Wang Jian stood amidst the chaos he had wrought, the fallen spear cool and solid in his hand. Master Feng trembled before him, the remaining guards shuffling nervously, their earlier arrogance vanished like smoke in the wind.

The villagers watched in stunned silence, unable to reconcile the quiet, diligent boy they knew with the terrifyingly efficient fighter who had just dismantled trained guards.

‘Humans…’ Wang Jian thought, a flicker of weary amusement in his newly awakened soul. ‘Whether in the vast Chaos cosmos or this primitive lower realm of a supposedly higher universe, their nature remains depressingly constant. Greed, arrogance, bullying the weak… predictable.’

He looked at the shivering Master Feng, whose portly frame suddenly seemed much smaller.

‘Handing over the standard tax is insufficient,’ Wang Jian decided. This man hadn’t just tried extortion; he had ordered an attack, threatened his mother. Such actions required a steeper price. Simple repayment wouldn’t leave a lasting enough impression.

“Master Feng,” Wang Jian said, his voice cutting through the silence. “Let us reconsider the terms.”

Feng flinched. “Terms? Yes, yes! The standard rate! As you said! We will collect only the standard rate!” He sounded desperate to appease.

“No,” Wang Jian corrected him smoothly. “That was before you ordered your men to attack an unarmed villager.” He gestured slightly with the spear towards himself. “An act of unwarranted aggression under the guise of official duty.”

Feng’s face went paler, if possible. “A misunderstanding! The boys were overzealous! I…”

“Silence,” Wang Jian commanded, and the steward’s words died in his throat. “Your guards attacked me on your order. For that transgression, the standard tax is no longer relevant.”

He paused, letting the dread build.

“As recompense for your actions,” Wang Jian stated, his voice devoid of emotion, “you will pay the entire grain tax for Green Bamboo Village. For this season. Out of your own personal funds.”

A collective gasp went through the villagers. Elder Liu stared, wide-eyed. Wang De and Liu Shufen looked utterly bewildered.

Master Feng choked. “My… my own funds? The entire village? That’s… that’s ruinous! Impossible!”

“Is it?” Wang Jian tilted his head, a cold light in his eyes. He took a slow step forward. The remaining guards instinctively backed away further.

“Compared to, say, losing your position?” Wang Jian mused aloud. “Or perhaps… losing a limb?”

He raised the spear slowly.

“Or maybe just experiencing a small taste of the pain your men intended for me?”

He moved with deceptive speed. The spear tip flicked out, not aiming for a vital point, but tracing a shallow, burning line across the fleshy part of Master Feng’s forearm.

“Aiee!” Feng shrieked, stumbling back, clutching his arm where a thin line of blood welled up. It wasn’t a deep wound, but the shock, the suddenness, the intent behind it, terrified him to his core. This boy… he inflicted pain with casual indifference.

Wang Jian lowered the spear, examining the tip as if checking its sharpness. He wore a faint smile, a feral, almost happy grin that sent shivers down Feng’s spine.

“I find myself,” Wang Jian said conversationally, “possessing a surprising knack for… persuasion. Should you feel reluctant to fulfill your obligation, Master Feng, I assure you, I can be very… convincing.”

His gaze swept over the trembling steward, then to the terrified guards.

“As for today’s events,” Wang Jian continued, his tone hardening, “they did not happen.”

He locked eyes with Feng, then each of the conscious guards.

“You arrived. You announced the standard tax rate. The villagers agreed to pay. You collected a portion and will return for the rest. There were no incidents. No misunderstandings. No injuries.”

He let the silence hang heavy.

“Should any other version of events reach the Magistrate’s ears,” Wang Jian’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper, “or should any misfortune befall this village or my family in the coming days…”

He smiled that feral grin again.

“…I will know. And I will pay you a personal visit. Wherever you may be.”

The implication was clear. He wasn’t just threatening official complaints; he was threatening personal, lethal retribution. And looking into his eyes, Feng and his men believed him utterly. This wasn’t a bluff.

Master Feng, clutching his bleeding arm, nodded frantically, sweat pouring down his face. “Yes! Yes! Understood! Perfectly clear! Standard tax! No incidents! None at all!”

The guards echoed his agreement, nodding vigorously, avoiding Wang Jian’s gaze.

“Good,” Wang Jian said briskly. “Now, make arrangements to cover the village’s tax debt. I expect confirmation from the village elder within three days that the matter is settled with the county records.”

He gestured dismissively towards the road out of the village. “Leave. And take your injured comrades.”

Scrambling with undignified haste, the remaining guards helped their groaning, injured colleagues to their feet. Master Feng, casting one last terrified glance at Wang Jian, practically ran, his retinue stumbling after him.

They vanished down the dusty path, leaving behind a village square filled with stunned silence, broken only by the whimpers of the injured guards fading into the distance.

Wang Jian tossed the spear aside. It clattered on the packed earth. He turned towards his parents.

Wang De and Liu Shufen rushed forward, their faces a mixture of relief, fear, and utter confusion.

