Zhang Xian stood atop the mountain peak, gazing at the setting sun in the distance. The wisps of white hair at his temples remained unchanged from years ago, and his face bore no trace of aging.

Youthful beauty and silver hair—mere moments in time.

The once-mighty Bawang Escort Agency had long since changed hands. The Sword Saint’s daughter, the two enchanting twin courtesans, even the Little Princess of the Great Liang Kingdom—all had turned to dust. Yet he alone endured, still alive.

His cultivation in the Innate Realm, coupled with the effects of the Ninefold Nirvana Pill, had arrested his aging. But it had also left him utterly isolated, tasting the true bitterness of loneliness in this world.

Fifty years ago, he had already reached the peak of the Innate Realm. Ten years after that, he had begun to sense the threshold of the next stage. It felt as if a path to true cultivation lay before him, yet it was shrouded in mist, leaving him unable to advance a single step for decades.

Zhang Xian knew this was exactly what Nangong Yao had described: he lacked a Spiritual Root, making cultivation impossible. Even though he had perfected all five elements within himself, he could not generate even a trace of spiritual energy.

Yet these decades had been rich enough in their own right. He had attained the pinnacle of worldly wealth, power, and cherished companions. If he had wished, even the Imperial Throne would have been within his grasp. But after burying his last wife with his own hands, he had nothing left to hold him here. And now, his lifespan was drawing to its end.

With the Innate Realm perfected and the Ninefold Nirvana Pill prolonging his life, he could theoretically live to one hundred fifty.

But now, he was already one hundred twenty.

If this were not a world of cultivation, these years would surely have made for an utterly invincible and exhilarating tale.

Alas…

He had traveled throughout the Great Liang Kingdom, yet never once encountered a cultivator. The System offered no further guidance, and the Yunmiao Sect seemed but a distant dream. Were Nangong Yao and the little black-haired girl still alive? Did Lele still remember him?

Over the years, he had collected countless cultivation manuals. Most were martial arts from the mortal realm—far inferior to the “Innate Five Elements” manual casually gifted to him by Nangong Yao. Occasionally, there were fragments of genuine cultivation texts, but they were either incomplete or belonged to unorthodox sects.

The only text that truly intrigued Zhang Xian was a manual called “Condensing the Golden Core Technique.” It was purportedly written by an ancient cultivator who sought to use rare celestial and earthly treasures to condense a false core within the body. This false core would then absorb and refine the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, enabling cultivation. With success, one could reach the Qi Refining or Foundation Establishment stages, and later use that strength to nourish the false core, transforming it into a true Golden Core.

Upon reading it, Zhang Xian was immediately captivated by the author’s vision. Yet regrettably, this “Condensing the Golden Core Technique” remained merely a concept, with many of its processes still crude and theoretical. Despite years of study, Zhang Xian had made no significant breakthroughs.

One day, he wandered to a secluded Taoist temple nestled deep in the mountains.

【Ding! Daughter of Destiny detected: Li Miaoyin. Favorability: -5. Binding successful.】

The System’s notification rang clearly in his mind, sending a jolt through his heart.

Could it finally be her?

He took a deep breath and began ascending the mountain. The temple gate was weathered, the wood scarred by time, yet the air was still faintly scented with incense. Zhang Xian circled the grounds but found no sign of the target the System had indicated. What did catch his attention, however, were several young Taoist acolytes in the courtyard. Each possessed refined and graceful martial technique, already at the pinnacle of the Post-Innate level. And yet, they were barely in their teens.

This temple was no ordinary place.

Zhang Xian stepped forward and asked gently, “Young Fellow Daoist, may I ask if the Abbot is present?”

The young acolyte didn’t even lift his head. “Master is gathering herbs in the back mountains and won’t return until evening.”

Zhang Xian found a spot to sit and wait. Earlier, he had carefully observed the crowd and confirmed that the Daughter of Destiny was not among the passing villagers. From the extraordinary aura emanating from these young acolytes, Zhang Xian sensed that she must be connected to the temple’s Abbot.

Yet logically speaking, a Taoist temple would never accept female disciples. Could it be…?

As Zhang Xian pondered this possibility, two figures ascended the stone steps. The one behind was a middle-aged Taoist carrying a basket of medicinal herbs, his expression stern. The one ahead was an emaciated old Taoist, his eyebrows frosted with gray, his face etched with countless wrinkles, yet his eyes blazed with vitality. The old Taoist seemed to sense something, his gaze locking onto Zhang Xian from afar.

