Immortal Fate Fragment

The wasteland outside the broken temple blazed with fire.

The stench of charred flesh mixed with the scent of pine resin, sharp and cloying in the night breeze.

Chen Ping stood expressionless by the fire, gripping a thick, long branch. From time to time, he prodded the half-burned limbs and torsos back into the heart of the flames.

His movements were practiced enough to send chills down anyone's spine.

Destroy the corpse. Grind the bones. Scatter the ashes.

He performed the entire ritual in one fluid motion.

Before the burning, he had meticulously searched every inch of the old Daoist's body for hidden items—even the soles of his shoes.

Ye Muqing leaned against the doorframe of the broken temple, her face pale as paper.

She watched the young man in official robes, his expression calm in the firelight, and deep in her eyes was an unspoken wariness.

This mortal martial artist—decisive in killing, meticulous in thought—was far more terrifying than those clan juniors who only knew how to squabble for power.

"Lord Chen... impressive methods."

Ye Muqing's voice was weak, yet laced with complex undertones.

The branch in Chen Ping's hand paused. He prodded the last piece of leg bone into the fire, then turned around. The coldness on his face vanished, replaced by a look of humble deference.

"You flatter me, Your Grace."

Chen Ping bowed low, his tone servile: "This humble official merely feared the demon Daoist might not stay dead, or that some plague might arise. I only handled things cleanly. A rustic country man—please forgive my crude ways."

The firelight danced across his seemingly honest face, perfectly concealing the sharp glint in his eyes.

Ye Muqing gave him a long, hard look. She didn't expose his clumsy act. Instead, she let out a soft sigh.

"Help me inside."

Inside the broken temple, the campfire flickered.

The two surviving Imperial Guards stood watch outside, their nerves taut as startled birds.

Ye Muqing sat cross-legged on a cushion. After swallowing a healing pill, her complexion regained a hint of color.

"Chen Ping, I will remember today's life-saving grace."

Ye Muqing opened her eyes, her tone far more sincere than before, no longer carrying that lofty air.

"It was this humble official's duty. I dare not claim merit."

Chen Ping kept his head low, strictly observing his place.

"You don't need to be so stiff."

Ye Muqing gave a bitter laugh, mocking herself:

"What 'Your Grace'? I'm just a sacrificial pawn in the clan's infighting."

Her gaze grew distant, fixed on the leaping flames:

"I am a collateral descendant of the Ye family, a cultivation clan in the Capital City. This attack was premeditated. Someone in the clan doesn't want me to return with that thing."

Chen Ping's eyelids twitched. He lowered his head even further.

The more he heard of such aristocratic secrets, the faster he'd die.

He wished he could plug his ears.

Ye Muqing saw his reluctance and dropped the subject. Instead, her gaze fell on him with a hint of regret.

"Chen Ping, though you lack a Spiritual Root, your martial talent is the best I've ever seen."

"As a mere mortal, you managed to kill an Evil Cultivator at the third layer of Qi Refining. If you had a Spiritual Root..."

She shook her head, then reached into her robes and pulled out a thin booklet and a faintly glowing stone.

"Mortal martial arts, even at their peak, grant only a hundred years of Lifespan. In the end, it's all dust."

Ye Muqing handed the items to Chen Ping:

"This Everlasting Spring Technique is only a fragment—enough to cultivate to the third layer of Qi Refining—but it's still a sliver of immortal fate. This Low-Grade Spirit Stone is for you to start with."

Chen Ping's body trembled.

His hands shook as he carefully took the yellowed booklet and the warm, smooth stone.

No matter how good his acting, faced with true immortal arts, his breathing quickened despite himself.

"Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace!"

Chen Ping kowtowed repeatedly, his voice trembling with excitement.

Ye Muqing watched him, and the wariness in her eyes faded.

A mortal is just a mortal.

A broken, common Cultivation Technique, and he loses all composure.

"Listen carefully."

Ye Muqing's expression turned serious as she warned:

"Mortals without Spiritual Roots—forcibly pursuing cultivation is as hard as reaching heaven. Even if you luck out and sense Qi, without family resources to back you, you can't take a single step forward."

"Keep this Cultivation Technique as a memento. It's fine for strengthening your body, but don't get lost in it and waste half your life."

"After all, immortals and mortals are worlds apart."

She spoke those last four words with unusual weight, carrying a brutal sense of reality.

