Chapter One: Ancient Scrolls in the Jar, a Lone Sword in the Box

Eastern Demizhou.

Little Gan Mountain, Xuan Zhen Sect.

“The money and goods have been accounted for. Aside from all the tokens and carriages from the House of Benevolence, Nephew Chen, you must also hand over the White Cottage Sword bestowed by Senior Sister Yan Zhen. Oh, and one more thing—I nearly forgot…”

At that moment,

Inside a rock-hewn cave mansion of the Xuan Zhen Sect.

A short, stout man, dressed in steward’s robes, stroked his sparse beard beneath his chin.

He led a delicate young girl in a violet dress behind him a few steps, then sat down smilingly in a wooden chair, looking around before addressing the master of this cave with a kindly tone:

“At the last sect gathering, Senior Sister Yan Zhen won a prize of three hundred Middle-Fortune Pills. Junior Brother Yan Ping said he saw it himself. Yet when sorting through her belongings, only two hundred and fourteen were found. He asked me to mention it—do you have any idea what happened?”

Looking around,

The scene here could only be described as desolate. Aside from the usual bed, desk, and miscellaneous items, there was not a hint of gold or jade, let alone the famed pearls, precious stones, coral, tortoiseshell, seven treasures agate, or strings of colorful beads rumored outside.

The steward pondered to himself.

Even the secret courtyard his own father-in-law kept at the foot of Little Gan Mountain was ten times more luxurious than this.

Was someone else here first, looting what they could?

Or, perhaps this young Daoist before him was not as favored as the rumors claimed?

Yet after a doubtful glance, he dismissed the latter thought.

The youth before him, clad in a plain white robe, his tall figure merging with the light from above, wore only a simple greenwood hairpin to tie his hair; wide sleeves, untouched by dust.

His striking brows and eyes always carried a faint chill, like distant mountains and mist, forever making him seem out of reach. Yet when he smiled, he appeared gentle and serene, his bearing clear and deep, like ink washed over green hills.

It was no wonder Yan Zhen had schemed every possible way to bring him into the Xuan Zhen Sect.

Not only women—

Even men would be taken by his charm in an instant.

While the steward marveled, his daughter—the girl in violet—had already widened her dark eyes, her face unable to hide her excitement and curiosity.

“So it has come again, the karma of this body—”

Chen Heng, who had waited long, clenched his fingers, forcefully suppressing his unease, and replied with a casual, soft laugh:

“The tokens from the House of Benevolence are here. As for the Young Crow carriage, Senior Brother Yan Ping had another steward claim it the other day. Uncle, you are a bit late.”

He handed over the small jade token, which had warmed in his palm for some time.

Before the steward could accept it, the girl beside him darted forward, snatching it quickly.

Chen Heng felt nothing of it, but the girl’s cheeks flushed instantly, even her ears tinted red.

She held the token to her chest, not moving back, head lowered as if on the verge of saying something.

But before she could stammer a word,

The steward sprang up, face darkening as he yanked her behind him.

“Shouldn’t have trusted this troublesome child! Bringing her to see the world—wait till her mother scolds her thoroughly!”

Angry at heart, he tightened his grip on her wrist.

“As for the White Cottage Sword—”

Chen Heng remained indifferent to the scene before him.

“The White Cottage Sword is a flying blade. I have yet to achieve breath cultivation, have not entered the path of immortality, so how could I wield it?”

“So, Nephew, you mean…?”

The steward scowled at his daughter, aching to rap her on the head, but whether out of concern for Chen Heng’s presence or reluctance, he raised and lowered his arm several times before giving up.

They must be father and daughter,

Chen Heng mused.

“If the White Cottage Sword is not in your possession, could it be in the hands of another musician from the House of Benevolence? Who else but you could receive such favor?” The steward turned to him, a hint of displeasure in his gaze.

Chen Heng shook his head.

