Chapter 1: What Is Most Important in the Pursuit of Immortality?

Wastelands, south of the Chu Kingdom.

Yunmeng Marketplace.

Shen Lian dragged his exhausted body, forcing himself to stay alert as he rushed into the bazaar.

Hoo—

Seeing the buildings flanking the street, he let out a long breath. A thick, black vapor surged from his mouth like an ancient demon’s exhale, leaving his face even paler.

Around him, a dozen or so scattered figures also looked up.

They opened their mouths.

They spat out black rings.

“No matter. We've survived another day—that’s already impressive.”

Breathing heavily, Shen Lian almost wished he could cough up his very lungs. If one didn’t expel the miasma from the wild mountains, it was only a matter of time before it claimed their life.

Suddenly, one among them coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The other cultivators, still exhaling black vapor, immediately lunged at the bleeding person.

Shen Lian turned and ran deeper into the marketplace, wanting no part of that chaos.

Moments later, after a brief struggle, the corpse was stripped bare, tossed aside like an old shrimp.

...

“That’s the thirtieth... cough, cough... thirty-third unlucky soul this month.”

“This can’t go on. I have to move—leave Yunmeng Marketplace!”

“Soaked in miasma day after day—if you aren’t killed by someone, you’ll be poisoned to death eventually.”

Coughs racked his chest, pain stabbing through his lungs, draining the last color from his face.

Soaking in this poisonous air all the time, even a third-level Qi refinement cultivator like him couldn’t endure it for long.

Shen Lian hadn’t expected that, after transmigrating to a world of immortal cultivation, he’d spend every moment fearing for his life.

Cultivation was supposed to be the pursuit of longevity—yet here he was, at death’s door right from the start. What use was immortality if you didn’t survive the beginning? At least in his previous life, slogging through nine-to-nine workdays, he could have lived several decades.

Back home, he’d have a small mortgage, drive his own—or someone else’s—used car...

Here, every day meant inhaling miasma and watching for the black knives in the dark. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Even a fairy maiden would end up weeping here.

Shen Lian made his way toward the market center, planning to report his recent tasks and exchange them for some spirit stones—just enough to cover next month’s rent.

Yunmeng Marketplace was founded by the Biyu Sect, a Golden Core sect, to develop the great Yunmeng Marsh.

Before crossing over, the original owner of this body had accepted a land-clearing mission issued by Biyu Sect.

But luck was not on his side—after only two months in Yunmeng Marketplace, he was already marked for death.

And so, Shen Lian arrived.

He inherited a little legacy, but also an ever-present sense of dread.

At last, he reached the center of the marketplace.

Here stood a tall stone archway.

Beyond it stretched a street lined with shops.

Faint spiritual light shimmered about, the defensive formation always active.

Stepping through the archway, Shen Lian took two deep breaths of spiritual energy.

The ache in his chest eased slightly.

This street, established under Biyu Sect's authority, was undoubtedly the safest place in the entire marketplace.

Shen Lian dreamed of living here someday.

He’d even settle for being a menial cultivator—anything.

But he was a Five-Spirit Root.

His fire and wood roots were only slightly better than the rest.

The good news: in ancient times, Five-Spirit Root was a standard for becoming immortal.

The bad news: in this era, reaching the late stages of Qi refinement in one’s lifetime was a miracle worthy of ancestral celebration.

He could only blame the timing of his transmigration.

He walked the street without glancing at the shops, carefully avoiding other cultivators’ eyes.

There was no point in looking anyway.

The reason was simple—he was dirt poor.

And with his measly third-level Qi refinement skills, it was best to keep a low profile.

At the end of the street stood the Administrative Hall established by Biyu Sect.

Every cultivator who took land-clearing tasks reported here.

Most such tasks involved scouting the surrounding environment—locating spiritual veins, finding places suitable for clan settlements, or for opening up spiritual fields.

Simple enough.

But the cost was often dear.

The untamed wilds were rife with miasma, poison, monsters, swamps, and the threat of betrayal by one’s own kind—a host of dangers and more.

Not a day passed without someone dying.

This time, Shen Lian’s task was to map the terrain of Region Wu-136.

It was an area with less miasma, already partially developed.

Even so, his name flickered on the rolls of the dead, day after day.

He never knew when the King of Hell might call him.

Half a year ago, after crossing over, Shen Lian sensed danger and thought of leaving.

After all, as a transmigrator, he should have some kind of golden finger.

But—the Biyu Sect was truly ruthless.

Before you arrived, they acted sweet as honey.

After you arrived, you weren’t even as well-treated as the livestock.

Want to leave? Pay spirit stones.

The original owner had already taken land-clearing tasks—obviously, he was completely broke.

Try refusing tasks? Ha!

Biyu Sect would kill you themselves.

Take the jobs, and you’d likely die from poison or violence.

Of course, if you had spirit stones, that was a different matter.

But the original was a pauper—over thirty and still a Five-Spirit Root.

Obediently entering the Administrative Hall, Shen Lian submitted his assignment to a Biyu Sect steward.

“The map of Region Wu-136.”

As a third-level Qi refinement cultivator, he couldn’t take on anything too difficult.

Mapping the terrain and scouting the environment were about his limit.

Someone might ask: since outsiders can’t check, why not just fake the map?

Well, some did try to be clever.

But Biyu Sect had been in the game for generations—they were masters of the system.

Many people would be sent to survey the same region. If your map was wildly different from the others, you’d get the King of Hell’s special summons.

At first, plenty tried to cheat.

But after seeing the consequences, everyone became scrupulously honest.

The steward examined Shen Lian’s map and notes, then nodded.

“Do you want contribution points or spirit stones?”

“Spirit stones.”

Five spirit stones.

Shen Lian snatched them up and left.

Next month’s rent was covered—now all he wanted was to rest in his shack.

...

“It’s too much. I feel hollowed out inside.”

“Damn demon cultivators—this is inside the marketplace! Aren’t they afraid of the Biyu Sect law enforcement?”

He hadn’t even reached his place when he saw a crowd gathered in a corner, pointing and talking.

A mangled corpse lay there.

He hurried past, not even daring a second glance.

Back in his rented hut, Shen Lian let out a breath of relief.

Cough, cough...

This little shack, on the market’s outskirts, offered little sense of security.

He lay on the wooden bed, trying to regulate his breathing.

This time, luck had been with him—no monsters or demon cultivators, only a bit of miasma inhaled.

Five spirit stones—enough to live another month.

“I have to move!”

Staring at the ceiling, Shen Lian’s resolve to relocate swelled once more.

Such perilous days were not for him.

The housing on the outskirts was far too risky.

Night fell.

[Calm and Collected, Insight Point +1]

[Bonus: 0]

A virtual panel appeared before Shen Lian’s eyes.

He wasn’t startled—he was used to it by now.

This was why he pursued a stable environment.

Only in security could he remain calm and collected.

Thus, he called this his Stability System.

But Yunmeng Marketplace was anything but stable.

These cursed land-clearing missions still demanded his personal involvement.

He’d spent half a year on edge—he had to move!