"We are but grains of sand on the vast river of time. Though our existence is fleeting, we strive to leave a mark—an echo that testifies we once were—and to forge a lineage that will honor us, carrying our legacy into the future."
—Inscription attributed to the founding ancestor of the Shen Family of Yuling Mountain
The road to Lin Village wound like a dusty ribbon through fields of ripening millet. Shen Ruling felt every pebble beneath his boots, each one a gritty reminder of twenty-five years spent far from this soil. The late summer sun baked the earth golden, the air heavy with cicada song and the sweet scent of harvest—nothing like the reek of blood and iron that had clung to him on the southern front.
His left leg throbbed in time with his steps, a parting gift from a Great Yan spearman. The army physicians had called his survival miraculous. Shen Ruling called it convenient. The limp was his excuse, his key to escape the gilded cage of endless promotions. He could have risen to third-grade commander, basking in court favor and politics. Instead, he had chosen this.
They had named him the Green Snake on the battlefield—his sword qi swift and venomous, striking vital points with lethal precision. That reputation had bought him a seventh-grade military title, a hundred acres of fertile land, a hundred gold ingots, and enough honor to retire without suspicion.
He crested the final rise. Below lay Lin Village, tiled roofs clustered against rolling hills. Behind it rose the mountain he now owned: Yuling Mountain. Jade Spirit Mountain. A name whispered in aspiration, a defiance against the heavens themselves.
The villagers noticed him quickly. A child pointed. A woman paused mid-wash. Recognition rippled outward. This was no longer the gangly beggar-boy who had fled at sixteen after stumbling upon a forbidden martial manual in a ruined shrine. This was General Shen Ruling, broad-shouldered, scarred, a presence as immovable as the mountain.
His gaze sought only one place: the Bai family compound.
Bai Yue waited at the gate, hands clasped until her knuckles whitened. Time had touched her gently—faint lines at her eyes spoke of patient years, her raven hair pinned simply with jade. She remained the quiet harbor he remembered, gentle and affectionate, her caring nature a steady flame against the storm of his life.
He dismounted, wincing as the old wound pulled. She saw it; her expression softened with wordless empathy.
"You're back," she said, voice a soothing melody.
"I'm back." His own voice came rougher than intended. He reached out, calloused fingers brushing hers-a fragile reconnection to warmth long denied. "The king was generous. Land. Gold. A title."
She led him inside, away from curious eyes. The courtyard was simple and serene: stone path, blossoming pear tree, scent of jasmine and damp earth.
"And the injury?" she asked, pouring tea, steam curling between them.
"A badge of honor," he replied with a wry smile. "A reason to come home with rewards instead of orders."
He sipped the bitter tea, grounding himself. Looking at Bai Yue-her quiet strength, her unwavering patience-a fierce protectiveness surged within him. This was his future. Not cavalry charges or glittering insignia, but this: a home, a wife, a foundation.
The true prize lay hidden, however. During the endless war against the barbarians of the south and the rival Great Yan Kingdom-a grinding conflict over borderlands and resources—Shen Ruling had, by sheer accident, discovered the ruins of a mid-stage Essence Refining cultivator named Han. A lone talisman refiner, Han had perished from qi deviation after consuming a contaminated pill. His hidden cave held a jade slip, brittle talismans, and a leather-bound manual: The Azure Chi Circulation Method.
Shen Ruling had seen true cultivators before-aloof immortals who walked on air, summoned flames, and regarded mortal generals as curiosities. They were the true power behind the Kingdom of Great Zhao. Immortality beckoned.
He had feigned worse injury, retired under pretext, and returned as a decorated officer. Now, the path to transcendence lay within reach.
"I've bought the mountain," he told Bai Yue. "All of it. We'll build there. A home for our children—and their children."
Her eyes shimmered. She asked nothing of the war, the dead, the horrors. She simply nodded. "As you say, Ruling."
That night, while Bai Yue slept, Shen Ruling opened the hidden chest. Moonlight fell across the pages of the manual. Characters shimmered with promise. He was no longer just General Shen, the Green Snake. He was a student at the beginning of an eternal road.
The First Spark
Years passed in steady rhythm. Shen Ruling the general faded; Shen Ruling the patriarch emerged. He raised a solid manor from the mountain's stone—defensible yet modest. He trained village boys in spear and discipline, forging them into guards loyal to the Shen bloodline. He hired a scholar, Xu Zhenwei, once an ambitious man who dreamed of imperial office but was crushed by nepotism in the capital. Dejected, Xu returned to nearby Green Bamboo Town. Now he taught the village children in a new schoolhouse, grateful for purpose.
Shen Ruling and Bai Yue were blessed with two children of the De generation:
First came Shen Dejian—"Jian" for sword. A son carved in his father's image: intense gaze, restless energy. At eight he held a practice sword steady for hours, body taut with concentration. Two years later arrived Shen Deling—"Ling" for spirit. Quiet, observant, with her mother's thoughtful grace. She preferred books, fingers tracing characters as if communing with them.
Shen Ruling divided his days: mornings drilling Jian in foundational stances (preparation for martial or immortal paths); afternoons managing fields and estate; evenings his own.
While the mountain slept, he slipped to a hidden chamber behind the waterfall—known only to him and Bai Yue. There he practiced the Azure Chi Circulation Method.
Progress was agonizing. His warrior's body held crude, powerful qi, but Han's method demanded subtlety—harmony over force. For months he grasped nothing, spiritual qi a faint tremor beyond reach.
Bai Yue knew. She left nourishing broth, held him when he returned cold and frustrated.
The breakthrough came on a winter night, eve of the new year. Despair weighed heavy: he lacked the aptitude for true immortality. He had risked everything—glory, rank—for this dead-end path.
Sitting by the frozen waterfall, he watched a brittle leaf fall and rest atop thin ice—fragile yet supporting weight without breaking.
In that moment, understanding dawned.
He had tried to conquer qi like an enemy. But the method spoke of circulation, guidance, harmony. He must become the channel.
Eyes closed in acceptance, he pictured the leaf, became the still water. Qi flowed—faint at first, a cool whisper in his meridians. He guided it gently along the Azure path, cleansing impurities, refining his crude energy.
The first spark ignited.
Shen Ruling opened his eyes to moonlight on ice. Immortality might elude him, but the lineage would not. He would nurture descendants, seek the immortal seedling among them—give everything to cultivate that one to the peak.
The Shen family's true rise had only begun.