Qingyun Mountain Range.
The mountains were steep and rugged, filled with bizarre rocks and shrouded in mist, carrying quite the air of an immortal realm.
Near the foot of the mountain, two figures broke the tranquility of the wilderness.
The two walked one ahead of the other.
The man in front was in his early forties, dressed in a green Daoist robe. His steps were light, and not a speck of dust touched him as he walked through the mountains.
The one behind was in his early twenties, handsome and refined, dressed in plain white clothes. Walking through the mountains, he looked like a scholar out on a spring excursion. His only flaw was that his cloth shoes were covered in mud, making them seem rather out of place.
Perhaps because it had rained a few days ago, the mountain soil was still damp and somewhat slippery beneath their feet.
Ye Ping walked through the mountains.
Scenes flickered through his mind.
Ye Ping felt that he had been terribly unlucky.
Three years ago, he had been an ordinary office worker on Earth, muddling through life under the blessed 996 work system.
Yet an accident had brought him to this world, one that resembled ancient times.
Only, this world did not belong to any era of Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, or Qing.
Instead, it called itself the Immortal Martial Arts Era.
He himself was now in a small nation known as the Jin Kingdom.
Originally, whether it was Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, or Qing did not matter. With the advantages of being a transmigrator, he at least would not live too miserably. Then, remembering that feudal society allowed three wives and four concubines, his mood had instantly become less painful.
As the saying went, all pursuits were lowly, only study stood high. No matter the era, studying was surely the most direct path to rising above the masses. In order to live well, Ye Ping had thrown himself headlong into the great army of scholars.
Perhaps other transmigrators would have been unwilling to study, but Ye Ping was different. He loved studying, because the Jin Kingdom had a rule: all students could enjoy ten years of compulsory education. In other words, freeloading made him happy.
How could Ye Ping possibly refuse the chance to study and earn academic honors without spending money?
Thus, during the three years since his transmigration, Ye Ping had diligently studied the books of sages for three years. He could recite the Seven Books and Nine Classics backward, and every saying of the sages was etched into his heart. Moreover, with his background as a liberal arts student, Ye Ping could occasionally produce a few peerless verses of the mortal world.
Things such as, "The affairs of the world drift endlessly with flowing water; when all is counted, life is but a dream." Or, "Why should a man not gird himself with a Wu hook, and reclaim the fifty provinces beyond the passes? Across three thousand miles he has turned in battle, one sword once stood against a million troops."
Of course, those peerless verses had undergone a bit of processing. After all, this world had no frontier passes, so he had to alter them to fit the occasion.
And believe it or not, thanks to those peerless verses, Ye Ping had become somewhat famous in the Jin Kingdom.
But just as Ye Ping had been brimming with confidence and preparing to take the imperial examinations, an accident occurred.
On his way to the capital for the examinations, he saw someone standing atop an immortal sword, streaking across the sky with carefree grandeur.
In that instant, Ye Ping came to a sudden realization.
So this was a world of immortals and cultivation.
After learning this, Ye Ping immediately felt utterly miserable.
He had studied bitterly by the cold window for three years.
Did you know how those three years had been spent?
He had thought this was a world for scholars, where everyone could practice martial arts and everyone could read books.
Who would have thought that this was actually a world of immortal cultivation?
Studying in a world of immortal cultivation?
Wasn't that a problem with his brain?
Though Ye Ping had no towering ambitions, he still knew the difference between the cultivation system and the scholarly system.
Even if one were granted the rank of king or marquis, in the eyes of cultivators, one was no more than a blade of grass, right?
Even if one were the ruler of a nation, one would still have to be utterly respectful before cultivators, right?
Thus, after learning that this was a world of immortal cultivation, Ye Ping abandoned literature for immortality and set out in pursuit of the illusory Dao of immortals.
He had thought the process would be long.
Yet to his surprise, cultivators were not rare creatures in this world at all. On the contrary, they were as numerous as the hairs on an ox.
In less than a month, Ye Ping had attended four or five Ascension Conventions.
In this world of immortal cultivation, sects were as numerous as the hairs on an ox. Moreover, these sects were exceedingly diligent, holding Ascension Conventions every year to recruit disciples far and wide. So long as one had even a little Spiritual Root, one could enter an immortal sect.