“Jian! Oh, heavens, Jian!” Liu Shufen threw her arms around him, checking him for injuries. “Are you hurt? What was that? How did you…?”

Wang De placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, his brow furrowed deep with worry and questions. “Son… that fighting… Master Feng… Since when could you do such things?”

Wang Jian gently detached himself from his mother’s embrace. He looked at their worried faces. These were the people who had raised him for sixteen years, loved him unconditionally in this mortal life. A faint, residual warmth from those sixteen years remained, but it was overshadowed by the vastness of his true self. They felt… distant now. Part of a life he had already moved beyond, even if his body was still here.

He needed to settle things, ensure their safety as a final act tied to this borrowed childhood, but deep emotional connection? That was reserved for his women, waiting across the void.

He offered a calm, reassuring smile, devoid of the earlier coldness.

“When did I learn to fight?” he repeated his father’s question lightly.

He met their eyes.

“Just now.”

His parents stared, baffled. “Just now? But… how?” Wang De pressed.

“Sometimes,” Wang Jian said vaguely, choosing his words carefully, “when things matter enough, you find strength you didn’t know you possessed. He threatened Mother. Something… clicked.”

It was an inadequate explanation, but the only one he could offer without revealing the impossible truth. He let them believe it was a moment of desperate adrenaline, a hidden talent surfacing under extreme pressure.

‘It simplifies things,’ he thought. ‘No need for complex lies or unbelievable truths. They wouldn’t understand anyway.’

He spent the next hour calming his parents and reassuring the equally bewildered villagers. He downplayed his actions, focusing instead on the fact that Master Feng had agreed to cover the tax. He spoke with Elder Liu, ensuring the old man understood the arrangement and would confirm its fulfillment.

The villagers looked at him with newfound awe and a touch of fear. He was no longer just Wang De and Liu Shufen’s clever son; he was the boy who had faced down the Magistrate’s men and won.

The following month was a period of consolidation for Wang Jian.

Master Feng, true to his terrified word, ensured the village’s tax burden for the season was cleared, citing a ‘clerical error’ in the county records. He even sent a small cartload of ‘compensation’ – extra grain, cloth, and even a few silver taels – delivered discreetly to Elder Liu with instructions that it was for the trouble caused, particularly to the Wang family.

‘Fear is a powerful motivator,’ Wang Jian noted with satisfaction as he directed his parents on how best to store the unexpected bounty. He used a portion of the silver to subtly improve his family’s small home, buy better tools for his father, and finer cloth for his mother. He made sure their standing within the village was secure, his display against Feng acting as a potent deterrent against any lingering jealousy or resentment.

He visited the nearest market town, a bustling place several hours walk away called Willow Creek Town. It was larger than Green Bamboo Village, with proper shops, inns, and even a small garrison of county soldiers. He wandered the stalls, his senses alert, searching.

‘Cultivation manuals… spirit herbs… enchanted artifacts… Anything?’

His awakened soul remembered the treasures of the Chaos cosmos. He scanned the goods on offer: mundane pottery, iron tools, common herbs sold by apothecaries for everyday ailments, bolts of cloth, livestock, cheap talismans promising good luck sold by charlatans.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing related to true cultivation.

‘As expected,’ he sighed inwardly, though a sliver of disappointment remained. ‘This area is truly mortal territory. Finding the path to immortality won’t be as simple as visiting the local market.’

He did, however, purchase several practical items with the remaining silver: sturdy boots, a better knife, a waterskin, basic travel supplies, and some preserved meats. He also bought his mother some rare-for-the-village embroidery silks she’d always admired and his father a whetstone of superior quality. Small comforts, but meaningful to them.

Returning to the village, he dedicated himself to training.

Every morning before dawn, while the village slept, he would go to a secluded clearing in the bamboo forest.

‘No Qi cultivation method. No spiritual energy to draw upon. But this body… it has potential.’

He began rigorously practicing the foundational body tempering martial arts he knew from his past life. Not the flashy, Qi-infused techniques, but the grueling, repetitive exercises designed purely to strengthen muscle, toughen bone, increase flexibility, and enhance reflexes to the absolute peak of mortal capability.

Stances held until muscles screamed. Endless repetitions of strikes, blocks, kicks. Agility drills through the dense bamboo. Breathing exercises to maximize stamina.

His progress was astonishingly fast. His powerful soul guided the mortal body, optimizing every movement, understanding the principles behind the exercises on a level no ordinary mortal could comprehend. Within weeks, his already strong peasant physique transformed. He became leaner, faster, his movements possessed of a coiled, predatory grace.

‘This won’t let me fight a true cultivator,’ he acknowledged during a grueling session, sweat pouring off him. ‘Even the lowest Qi Condensation practitioner could likely swat me aside with a simple spell.’

He remembered the sheer power gap from his old life.

‘But,’ he countered his own thought, pushing through another set of punishing stances, ‘it makes me supreme among mortals. It gives me options. Endurance. Speed. The ability to handle mundane threats without revealing anything unusual. And a stronger vessel will be better prepared when I do find a cultivation method.’

