High Immortal

In his previous life, Chu Zheng had heard countless tales of immortals and gods, and he was naturally brimming with curiosity about the "immortals" of this world.

Given his current circumstances, Chu Zheng had no way to come into contact with so-called "immortals"—Song Lingqing was his only possible link.

Throughout the Great Zhou Dynasty, the Hidden Immortal Sect was an extremely unique existence. Aside from occasional immortals descending to the mortal world and leaving behind legends in various places, no information whatsoever was ever revealed.

Perhaps some people held the secrets of immortal cultivation, but that was not something a mere servant like Chu Zheng could access.

Information isolation existed in every era.

Chu Zheng had always believed that the most valuable thing in the world was information. What might be trivial to some could, in the hands of an ordinary person, change their fate entirely.

A moment later, Chu Zheng had already learned of Song Lingqing's whereabouts.

He was not the only one interested in this Second Young Lady—she was easy to find.

The corridor, usually unlit, was now ablaze with light. In the bronze lamp holders, oil burned fiercely, emitting a faint, somewhat pungent smoke.

The wind picked up again at night, and scattered snowflakes drifted down.

The sky had turned completely dark by the time Chu Zheng hurried to a main hall in the Front Courtyard.

The door was not closed, and it happened to be time for the meal to be served. A line of maids, carrying wooden trays, filed inside one after another.

Few servants lingered by the door. Many maids and attendants passing by the hall only dared to steal a glance before hurrying away, satisfying their curiosity.

There were too few new happenings in the manor—just this one look was enough to fuel their gossip for a while.

Chu Zheng stopped at a corner of the corridor, momentarily at a loss. He had come in a rush, forgetting his own status.

Without being summoned, he had no right to set foot in the main hall.

The consequences of barging in might be more than he could bear, but if he didn't go in now, Song Lingqing might be gone by tomorrow.

After weighing the options for a long time, Chu Zheng gave up on the risky idea and turned back toward the Filth Room. There would be other days ahead—even if he missed this chance, he could try other methods.

He had only taken two steps when he heard the footsteps of three people. A group turned the corner.

Xiao Cai walked at the front, carrying a lantern, followed closely by a man and a woman, with Song Yun bringing up the rear.

The woman wore a pale green long dress. Her eyes held a hidden gleam, bright as morning glow, and her features were lovely. Her hair was styled in a flying-immortal bun, bound with a gold-thread sash, her slender waist standing gracefully, her figure captivating.

Chu Zheng froze for a moment, rifling through his memories before recognizing this woman.

The Eldest Young Lady of Song Manor, Song Lingxue.

Today, she wore light makeup, clearly having dressed with care. Her brows and eyes were soft, carrying less of the sharpness Chu Zheng remembered and more gentleness.

Chu Zheng's gaze did not linger on Song Lingxue. He quickly looked at the man walking beside her, and his heart sank heavily.

This man appeared no more than twenty years old. He wore a deep blue brocade robe with silver patterns, his posture tall and straight, his forehead full and smooth. His steps were light, as if treading on clouds—his footsteps were utterly inaudible.

The moment their eyes met, Chu Zheng's hairs stood on end, his Tendons and Bones trembled slightly, and he involuntarily lowered his head.

This was a pressure born from the magnetic field of life itself.

Chu Zheng had experienced this kind of pressure once before in his previous life. At that time, to repair a damaged Daoist artifact, he had visited a Daoist Celestial Master to seek advice.

On that occasion, he realized that real differences did exist between people.

According to that Celestial Master, the human body was composed of the brain, blood, flesh, bones, marrow, meridians, and channels.

The strength or weakness of these elements determined the strength of a person's magnetic field. The most direct feeling this strength or weakness brought was a change in emotions.

When the magnetic field was suppressed, people would involuntarily experience negative emotions such as anxiety, unease, tension, and fear.

Chu Zheng lowered his gaze, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably. He knew exactly why—his adrenaline was spiking wildly at this moment.

That Celestial Master from his previous life had lived to be one hundred and eighteen years old, his Daoist knowledge reaching the pinnacle of perfection. Yet this man before him looked no older than twenty!

Moreover, the pressure from that Celestial Master back then was far weaker than what he felt now.

Without a doubt, this man was definitely from the immortal sect.

"Chu Zheng?"

Song Lingxue frowned slightly, glanced at the hall not far away, and the crease between her brows deepened.

Song Yun, walking at the back, changed expression slightly. He glanced at Song Lingxue, as if wanting to speak but holding back.

Seeing Chu Zheng, he felt like scolding him but couldn't bring himself to speak at this moment. No matter how valued he was, he was still just a household servant—this was not an occasion where he had the right to speak.

"Greetings to the Eldest Young Lady."

Chu Zheng bowed, stepped aside, and cleared the path.

"Never mind."

Song Lingxue studied Chu Zheng for a moment, let out a soft sigh, and the furrow between her brows slowly relaxed. Her expression was calm as she said:

"Lingqing was just talking about you a moment ago. Come inside and speak."

With that, she turned to the man beside her and offered an apologetic smile: "The manor's discipline has been lax. Please forgive us, Celestial Master."

The man shook his head slightly, saying nothing. He stood there silently, yet his presence was terrifyingly strong.

Song Lingxue said no more, nodding for Xiao Cai to continue leading the way.

Chu Zheng kept his head low, his churning thoughts gradually settling. When the others passed by him, he silently fell in behind Song Yun.

In that brief moment of eye contact, Chu Zheng had seen no trace of emotion in that person's gaze. It wasn't quite looking at a dead thing, but at least it wasn't looking at a kindred being.

Just as he had thought before—these cultivators likely did not regard mortals as their own kind.

The great hall was bright and radiant, not a single dark corner in sight. A round table stood at the center, laden with an array of fine dishes, their aromas tantalizing.

A young woman sat at the head of the table, clad in white robes embroidered with cloud patterns, her long hair casually draped at her sides. Her brows and eyes were like a painting, her skin like snow. At first glance, she bore some resemblance to Song Lingxue, but her bearing was more ethereal, carrying an extra three parts of Immortal Qi.

A middle-aged man sat beside her, dressed in a blue robe with a short beard. He was the head of the Song Family, Song Tonghai.

Only these two were at the table. Song Tonghai had lost his wife early on and never remarried, taking only two concubines who lived in the side courtyard. The vast Song Manor felt somewhat empty.

"Immortal Qin!"

Seeing the group enter, Song Tonghai's face broke into a broad smile as he immediately rose to greet them:

"Over the years, I've followed your instructions and gathered quite a few ancient relics. How is it? Are you satisfied?"

The man gave a slight nod. With a turn of his palm, a brocade box appeared in his hand, and he tossed it to Song Tonghai:

"I took a few things. This is my thanks."

His tone was cold, colder than the wind and snow outside.

Seeing this, Chu Zheng's heart stirred. Was this telekinesis, or perhaps...

"A mere trifle, no need to speak of thanks."

Song Tonghai waved his hand, about to decline, but the man cut him off with a single sentence:

"I never owe favors."

"Many thanks for the Immortal's gift."

Song Tonghai's smile remained unchanged as he smoothly accepted the brocade box and handed it to the servant behind him.

"Are you Chu Zheng?"

The woman seated at the head slowly raised her head, looking toward the corner, a hint of confusion in her eyes.