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Since that day, Shen Lian left Vault City and began his solitary journey to seek immortality, crossing thousands of mountains and endless twilight snow, drifting alone through seas of people. He traveled through countless rivers and peaks, searching for sacred lands and ancient ruins, climbed tall towers to gaze at the sky, followed rivers to their sources, and leaned on the mountains to rest.
Shen Lian walked alone, wearing a tattered cloak and bamboo hat, like a drifting wanderer lost in the vast world. He had witnessed the fiercest storms and the kindest faces under humble roofs, slept through blizzards, and risked his life for food among beasts, as seasons passed and the sun and moon rotated—half a year vanished like smoke.
Now having spent two full years in this world, he had, in just six months of searching for signs of immortals, seen heavy snow bury northern cities, corpses pile beyond border passes, and relentless storms flood the central plains. Though not even twenty, his gaze carried the weight of ages, and his young heart had been tempered into steel.
One day, in a town just outside the borderlands, Shen Lian, exhausted from his endless journey, finally collapsed. His quest had yielded no results, only worn down his body, and on a frigid autumn night, he fell into an alley corner like discarded refuse, burning with fever and on the edge of unconsciousness.
He vaguely saw a white silhouette approach and heard a girl's voice say, "Father, this little beggar might not make it," as a warm, fair hand pressed gently against his forehead. Another voice responded, "So hot. He's burning. If we leave him like this, he won't survive the night. Should we take him home?" Then a hearty middle-aged voice answered, "Alright, we'll do as Linger says," followed by her cheerful remark, "Didn't you say, Father, cultivators should act with compassion?"—to which he replied simply, "Indeed."
Through the fog of pain, Shen Lian felt a warm force lifting him before everything went black.
He didn't know how long had passed, but when he opened his eyes again, he found himself wrapped in warmth and comfort, sandalwood incense lingering in the air, fine drapes surrounding the bed, and the scent of carved wood and medicine filling the room.
"You're awake?" said a sweet voice, and as Shen Lian turned his head, he saw a tall young girl in a plain yellow robe, her features refined and gentle, standing by the bedside with a soft smile. Beside her sat a middle-aged man with calm eyes, an elegant presence, and a kind expression.
Shen Lian sat up and gave a respectful salute, saying, "I am Shen Lian. Thank you both for saving me. May I ask, where am I?" The girl laughed softly and replied, "This is Tai Xuan Sword Sect," which made Shen Lian furrow his brow, for during his travels, he had often heard the name; Tai Xuan Sword Sect was known as one of the greatest sword sects in the world.
After recovering from his illness, Shen Lian prepared to leave and express his gratitude, but upon testing his spiritual roots, the Sect insisted he stay. His aptitude, while not heaven-defying, was still first-class, and he began training under the guidance of the middle-aged man, officially stepping into the path of cultivation.
Slowly, Shen Lian began to understand this world more deeply—this was the Cangxuan Realm, ruled by the Great Xia Dynasty, and Tai Xuan Sword Sect was one of its premier sword sects. The man who had saved him was Zhenren Xuanming, a top-tier expert of the Ninth Hall of Tai Xuan in the Ninth Stage of the Golden Bridge Realm, and the young girl was Zhao Linger, also a disciple of the Ninth Hall—and Xuanming's daughter.
Through Zhenren Xuanming's recommendation, Shen Lian was accepted into the Ninth Hall and began studying the Tai Xuan Sword Technique and Tai Xuan Heart Sutra, officially embarking on the path of cultivation. On his very first night of meditation, Shen Lian felt spiritual energy surge and broke through into the Qi Refining Realm.
In the Cangxuan Realm, cultivation realms were structured as: Qi Refining, Yang Spirit, Golden Bridge, Profound Passage, Void Transformation, True God, and Immortal God. Shen Lian had entered the first stage of cultivation overnight, astonishing Zhenren Xuanming, who exclaimed with joy, "Excellent, excellent. I didn't expect such comprehension from Lian'er," as he stroked his beard.
Spiritual roots determined cultivation speed, while comprehension governed mastery and insight, and Shen Lian had both. Not only was his root above average, but his comprehension was terrifying—but what Xuanming didn't know was that Shen Lian had entered meditation and broken through in just three breaths.
After skimming Tai Xuan's Heart Sutra, he had sat down, closed his eyes, and in the span of three breaths, understood the Dharma Gate and refined Qi. This shattered ancient and modern records, and had word gotten out, the entire cultivation world would have trembled—yet Shen Lian, lacking context, thought it was normal.
When he told Xuanming, "I broke through last night," the elder assumed it meant after a full night of effort.
As autumn turned to winter, Shen Lian stayed at the Ninth Hall for another half year, and by New Year, the snow melted and he turned nineteen. Though his journey had started late, his cultivation progressed quickly; in just a few months, he reached the Third Stage of Qi Refining—far beyond the average in Tai Xuan.
He trained quietly, never boasting or showing off, remaining as steady and focused as ever. Zhenren Xuanming, learning about Shen Lian's lonely past, grew increasingly fond of him, treating him almost like his own son. Zhao Linger, cheerful and curious, clung to Shen Lian like a little sister, following him everywhere.
Shen Lian, well-read and witty, often shared stories from Earth or tales from his travels, causing Zhao Linger to burst into laughter, her eyes glowing with delight. Gradually, he began to see her as family, and in the Ninth Hall, through Xuanming and Linger, he found a warmth he hadn't known since leaving the Hundred Thousand Mountains.
For the first time, the world felt gentle—yet just when he believed life might continue in quiet peace, disaster struck.
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