"Young Master, your tea."
The maid's voice was soft, almost blending into the rustling of autumn. She lowered her gaze as she placed the porcelain cup upon the carved wooden table beside him. The steam rose in delicate spirals, carrying the faint fragrance of roasted leaves and mountain rain. After setting it down, she stepped back quietly, her movements refined and careful, as though afraid to disturb the stillness that wrapped around the courtyard.
Wudi Egun did not respond immediately.
He sat reclined upon a polished wooden chair beneath the shade of an old maple tree. The courtyard of the Wudi residence was neither extravagant nor humble—stone paths curved gently through trimmed shrubs, a small pond reflected the golden sky, and wind chimes swayed lazily beneath the eaves. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down.
Dry leaves drifted from the branches above, spinning through the air before settling on the stone tiles. His dark eyes followed their descent, calm and distant, as though watching the quiet passing of years instead of mere foliage.
He finally reached for the cup.
His fingers were slender, steady. He lifted it with quiet elegance and brought it to his lips, taking a slow sip. The warmth spread through his chest, but it did nothing to stir his heart.
His name was Wudi Egun—young master of the Wudi merchant family in Fang City. They were not a grand clan that commanded fear, nor were they connected to any noble bloodline. Yet their trading caravans stretched across several cities, and gold flowed steadily into their coffers. It was enough to live comfortably. Luxuriously, even.
And yet…
"Did anyone send letters from Yan Manor?" he asked, his voice gentle and unhurried.
Sunlight filtered through amber leaves, casting shifting patterns across his handsome features. The golden glow of autumn only sharpened the quiet refinement of his appearance.
"Yes, Young Master," the maid replied respectfully. "Yan Manor has sent word. They will arrive in Fang City within three hours… perhaps slightly sooner."
Wudi Egun gave a small nod.
That was all.
No anticipation. No anxiety. No joy.
Just calm acceptance.
It had been fourteen years since he had opened his eyes in this world.
Fourteen years since he had awakened—not as himself—but in the body of a crying infant named Wudi Egun.
He did not know how it had happened. He had stopped questioning it long ago. One moment, in his previous life, he had been an ordinary man on 21st century Earth—buried in mundane routines, modern noise, and fleeting ambitions. The next, he was reborn into a world of ancient architecture, spiritual energy, and legends whispered beneath moonlight.
This world was known as the Spirit Immortal World.
A realm that belonged to the greater Mortal Domain—one of countless worlds said to exist within an immeasurable cosmos. Here, stories of Immortals were not mere myths. They were living legends.
Immortals who could shatter mountains with a gesture.
Immortals who soared across the heavens.
Immortals who traveled between worlds as easily as mortals crossed a river.
When he first learned of their existence as a child, his heart had burned with ambition.
If others could cultivate and ascend… why not him?
He remembered clearly the day he left home years ago, filled with determination. He had traveled with a caravan to the gates of an Immortal Sect—its mountain peaks piercing the clouds, its disciples radiant with spiritual aura.
He had believed that transmigrating into such a world must have meant something.
Surely fate had chosen him.
Surely he was special.
But reality had been merciless.
The elders tested his spiritual roots. They examined his lineage. They probed his meridians.
The result had been simple.
Mediocre.
To walk the path of the Grand Dao, one needed Innate Lineage or Heavenly Destiny—an extraordinary foundation blessed by the heavens. Without such gifts, cultivation was akin to climbing a sheer cliff with bare hands.
Wudi Egun had neither.
No hidden bloodline.
No divine constitution.
No miraculous destiny.
He had stood before the towering gates of the sect as they closed behind him, listening to the wind whistle through the stone arches.
Rejected.
That day, something inside him had gone quiet.
Not shattered. Not broken.
Just… extinguished.
After all, even in this life, he was only the son of a merchant family. There were no Immortals in his ancestry. No legends carved into ancestral tablets. Just trade routes, contracts, and silver coins.
Since then, he had let go of those distant dreams.
Immortality was for the heavens' chosen.
He would remain among mortals.
And so, he learned to manage ledgers instead of spiritual energy. He studied markets instead of martial scriptures. He wore silk robes instead of sect uniforms.
He chose comfort over obsession.
Peace over ambition.
A luxurious mortal life was not so terrible.
Another leaf drifted down, landing softly at his feet.
He stared at it for a long moment before lowering his gaze to the tea in his hand.
Calm.
Serene.
Empty.
Today was no ordinary day.