“No, only when traveling with the carriage would Senior Yan Zhen temporarily lend me the sword, to carry at my side. Upon returning to the mountain gate, she would take it back. On ordinary days, neither I nor the other musicians see it.”

“Oh?”

The steward was a little surprised.

“Senior Yan Zhen feared I would take my own life when alone, never letting anything sharp near me. Even my hairpin was dulled by the acolytes before giving it to me, let alone a sword.”

---

Chen Heng explained, his voice calm and unruffled.

“So… the White Cottage Sword?”

“Before Senior Yan Zhen was assassinated, Jade Cap Boy from Lianyan Mountain asked her for the White Cottage Sword to use as protection.” Chen Heng spoke coolly: “Now Jade Cap Boy is off hunting demons in the northern ranges. Not only I, but even Elder Yan, Senior Yan Zhen’s father, knows of this. When Jade Cap Boy returns, Uncle, you may ask directly what is true.”

“I see, is that so? Understood.”

The steward nodded, half convinced. Before he could voice further doubts, Chen Heng raised a hand to stop him.

“If you wish to accuse me regarding the Middle-Fortune Pills, spare me. To seek guilt, one needs little reason. These pills were never suitable for me. Besides, after Senior Yan Zhen was attacked, Elder Yan blamed all present, locking us in the water prison for a hundred days. Not only wealth, even my cherished zither was taken by the brothers of the Punishment Hall.”

Chen Heng’s gaze darkened.

“If Yan Ping wants to punish me, this excuse is too clumsy. I was gravely wounded by Xu Si, my days numbered—does he think he cannot outlive a dying man?”

The steward looked at the youth’s bloodless face and shook his head,

A chill ran through him, and rare pity stirred.

When Yan Zhen was alive, Chen Heng had been treated as a prized plaything, summoned and dismissed at will, never free for a moment in this mountain, yet his status was lofty.

To become the Music Director of the House of Benevolence at such a young age—

This post, and indeed the entire House, though all knew it was established by Yan Zhen to please Chen Heng, none dared question it.

Yan Zhen’s father, Yan Feichen, was not only chief among the three elders of Xuan Zhen Sect,

But his cultivation had laid foundations for the Dao, opening the Violet Mansion—an accomplished master.

He commanded clouds and lightning, soared from the earth, transformed iron to gold—such feats, in his realm, were mere minor arts.

Should he go further, comprehend the profound, and forge a golden pill, he would earn the title of “True Person” across all Eastern Demizhou.

With such a background, before Yan Zhen’s untimely death, Chen Heng could act without restraint.

Given Yan Zhen’s affection,

Few in the Xuan Zhen Sect could stand in his way.

Yet, Yan Zhen was suddenly killed—ambushed by Xu Si, a rogue from the Western Sea, on her way back from visiting friends. One sword erased her soul, leaving not even hope for rebirth.

Most of those in attendance fell victim to the duel, over forty perished.

Chen Heng survived by luck, but was struck by Xu Si’s true energy, suffering daily from chilling poison, his organs tormented.

Even so,

He was punished by Yan Feichen, locked in the water prison for a hundred days, wounds compounded.

Now, he could not even keep his post in the House of Benevolence; the tokens and carriage were to be handed over for inventory, every item registered.

After all this,

Even the most naïve would see—Chen Heng now was nothing like before…

“If Senior Yan Zhen still lived, would the Punishment Hall dare extort you? Who in the sect would strip you of your post? Now, even your zither is taken?”

Recalling the past, the steward sighed deeply, not caring to speak further.

The matter of the pills was but a fabricated charge, at Yan Ping’s request.

Coming today, he realized Yan Ping had already seized the Young Crow carriage, the most valuable item here, leaving nothing for him.

Thinking over Yan Ping’s lack of gratitude for past favors, the steward grew even less inclined to meddle.

“My duty is to collect the tokens, as ordered by the sect. I must play the villain, forgive me.”

