The night air was thick with mist, curling between the roots of ancient pines. Twin moons hung above, casting pale silver light over the clearing. Crickets sang in the distance, but here where a single youth knelt, trembling there was only silence.
His forehead touched the damp earth, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles blanched.
"Immortal Master," he said, voice quivering like a string pulled taut. "Please… return with me to my sect. The elders must meet you. Such wisdom cannot remain hidden."
Wen Liang blinked at him. His throat worked soundlessly.
Immortal Master? Me?
He wanted to laugh, or cry, or just tell this poor kid that he was making a huge mistake. That he wasn't an immortal sage, but a modern-day therapist who died in a traffic accident and woke up in what could only be described as a xianxia fever dream.
But the boy's eyes—when he dared glance up—were too earnest, too reverent. There was no space for denial in them. If Wen Liang told the truth, what then? Would this boy think him a fraud? Would he turn hostile?
Wen Liang swallowed hard. The rule of survival was clear: never show weakness in a dangerous place.
His mind churned. He thought of every cultivation novel he had read during dull office hours, the countless tropes and clichés. Wise masters never explained too much. They answered questions with riddles, half-truths, or lofty dismissals. Aloofness was a shield.
So, Wen Liang straightened. He rose to his full height, placed his hands calmly behind his back, and lifted his chin to the twin moons as if studying their hidden mysteries. When he spoke, he let his words stretch, each syllable deliberate, like stones placed on a path.
"The path I walk… is not one that welcomes companions. Your sect's elders would not accept me, nor I them. For now, fate wills that I remain… apart."
His voice echoed faintly in the clearing, carried by the wind.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Doubt twisted in Wen Liang's chest. Too much? Did I sound ridiculous?
Then the youth shivered violently. Awe lit his face, banishing hesitation.
"So profound…" the boy whispered. "To see beyond sect boundaries, to stand above mortal factions—truly, Immortal Master's Dao is unfathomable."
Wen Liang forced himself to nod slightly, though sweat prickled down his back beneath his borrowed robes.
Unfathomable, huh? Yeah, it's unfathomable because I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.
The youth slowly rose from his bow, but his reverence only deepened. Carefully, he reached into his tattered robes and produced a small embroidered pouch. He stepped forward, bowed again, and placed it gently at Wen Liang's feet, as though laying down an offering at a shrine.
"If Immortal Master refuses to grace my sect, then… I beg you to accept this humble token. To leave without repaying your benevolence would weigh on my Dao heart."
Wen Liang hesitated, then bent to pick up the pouch. It felt heavy, cool against his palm, with a faint vibration that tingled his skin. He loosened the drawstring and peeked inside.
Within lay a dozen stones, no larger than walnuts, yet glowing faintly with hues of jade, sapphire, and pearl. Their light pulsed rhythmically, like breathing. Warmth radiated faintly from them, soaking into his skin.
"These are spirit stones," the youth said softly. His tone was reverent, like a child explaining a sacred relic. "Though they are but low-grade, they hold the essence of heaven and earth. Mortals use them as currency, while cultivators meditate with them to refine qi. To Immortal Master, they are surely nothing more than common pebbles… but to me, they are priceless. Please, accept them."
Wen Liang's mind spun.
Nothing more than pebbles? These things could buy out a country back home!
He shut the pouch quickly, masking his wide eyes behind a veneer of calm. With a faint sweep of his sleeve, he tucked it into the folds of his robe.
"…Very well," he intoned with quiet gravity. "Since your sincerity is true, I shall not insult it by refusal. But remember: this does not bind you to me. You must walk your own Dao."
The youth's lips trembled. Gratitude swelled in his gaze, shimmering with unshed tears.
"Even in refusal, Immortal Master imparts wisdom," he whispered. "Every word you speak is scripture."
Wen Liang almost choked. Scripture? That was just me spouting off a cliché!
The youth wasn't finished. With both hands, he drew out a thin jade slip etched with intricate runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the moonlight. Holding it out with the utmost care, he bowed deeply, as if presenting a divine artifact.
"This is a communication slip. Should Immortal Master's heart ever shift, pour your thought into it, and I will come, no matter the distance. Please… grant me this chance to serve again."
Wen Liang's eyes lingered on the jade. His instincts screamed at him: dangerous. Yet… refusing would wound the boy's sincerity, perhaps even turn respect into resentment. And this slip—if it truly worked like the novels described—was invaluable. A lifeline.
With a slowness that suggested divine detachment rather than hesitation, Wen Liang reached out and plucked the slip from the boy's hands.
"…Very well. We shall let fate decide our next meeting."
The boy exhaled shakily, relief flooding his expression. He dropped into one final bow, forehead to the soil.
"Disciple thanks Immortal Master for his boundless grace. Until fate reunites us, may the heavens shelter your path."
And with that, he turned and retreated into the mist. His figure grew fainter and fainter, until the forest reclaimed him entirely.
The clearing fell silent again. Only the whisper of wind through pine needles and the distant cry of an owl remained.
Wen Liang sagged the instant he was alone, legs trembling as he collapsed back against a tree trunk. The pouch of glowing stones pressed against his chest, its faint warmth both reassuring and surreal.
"Holy… shit," he whispered. "I actually pulled it off."
He drew out the pouch again, pouring the spirit stones into his lap. Their soft glow illuminated his face, painting him in hues of jade and sapphire. He reached out, brushing a fingertip across one. The surface was smooth, cool, yet alive—like holding a fragment of condensed breath.
Spirit stones. Real spirit stones. So it's true. This really is a cultivation world.
He pressed the pouch closed, clutching it tightly. His gaze flicked to the jade slip lying nearby, its etched runes faintly gleaming.
"Okay… priorities. First: don't die. Second: figure out how to use these things without blowing myself up. Third: keep up the act."
A shaky laugh escaped him.
"A therapist in a world of swords and qi. And they're calling me Immortal Master…" He dragged a hand down his face, voice muffled. "I swear, if I live through this, I'm going to need therapy myself."
He leaned back against the tree, letting exhaustion roll over him. Above, the twin moons watched silently, as if mocking his predicament.
And yet, beneath the fear, something stirred. A strange, quiet thrill. The sense that a door had opened, and he had stepped into an unknown path.
Wen Liang closed his eyes, whispering to the night:
"My immortal path… has only just begun."