It marked the formal alliance between the Yan Family and the Wudi Family—two merchant households whose caravans had crossed paths for years but had never stood side by side. Once the contracts were sealed and stamped, trade routes would merge, warehouses would open to one another, and influence would stretch farther across Withering Bamboo Province than ever before.
For the Wudi Family, it was expansion.
For Wudi Egun, it was elevation.
An alliance with Yan Manor meant recognition. It meant their name would no longer be spoken merely as "that wealthy merchant house of Fang City," but as a rising pillar within the province's commercial circle.
And yet, as he sat beneath the maple tree, Wudi Egun felt none of the excitement such a day should bring.
Instead, he sighed.
It was a quiet sound, barely louder than the wind brushing through dried leaves, yet it carried the weight of years. Frustration. Resentment. A lingering ache he had long pretended did not exist.
His fingers tightened slightly around the teacup.
"One lifetime of an Immortal…" he murmured under his breath, eyes lowered, "…is but a fleeting instant for a mortal."
The words drifted into the autumn air and dissolved.
For fourteen years he had convinced himself that he was content. That wealth, comfort, and status were enough. That living a refined, leisurely life among mortals was preferable to chasing an unattainable dream.
But days like this—days of ambition and expansion—always reminded him of what he had truly wanted.
To stand above time.
To transcend decay.
To step beyond the fragile span of a human life.
An Immortal could witness eras rise and fall like seasons. Dynasties would crumble, cities would turn to dust, and still they would remain. Compared to that vast eternity, a merchant alliance felt small. Temporary.
His calm façade cracked ever so slightly.
A breeze swept through the courtyard, scattering more leaves across the stone path. Sunlight shifted, no longer warm but faintly cold.
Wudi Egun set the teacup down.
Enough.
There was no point lingering on what could not be changed.
He rose from his seat, the movement slow and composed, but something in his posture had stiffened. The serenity that once wrapped around him like silk had thinned.
As he stood, the long silver robe he wore fell smoothly around his frame, embroidered threads catching the light like pale streams. Before he could adjust it himself, a pair of careful hands stepped forward.
"Young Master," Wen Ying said softly.
She moved with quiet familiarity, smoothing the folds of his robe and brushing away a stray leaf that had landed upon the hem. Her fingers were steady, respectful but unhesitating—she had served him for years.
Wen Ying was in her early twenties, her features gentle rather than striking, but there was a quiet grace to her presence. Her voice, soft as flowing water, carried a natural warmth that eased tension without effort.
"I think you should take a herbal bath," she suggested gently. "Yan Manor will arrive soon. It would help you relax before the meeting."
Her words were simple, yet there was subtle concern hidden beneath them. She had heard his sigh.
Wudi Egun glanced at her briefly.
The frustration in his eyes had already faded, replaced by the calm mask he wore so well. Still, her voice had an effect on him. It steadied the restless thoughts that had begun to stir.
"Hm."
He gave a small nod.
No refusal. No elaboration.
Wen Ying lowered her head slightly in acknowledgment before stepping aside to make arrangements.
As Wudi Egun began walking toward the inner courtyard, the stone path crunching faintly beneath fallen leaves, his gaze lifted toward the pale autumn sky.
Alliances. Status. Wealth.
These were things mortals pursued with all their strength.
And now, so would he.
If the heavens had denied him the path of Immortality…
Then he would carve out his dominion within the mortal realm.
Even if that dominion lasted only a single, fleeting lifetime.
*******
By mid-afternoon, the quiet dignity of the Wudi Family Residence was stirred by the sound of wheels and hooves.
A long procession of carriages rolled down the stone road leading to the estate gates, their lacquered frames gleaming beneath the pale autumn sun. The creaking of polished wood and the rhythmic clatter of iron-rimmed wheels echoed faintly through the surrounding streets, drawing the attention of passersby.
At the front and rear of the procession rode mounted guards.
Each man sat upright upon a sturdy horse, clad in fitted leather armor reinforced with steel plates at the shoulders and chest. Longswords rested at their waists, the hilts worn from use rather than decoration. Their expressions were alert, disciplined. Though this was a merchant family's entourage, it carried itself with the confidence of minor nobility.
The banner attached to the lead carriage fluttered in the wind.
Yan.
Within Fang City, that single character was enough to command respect.
When the procession came to a halt before the tall wooden gates of the Wudi residence, servants hurried forward. The gates opened inward with measured grace.
From the most lavishly adorned carriage in the center of the convoy, a servant stepped down first, lowering a carved footstool.
Then, a man emerged.