Body tempering was the absolute foundation. Even in the Chaos cosmos, the strongest cultivators often had incredibly resilient physical forms. He wouldn’t neglect it, even if it felt like crawling when he was used to soaring.

He lived this dual life for a month. The dutiful son helping his parents, ensuring their comfort and security. The hidden warrior pushing his mortal limits in the pre-dawn gloom.

But the restlessness grew. Green Bamboo Village, his parents’ love, the simple life – it felt like a cage, however comfortable. His soul yearned for power, for challenges, for the vast world beyond this dusty corner.

He remembered the Dragon Prince’s challenge. He remembered his promise to his wives.

Staying here was stagnation. Death to his ambition.

The time had come.

He chose an evening, after the simple meal, sitting outside their home under the stars.

“Father, Mother,” he began, his voice calm but firm.

They looked at him, sensing a shift in his demeanor.

“I have been thinking,” he continued slowly. “Life here… it is peaceful. You have cared for me well, and I am grateful beyond words.”

Liu Shufen reached out, touching his hand. “Jian, what is it? You sound so serious.”

“I am serious, Mother,” he said gently. “This life… working the fields, living day to day… it is a good life for many. But it is not the life I want.”

Wang De frowned. “Not want? What is wrong with honest work, son? We have food, a roof, we are safe now thanks to… well, thanks to you.”

“There is nothing wrong with it, Father,” Wang Jian reassured him. “But I feel… a calling. Something more.” He looked towards the distant Serpent’s Spine mountains, their peaks hidden in the night. “You told me stories, Mother. Stories of Immortals. Beings of great power, who live long lives, who can change the world.”

His parents exchanged worried glances.

“Jian, those are just stories,” Liu Shufen said softly. “Legends. The path of Immortals, if it even exists, is dangerous, filled with hardship.”

“Perhaps,” Wang Jian acknowledged. “But I must seek it. I feel it in my bones. Staying here… I would wither. I need to see the world, find these Immortals, learn their ways. I want to become strong.”

“Strong?” Wang De sighed. “Why? What good is strength if it takes you away from family, from home?”

“Strength brings freedom,” Wang Jian replied, his eyes gleaming with a faint reflection of the stars, a hint of his true nature bleeding through. “Freedom from poverty, from helplessness, from being dictated to by men like Master Feng. Freedom to protect those I care about.”

He looked at them earnestly, softening his tone, employing the persuasion he knew worked best on loving parents.

“I want to become strong not just for myself,” he said, “but for you too.”

Their eyes widened slightly.

“Imagine, Father, Mother,” he leaned forward slightly, “if I succeed. If I truly find the path to Immortality. They say Immortals possess treasures, wondrous medicines that can extend life, cure any ailment, even grant power.”

He let the implication hang.

“I could return,” he continued, his voice filled with carefully crafted sincerity. “Not just to visit, but with gifts. Things that could ease your lives, keep you healthy, perhaps even… help you live longer, see more than this village.”

The idea of their son becoming powerful was frightening. But the idea of him using that power to help them, to potentially grant them longer, healthier lives… it was a powerful lure, playing directly on their parental love and their own unspoken fears of aging and hardship.

Liu Shufen’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jian… it sounds so dangerous.”

“The world is dangerous even here, Mother,” he countered gently. “Bandits, famine, corrupt officials. At least out there, seeking strength, I have a chance to control my own fate. And yours.”

Wang De looked at his son, truly looked at the determination in his eyes, the confidence in his posture. This wasn’t just the restless dream of a young boy. This was a deep-seated resolve. He remembered the cold efficiency with which Jian had dealt with Feng’s guards. There was more to his son than he understood.

He sighed, a long, heavy sound of resignation. “If your heart is set… we cannot chain you here.”

Liu Shufen sobbed quietly but didn’t protest further.

“I will be careful,” Wang Jian promised. “And I will return. I will send word when I can. And I will bring back wonders for you.”

He spent the rest of the evening with them, sharing memories from his sixteen years of mortal life, reassuring them, promising them a future brighter than they could imagine.

The next morning, as the first rays of dawn painted the sky, Wang Jian stood at the edge of Green Bamboo Village. He wore the sturdy clothes and boots he’d bought, his knife at his belt, a small pack with supplies on his back.

Wang De and Liu Shufen stood watching him, their faces etched with love and worry.

He bowed deeply to them. A final gesture of respect for the life they had given him, the vessel he now inhabited.

“Take care, Father, Mother.”

“You too, son,” Wang De managed, his voice thick.

“Be safe, Jian,” Liu Shufen whispered through her tears.

With a final nod, Wang Jian turned his back on the only home his mortal self had ever known. He walked down the dusty path, away from the village, towards the rising sun, towards the unknown peaks of the Serpent’s Spine, towards the legendary path of Immortality.

The peasant boy was gone. Wang Jian, the cultivator, the conqueror, had begun his journey anew in the Primal Universe.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep