Zhang Shan gnashed his teeth, the phantom sensation of death still lingering in his nerves. Rebirth through the Ninefold Nirvana Pill felt as though every bone had been pulverized and reassembled, his soul torn apart by an agony that nearly drove him mad.

She actually came all the way back just to kill me?

But why wait five years to do it?

He forced himself to calm down. Fortunately, the Ruyi Short Sword stored in the System’s Space Treasury was intact. However, all his physical belongings—his clothes, his tools—had been reduced to ash in that golden explosion.

There was no going back to the small village. Suppressing the inferno of rage in his heart, Zhang Shan decided to leave the mountains first. Thoughts of revenge would have to wait.

Three months later.

Zhang Shan stood atop a mountain peak, overlooking a sprawling city laid out like a chessboard on the distant plains.

This was the largest settlement he had seen since leaving the village. The city walls stood ten zhang high, their grayish-blue bricks gleaming coldly in the sunlight. At the gates, a river of carriages and pedestrians flowed endlessly.

At this moment, Zhang Shan was dressed in simple rough-spun cloth, looking every bit the ordinary middle-aged farmer. He had bartered for the clothes at a farmhouse after exiting the wilderness. After asking around, he finally understood where he was.

Daliang.

This kingdom had stood for over five hundred years. Behind him stretched ten thousand li of the Southern Wilderness, a place almost entirely uninhabited by men. As for the “Yunmiao Sect,” no one here had ever heard of it. Along his journey, he had heard countless folktales of ghosts and deities, but he hadn’t encountered a single genuine cultivator.

The city before him was Yongcheng, the capital of Daliang.

Passing through the towering city gates, the bustling roar of the marketplace surged toward him like a physical tide. Shops lined the streets, vendors shouted their wares incessantly, and pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder. Zhang Shan took a deep breath, inhaling the dust and vitality of the mortal world—so utterly different from the silence of the mountains.

He needed a livelihood. And he needed time to process the trauma of that explosion. The sensation of death had given him a profound, new understanding of life.

Two days later.

A notice was posted at the entrance of a courier agency in the western district: “Seeking Couriers. Exceptional martial skills required. Monthly salary starting at five taels.”

Zhang Shan stood unremarkably in the line of applicants. Ahead of him was a burly man, broad-shouldered and radiating aggression. Seeing Zhang Shan’s weathered, farmer-like appearance, the man sneered over his shoulder.

“Old man, this isn’t rice gruel you’re lining up for. This line of work eats people alive—careful you don’t lose your old life trying to earn a few coins.”

Zhang Shan ignored him completely.

When it was Zhang Shan’s turn, the examiner was a man in his fifties, sitting casually with a fierce scar running down his right cheek.

“What martial arts have you practiced?” the examiner asked.

“Just some self-taught boxing and kicking,” Zhang Shan replied plainly.

The examiner frowned. “The Bawang Courier Agency doesn’t hire just anyone.”

Zhang Shan smiled. “Why don’t we spar a little?”

From a distance, he had already assessed that this scarred old man was the strongest fighter in the agency—a Postnatal Realm expert.

No sooner had he spoken than the burly man who had mocked him earlier erupted in anger. “Old man! How dare you challenge Master Ge? You have a death wish!”

Master Ge, seated before them, was one of Daliang’s most renowned experts. The burly man had idolized him since childhood. He had just sparred with Master Ge’s top disciple, lasting a full twenty breaths to pass the interview. Immersed in his triumph, how could he tolerate this dirt-legged farmer disrespecting his hero?

“I’ll teach you a lesson!” The burly man lunged.

But before he could even display his technique, his vision blurred. He found himself sailing through the air, propelled by an unseen force, before landing smoothly and safely outside the examination hall.

What just happened?

Confused and dazed, the burly man squeezed his way back into the venue, only to find Master Ge standing solemnly. The scarred master bowed deeply to the farmer, his hands clasped in utmost respect.

“I am Ge Changqing, Chief Courier of the Bawang Courier Agency. May I ask this Senior’s honorable name?”

having made a name for himself over many years, Master Ge had eyes sharp as eagles. He recognized the effortless mastery immediately. This farmer was a legendary Primordial Expert!

As soon as Master Ge spoke, the entire venue erupted in astonishment. Master Ge himself was a peak-level Postnatal expert; anyone he called “Senior” could only be a Primordial legend. In all of Daliang, there were fewer than ten recognized Primordial experts, each a figure of immense stature.

Zhang Shan, delighted by the successful display of dominance, returned the bow with a light, carefree gesture.

“Zhang Xian.”

He had come seeking the path of cultivation, concealing his true self to walk among mortals. From an ordinary man, he would seek the celestial. Henceforth, he would be known as Zhang Xian—the Immortal Zhang.

And so, Zhang Xian became the Deputy Chief Courier of the Bawang Courier Agency, earning five hundred taels a month.

Spring turned to autumn. Thirty years passed in the blink of an eye.

Zhang Xian became a titan in the capital of Daliang.

In the first ten years, he escorted merchant caravans, protected secret deliveries, and transported tribute for the Royal Family—never failing a single mission.

His most legendary feat was his solo battle against the “Seven Wolves of the Northern Desert.” Seven long-renowned experts lasted fewer than ten moves against him combined. The Wolf King, a Primordial expert in his own right, was dispatched by Zhang Xian as easily as one would swat a common fish.

That battle cemented his status in the martial world. It also captured the heart of the Sword Saint’s only daughter. She had been a star since the age of ten, the goddess of Daliang’s martial community, and the dream lover of countless young heroes.

Yet, Zhang Xian plucked the flower.

When their wedding was held, countless knights of Daliang wept and drank themselves into oblivion.

She was eighteen. Zhang Xian was fifty.

In the second decade, Zhang Xian rarely showed his martial hand. The people of Daliang discovered that he was not only a warrior but a literary genius, composing poetry and prose with effortless grace.

His poem, “A single encounter under the golden breeze and jade dew surpasses countless moments in the mortal world,” captivated the hearts of the capital’s most famous courtesans—a pair of twin sisters. They were coveted by scholars and literati across the land, only to be claimed by the old rogue Zhang Xian.

When their wedding was held, countless talented scholars of Daliang wept and drank themselves into oblivion.

They were eighteen. Zhang Xian was sixty.

In the third decade, Daliang was engulfed in civil strife.

The Third Prince colluded with the Imperial Guard to rebel, besieging the Imperial City. Zhang Xian, accompanied by his disciples, assisted in the defense. He stood alone atop the city walls, holding off the rebel tide. Arrows could not approach him; blades could not wound him. He fully demonstrated the terrifying power of a Perfected Primordial cultivator.

After the rebellion was quelled, the Emperor insisted on a political marriage to bind this powerhouse to the throne. Zhang Xian “reluctantly” accepted, marrying the Emperor’s youngest daughter and receiving the title of Duke Protecting the Nation.

Marrying a princess and being ennobled as a Duke was unprecedented in Daliang’s history. The Little Princess was breathtakingly beautiful, gentle, and adorable—yet another prize claimed by Zhang Xian.

When the news spread, countless nobles and aristocrats who had secretly loved the Little Princess spat blood on the spot.

Zhang Xian, you old bastard! A Grandmaster of martial arts, an old man of seventy, shamelessly pursuing a young beauty—do you have no shame at all?!

When their wedding was held, the entire nation of Daliang drank themselves into oblivion. This time, no one dared to weep openly. The old rogue’s power was simply too overwhelming, and the Imperial Guard was arresting dissenters everywhere.

She was eighteen. Zhang Xian was seventy.