He appeared to be in his forties at most—broad-shouldered, upright, with the refined bearing of someone long accustomed to authority. His hair, streaked faintly with silver, was tied neatly behind his head. His gaze was sharp yet lively.
Yet in truth, he had long passed seventy.
He was the father of the current Yan Manor Master—the previous patriarch who had stepped down but retained enormous influence within the family.
Time had treated him strangely.
Or rather… gold had.
Among wealthy mortal families, it was not uncommon to purchase so-called "Immortal Pills" whenever wandering cultivators or sect envoys passed through a city. Though these pills were not true elixirs forged for genuine Immortals, they were nonetheless miraculous by mortal standards.
They strengthened the body.
They slowed aging.
Some even extended lifespan by a few precious years.
To mortals, such pills were treasures beyond measure—proof that even if they could not ascend to the heavens, they could at least steal fragments of its blessings.
The Yan Family, being among the most prosperous merchant clans in Withering Bamboo Province, had naturally acquired more than a few.
Thus, the man standing before the Wudi gates looked no older than a dignified middle-aged lord, despite the decades he had lived.
He wore a deep purple robe, the fabric heavy and lustrous. Embroidered upon his back were a lion and a tiger, stitched in gold thread—symbols of authority and dominance. When he moved, the patterns seemed almost alive beneath the sunlight.
He inhaled deeply, stretching his arms slightly as if shaking off the stiffness of travel.
"We have finally arrived at the Wudi Family Residence!" he laughed heartily, his voice booming with vigor. "Hahaha! This old man nearly grew impatient on the road!"
The sound carried across the courtyard entrance, rich and energetic. There was no trace of frailty in him—only spirited confidence.
"Dear," a soft voice followed from within the carriage, gentle yet composed, "please restrain yourself a little. We are guests, after all."
A delicate hand parted the curtain.
Then she stepped out.
For a moment, even the wind seemed to pause.
She wore a silver dress that shimmered faintly beneath the afternoon light, embroidered with intricate floral patterns that seemed to bloom across the fabric. Fine ornaments adorned her hair, catching glints of sunlight like scattered stars. Her posture was upright and elegant, every movement refined yet effortless.
She was tall and slender, her features exquisitely balanced, her skin smooth and luminous. There was something almost unreal about her presence—as though she did not entirely belong to the mortal dust beneath her feet.
One might have mistaken her for a fairy who had wandered down from some distant celestial realm.
Yet she was no spirit of legend.
She was the wife of the man standing beside her.
Though her true age was known only within Yan Manor, her appearance betrayed nothing. The Immortal Pills she had taken over the years had preserved her youth so thoroughly that even young maidens might feel overshadowed beside her.
Her beauty did not match the number of years she had lived.
It transcended them.
The former patriarch turned his head toward her, clearing his throat lightly, though amusement danced in his eyes.
"Yes, yes, my lady speaks wisely," he replied with mock solemnity, though the corner of his lips still lifted in a smile.
Together, the couple stood before the gates of the Wudi Family Residence—wealth, power, and ambition arriving not with swords drawn, but with silk robes and polished wheels.
Inside the estate, preparations were already underway.
"It would not look good if you act improperly toward our host, would it?" she reminded him, her lips curving into a charming, knowing smile.
At the sound of her voice, Yan Menghu only laughed louder.
His laughter rang bright and unrestrained, carrying across the courtyard entrance like rolling thunder softened by warmth. The guards nearby kept their composure, though several exchanged subtle glances.
Lin Youmei shook her head lightly, as though long accustomed to such behavior.
Ever since her husband had consumed the Immortal Pill of Youth—gifted personally by the Wudi Family several days prior—his vigor had only increased. His body felt lighter, his blood hotter, his spirit fuller. It was as though he had regained ten years of life in a single night.
He had always been spirited.
Now, he was almost boyish.
Before their exchange could continue, a calm voice drifted from within the estate.
"Welcome, Lord Yan. Madam Lin. To my humble residence."
The gates had already opened fully.
A fourteen-year-old youth stepped forward with measured composure.
Wudi Egun wore a silver robe that flowed neatly along his slender frame, his dark hair tied simply behind him. Though still young, his features were refined, and his bearing carried a quiet authority that did not feel forced.
By his side stood Wen Ying.
Silent. Unassuming.
Yet somehow, impossible to ignore.
"It is great to meet you, Young Master Egun!" Yan Menghu strode forward enthusiastically. "How have you been? Hahaha!"
His boots crunched against the stone as he closed the distance, clearly intending to greet the boy with a hearty pat on the shoulder.
But before his hand could descend—
A flash of steel.
