Chapter One: The Young Daoist

This mountain is called Azure Mist Mountain. The path leading up is a winding trail of stone steps, their surfaces mottled with damp, green moss.

A man in his thirties trudged upward, beads of sweat trickling like droplets onto the stones beneath his feet, exhaustion written across his face. He paused, wiped his brow with a sleeve, and gazed ahead. The forest loomed thick and lush, branches entwined, leaves flourishing; through a gap, he glimpsed the corner of an ancient roof—dark green tiles swaying with the foliage, half-hidden, exuding a sense of antiquity.

After another quarter hour’s walk, the view suddenly opened. The ancient buildings nestled deep in the mountains finally revealed themselves, the veil of mystery lifted; no longer shyly concealed, but fully displayed.

Behind him lay the secluded bamboo path, in the distance the somber slopes of pine; before him stood a somewhat dilapidated Taoist temple. Though simple and worn, it possessed a transcendent serenity, a hint of immortal spirit, untouched by the world. Arriving here, the man felt his mind clear, the fatigue of his journey easing away.

He paused to catch his breath, the cool air filling his lungs with a faint sweetness, reviving his weary legs. With renewed strength, he strode to the entrance. The red lacquer on the pillars had peeled away in places, yet the temple’s signboard remained untouched by time, its material unknown.

The three characters for "Azure Mist Temple" were written in seal script—plain, neat, each stroke balanced with strength and grace, evoking the timelessness and tranquility of the Taoist way.

On either side hung a couplet: "The heart is free as drifting white clouds; the mind flows like water, east and west."

The ink was fresh, clearly added recently, the brushwork casual yet artful, with the graceful flow of clouds and water. The man was unlearned, but found the couplet pleasing, though its deeper meaning eluded him; he could not grasp its subtlety or the carefree spirit within.

He grabbed the iron ring on the door, banging it hard against the old wood—a loud noise that startled him. Hesitating, he knocked more gently the second time, with less urgency and greater courtesy.

Not long after—less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea—the door opened slowly.

Standing within was a young Taoist priest, barely thirteen or fourteen, carrying a faint scent of herbal medicine.

The young priest's features were refined, almost delicate, though his frame was thin, the loose robes unable to hide his gauntness. His complexion was slightly sallow, suggesting frail health.

His true name was Li Feng. Strictly speaking, his soul did not belong to this world, but hailed from Earth, where he had been a small-town doctor, running a modest clinic, earning enough for a house and a car—not a winner in life, but comfortable enough.

Yet such middling days bred weariness. One day, while driving home, he met with an accident at an intersection. Awakening, he found himself in a new body.

But the reality of crossing worlds was far from the fantasies. Three months ago, he became the new master of this body, once called Shen Lian. Fate, it seemed, was not without irony; having taken over another’s body, Li Feng simply accepted the identity of Shen Lian, a small gesture of apology to the former owner.

This body was not without history. His mother came from the wealthy Shen family in Qingzhou, a hundred miles away. At seventeen, she became pregnant out of wedlock, never revealing the identity of his father, no matter how much pressure was applied, and insisted on giving birth to him.

Her scandal angered Old Master Shen to the point of near madness, but as she was his only daughter, he could not bring himself to be truly ruthless. Their relationship was severed, but she remained.

Two years ago, his mother died young. Without her, he felt no sense of belonging in the Shen household; many called him a bastard behind his back, and he could not imagine how to endure the days ahead.

He offered to become a monk for the Shen family, to pray for their fortune.

Such surrogacy was common in wealthy families—usually assigned to a servant’s child. Despite his uncertain origins, he carried half the Shen bloodline, so he need not have volunteered, but Old Master Shen granted his request.

With so much family wealth, and half the bloodline belonging to the Shen family, local custom dictated that daughters could inherit a portion, which then became part of their dowry and was managed by them.

The dowry was customarily entrusted to a girl when she came of age, and by the time she married, deeds and shops bore her name. When his mother was pregnant out of wedlock, she was not expelled, both for Old Master Shen’s love and because her leaving would have taken her share of the estate—substantial, even for a wealthy family.

After her death, the inheritance naturally passed to her son. Though Old Master Shen and his two uncles treated him fairly, there was no guarantee the wives wouldn’t scheme; if he died, the estate reverted to the Shen family.

Each uncle had children of their own; though they were kind, he remained an outsider, and any extra inheritance for their own offspring would be welcome.

The previous Shen Lian, however, did not think of such matters; still young, he simply did not want to live under another’s roof, his pride wounded. There was another reason: his mysterious father had left behind a manual of cultivation, discovered by chance among his late mother’s belongings, though she had never given it to him.

The predecessor wished to cultivate this secret art, so preferred a private place.

The Shen family was wealthy; Azure Mist Temple, and the entire Azure Mist Mountain, belonged to them. Sending him here put their minds at ease.

If he took to the monastic life and never returned, so much the better.

The villagers below maintained the temple, and after his arrival, brought food and clothing as needed. On festival days, the Shen family sent offerings, never forgetting him.

Living alone on Azure Mist Mountain, villagers often helped clean, and he could even hire someone to cook—such expenses were trivial for the Shen family. Thus, he had ample time to study the manual he had found.

This manual was titled "The True Explanation of the Supreme Purity Spiritual Treasure: Natural Locking of Heart and Mind." Spanning thousands of words, it taught how to sense the spirit, strengthen the soul, sharpen the mind, and quicken the reflexes. When the soul grew strong enough, one could break through the "Hundred Convergences" point atop the head, achieving an out-of-body experience and other marvels beyond imagination.