Cangshan Town nestled within the folds of the undulating mountains, resembling a corner forgotten by heaven and earth. A perpetual mist rose from the mountain ravines, clinging to treetops and winding around eaves, enveloping the entire town in a faint bluish-white haze. At the eastern edge of the town stood a low thatched cottage: mud-brick walls, a straw roof, a yard piled with firewood, medicinal herbs arranged in the corner. This was where Chu Yan had lived since childhood.
From the moment he could remember, he had known neither father nor mother.
Neighbours occasionally mentioned it, but only in vague terms, saying his father had gone hunting in the mountains and never returned. Chu Yan never pressed for details, not because he didn't want to, but because he dared not. He feared hearing more specific accounts, dreaded those images haunting his dreams. Instead, he placed all his dependence and affection carefully upon his grandfather, who had raised him single-handedly.
Life was simple, yet stable.
Mornings were spent chopping firewood, evenings gathering herbs. Warm broth simmered perpetually on the stove, while the courtyard perpetually held an endless spread of drying medicinal plants. There were no waves, no surprises, no harm—like the mountain stream flowing gently by, so quiet one might believe it would continue thus forever. Chu Yan had grown accustomed to this life, even feeling a measure of gratitude. At least he still had his grandfather, still had this home.
That evening, the setting sun dyed the horizon a warm crimson.
Grandfather and grandson sat beneath the ancient locust tree in the courtyard. A gentle breeze carried the scent of plants and trees. Grandfather twirled a coarse grass rope between his fingers, weaving a bamboo basket with deliberate slowness. His knuckles were thick and calloused, the marks of a lifetime spent in the mountains.
Chu Yan hugged his knees, gazing at the distant, layered green mountains. A sudden, inexplicable stirring welled up within him. The tales of flying and teleportation that the town elders shared over tea and meals had taken root like a seed, quietly sprouting in his heart. Hesitating briefly, he spoke softly:
"Grandfather, the folk in town say there are immortals in the mountains who can soar through the skies and vanish into thin air. Is it true?"
Grandfather paused his work, lifting his wrinkled face to glance at him, a gentle smile touching his lips.
"True or not, I've lived this long and never seen it myself."
The old man lowered his head, returning to his task with the grass rope. His voice was slow and steady, carrying the calmness of a lifetime lived.
"Little Yan, even if such people did exist—able to fly, run swiftly, or live forever—it's not something ordinary folk like us should dwell upon. We were born in these mountains, raised here, tending our small plot of land. To live out our days peacefully here is better than anything else."
He paused, his tone softening yet growing earnest.
"To live contentedly, following nature's course without greed or resentment—that is the finest fate one could hope for."
Chu Yan nodded, half-understanding, half-confused, silently committing those words to memory. In his seventeen years, his grandfather's wisdom had been the most steadfast truth he knew. Yet the flutter in his heart did not subside; instead, like pebbles dropped into a lake, it sent out ever-widening ripples. He couldn't help wondering: were those immortals truly just legends?
Little did he know that this tranquil existence would soon be shattered by calamity.
Days later, a relentless downpour enveloped the entire Qing Mountain.
A middle-aged man clad in plain robes, his demeanour serene, trudged through the rain into Cangshan Town. Calling himself a wandering physician, he claimed expertise in pharmacology and alchemy. The torrential rain had halted his journey.
Grandfather, being kind-hearted, saw that he was alone, possessed a steady bearing, and had clear eyes—unlike a villain—so he took him in, clearing out the side room usually used for storing odds and ends.
Chu Yan observed this unexpected guest with keen curiosity. He sensed an extraordinary quality about the man – not the simple rusticity of the town's farmers, nor the shrewdness of passing merchants, but a profound, bottomless calm. It seemed as though even if the heavens were to collapse, he would remain utterly undisturbed.
The healer was taciturn by nature, seldom engaging in idle chatter. His days were spent either in solitary meditation or poring over the diverse array of herbs by lamplight. When villagers occasionally sought his medical aid, he would casually prescribe remedies without charge, and the ailments would vanish. Though Chu Yan had little interaction with him, he often sensed an intangible pressure emanating from the man—a presence far beyond that of an ordinary itinerant physician. The more he observed, the more peculiar this healer seemed.
After the rain, the mountain air was crisp and clean, carrying the fragrance of earth and foliage.
That early morning, the reclusive doctor unexpectedly spoke up, saying he wished to climb the mountain to gather several rare herbs for alchemical preparations. Having grown up in these hills, Chu Yan knew every path and perilous spot intimately. He immediately volunteered to accompany him. Early that morning, the pair set off into the mountains, bamboo baskets slung over their backs, while Grandfather remained at home to tend to the freshly sun-dried herbs.
The morning mist had yet to fully dissipate, the forest air heavy with dampness. Crystal-clear dewdrops clung to the leaves of plants and trees, cool and soft beneathfoot. Chu Yan led the way ahead, his steps light and nimble, like a agile monkey. The herbalist followed closely behind, his pace slow and steady, his footsteps almost silent. His entire being seemed to blend seamlessly with the ancient forest; without careful observation, he could easily be mistaken for a tree or a rock among the foliage.
They journeyed in silence, accompanied only by the sound of their footsteps and the crisp chirping of birds.