He saluted Chen Heng politely,

Catching sight of his daughter’s shy, conflicted expression,

The steward’s temper flared. He snatched the jade token from her hands, checked its spiritual glow with true energy, and prepared to leave quickly.

“Wait.”

Chen Heng called out suddenly.

“My cousin—”

Searching the memories of this body, Chen Heng frowned.

“Where has the sect placed his remains?”

“Cousin? Wait, do you mean the one who brought you up the mountain with Senior Yan Zhen?” The steward paused, then realized,

“He’s been laid to rest in the public mausoleum at the foot of Little Gan Mountain, guarded by staff. Do you wish to take his body home?”

“He asked me before death to bury him in the ancestral land. As he wished.”

“Nephew, you are truly noble!”

---

The steward praised him and was about to leave, when his gaze caught Chen Heng’s hand in salute.

Beneath the wide robe sleeve,

He glimpsed a red cord tied around Chen Heng’s wrist.

“That thing! Is that not the token for the Nether Abyss? What audacity!”

A jolt of fear hit the steward.

Ignoring the girl’s curious, struggling look,

He forced a laugh, grabbed her like a rabbit, and spoke no more.

Once outside the cave, he wrapped them both in true energy, and soared away as a streak of golden flame.

In a blink, they vanished into the clouds.

…

“At last they’re gone. I hope nothing was exposed…”

Seeing the two depart, Chen Heng’s heart eased, the tension slowly draining.

Luckily, the visitor was not well acquainted with this body.

Though Chen Heng had accepted its memories, subtle gestures might still betray him to those close.

But—

Speaking of close relations,

Aside from the deceased priestess Yan Zhen,

This body seemed to have no one truly intimate in the Xuan Zhen Sect of Little Gan Mountain.

Chen Heng stopped pondering, forming a hand seal.

The mountain walls rumbled and swiftly closed together, sealing the entrance as if naturally formed.

“Immortal Dao, Immortal Dao…”

Chen Heng sat on a meditation mat, gazing at the empty stone chamber, lost in thought.

Having struggled for six bitter years on a hospital bed in the modern world, abandoned by his parents, finally dying miserably before adulthood—now, he had been reborn in the body of this youth with the same name.

This world—so vastly different, a flourishing era of the Immortal Dao.

“Here… can I seek immortality?” Chen Heng lowered his lashes, thoughts surging like a tide.

But before he could reflect further,

A sudden, fierce chill rose from his chest, rudely interrupting every notion.

The cold burst forth, like a silken shroud binding him from inside out, spreading from his organs to the skin, every pulse bringing sharp, icy pain, piercing flesh and bone!

“It’s happening again!”

Chen Heng’s expression changed, uncontrollably vomiting black blood, his fingers clawing desperately at the hard ground, veins bulging at his neck.

The agony grew stronger with every breath, the metallic taste flooding his throat. Chen Heng pressed his chest tightly, his insides burning, as if stabbed by needles.

Only after dozens of breaths did the chill withdraw, silent as a lurking serpent, as if nothing had happened.

By then, in the bitter cold of midwinter, sweat soaked his brow and back.

“Xu Si, Chilling Poison True Energy.”

Chen Heng slowly straightened his spine from the ground, beads of blood rolling from torn fingers, his hair crackling like torn paper.

“Two lives, and still I can’t escape the curse of sickness. How absurd.”

He closed his fingers, instinctively gripping something from the pouch at his waist.

The smooth, warm, translucent touch in his palm soothed him, clearing all distracting thoughts.

“Golden Cicada, to think you came with me to this world, still showing miraculous properties—how fortunate.”

Chen Heng opened his hand, gazing at the delicate, luminous cicada-shaped jade.

“But now, what path should I take?”

Gently clasping the jade sculpture, found by chance in a stream in his previous life and somehow brought with him to this Immortal Dao era, Chen Heng fell into deep thought:

“And,

The entanglements of this body—truly troublesome…”