Chapter Eight: The Difficult Path to Immortality

Chapter Eight: The Difficult Path of Immortality

A roar—

If one listened closely, deep within the mountains, the voices of tigers and leopards echoed, rising and falling. As for the dense, rain-like chorus of insects, it was almost supernatural, as though ghosts were marching through the wilds. An ordinary mortal venturing here would be scared half to death before even entering.

Fang Junmei gathered up the shattered jade, dismounted, and cast a final glance at the tallest peak in the distance. His lips curled into an exceptionally bold smile, his eyes brimming with hope for the future, utterly devoid of fear.

“Horse, you’re free now. Go!” he declared.

He gave the horse a firm slap on its flank, unfastened the leather wine pouch from his waist, and took a deep draught without bothering to wipe his lips. Then, striding boldly, he entered the mountain.

The horse neighed behind him. After gazing in confusion at Fang Junmei—its brief master—the steed turned and galloped towards the vast plains away from Mount Luofu.

...

Once within the mountain’s outermost edge, there was no path to be found even a few yards ahead; the way was completely swallowed by thick, wild brambles and grasses, obscuring any trace of a trail. The thickets grew unusually tall, as though this land was especially fertile, nourishing all manner of life.

Fang Junmei simply employed his lightfoot technique, weaving among strange rocks and treetops. Though not particularly fast, the journey to the mountain’s summit would certainly take more than a day or two.

The sun would rise and set, and rise again. He climbed over mountains and crossed rivers, devouring wild fruit when his provisions ran out and drinking from mountain springs to quench his thirst. Along the way, he endured countless hardships; within several days, his clothes were torn to shreds, and he looked like a beggar. Yet he bore this suffering well, his spirit still vibrant.

Danger lurked everywhere!

Tigers and leopards he dispatched or drove away with ease, but the most bizarre were creatures that spat fire or lightning. Had their cultivation been higher, or had Fang Junmei not been the greatest among mortals and possessed the Three-Breath Divine Stone, he would have died many times over.

Even so, Fang Junmei sustained many wounds, his body covered with scars. Most of these strange creatures hunted in packs. Before even stepping onto the path of cultivation, Fang Junmei had already tasted the ferocity of these demon beasts.

...

One night, under the dim moonlight, Fang Junmei sat cross-legged beside a pool, gazing up at the blurred moon in the sky.

His garments had long since become strips of cloth, exposing swathes of skin marked by countless wounds, as if leeches clung to him—so grotesque that it inspired pity.

The worst injury was by his ribs, where bones were broken in five or six places, pain tearing at his soul. It had happened when three boar-like monsters, their hides as tough as steel, rammed him. Had Fang Junmei not managed, in the moment of peril, to stab his sword through their eye sockets into their brains, he would surely have died.

Fang Junmei looked up at the moon, with no warmth of a fire nearby—lest it attract more monsters—his breath hissing through gritted teeth.

Pain!

True agony!

Did Fang Junmei regret embarking on this path? Perhaps only he knew.

He could not see how far the road ahead stretched.

Nor could he know what greater monsters might appear.

Staring at the dim, hazy moon above, Fang Junmei’s gaze became fixed. After an unknown interval, the moon gradually blurred, transforming into the aged, kindly, and gentle face of the dying Sword-Bearing Elder.

“Junmei, what will you do? What will you do? Will you be like me—unrivaled in your lifetime, only to die of old age?”

The Elder’s parting words echoed once more in his mind.

“Master, I will never accept the fate of dying unbeaten. I will—catch up with time, chase the fleeting years!”

After a long while, the sorrow and gloom in Fang Junmei’s eyes turned to resolve. He spoke silently within his heart, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.

...

At dawn the next morning, with the sunlight bright and clear, all hardship seemed as if it had never happened. Fang Junmei, battered and broken, pressed onward up the mountain.

He climbed.

He crossed ridges.

Fang Junmei trudged through the wilderness, threading his way amid the rampage of demon beasts. Though these creatures were perhaps insignificant in the eyes of the immortals atop Mount Luofu, to Fang Junmei, they were his greatest trial.

Whoosh—

A shrill sound sliced through the air.

That day, Fang Junmei rushed up the mountain as though his seat were aflame, his toes darting between rocks and thickets, constantly changing direction.

His expression was grim. Blood streamed down his thigh. Already resembling a wild man of the mountains, today he was even more disheveled—hair unkempt, body filthy, far removed from the handsome, radiant young master once celebrated in the Kingdom of Pan.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

More piercing sounds came from behind, accompanied by the roars of wild beasts.

In the forest dozens of yards behind Fang Junmei, a blue-furred wolf pursued him relentlessly. Unlike ordinary wolves, this beast was twice the size, resembling a small ox, its eyes crimson and fierce, its face ugly and savage. Most peculiarly, it would open its jaws and spit something unseen, yet the air would surge and the wind howl.

With each spit, Fang Junmei was forced to dodge in a new direction.

Where he had been heading, the grass and trees were sliced cleanly, collapsing with a thunderous crash.

“What kind of attack is this? Invisible blade energy? How can a wolf be so powerful?” Fang Junmei wondered, shaken. The wound on his leg was from the blue-furred wolf’s first strike.

In truth, if a cultivator were present, they would tell him the wolf’s attack was merely a low-level spell—Wind Blade—and the wolf itself a low-tier demon beast known as a Wind Wolf. Even so, it had driven Fang Junmei to a desperate flight. This was one of the many differences between mortals and those on the path to immortality.

...

The Wind Wolf chased swiftly, spitting even faster.

Yet Fang Junmei managed to narrowly evade each assault, thanks not only to his lightfoot skills but most importantly to the Three-Breath Divine Stone.

The Sword-Bearing Elder would never know just how miraculous this artifact was, nor how much it would aid Fang Junmei in days to come.

Time trickled by.

Fang Junmei fled blindly, choosing any path that would take him higher, pushing forward, no longer knowing where he was. He did not notice the unspeakable terror that had appeared in the eyes of the pursuing Wind Wolf.

A howl—

With a strange cry, the blue-furred wolf suddenly turned and retreated, seemingly abandoning its hunt.

Though Fang Junmei could not see behind him, he was no ordinary mortal. He quickly sensed the wolf was gone, yet dared not relax. Only after fleeing for another quarter of an hour did he finally stop.

Thud!

He collapsed heavily to the ground.

Panting, Fang Junmei quickly rummaged through his pack for the golden wound salve and applied it deftly. In all his years before turning twenty-five, he had never been injured as often as in these recent days.

He remained vigilant for some time, and seeing that nothing stirred in the direction he had come, he finally relaxed and began to survey his surroundings—then his gaze froze in astonishment.