1: Chapter 1 Visitor from the Deep Mountains

Tianxuan Calendar, 17th Year of Taiping, Autumn.

Lu Chen crouched by the stream, reaching his hand into the icy water.

The rocks were slippery, and it took him two tries to grab the half-catty crucian carp.

The fish's tail slapped the water, splashing his face, but he didn't dodge, simply using force to fling it onto the bank.

"The third one."

His voice was flat, devoid of excitement.

He strung the fish onto a grass rope, wiped his hands on his pant legs, and looked up at the sky.

The sun was past the west, shining from over the mountain ridge, stretching his shadow long.

Birds chirped in the forest, their cries sharp, as if startled by something.

This mountain was called Qingniu Ridge; it wasn't tall, but the forest was dense.

Villagers only cut firewood at the foot of the mountain and dared not venture deep inside, saying there were wild beasts within; the year before, Hunter Wang had gone in and never returned.

Lu Chen had been here for three days.

Not for hunting, nor for cutting firewood.

Three days ago, while selling firewood in town, he saw a person flying through the sky.

The man wore a gray robe and stepped on a sword, flying from the east end of town to the west; he wasn't fast, but he was truly flying.

Old Zhang the blacksmith in town knelt, and Widow Liu who sold cloth also knelt; everyone on the street knelt.

Lu Chen did not kneel.

He stood in the crowd, looking up at the Gray-robed Man flying past, with only one thought in his heart—

"I want to fly, too."

After the Gray-robed Man landed, he was invited into the ancestral hall by the town mayor.

Lu Chen didn't follow; he crouched at the foot of the wall opposite the ancestral hall, waiting for two hours, until nightfall, until the Gray-robed Man came out.

The man wasn't old, looking about thirty, but his eyes were very old, as if he had lived for a very long time.

"Who are you waiting for?" the Gray-robed Man asked.

"You," Lu Chen said.

"What is it?"

"I want to fly."

The Gray-robed Man glanced at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes, but it vanished quickly.

He shook his head and said, "You do not have a Spiritual Root."

Then he left.

The sword reappeared beneath his feet, and he rose into the air, disappearing into the night.

Lu Chen stood where he was, looking at that empty sky, standing for a long time.

He didn't know what a Spiritual Root was.

But the Gray-robed Man didn't say he couldn't Cultivate, only that he lacked a Spiritual Root; these were two different things.

That was why he came to Qingniu Ridge.

Villagers had said there was a cave deep in Qingniu Ridge that contained a Secret Manual for Cultivation.

Hunter Wang had said this while drunk, and no one took it seriously, but Lu Chen remembered it.

He had searched for three days without finding The Cave, but he had mapped out which streams were in the mountain, which forest had wild fruits, and which direction had beast tracks.

The fish were strung up, and he crouched back by the stream to wash his face.

The water was cold, making his skin tighten.

He stared at the water surface, seeing his own face—thin, dark, with bright eyes.

He was eighteen; most people his age in the village were already married with children, but he wasn't married—not because he didn't want to, but because no one was willing to marry him.

He had no father or mother, no house or land, and even his surname was given randomly by the village chief.

"Lu, like the land. Chen, like sinking."

That was what the village chief had said at the time, meaning for him to sink, not to stand out, and to live a stable life.

But Lu Chen did not want stability.

Recalling the image of the Gray-robed Man flying three days ago, his chest tightened, as if something was thumping inside.

Just then, he heard footsteps.

Not the footsteps of a beast, but a person's—steady, making a rustling sound on the fallen leaves.

Lu Chen didn't move; his hand slowly reached toward the firewood chopper at his waist.

The footsteps stopped.

"Don't be nervous, I'm not here to cause you trouble."

The voice was old, slightly hoarse, as if it hadn't spoken in a long time.

Lu Chen turned his head.

An old man stood three zhang away, wearing ragged clothes, his hair messy, his face full of wrinkles, but his eyes were very bright—unnaturally bright, like two burning coals, and when he stared at someone, it felt like he could see right through them.

The old man held nothing, but a wine gourd hung from his waist, swaying, and the sound of water could be heard inside.

"Who are you?" Lu Chen asked.

"Just passing through," the old man said, walking over to crouch by the stream and cupping water to drink twice. "This water is not bad; it's sweet."

Lu Chen didn't speak, his hand still on the firewood chopper.

After drinking, the old man wiped his mouth and looked at the strung-up fish in his hand: "Are you selling?"

