Chapter 11: The Immortal Tome

The sensation of floating was unmistakably real. Lingyu blinked in astonishment, discovering herself drifting in midair like a feather, stunned by the sight. Fortunately, last night she had survived a chaotic battle among cultivators; she was already used to such bizarre occurrences and quickly regained her composure.

“How can this be?” Lingyu looked at her hands, moving them freely. This was clearly no illusion, nor was she restrained, yet her body was truly suspended above the ground.

A warm liquid trickled across her forehead, dripping down her temple and onto the floor. Blood—it was from her head striking the shelf earlier, leaving her scalp torn and bleeding.

Suddenly, she noticed a glow appearing above her head. The light wasn’t especially bright, but it was gentle and soothing—a white radiance that nonetheless felt warm.

What was it? As these words formed in her mind, the white light swept toward her, enveloping her entirely. At that moment, she could not describe the sensation—it was like standing beside a hearth in winter, basking in its warmth, or soaking in a pool on a summer day, feeling refreshed and nourished.

When the white light faded, Lingyu found herself safely standing on the ground, her whole body comfortable and pain-free. All traces of the bruises and aches from her earlier fall had vanished. She reached up and touched her head; though the blood remained, she could find no injury.

“Is this an immortal technique?” Lingyu thought of the tales of celestial beings, astonished and delighted. The ancestor of the Cheng family was indeed extraordinary—he had sealed an immortal art here, and after a thousand years, it had saved her life.

No sooner had she thought this than a faint humming sounded above. She looked up to see another sphere of white light suspended in midair, something wrapped inside it.

As she strained her neck to look, the white light suddenly vanished, and the object inside fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Lingyu glanced around in surprise, seeing nothing amiss. She bent down to pick up the item.

It was... a book.

This book appeared quite ordinary: an ancient cover, yellowed pages, as if it had been preserved for ages. Yet, curiously, from cover to page, not a single character could be seen.

“Is it really blank?” Lingyu held it up and flipped through it from beginning to end.

Page after page slid past—each one empty. Near the end, a loose leaf fell out.

“Oh, this one has writing!” Lingyu picked it up, finding it densely covered in tiny, neat script.

Truthfully, it wasn’t a book page at all—the paper and size didn’t match the book. It was merely a sheet tucked inside. Examining it closely, she read:

My name is Cheng Le, disciple of the Taibai Sect in the Upper Realm. I entered the sect at eight, began cultivation at thirteen, and after nearly a hundred years remained mediocre, so I left the sect to seek my fortune among mortals...

The entire sheet contained roughly a thousand words, written in plain, accessible language. Lingyu recognized every character and understood the gist.

In summary, the paper was a brief autobiography of the treasure’s owner, Duke Cheng Yue of Chu. Duke Cheng Yue, whose given name was Cheng Le, hailed from the Upper Realm—though Lingyu wasn’t quite sure what the Upper Realm meant. Having achieved little in immortal cultivation, he left the sect for the mortal world, and upon departing, became embroiled in a struggle for treasure, inadvertently acquiring an immortal book. To evade pursuit, Cheng Yue hid in a semi-sealed minor world—the very one Lingyu and the others now inhabited.

Originally, he intended only to lay low for a while, but ended up staying for more than a decade. Years later, in Baishui Mountain, he met the ancestor of the Fan family, founder of Great Qin, and was moved to help him establish a new dynasty.

—This was the official story, but the truth lay further on. Cheng Yue admitted his cultivation was insignificant in the Upper Realm, and if he returned, he’d be swiftly destroyed. Yet if he stayed, he lacked the resources to continue his practice. Thus, he resolved to use the worldly dynasty’s power to gather resources for himself.

It worked out well: he aided the founding emperor, was granted the title Duke of Chu, received the support of the entire dynasty, and amassed vast wealth. Yet his influence grew too great, provoking the displeasure of the second emperor, who eventually disposed of him.

That last detail was Lingyu’s speculation; Cheng Yue couldn’t record the actual cause, but he did mention sensing the emperor’s hostility and prepared accordingly, storing all his accumulated wealth in a hidden location at Baishui Temple, to be left to posterity if he met an untimely end.

The method to break the seal matched what Xuanchenzi had said: on a night of the full moon, with the blood of both Fan and Cheng descendants. The blood required was essence blood, so two descendants who had begun cultivation were needed. Cheng Yue took pride in the fact that the Fan family would never guess he’d add their essence blood as a requirement.

Lingyu, however, thought this ancestor rather foolish. If the Fan family couldn’t guess, he still needed to pass down the method—so how could it remain a true secret? And if the Fan line died out, wouldn’t these treasures remain forever hidden?

