Volume One, Chapter 2: Zhang Feng

After trekking several miles along the mountain path, Ji Die finally arrived at the town just beyond the village, making his way to the Seven Mysteries Apothecary.

From what he knew, all the herbalists from the surrounding villages brought their harvests to this shop.

At the entrance, a black banner was hung above the door, the words "Seven Mysteries" emblazoned upon it, fluttering in the wind.

The young man in straw sandals stood at the threshold, scraping mud from his shoes onto the flagstones before stepping inside.

That wild ginseng root was truly valuable—he sold it for two taels of silver, nearly enough to cover two years of living expenses.

With this newfound "fortune," Ji Die bought several medicinal herbs at the apothecary, then purchased some rice and flour.

Of course, he also picked out an adorable pair of embroidered shoes for Binbin, spending ten copper coins.

"Come out."

On the way back, Ji Die once again took out the bronze censer, then placed the freshly purchased ginseng inside, his face full of anticipation as he watched.

A green light flashed within the censer once more.

Just as before, the ginseng—originally no thicker than a finger—became plump and full, emitting a faint, refreshing fragrance.

"With this treasure, I'll never have to worry about starving again!" Ji Die was so excited he couldn't help but plant a kiss on the bronze censer.

He was about to try the other two herbs when suddenly he saw a streak of red light shoot across the sky and crash to the ground not far ahead.

"Did something just fall from the sky?"

Ji Die paused, sensing that there seemed to be a person within that blaze.

But how could a person fall from the sky?

A cultivator?

Ji Die's heart pounded furiously, and, driven by curiosity, he cautiously approached.

Gradually, a pit more than a dozen feet across came into view.

From a distance, he could see a figure lying within the crater—proving what he saw really was a person!

"Falling from that height, I wonder if they're still alive," Ji Die thought, stopping several paces from the pit and peering inside.

He could now make out the scene clearly.

The figure was an old man, his robe tattered and bloodstained, a large pool of blood beneath him, his eyes closed—uncertain if he still lived.

At the man's waist, Ji Die spotted a small linen pouch.

"If he's a cultivator, could that pouch contain cultivation techniques?" Ji Die's heart raced as he set down his rice and flour.

He then found a long stick, more than ten feet in length, and carefully edged closer to the black-robed elder.

When only three steps remained, the stick was long enough to reach the pouch.

Ji Die, curious, extended the stick, trying to hook the pouch over to see what was inside.

But just as he did, the old man—who had been lying still—suddenly raised a hand, seized the stick, and yanked it forcefully, trying to pull Ji Die closer.

"Feigning death?"

A chill ran down Ji Die's spine. He never expected someone so gravely injured to possess such strength; he was nearly dragged right up to the man.

Fortunately, he reacted quickly and had been on guard all along. He released the stick and retreated to a safe distance, still drenched in cold sweat as though he'd brushed past the gates of hell.

"Young friend, I am Zhang Feng, a disciple of the Seven Mysteries Sect. Not long ago, I was pursued by villains and gravely wounded—my life is nearly at its end."

"I possess cultivation methods on my person—all of which I can give you. I only ask that you bury me properly," the black-robed elder said weakly, seeing his sneak attack had failed.

Seeing that the old man seemed unable to move, Ji Die relaxed a little.

"Very well. I will come at first light to lay you to rest."

After what had just happened, Ji Die was now extremely wary of this old man and wasn't about to trust him fully.

After all, if all the man wanted was a proper burial, why go to such lengths to feign death and lure him closer?

"Young friend, cultivation techniques can only be taught orally. If I die, you'll gain nothing," the old man said, his voice tinged with anxiety.

"A moment ago, you said the cultivation methods were on you. Now it's oral transmission only?" Ji Die sneered inwardly, suspecting the man was so anxious because he wouldn't last the night.

He simply sat a safe distance away, waiting for the man to die before checking the situation.

Night gradually fell, bringing a chill to the November air.

At first, the black-robed elder kept talking, trying to coax Ji Die closer. Eventually, whether from resignation or death, his voice faded into silence.

Ji Die, patient and cautious, sat through the cold wind, nerves taut and sleep elusive.

All was silent. This path was rarely traveled—days might pass without a single soul, especially at night.

As dawn approached, Ji Die set aside his rice and flour and carefully edged closer to the elder.

The moon shone brightly, casting ample light.

With each step, Ji Die paused to observe the old man for any sign of movement.

Blood had pooled beneath and atop the man and was beginning to frost over; his body lay unmoving, eyes wide open, seemingly dead.

Ji Die remained vigilant. When two steps away, he found another stick and used it to hook the pouch over.

This time, the old man didn't react—not even a blink.

Only then did Ji Die breathe easy, convinced the man was truly dead. He tossed the stick aside, sat down excitedly, and examined the pouch.

But after fiddling with it for a while, he found it wouldn't open—not even his teeth could tear it.

"Could it be like the bronze censer—requiring a drop of blood to recognize its master?" Ji Die frowned, pondering. He bit his finger and dripped blood onto the pouch.

A faint glow swept across its surface, and his blood was quickly absorbed.

"Guessed right!" Ji Die cheered inwardly, sensing his mind connect with a space about half his own size.

Within, he saw several sets of clothes, a slim blue booklet, a black token, a few plants that seemed to be herbs, and a dozen or so white stones.

"So everything's inside this pouch. Could this be the fabled portable space of an immortal?" Ji Die was overjoyed. He'd heard tales of immortals with such treasures—surely, this must be one.

Would there be a cultivation method within?

Suppressing his excitement, Ji Die knew now was not the time to examine his spoils.

Before sunrise, he found a sturdy branch and dug a pit nearby.

"No matter who you were, since I've taken your possessions, I won't leave your body exposed to the elements."

"Luckily, the soil here isn't too hard," Ji Die muttered, soon sweating profusely, shivering in the cold wind.

Fortunately, before dawn, he finished digging.

He dragged the old man into the pit, covered him with earth, gathered his rice and flour, and hurried back to the village.

A night of tension, combined with the exhausting labor, left Ji Die utterly spent. Once home, he ignored his hunger, collapsed onto his bed, and fell asleep.

It was midday before he finally woke, groggy and dazed.

Stomach growling, he cooked some rice, then locked his door, sat on the bed, and brought out the pouch, excitement shining in his eyes.

"Is there a cultivation method inside?" Ji Die's heart pounded as he pondered how to retrieve the items.

He discovered that with a single thought, any item he desired would appear in his hand.

Having learned from the bronze censer, he wasn't too surprised this time, but he was still thrilled.

With a thought, he quickly withdrew all the white stones, herbs, and the remaining booklet from the space.

He couldn't discern the purpose of the herbs and stones after some study, so he put them aside.

His attention was drawn to the booklet.

It was very thin—only three pages.

Opening it, he saw six large characters on the first page:

"Primordial Mystery Canon: Qi Condensation Chapter."