"Not for sale."

"Then give me one; this old man has been hungry for three days."

Lu Chen looked at the old man, and the old man looked at him.

"Why should I?" Lu Chen said.

The old man paused, then laughed, his wrinkles bunching up like a walnut.

"Interesting," the old man said. "I've been to so many places, and you're the first to ask 'Why should I?' Others would either give it or chase me away; no one asked why."

"So, why should I?"

"Just because—" the old man paused, pulled a stone from his bosom, and tossed it over.

Lu Chen caught it.

The stone wasn't large, fitting perfectly in his hand, gray-white in color, with a smooth surface as if polished.

But looking closely, there were concentric patterns on the stone, like tree rings, or perhaps some kind of script.

"What is this?" Lu Chen asked.

"Didn't you say you wanted to fly?" the old man said, taking the grass rope from Lu Chen's hand, unhooking a fish, and stuffing it into his mouth, taking a bite without even scaling it. "This stone can tell you if you have the qualifications to fly."

Lu Chen lowered his head to look at the stone in his hand.

No reaction.

"Don't look at it; it won't glow, it won't heat up, it won't do anything," the old man said, chewing the fish, speaking indistinctly. "You have to hold it while you sleep, for three consecutive days. If you dream of something, come find me. If you don't dream of anything, throw the stone away and go back to the village to farm."

"Where can I find you?"

"In the mountains." The old man pointed deep into the mountains. "I know where that cave you're looking for is."

Lu Chen's eyes sharpened.

"You've been tracking me?"

"Tracking?" The old man laughed again. "This mountain is my territory; I knew you were here on the first day. Watching you wander around for three days without finding the place, anxious as an ant on a hot pan—it was quite pitiful."

Lu Chen stared at the old man for a long time.

The old man ate the fish by himself, his hands covered in blood, completely unconcerned.

"Fine," Lu Chen said.

He tucked the stone into his bosom, put away the firewood chopper, and tossed the remaining two fish to the old man.

"Consider it a token of thanks."

The old man caught the fish and chuckled twice: "Kid, this thank-you gift of yours... interesting."

Lu Chen didn't look back, walking away as he said: "If you eat my fish, you have to show me the way. It's only fair."

The old man paused, then laughed even louder.

It was already dark when he returned to the Ruined Temple at the foot of the mountain.

He didn't know when the temple was built, nor what god it had worshipped; only half a wall and half a roof remained. Lu Chen had made do here for three days, spreading some hay, barely able to sleep.

He lay down and pulled the stone from his bosom.

Moonlight shone in through the broken roof, landing on the stone, its gray-white surface glowing faintly.

The patterns were still there, circles upon circles, like some kind of script he couldn't yet read.

Lu Chen gripped the stone tightly and closed his eyes.

The dream came quickly.

He saw a stretch of white Void Realm, no heaven, no earth, only light.

Under his feet, it felt like stepping on cotton, or perhaps water; he couldn't find a foothold with every step.

In the light, there was a silhouette; he couldn't see the face, only the outline—standing, body straight like a tree.

"Who are you?" Lu Chen asked.

The silhouette didn't speak, only reached out to point into the distance.

Lu Chen looked in the direction of the finger, but saw nothing, only a vast expanse of white.

He wanted to walk over, but his feet wouldn't move, as if nailed to the ground.

Just then, he heard a voice—

"Longevity."

The voice was very soft, as if it came from very far away, yet also as if it were right by his ear.

"The price is..."

The voice cut off.

Lu Chen opened his eyes abruptly.

It was already bright, sunlight streaming in through the broken roof, stinging his eyes.

He sat up and looked down at the stone in his hand.

The stone was still there, but its color had changed.

Before, it was gray-white; now, it had turned light gray, as if it had faded a layer.

The patterns had also changed, missing a circle.

Lu Chen stared at the stone for a long time, then stood up and walked toward the depths of the mountain.

He hadn't eaten breakfast, hadn't drunk water, and hadn't even thought about what to do if the old man was lying to him.

He only remembered that voice—

"Longevity."

"The price is..."

He didn't know what the price was.

But one thing he was very clear about—

He had already stepped onto this path, and he would not turn back.

In the Ruined Temple behind him, the stone he had left on the hay suddenly brightened.

A line of small text appeared on the gray-white surface, then quickly vanished.

If Lu Chen were still there, he would have seen that the line of text read—

"The third one."