Chu Yan paused frequently, pointing out common herbs by the path and seeking the mysterious gentleman's guidance. His mind brimmed with questions—about the herbs, about this man, and about those legendary "immortals" who existed only in tales.
"Sir, is this herb used to staunch bleeding?"
"Blood-Seeing Sorrow. It may be used for external injuries, though its potency is rather mild—sufficient for superficial wounds." The physician's voice was calm and unruffled. He bent down and carefully plucked a small plant with faintly bluish leaves from a crevice in the rocks. "This herb is called Lingqing Ye. Though seemingly ordinary, it harbours vital energy within, capable of warming and nourishing the meridians, fortifying the foundation and cultivating the essence. Alas, mortal bodies harbour too much impure qi to fully harness its potency. Only cultivators can unlock its full efficacy."
"Cultivators?" Chu Yan's heart jolted violently, his breathing quickening. At last, he heard that word—the one his grandfather had spoken with a hint of disdain.
"The very beings your grandfather spoke of—those celestial beings who soar through the heavens and traverse the earth," the physician straightened, his gaze calmly fixed upon the distant mountains, as though describing the most ordinary matter. "They draw the essence of heaven and earth into their bodies, tempering their very being to shatter the bonds of mortal flesh. Thus they transcend the cycle of life and death, and the world calls them immortals."
Chu Yan's heart pounded violently, his mind churning like a tempest. So the legends were true! He forced down his excitement and shock, daring not to ask more, merely committing every word of the master's teaching to memory. He grew ever more certain that this seemingly ordinary physician was no ordinary man!
As they walked, pausing now and then, the physician casually imparted knowledge of various herbs—from their habitats to their potency based on age—demonstrating profound expertise in all matters. Chu Yan, naturally quick-witted and blessed with exceptional memory, often grasped concepts after a single explanation, applying them with remarkable insight. This extraordinary aptitude drew a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of approval in the physician's eyes.
Unbeknownst to them, they had reached a secluded hollow halfway up the mountain. This rarely trodden spot boasted denser vegetation, the air thick with the pungent fragrance of herbs and foliage.
Yet, in that very moment, a savage, ferocious wind—brimming with a savage, savage savagery—swept without warning from the depths of the dense forest!
The crisp, melodious birdsong vanished in an instant, leaving no trace behind.
The entire mountain forest seemed to have been silenced, plunged into an absolute, deathly stillness.
Chu Yan's face drained of colour instantly, a primal chill racing from his soles to his scalp. He knew it was a predator! A most dangerous predator at that!
ROAR—!
A deafening roar exploded like a thunderclap, shaking leaves from the trees with a rustling fall.
A massive black bear, as dark as night and bulky as a small mountain, charged violently from the dense forest. Its enormous paws snapped tree trunks as thick as bowls. Its blood-red eyes blazed with savage intent, locked firmly upon the two of them.
Chu Yan froze stiff as a board, as if struck by a spell of immobilisation, rooted to the spot. The immense black shadow loomed overhead, a fear born of the soul's depths instantly clutching his heart, weighing down his limbs until breath felt impossible. Instinctively, he sought to retreat, to hide behind his master.
Yet, in the very instant the black bear lunged forward, his gaze suddenly locked onto a hideous, bone-deep scar gouged into the beast's left chest.
Time seemed to freeze completely in that moment.
It was him!
This very bear!
The murderer who had taken his father's life when he was a child, condemning him to a future as a fatherless boy!
Years of pain, injustice, resentment, and overwhelming hatred, buried deep within his heart, erupted like a volcano the instant he recognised that scar, shattering all reason and fear.
Chu Yan's vision darkened, his mind went blank. Fear, life, death—all were cast to the winds. His world now contained only this bear and that searing, unforgiving hatred.
The youth clenched his fists with such ferocity that his nails dug deep into his palms, blood streaming freely without his noticing. He let out a low, inhuman growl and charged at the black bear with reckless abandon, as if possessed!
The physician remained utterly composed, showing not a trace of panic. To him, this was merely the desperate, instinctive act of a mortal youth driven to the brink by hatred and terror – tantamount to suicide. He lifted his fingertips slightly, his internal energy stirring imperceptibly. He had intended to save the boy effortlessly, sparing this promising young talent from such a premature end.
Yet, at the very instant that thread of power was about to be released, he paused abruptly, a flicker of astonishment crossing his eyes.
An exquisitely faint yet extraordinarily pure and condensed aura, like a flickering candle in the wind yet bearing an unyielding resilience, quietly emanated from Chu Yan's body.
That was... the aura of innate Dao foundation!
Such innate primordial energy was utterly impossible for a mortal body to possess!
A barely perceptible ripple flashed deep within the physician's eyes before he swiftly resumed his usual calm composure. Imperturbably, he slowly withdrew the force poised to strike, remaining rooted to the spot with the steadfastness of a mountain.
Yet his gaze, deep as a pool, now fixed intently upon the reckless youth hurtling towards death, held a barely perceptible solemnity.
Beneath an ordinary form, a hidden divine root.
This seemingly unremarkable retreat into the mountains had yielded a treasure... a raw gem of such extraordinary calibre it could shake the entire cultivation world.