—But that was beside the point; the important part was yet to come. Cheng Yue explained that these riches would astonish any local cultivator, but meant little in the Upper Realm. The true purpose of the treasury was to store this immortal book.

He had studied the book for fifty years, never understanding it. As his lifespan neared its end, he lost all hope, and since none of his descendants could shoulder the responsibility, he sealed the book in the treasure vault.

This book was a secret Cheng family legacy, hidden and suspended in midair. The seal could be easily broken—any Cheng descendant could use their blood to reveal it. Although the method was simple, with treasures nearby, most would be blinded by riches and overlook it, thus keeping it safe.

After reading the sheet, Lingyu touched her head. If not for a twist of fate—her injury and the book falling down—the immortal book might never have seen daylight.

Now, with the seal broken and the book revealed, it seemed fate had bound her to it.

Lingyu flipped through the book again—still not a single word appeared. Didn’t all the stories say that when a treasure meets its destined owner, it reveals itself automatically? Why had she obtained the book and yet nothing appeared? Perhaps it needed fire or water? She considered experimenting, but decided to study it slowly after leaving.

She tucked the “immortal book” into her bosom and went to retrieve the luminous pearl she’d knocked down earlier.

Three corpses had burned for two hours, reduced nearly to ashes, leaving only charred bones—a grim sight.

Lingyu shuddered, shouldered her large bundle, and prepared to leave once more.

With the luminous pearl to light her way, navigating the maze became much easier. Marking her path, she spent about an hour before finally seeing daylight again.

The sun was bright; squinting, Lingyu took time to adjust to the outside light. The sun was nearly at its zenith—it must be the end of the si hour or the start of the wu hour. She’d spent six hours among the ruins, and her stomach was empty from hunger and dizziness.

Neither Feiyun nor the old Gongsun had returned after leaving, but Lingyu wasn’t sure if they’d stay away for long, so leaving was the priority. Yet, exhausted and famished, she could barely walk.

After some thought, she took the small path down the mountain, passing through a village where she slipped into a house, took some food and dry rations, as well as children’s clothing, and left enough copper coins to pay for everything.

She was now ragged and burdened with a huge bundle—suspicious-looking and best avoided in public, so she moved about stealthily.

Quickly leaving the village, she found temporary shelter outside. Thanks to her usual restlessness, she knew the local terrain well. There was a small treehouse in the dense woods beyond the village, used by hunters to rest while tracking game. It was usually empty—a perfect place for a nap.

Arriving at the woods, she found the treehouse and climbed up with ease, set down her bundle, ate, and slept.

She was truly exhausted; without proper rest, she had no hope of traveling further.

She slept until midnight.

The moon was high when Lingyu awakened, feeling refreshed. She ate a little and didn’t rush to depart.

Feiyun and Gongsun Yan had left wounded, so even if they called for reinforcements, it wouldn’t be immediate. They themselves were injured—how could they summon help? Lingyu had witnessed the fragile trust among cultivators yesterday.

With that in mind, even if they tried to return soon, it would take time. She had no idea how cultivators healed, but judging from yesterday, it wouldn’t be a matter of days. Now, she needed to leave quietly, without leaving traces, so that even if they discovered the theft later, they couldn’t find her.

A child carrying such a large bundle would attract attention—how could she become inconspicuous?

Lingyu pondered and decided that getting a carriage was best.

Renting a carriage wasn’t cheap, but fortunately, the unlucky De and Ming carried plenty of gold and silver—enough to let her indulge for half a year.

But how to rent a carriage? In her current state, she’d be noticed at once.

Right—the bundle couldn’t be brought, it needed to be hidden. She also needed a change of clothes, ideally disguising herself as a servant from a respectable household, so as not to arouse suspicion when renting a carriage. She would also need to arrange for a male driver; she couldn’t risk being robbed.

As for her destination... Lingyu thought for a moment—she should follow her master’s advice and go to Xuan Yuan Temple. She wasn’t sure what kind of place it was, though from her master’s words, it sounded like a large Daoist temple—so her master wasn’t a wandering priest, but an official Daoist with credentials.

She reached into her inner garment and took out the battered book Xuanchenzi had given her. It was even more dilapidated than the so-called immortal book, lacking even a cover. Opening it, she found words inside, but couldn’t read the script. The credential contained the same writing on one side, and common script on the other. It read: Sixteenth generation disciple of Xuan Yuan Temple, Master Zheng, Daoist name Tongxuan, along with some glittering, profound-looking talismans.

“So Master’s name is Zheng Tongxuan,” Lingyu muttered. “Tongxuan is the Daoist name, so with the surname... I should be called Cheng Lingyu?”

She recited it a couple of times and nodded: “Cheng Lingyu—much better than Fan Xianshi, which sounds like a lunatic...”