The first thing Han Zhao learned about immortality was how dangerous this world is.
He sat on a low wooden stool, a frayed horsehair brush in one hand and a crumbling bamboo scroll in the other. Outside the narrow, slit-like window of the Scripture Pavilion, the air vibrated with the distant, rhythmic thrum of ten thousand disciples shouting in unison. It was the day of the Spring Foundation Trial, the most important event in the Blue Cloud Sect's calendar. Somewhere out there, "geniuses" were breaking their bones to impress elders, and "prodigies" were spitting blood to prove their Dao.
Han Zhao didn't care. He carefully brushed a century's worth of dust off the scroll, his movements slow and deliberate.
One. Two. Three.
A translucent blue window flickered at the edge of his vision, so faint it was almost a ghost.
[Task: Cleanse the 'Iron-Skin Sutra' (Fragment). Progress: 100%]
[Reward: 4 Hours of Longevity, 0.01% progress in 'Breath of the Still Mountain'.]
[Current Life Expectancy: 74 Years, 122 Days.]
Han Zhao let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for a lifetime. Or rather, two lifetimes.
It had been three months since he woke up in this body. In his previous life, he had been a Senior Data Analyst for a logistics firm in Shanghai. He had spent his twenties chasing KPIs, his thirties chasing a mortgage, and his early forties collapsing at his desk from a heart attack that felt like a hot iron being driven into his sternum.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in a hospital. He was in the body of a nineteen-year-old "Record-Keeper" of the Blue Cloud Sect—a mid-tier cultivation sect nestled in the jagged peaks of the Azure Province.
The "original" Han Zhao had been a person of such mediocre talent that his presence was almost subterranean. He had no powerful family, no secret bloodline, and a Dantian that was described by the sect's physician as "a leaky bucket in a drought." He had been assigned to the Scripture Pavilion—the sect's library—not as a student, but as a janitor. He had died quietly of a common cold and sheer exhaustion, slumped over a pile of unorganized history ledgers.
The "new" Han Zhao had looked at the memories of this world—a world of flying swords, mountain-leveling spells, and casual, everyday slaughter—and made a very firm, very modern decision.
He was weak. Yes... Extremely weak. His first priority was simply to stay alive. He couldn't act too mediocre,neither could he act too outstanding. His dantian had already been described as a leaking bucket by the sect's physician, fast progression would spell doom instead. He could only place all his hopes on finding a damaged breath concealing scroll to ensure his survival.
In a world where people "defied the heavens," Han Zhao decided to hide from the heavens. If the heavens wanted to kill him, they'd have to find him first.
The Scripture Pavilion of the Blue Cloud Sect was a nine-story pagoda made of black ironwood. The higher floors contained the "Heaven-Grade" techniques, guarded by formations that would incinerate a man's soul. The middle floors held the battle arts and elemental spells.
Han Zhao worked on the first floor and the basement.
The first floor was the graveyard of knowledge. It held the "Failed Arts"—techniques that were incomplete, outdated, or fundamentally flawed. Most disciples skipped this floor entirely, sprinting toward the flashier techniques and styles above. To them, the first floor was a waste of time.
To Han Zhao, it was a gold mine. As someone coming from the 21st century,he knew how important basics were to everything. And his golden finger gave him the confidence to at least strive for immortality in this dangerous world.
He picked up another scroll. This one was titled The Flowing Creek Manual. It was a basic water-attribute cultivation method, but the silk was stained with tea and the ink had faded.
[Detected: 'The Flowing Creek Manual' (Damaged). Analysis in progress...]
[Error found in the third meridian circuit. Potential for Qi Deviation: 14%.]
[Optimizing... Optimization Complete.]
[New Technique Acquired: 'The Eternal Well-Spring'.]
[Effect: Passive recovery of stamina. Increases life expectancy by 2 days per level.]
Han Zhao felt a cool trickle of energy circulate through his chest. It wasn't the violent, explosive power the "Heroes" of this world craved. It was gentle. It was quiet. It felt like a slow sip of cold water on a summer day.
He went back to sweeping.
The broom moved in a specific rhythm. To a passing observer, he looked like a lazy youth half-asleep on his feet. In reality, every sweep was a movement of the Still Mountain style he'd pieced together from three different "broken" manuals. It didn't make his skin hard as iron or his fists heavy as lead; it simply made his presence "thin." It made him look like he belonged exactly where he was—in the background.
THUD.
The heavy oak doors of the Pavilion swung open, letting in a gust of mountain air and the arrogant scent of expensive incense.
Han Zhao didn't look up. He moved to a corner and began dusting a shelf of historical genealogies.