Zhang Xian’s heart skipped a beat. Both men were masters. The middle-aged man behind was already at the mid-level of the Innate Realm, but even more alarming was the old Taoist ahead. Though his spiritual energy was dwindling to its very limit, there was no doubt—he was a true cultivator!

The old Taoist had clearly detected Zhang Xian’s extraordinary nature as well. “I am Xuanwei, a humble Taoist. Greetings, Fellow Cultivator.” His voice was far from aged—it was clear, resonant, and powerful.

Zhang Xian returned the greeting with a respectful bow. “I am Zhang Xian, wandering the lands. My presence here is an intrusion.”

The old Taoist showed no reaction, but the middle-aged Taoist behind him suddenly changed his expression, scrutinizing Zhang Xian intently. “You are the Duke of Zhen Guo!”

Zhang Xian replied politely, “Indeed.”

Hearing this, the middle-aged Taoist’s expression grew peculiar, yet he said nothing further.

The old Taoist let out a wry smile. “A guest from afar deserves respect. Please, follow me inside for a chat.”

The inner chamber of the temple was strikingly simple—a wooden table, two rattan chairs, and several baskets of medicinal herbs tucked into a corner, still fragrant with the fresh scent of newly gathered plants.

The middle-aged Taoist produced a set of coarse pottery tea utensils, boiled water, brewed tea, and remained utterly silent, his gaze occasionally darting furtively toward Zhang Xian.

Having spent years in high positions, Zhang Xian understood that some people simply enjoyed cultivating an air of profound mystery. So he, too, said nothing, quietly sipping his tea.

When he finished his cup, the middle-aged Taoist promptly refilled it.

The atmosphere grew increasingly awkward.

Finally, the middle-aged Taoist broke the silence, as if he had been holding back for far too long. “How is my Senior Sister doing now?”

What?

Zhang Xian stared blankly at the middle-aged Taoist, who continued, looking both aggrieved and exasperated. “My Senior Sister, Yu Rao. I am her Junior Brother, Yu Yun. We fought ten years ago—back then, you knocked me unconscious with a single punch.”

Yu Rao was indeed a story from long ago.

Back then, there existed a group calling itself the Holy Sect, whose actions were rather eccentric. Martial artists referred to them as the Demon Sect, but in Zhang Xian’s view, they were merely an unconventional faction.

Originally, this had nothing to do with Zhang Xian. However, the Demon Sect persistently clashed with the sect of his father-in-law, the Sword Saint. Unable to tolerate this, Zhang Xian dealt with them decisively.

Yet he noticed that among the Demon Sect’s ranks was a Holy Maiden named Yu Rao. Her beauty and figure were exceptional, and her martial techniques were as graceful and captivating as a dance—a true feast for the eyes. Thus, he refrained from killing her outright, instead giving her a gentle lesson with a single punch.

Afterward, the Demon Sect regarded this as a profound humiliation. And Yu Rao, as the Demon Sect’s most prominent figure, launched numerous assassination attempts against Zhang Xian. But nothing came of it.

Zhang Xian captured Yu Rao seven times, each time letting her go unharmed. Finally, on the eighth occasion, she surrendered herself entirely, willingly marrying the eighty-year-old Zhang Xian. This scandalous union shocked the entire Great Liang Kingdom, and Zhang Xian endured years of moral condemnation from several prestigious Orthodox sects.

The Holy Sect lost its Holy Maiden, its morale plummeted, and it dissolved, each member going their separate ways.

Zhang Xian never imagined encountering an old acquaintance here. Recalling Yu Rao’s graceful form, he sighed softly. “Yu Rao passed away five years ago.”

Hearing this, Yu Yun burst into tears. His lifelong infatuation with his Senior Sister, his eternal moonlight, was now shattered.

As he was still immersed in his grief, a sudden SLAP! sounded. Xuanwei struck him across the face with his dust whisk, sending him flying backward.

“Once you enter my sect, you must purify your six senses! What kind of behavior is this, weeping and wailing like a child?”

To everyone’s surprise, Yu Yun only cried harder, like a child weighing two hundred jin. “Awooo!” he sobbed, gathering the scattered herbs outside and slowly retreating farther away.

Zhang Xian, too, felt deeply moved and fell silent.

For a long while, neither spoke, and the atmosphere became even more awkward.

Xuanwei, however, lacked Zhang Xian’s thick skin. Finally, he sighed and said, “Duke of Zhen Guo, I am not skilled in words, nor do I speak in riddles. I know you have already perfected the Innate Realm and glimpsed the path to cultivation. Yet you can also see how frail I have become, unable to offer you any help.”