Yet Ye Ping, who had attended nearly fifty Ascension Conventions, only discovered after being blacklisted by all the major sects in Qingzhou that he possessed No Spiritual Roots.
It was not some particularly rare constitution, but rather the worst, worst, worst, worst kind of constitution.
This sort of constitution was generally called trash.
However, after learning that he possessed the most useless constitution, Ye Ping was not sad in the slightest. Instead, he was immensely happy.
Wasn't this the classic opening of a novice power fantasy?
The more useless one was at the start, the greater one's future achievements would be?
Therefore, Ye Ping was not discouraged in the slightest. Instead, he continued attending Ascension Conventions held by the various sects. He believed that so long as he could enter an immortal sect and be given one chance, he would soar into the heavens in a single bound.
However, in the eyes of all the major sects, No Spiritual Roots meant one was pure trash. No sect was willing to accept a cultivator with No Spiritual Roots.
Yet through Ye Ping's unremitting efforts,
he finally encountered his benefactor.
The middle-aged man before him.
Grand Hua Daoist.
The eighteenth-generation Sect Leader of the Qingyun Dao Sect.
He had spotted Ye Ping in the crowd at a glance and was willing to accept him as a disciple and teach him immortal arts.
The only requirement was that Ye Ping had to intern, and during the internship, he would not be given a single tael of salary.
To put it bluntly, there was no money.
This requirement meant nothing to Ye Ping, since he did not care much for such worldly possessions.
The important thing was cultivation.
As long as he could cultivate, would he need to fear having no money in the future?
Thinking of this, Ye Ping could not help but grow nervous.
Within the mountain gorge, clouds and mist billowed like an immortal realm. A fresh breeze brushed past, cleansing the heart and spirit. Ye Ping felt both nervous and expectant, but above all, reverent.
Immortals seemed immensely grand in Ye Ping's heart.
Just imagine it: if one succeeded in cultivation, rode a sword through the skies, and roamed the Nine Provinces beneath the firmament in flowing white robes, would that not be wonderful?
Then he could add a line: "An immortal caressed my crown, and bound my hair in promise of longevity."
One word.
Perfect.
Just as Ye Ping's thoughts ran wild,
Grand Hua Daoist, the eighteenth-generation Sect Leader of the Qingyun Dao Sect, was inwardly blooming with joy as well.
This time, he had gone down the mountain to handle a few trivial matters.
Yet he had not expected to bring back a disciple.
Best of all, this disciple was actually willing to go without a salary.
This truly was double happiness arriving at the door.
These days, competition among sects in Qingzhou was simply too intense. Everyone was fighting for disciples and driving up prices.
Any disciple with even a bit of talent was snatched away by the great sects. Most disciples without talent, but who at least looked somewhat promising, were likewise fought over until none remained. Thus, the disciples left behind were all crooked melons and split dates.
Split dates were split dates, but because the major sects kept bidding up prices, salaries grew higher year after year.
Of course, that was also because many people knew that entering an immortal sect without Spiritual Roots was really just going there to do odd jobs. If one truly wanted to learn something, it would be better to find any martial arts school and strengthen one's body. At least there would be some future prospects.
Cultivation did not mean one would become strong simply by cultivating.
If picking up a cultivation manual could make one immortal, then everyone would be above all others.
It was precisely because of this that some of the lowest-tier sects might not recruit even one disciple in an entire year, much less a disciple who did not want money.
Thus, Grand Hua Daoist was delighted beyond measure.
However, the one thing that worried Grand Hua Daoist was whether the disciples of his sect could put on the act of lofty masters.
He did not want this new disciple to arrive and run away shortly afterward.
That would be rather troublesome.
Still, Grand Hua Daoist felt no guilt. Ye Ping wanted to cultivate but no one would take him. He accepted Ye Ping, and both sides were willing, so there was nothing wrong with that. Though the sect was indeed poor and shabby, the good sects would not accept Ye Ping either.
If there was anything he felt slightly guilty about, it was not paying a salary. But Grand Hua Daoist would keep an account, and once the sect developed, it would not be too late to compensate him.
As Grand Hua Daoist pondered slowly,
the two of them arrived at the mountain gate of the Qingyun Dao Sect.
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