"Where is the old man?" a sharp, youthful voice demanded.
Han Zhao paused, then slowly turned. He kept his shoulders slumped and his head slightly bowed, the perfect image of a talentless servant.
Standing in the doorway were three disciples. They wore the silver-trimmed robes of the Inner Sect. The leader was a tall youth with a sharp jawline and eyes that scanned the room with visible disdain. This was Chen Feng, a "prodigy" of the Seventh Peak who had reached the fifth stage of Qi Condensation at seventeen.
"The Head Librarian is at the Spring Trial, Senior Brother Chen," Han Zhao said, his voice soft and slightly raspy, as if he didn't speak often. "He is serving as an adjudicator."
Chen Feng clicked his tongue. "Tch. Waste of time. I'm looking for the Cloud-Treading Step supplements. I heard a rumor the original manuscripts were moved to the first floor for preservation."
Han Zhao pointed a trembling finger toward the back of the room. "The... the preservation room is in the damp section, Senior Brother. But the ink is very faded. It might hurt your esteemed eyes to read it."
"Shut up, trash," one of the lackeys snapped. "Just show us the way."
Han Zhao bowed low. "Of course. Please, follow me."
He led them through the labyrinth of shelves. He deliberately took the long way, passing through the most boring sections—agricultural records, tax ledgers of defunct vassal states, and poems written by failed cultivators.
As they walked, Han Zhao's system flickered.
[Target: Chen Feng. Cultivation: Qi Condensation Level 5.]
[Status: Arrogant, unstable foundation due to over-consumption of Spirit Pills.]
[Danger Level: Low (provided you don't talk back).]
Han Zhao noted the "unstable foundation." In a few years, Chen Feng would likely hit a bottleneck and suffer a backlash, but that was none of Han Zhao's business. He just wanted them out of his library.
"Here, Senior Brother," Han Zhao said, stopping at a shelf that smelled strongly of vinegar.
Chen Feng grabbed a scroll, looked at the faded characters, and hissed in frustration. "This is garbage! It's barely legible!" He threw the scroll back at the shelf, but his aim was careless. It struck a stack of other manuals, sending them tumbling to the floor.
Han Zhao's heart twinged—not for the scrolls, but for the work he'd have to do to reorganize them.
"Clean that up," Chen Feng ordered, wiping his hands on his robes as if the very air of the first floor was oily. "And if I hear that you've been telling people I came down here to look at 'trash' manuals, I'll have your tongue. Understood?"
"This disciple wouldn't dare," Han Zhao said, bowing even deeper.
The three disciples turned and marched out, their laughter echoing in the hollow stone chamber.
"Why does the sect even keep that place open?" one of them asked as they exited. "And that kid... he's nineteen and hasn't even hit the first stage of Qi Condensation. He's destined to be forever a mortal."
"He's a waste," Chen Feng's voice floated back. "Like a cobweb. You don't notice it until it gets in your face."
Han Zhao waited until the doors fully closed. He waited another sixty seconds, listening to the fading footsteps.
Then, he straightened his back. The 'tremble' in his hands vanished.
He walked over to the scrolls Chen Feng had knocked down. He picked up the one the "genius" had called garbage.
[Detected: 'Cloud-Treading Step' (Original Manuscript - Severely Faded).]
[Analysis... This technique is not a movement art. It is a hidden Qi-Masking technique disguised as a movement art.]
[Repairing... Optimization Complete.]
[New Technique Acquired: 'Mist-Veil Silhouette'.]
[Effect: Your cultivation level will appear to be whatever you desire to any observer below the Nascent Soul stage.]
Han Zhao blinked. Nascent Soul? That was three entire realms above the Sect Leader.
"Thank you, Senior Brother Chen," Han Zhao whispered to the empty room. "Your lack of patience is my greatest blessing."
He sat back down on his stool and closed his eyes. He didn't practice the technique. He didn't celebrate. He simply adjusted his "displayed" status.
[Current Displayed Cultivation: Mortal (Weakness: Malnourished).]
With a satisfied nod, he picked up his broom. He had three more aisles to sweep before sundown.
People often asked in the novels Han Zhao used to read: What is the point of immortality if you don't use it to rule the world?
Han Zhao had an answer for that now.
The point was the silence. The point was the ability to read a book without a deadline, to watch the seasons change on the mountains without a war to fight, and to breathe without the weight of a dying man's regrets.
He was a librarian in a mid-tier sect. He was a "cobweb." He was nobody.
And as long as he remained nobody, he would live forever.
He swept a pile of dust into a corner, his heart beating in sync with the ancient stone of the tower.
[Longevity increased by 1 year.]
"A good day's work," Han Zhao muttered.