Chen Ping clutched the booklet tightly, nodding like a pestle pounding garlic:

"Your subordinate understands. I just want to live a few more years—I dare not hope for immortality."

A humble contentment hung on his face, but inside, a tidal wave surged.

No Spiritual Root?

I have [Heaven Rewards Diligence]!

Resources hard to come by?

As long as I can get started, I'll grind it out!

The next morning.

The sky had barely turned fishbelly white when a sharp tearing sound broke the wilderness silence.

Three small Flying Ships bearing the Ye Family emblem descended from the sky, hovering above the Broken Temple.

Several cultivators in brocade robes, radiating powerful auras, leaped down and swiftly took control of the scene.

Ye Muqing boarded the Flying Ship surrounded by her clansmen.

Before leaving, she stood at the railing, looking down from on high at Chen Ping standing in the dust.

That gaze—cold and distant.

Like looking at a slightly unusual weed by the roadside.

The frankness and gift of the book from last night felt like a dream.

As the Flying Ship turned into a streak of light and vanished beyond the horizon, the chasm between their stations stretched infinitely wider again.

One was a lofty cultivator.

The other, a mortal martial artist wallowing in the mud.

With this parting, perhaps they'd never meet again.

Chen Ping kept his bowing posture until the Flying Ship was completely gone, then slowly straightened up.

He brushed the dust off his official robe, and the humble smile on his face faded, replaced by an unfathomable calm.

"A passerby..."

Chen Ping murmured to himself, a cold smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Who's whose passerby—no one knows yet."

On the return journey, Chen Ping displayed top-tier bureaucratic skill.

He strictly ordered the surviving Imperial Guards to keep silent, framing the attack as "roving bandits intercepting an imperial official."

Back in Qinghe County, he used his status as Tanhua and his ties with the County Magistrate to quickly suppress the matter.

A meticulously worded official report was submitted, scrubbing every trace of "sorcery" and "ghosts."

Not a single word about cultivators.

In this world, a mortal caught in cultivators' feuds usually ended up one way—casually erased.

Only by making things mundane and ordinary could he find the safest cover.

After handling all the trivial matters, the day had grown late.

Chen Ping dragged his weary body back to the small courtyard south of the city.

"Husband, you're back?"

Yun Niang, hearing the noise, threw on a robe and came out to greet him, her eyes full of worry.

"It's nothing. Official business is done."

Chen Ping smiled gently, gave his wife a light hug, savoring that warmth unique to mortal life.

"Rest early. I'll go to the study to sort through some files."

After soothing Yun Niang, he slipped alone into the study.

He slid the bolt shut.

Checked the strand of hair in the window crack.

Confirmed the room was empty.

After finishing this obsessive-compulsive routine, Chen Ping finally let out a long breath and collapsed into the armchair.

His hands trembling, he pulled out the night's haul from his bosom.

A thin booklet, Everlasting Spring Technique (Incomplete).

A dusty leather pouch (the old Taoist's Storage Pouch, still unopenable without spiritual power).

A red token engraved with the words "Golden Sun."

And that Low-Grade Spirit Stone.

Chen Ping's gaze locked onto the Everlasting Spring Technique.

This was the first time in his two lives that he had truly touched the threshold of that bizarre and wondrous world.

It was also his only hope to change Yun Niang's fate and break the shackles of Lifespan.

"Heaven Rewards Diligence..."

Chen Ping took a deep breath and lit the oil lamp on the table.

Under the dim yellow light, he opened the first page of the Everlasting Spring Technique.

It was densely covered with meridian circulation diagrams and obscure, hard-to-understand incantations.

"Heaven and Earth hold spirit, draw Qi into the body..."

Chen Ping read word by word, each character feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

When he finished reading the incantation for the first time and tried to adjust his breathing according to the book's instructions—

Deep in his mind, the long-silent Ancient Bamboo Slip trembled violently.

A line of small, dazzling golden characters appeared:

[Detected Technique: Everlasting Spring Technique (Incomplete). Recording...]

[Recording successful.]

[Technique: Everlasting Spring Technique (Not Yet Started 0/100)]

[Effect: Absorb spiritual Qi, prolong life. Upon reaching perfection, obtain the "Everlasting Youthful Body."]

Staring at the familiar progress bar on the panel, Chen Ping grinned and let out a silent laugh.