Tao made his way to his private bathhouse, a sanctuary of relaxation and recovery. No matter how many times he stepped inside, the sight never failed to captivate him.
Golden-white light bathed the entire chamber, radiating from the marbleized floors and walls. Tall, white pillars encircled the milky-white pool at the center, their presence exuding a sacred tranquility.
But the true wonder lay in the water itself—thick yet weightless, carrying an enigmatic essence his father, Dai Long, had never explained.
Stripping off his robes, Tao stepped forward and leaped in. The water accepted him without a ripple, as if embracing his very being. Tension melted away the instant he submerged.
He called it Milk Water.
Though its true nature remained a mystery, its effects were undeniable. Wounds, soreness, and fatigue dissolved within moments, leaving only profound relief in their place. Even his restless mind, ever sharp and calculating, drifted into a state of deep serenity, as if floating upon an endless, warm current.
Tao closed his eyes, surrendering to the bliss.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
By the time he finally stirred, seven hours had slipped by.
A faint smirk touched his lips. Perhaps he had overindulged this time.
Tao stepped out of the bathhouse, the lingering warmth of the Milk Water still coursing through his body. Clad in a fresh set of robes, he made his way back to his private chambers, his steps slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering tranquility.
Upon entering his room, he moved toward the grand wooden bookshelf that stood against the far wall. It was filled with tomes, scrolls, and jade slips containing vast knowledge collected from across the world.
He ran his fingers along the spines of several ancient books before selecting a thick tome bound in dark, weathered leather—The Compendium of Rare Herbs & Mythical Elixirs.
Settling onto a cushioned seat, he cracked open the tome and began to read. Page after page detailed exotic plants, their properties, and their uses in alchemy.
Some herbs were known to enhance cultivation, others could mend even the most grievous wounds, and a select few held properties that defied logic—capable of tempering the soul itself or even extending one's lifespan.
He came across mentions of the Azure Spirit Lotus, a flower that bloomed once every thousand years and contained an essence that could elevate one's comprehension of the Dao.
Then there was the Nine-Leaf Nethergrass, an elusive plant that grew only in places saturated with deathly Yin energy, known to refine one's spiritual core at great risk.
The deeper he read, the more he became enthralled.
Alchemy was not merely the act of brewing pills or concocting elixirs—it was the fusion of heaven and earth's energies, the distillation of nature's mysteries into something tangible.
He had always focused on his sword and physique, but now he saw a new path, one that could grant him an edge in his journey to the peak.
Tao made a mental note to begin studying alchemy in the future.
The knowledge of herbs, elixirs, and their applications could very well become a powerful tool—one that might save his life or grant him an advantage when he least expected it.
Hours passed in silence, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows as he immersed himself in the boundless wonders of the alchemical world.
Tao closed the book with a quiet thud and leaned back in his chair, his mind stirring with a thought—an idea from his past life, one he had never been able to pursue.
Wood carving.
Back on Earth, in his frail and sickly body, he had always been fascinated by the craft. He admired those who could take a simple block of wood and, through patience and skill, transform it into something intricate and beautiful.
He had watched countless videos and read about the art, but his weak constitution had never allowed him the chance to try it himself.
But now? Now, he had the strength, the dexterity, and the time.
The thought filled him with an odd sense of excitement, a rare personal indulgence that had nothing to do with cultivation, battle, or revenge. This was something purely for himself.
With the idea fully formed, Tao stood and made his way to a small storage room tucked away in a secluded part of his chambers. It was a place where he kept miscellaneous items—things like extra rice, clay, parchment, and various other materials he rarely used.
Pushing the wooden door open, he stepped inside and let his gaze scan the shelves. After a brief search, his eyes landed on what he was looking for—the wood section. His fingers brushed against the different logs and planks stored there before settling on a solid four-foot-long piece of redwood.
Lifting it with ease, he examined the deep, rich color of the grain. It was a fine piece, sturdy yet not too difficult to work with—a perfect choice for his first attempt.
Holding the wood in his hands, Tao felt an unfamiliar excitement bubbling within him. This was something new, something that had nothing to do with power or survival. It was simply a desire he had once abandoned—one he could now finally fulfill.
Time passed as Tao worked on his craft. His hands, untrained but determined, carved into the redwood with careful strokes. At first, the process was slow and riddled with mistakes—cuts too deep, lines uneven, and proportions entirely wrong.
Piece after piece of wood was sacrificed to his growing understanding, the floor littered with splintered failures.
But he persisted.
Hours slipped away as he refined his technique, adjusting the pressure of his hands, testing different angles, and learning how the wood responded to his blade. Eventually, after countless attempts, he finally produced something recognizable—a spider. Or at least, something meant to resemble a spider.
Tao frowned, turning the small carving over in his hands. Its legs were uneven, its body misshapen, and the proportions were... questionable. In fact, if he looked at it from a different angle, it could just as easily be mistaken for a lumpy, misshapen turd.
He sighed.
Still, despite its crude appearance, he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed. Every master had once been a beginner, and even though his first attempt was far from perfect—far from it—he had taken the first step.
Shrugging, Tao placed the "spider" down beside him and grabbed another piece of wood. He would just have to keep improving.
Maybe one day, with enough practice, he could carve something truly wondrous—something legendary.
As he was about to continue carving, Tao suddenly paused.
A deep, commanding voice echoed in his ears, carrying an unmistakable weight of authority.
"Tao, come to my courtyard."
It was his father.
Tao furrowed his brows, momentarily puzzled by the sudden summons. His father rarely called for him unless it was something important.
Without hesitation, he set his carving tools aside, carefully placing the half-finished spider—or rather, the crude attempt at a spider—onto the table. He made sure everything was in order before rising to his feet.
As he stepped out of the storage area and into the cool evening air, a sense of curiosity settled over him.
"What could Father want?"
His strides were steady as he made his way toward Dai Long's courtyard, the weight of anticipation growing heavier with each of his steps.