In the mine, Chen Ping remained hunched over, covering his mouth with a tattered cloth. Occasionally, he erupted into fits of heart-wrenching coughs.

Under the dim light of the shaft, he pretended to be no different from the other numb miners. If anything, he looked worse—a consumptive clinging to life by a thread.

Days slipped quietly by in a haze of disguise and the secret accumulation of strength.

Half a month later, an unexpected event shattered the deathly silence of the mining area.

It was an ordinary afternoon. The mine was filled with the dull thuds of pickaxes and the heavy, rhythmic panting of men.

Suddenly, a commotion arose from deep within the tunnel, followed by terrified screams and angry shouts.

Chen Ping stopped his pickaxe and, like the other miners, looked toward the source of the noise with feigned bewilderment.

A gaunt figure charged out like a mad beast—it was Zhang Shi, a usually silent old miner.

His face was twisted with rage, his eyes bloodshot and crimson, completely devoid of reason.

The madman swung his heavy pickaxe wildly, smashing at anyone in sight. His movements were unnaturally fast, fueled by a frantic, jagged energy.

A young miner nearby couldn’t dodge in time. The pickaxe struck his shoulder with a sickening crunch. The sound of shattering bone was clearly audible as he screamed and fell, writhing in the dirt.

“Stop him! Stop this lunatic!” a foreman shouted sharply.

Several foremen, usually arrogant and imposing, grabbed their tools and rushed forward. Relying on their raw Physical Strength, they tried to subdue the old miner together.

However, Zhang Shi’s strength was astonishing. He fought like a man possessed, disregarding his own safety.

The pickaxe whirled so fast it seemed to create a barrier of steel, cutting through the air with a terrifying whoosh.

One foreman’s club had just touched Zhang Shi’s arm when it was violently knocked away by a tremendous force, splitting the skin between the man’s thumb and forefinger.

Another tried to grab him from behind but was caught in the chest by a backward elbow. He spat blood and collapsed instantly.

The third foreman fared even worse. His leg was swept by the pickaxe; the bone snapped with a loud crack as he fell, wailing in agony.

In just a few breaths, the foremen who had rushed forward were either dead or crippled, scattered across the ground. The remaining guards paled, retreating step by step. No one dared to move.

The miners huddled together in terror, trembling as the mine descended into chaos.

“Useless!”

A cold rebuke came from the mine entrance.

The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the screams with undeniable authority.

Everyone turned. A middle-aged cultivator in gray robes stood there, unnoticed until now.

His face was ordinary, his gaze indifferent. He was none other than Immortal Zhao, the one stationed in charge of this district.

Immortal Zhao looked at the bloody scene, his brow furrowed in disgust, as if the filthy smell of blood was sullying his domain.

Without any wasted motion, he raised his right hand. His thumb pressed against his middle finger while the other three fingers curled slightly. He muttered a few short, strange syllables under his breath.

A faint red light ignited at his fingertips, forming intricate Hand Seals. It swelled into an orange-red flame about the size of a fist.

The flame danced silently, appearing docile—even less vigorous than the firewood the miners used for cooking.

The frenzied Zhang Shi sensed the threat. He turned his head, his crimson eyes fixing on the small flame in the Immortal’s hand.

Instead of fear, he seemed provoked. With a roar, he threw aside his pickaxe and charged recklessly toward the cultivator.

The miners’ hearts leaped into their throats. They couldn’t understand why Zhang Shi would dare to confront an Immortal head-on.

Just as Zhang Shi’s grimy fist was about to touch the cultivator—

Whoosh!

The fist-sized flame erupted.

As if doused with boiling oil, the orange-red fire instantly expanded. In the blink of an eye, it transformed into a fiercely burning fireball the size of a human head.

Inside the sphere rolled a blinding white light, emitting terrifying heat. The air distorted; miners nearby felt their eyebrows singe from the scorching blast.

Zhang Shi’s fist smashed squarely into the center of the fireball.

The blazing flames acted like living monsters with adhesive properties. The moment they touched his flesh, they surged violently along his arm and shoulder, enveloping him in a roar of heat.

“Ahhh—!!!”

A shrill scream, unlike any human sound, erupted from the fire, drowning out every other noise in the mine.

Zhang Shi became a twisting, leaping human torch.

The flames greedily Devoured his clothes, skin, and hair with a terrifying sizzle. The stench of charred flesh instantly filled the shaft.

He fell to the ground, rolling and slapping at the fire, desperate to extinguish the blaze. He rolled into a nearby puddle of muddy water, which hissed violently and sent up plumes of steam.

But those flames clung like stubborn parasites. They adhered to his body, showing no sign of weakening. Instead, amidst the mud and struggle, they burned even more fiercely, glowing with an eerie intensity.

His screams grew weaker. His thrashing grew feebler.

The miners and foremen stood petrified, their faces pale and bodies rigid. They stared at the human-shaped flame until it finally ceased its writhing on the ground.

The fire continued to burn. The pungent stench grew stronger. Finally, the flames shrank and died out.

In their place remained only a small pile of grayish-white powder and a few charred, unrecognizable bone fragments.

A man who had just been rampaging was reduced to ashes in mere moments. Not even a decent remain was left behind.

The mine fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the embers and the heavy, suppressed breathing of the crowd.

Immortal Zhao cast a cold glance at the pile of ashes, as if flicking away a speck of dust.

He withdrew his hand, the spiritual glow from his Hand Seals having long since dissipated. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his steps light and unhurried.

He left behind a cave full of men shaken to their core.

Chen Ping stood among the crowd, his head lowered. He fought to conceal his wildly beating heart and rapid breathing.

His shirt was soaked through with cold sweat, clinging stickily to his skin. The scene was branded into his mind like a searing iron.

That flame conjured from thin air. That terrifying, instantaneous eruption. Those unextinguishable flames like living creatures.

The methods of Immortals were simply beyond the resistance of mundane Arts or Mortal strength. That was a power on another level entirely—a power that induced despair.

Fatty Wang must die. He must die.

But now, besides his hatred for Fatty Wang, a new, indescribable heat sprouted in Chen Ping’s heart.

If he could possess such power… even just a minuscule fraction… who on Servant Peak would ever dare to bully him again?

Those flames had not only turned Zhang Shi to ash; they had ignited a spark named “desire” in Chen Ping’s soul.

He had to become an Immortal.

This thought occupied his mind for the first time, clear and intense.