A longsword appeared between them, its blade angled diagonally, reflecting the amber glow of the evening sun. The polished surface mirrored Yan Menghu's surprised expression with perfect clarity.
His steps halted.
The air tightened.
Yan Menghu's brows rose as he shifted his gaze toward the one who had blocked him.
It was the maid.
The delicate young woman who looked as though a strong gust of wind might carry her away.
Her expression remained calm. Her grip on the sword was steady. Not a tremor disturbed the blade.
For a fleeting second, Yan Menghu felt something unusual—
Pressure.
Subtle, but undeniable.
He opened his mouth to question her action, but Wudi Egun spoke first.
"I apologize, Lord Yan, for such offensive behavior from my maid."
His tone was gentle, sincere. He stepped forward slightly and placed his hand against the flat of the blade, lowering it with a soft push.
"It is only that Wen Ying is… extremely protective of me," he continued with a faint, apologetic smile. "She does not allow even my father or mother to approach too closely without warning. I hope you will forgive this rudeness."
Yan Menghu studied him for a moment.
There was no mockery in the boy's eyes. No arrogance. Only quiet honesty.
After a brief pause, the older man nodded once.
"It seems loyalty runs deep in your residence," he remarked, amusement returning to his tone.
"So this," Lin Youmei spoke softly, her gaze resting upon Wen Ying with keen interest, "is the famous Sword Maid I have heard so much about."
Her eyes shimmered faintly, as though she had just discovered something delightful.
"Sword Maid… ah!" Yan Menghu suddenly exclaimed, realization dawning.
Of course.
Years ago, the story had quietly spread across Withering Bamboo Province. A six-year-old merchant heir had encountered mountain bandits during a caravan journey. Amid the chaos, he had saved the life of a young female slave—purchasing her freedom and personally shielding her from harm.
Instead of leaving afterward, the girl had chosen to follow him.
From that day onward, she never left his side.
In time, she rose to prominence through sheer skill and relentless discipline.
Sword Maid.
One of the Four Female Grandmasters of Withering Bamboo Province. A swordswoman whose technique was said to be swift as falling frost and sharp as winter wind.
Alas, she lacked the innate talent required for Immortal cultivation. Had she possessed spiritual roots worthy of a sect, her name might have echoed even within the Immortal world.
"I do not deserve such praise, Madam Lin," Wen Ying replied calmly, lowering her sword fully now. Her voice was humble, devoid of pride.
Despite her fame within the province, she stood before someone far more formidable.
Lin Youmei was no ordinary noblewoman.
She was one of the Five Supreme Masters of Withering Bamboo Province.
Born into the prestigious Lin Family—one of the Four Great Families—she had once walked among the highest ranks of mortal aristocracy. Yet when her family deemed Yan Menghu unworthy, calling him inferior and unfit to marry into their bloodline, she had made her choice without hesitation.
She left.
Left the power, the wealth, the status.
And together with her husband, she built something new.
Yan City.
What began as a modest trade settlement under their guidance eventually grew into a prosperous stronghold bearing their name.
They had twin children—both prodigies in their own right. In the mortal world, the Yan Family now stood firmly as a second-tier power.
Not equal to the Lin Family's overwhelming influence, but no longer insignificant.
Fortunately, the Lin Family had never pursued the matter after her departure. Whether out of pride or indifference, they neither sought reconciliation nor revenge.
"Well," Lin Youmei said lightly, covering her lips as she laughed with elegant grace, "it is fine if you prefer modesty."
Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on Wen Ying before shifting back to Wudi Egun.
"I must apologize," Wudi Egun spoke again, hands clasped respectfully. "My parents are unable to receive you personally today."
Both Yan Menghu and Lin Youmei showed visible curiosity.
"They have traveled to Blood and Steel City to conduct some shopping," he explained with an unchanged smile. "I hope you will understand my situation."
"I see," the couple responded together, nodding.
Blood and Steel City was no ordinary marketplace. It was one of the Three Immortal Cities within Withering Bamboo Province—a place where cultivators descended once a month to sell rare items to mortals fortunate enough to afford them.
Spiritual herbs. Weapon fragments. Elixirs.
Treasures that blurred the line between mortal and Immortal realms.
"Please," Wudi Egun said gently, turning around, "follow me."
He led them through the gates and into the inner courtyard.
Behind the couple trailed a selected group of servants and guards—only a few permitted entry, each one disciplined and capable.
The grand wooden doors closed slowly behind them.
Inside the residence, autumn light bathed stone paths and flowering shrubs in gold.