Time flowed like a dream — spring blossomed, autumn withered, and yet the mountain stood eternal.
"Forty-one."
"Forty-two."
"Forty-three."
Fang Yuan's voice was calm, almost detached, as he forced the massive stone forward. His hands pressed against its cold, unyielding surface; veins bulged, muscles trembled, but his expression remained steady.
The boulder—rounded by the Flower Wine Monk's design—rolled inch by inch along the slope. Every turn of its weight echoed through the cavern like a heartbeat of stone.
Fang Yuan's breath grew ragged. His body screamed, yet his mind was razor-sharp.
"Forty-eight."
"Forty-nine."
Each step was a battle. His limbs quivered on the edge of collapse, sweat cascading down his body.
He pressed his shoulder against the rock, anchoring it with the last of his power.
For a moment, silence returned—broken only by his measured breathing.
And then, amidst exhaustion and strain, the corner of his mouth lifted.
A faint calm smile.
"Fifty."
In that instant, the crushing weight upon his shoulders vanished and the massive boulder surged forward of its own accord, rolling smoothly onto level ground.
Fang Yuan steadied his breath, pushing it a few more spans before letting it settle.
The path cleared, and before him emerged a hidden chamber, veiled for countless years beneath stone and time.
The walls pulsed faintly with crimson light, and at the far end stood a simple, grey stone door.
Fang Yuan's boots pressed into the damp soil as he approached. A faint glisten spread beneath his feet—moisture, seeping up from the ground.
Then he laughed.
A clear, resonant sound that cut through the chamber like a blade.
"Eight years… eight long years." His voice was both weary and proud, his laughter rolling like thunder through the cavern.
His eyes burned with cold brilliance as he looked at his lean, tempered limbs—every muscle sculpted through relentless toil.
"To think," he muttered, voice dropping to a quiet murmur, "that before even becoming a Gu Master… I have already overcome the first trial of the Flower Wine Monk."
He glanced once at the damp earth—where a Gu slumbered beneath—but did not reach for it.
His smile lingered, sharp and faintly mocking.
He returned to the past — only to awaken within the frail shell of his four-year-old self.
This time, he moved with precision.
His mother never joined that ill-fated clan mission, and his so-called uncle, Dong Tu, never touched the family inheritance that should have been his. Every move was deliberate, every choice a thread woven toward the future he envisioned.
To the eyes of others, he was merely an innocent child trying to gain strength by running and sweating.
But, beneath that innocent child lay the meticulous patience of a predator sharpening its claws.
His so-called "training" was merely a veil, granting him the freedom to come and go beyond the village's eyes.
At seven, he quietly purchased the Stone Bag Gu from the passing caravan — the first step in his grand scheme of things.
At eight, he bid on the Green Copper Relic Gu and Red Steel Relic Gu at the caravan's auction, using every bit of cunning to conceal them.
Year after year, he gathered the Gu worms he required—tools for the grand design only he knew. Even his mother remained ignorant of his schemes.
Now, at twelve years of age, Fang Yuan stood before the silent remnants of the Flower Wine Monk's legacy.
He had just conquered the first real strength trial of the Flower Wine Monk's legacy. A faint smile touched his lips — not from triumph, but from satisfaction.
He had saved time—precious, irreplaceable time.
Casting one last glance around the crimson-lit chamber, Fang Yuan scattered fine rock powder near the entrances, erasing every trace of his presence. Then, without hesitation or sentiment, he turned and departed into the shadows.
...
Fang Yuan jogged back to the village, his breathing steady, his expression calm.
The maids at the courtyard gate greeted him as usual, unaware of the storm that simmered behind his tranquil eyes.
Inside, he washed methodically.
The towel moved across his body with the same precision he used to slit a throat — clean, efficient, detached. Steam coiled around him as he bathed, and when he emerged, he donned a robe of pale blue silk.
Before the mirror, he paused.
The reflection that stared back no longer resembled a child of twelve. His frame had lengthened, muscles defined by years of ruthless discipline.
His face remained unremarkable, plain even, but his bearing radiated quiet power. And his eyes—black, fathomless, cold as the abyss—were what truly commanded attention.
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips.
He moved to the wardrobe and retrieved a small, unassuming pouch.
Though unassuming—this pouch was actually a Stone Bag Gu, a storage Gu.
Within it laid—
Green Copper Relic Gu (2), Red Steel Relic Gu, White Silver Relic Gu, Liquor Worm, Cleansing Water Gu.
Each one painstakingly gathered over years of quiet preparation. The White Silver Relic Gu—his most recent acquisition—had cost him dearly: fifty-three thousand primeval stones, nearly draining his entire reserve.
"I need to start hoarding primeval stones," Fang Yuan muttered under his breath, eyes dark and reflective.
"Gu worms may be endless in this vast world, but Relic Gu… Relic Gu are treasures of rarity and fate. Especially in this backwater place—such chances will not come twice."
His gaze hardened, a sharp glint flashing within the abyss.
"I must seize everything I can."
For the world, primeval stones meant everything.
They were currency, future, hope — the very foundation of mortal ambition.
But for Fang Yuan?
He laughed inwardly.
Money?
What was that but a delusion crafted by weaklings to comfort themselves?
Did heaven decree their value?
Did the earth mint them?
No — it was humanity that gave birth to this fragile notion of exchange, a desperate attempt to tame the chaos of desire with rules and fairness.
'Fairness.'
'How amusing.'
He knew better. The world had never been fair.
Mountains devoured rivers, beasts devoured men, and men devoured one another. In this vast Gu World, only one law reigned supreme — strength.
Strength was truth. Strength was justice. Strength was the only fairness that ever existed.
He remembered some words from his past life — a moment suspended in blood and fire, as an enemy screamed about justice and righteousness.
Fang Yuan's voice back then had been calm, almost gentle, carrying the intimacy of a whisper against the ear:
"You lied to us!" The enemy screamed.
"Did I?" Fang Yuan laughed.
"What is a lie?"
"What is the truth?"
"I am the Great Love Immortal Venerable — if I say it is truth, it becomes truth. If I say it is a lie, it becomes a lie. I am Truth itself."
And as his words fell, so did the man — cut down before he could even understand.
Blood, warmth, silence.
That was Fang Yuan's truth.
The world could keep its coins, its morals, its illusions of balance. He sought only one thing — power that could rewrite all definitions.