background, no top-grade spiritual root, no wealthy patrons, no extraordinary fortune.
He could only proceed cautiously, accumulate steadily, and wait for the right time, place, and people—only then could he hope to touch the Great Dao.
As he reached out and touched the old stone table in his courtyard, his fingers brushed against a weathered, uneven groove carved by wind and rain.
In that instant, his spiritual sense overturned, and he found himself pulled into a dense forest space.
(End of Chapter 1)