A second life, An Eternal journey to Immortality

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While Jiang Cheng trembled in place, a thin man stood concealed in the shadows of a nearby alley. He was draped in a dull brown robe, its fabric worn and frayed at the edges, a sign of frequent travel. His face was sharp and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and narrow, calculating eyes that gleamed with malice.

A long sword hung loosely at his waist, its scabbard old but well-maintained, the handle wrapped in black silk that had faded from years of use.

The man's gaze locked onto Jiang Cheng, his expression darkening with disbelief.

"Isn't this the man I killed half a year ago?" His fingers twitched over the hilt of his sword as his mind raced. "I made sure he was dead. There was no mistake. So how the hell is he still alive?"

A chill crawled down his spine. Could it be that some old monster had taken over the body? The thought made his blood run cold.

If a powerful cultivator had seized this corpse, then confronting him would be no different from courting death.

His eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his fingers, he activated the Spirit Eye Technique—a secret method that allowed him to peer into another cultivator's spiritual essence. His pupils gleamed with a faint silver light as he scanned Jiang Cheng's Qi fluctuations.

A moment later, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Still only at the early stages of Qi Refining. If an old master had taken over, his cultivation would have skyrocketed…"

His initial fear turned into something far more dangerous—greed.

"A treasure… It must be some kind of supreme artifact protecting his soul!"

His thin lips curled into a sinister smirk. The longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Some high-grade spiritual treasure must have saved Jiang Cheng's life and concealed its presence.

"Hahaha… The heavens are helping me!"

For an instant, a flicker of killing intent flashed in his eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. His grip on his sword tightened before he slowly loosened it again.

No, not here. Attacking in broad daylight would cause too much commotion. Even if Jiang Cheng was weak, he still had the protection of the marketplace.

Patience.

His fingers drummed lightly against his sword hilt as a plan formed in his mind.

"I'll visit him in the middle of the night. No witnesses, no interference."

Although he was at the fourth level of Qi Refining—far stronger than Jiang Cheng—it was always better to act with caution. A clean kill, a silent disappearance. That was the way of a true hunter.

He took one last glance at Jiang Cheng before retreating into the shadows, his presence vanishing into the ebb and flow of the bustling market.

Tonight is destined to be a sleepless night

As Jiang Cheng browsed the market stalls, he faintly sensed a flicker of killing intent. It was subtle, like the sharp edge of a blade hidden beneath silk, but for a cultivator, such intent was not noticeable if the cultivator was in higher realm but since the opponent is weaker and directed his killing intent toward Jiang Cheng, he noticed immediately.

"Trouble."

His face remained calm, showing no signs of alarm, but deep down, his heart tensed for a brief moment. Then, realization struck him, and a low chuckle escaped his lips.

"Isn't this the life I wanted? If I can't even overcome such a minor hurdle, how can I ever talk about immortality?"

A fierce glint flashed in his eyes, his expression turning sharp.

"A fourth-level Qi Refining cultivator. If he had come for me half a year ago, I would have been in real trouble. But now…"

A slow grin crept onto his face.

"Since you're courting death, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Without hesitation, he turned and made his way toward a stall run by casual cultivators, a section of the market where rogue cultivators sold all manner of unregulated goods—rare herbs, dubious talismans, and most importantly, poisons.

The stall was manned by an older cultivator named Mo San, a wiry man with a crooked smile and eyes that gleamed with the sharpness of a viper. His robes were stained with the scent of bitter herbs and strange powders.

Jiang Cheng approached, his tone casual. "I need something that leaves no traces. A poison that eliminates corpses."

Mo San's smile widened knowingly. "Ah… a fine request. I have just the thing."

He reached under his stall and pulled out a small jade bottle, the surface etched with ancient sealing runes. He placed it gently on the wooden counter.

"This is called Bone-Eating Powder. Dissolve it in water, and within an hour, the body will dissolve into a black sludge that seeps into the ground. No bones, no flesh, nothing left behind." He tapped the bottle.

"But be careful—this stuff is expensive and extremely potent. One drop can rot flesh instantly."

Jiang Cheng picked up the bottle and studied it. The faint scent of decay lingered around the seal.

"Price?"

"Ten spirit stones," Mo San said with a grin.

Jiang Cheng tossed a small pouch onto the counter. Mo San weighed it in his hand, nodding approvingly.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said with a chuckle.

Jiang Cheng tucked the poison into his storage bag and left without another word.

Tonight, the hunter would become the hunted.

As evening fell, Jiang Cheng returned home, his expression calm but his mind alert. He knew that tonight would not be peaceful.

The first thing he did was reinforce his defenses. Moving quietly, he arranged several hidden traps near the entrance and around the perimeter of his dwelling. They weren't designed to cause serious harm—just subtle, silent triggers that would alert him if anyone trespassed. A tripwire laced with a faint spiritual thread,and pressure-sensitive tiles near the entrance—each placed meticulously in areas that were difficult to detect.

Once satisfied with his precautions, he let out a slow breath and headed toward the kitchen.

A simple meal was in order.

Jiang Cheng washed a handful of spirit rice, watching as the grains glowed faintly under the lantern light. They shimmered like polished jade, infused with spiritual energy. Using sweet spring water from the nearby mountains, he set the rice to cook in a clay pot over a controlled flame.

Soon, a rich, enticing fragrance filled the entire cave.

The unique aroma of spirit rice was unlike ordinary grains. It carried a subtle, rejuvenating scent that instantly made one's mouth water. Even the nearby mice, usually hidden in the shadows, scurried closer, their noses twitching greedily.

Jiang Cheng chuckled, lifting the pot's lid.

Inside, the spiritual rice had become translucent, each grain glistening like tiny gems. The steam rose in soft, curling wisps, carrying with it a warm, invigorating scent.

He scooped himself a bowl of steaming rice and took a bite.

The texture was soft, yet firm, with a delicate sweetness that lingered on the tongue. Every mouthful released a gentle warmth, spreading through his body like a mild current of spiritual energy.

"It truly is a spiritual food," Jiang Cheng mused, savoring each bite.

"Though it can't compare to spiritual medicine or elixirs, it's far more affordable. If eaten consistently, the effects over time won't be much different."

By the time he finished his meal, his body felt light and refreshed, his Qi circulation subtly enhanced.

Without wasting time, he returned to his quiet room, sat cross-legged, and began meditating.

Closing his eyes, he initiated the Qinglan Technique, guiding the residual spiritual energy from the meal into his meridians. A faint blue glow flickered around him as he focused, his breathing deep and steady.

Outside, the night deepened—and somewhere in the darkness, a shadow was waiting.

The night had fallen silently.

Jiang Cheng sat cross-legged in meditation when—snap.

His eyes snapped open, a cold glint flashing within them. One of his traps had been triggered.

Outside, a shadow moved. The thin man in the brown robe, his face twisted with greed, stood just beyond the entrance. With a practiced motion,

he uncorked a small jade vial and tipped it forward. A thin, colorless mist poured into the room—Silent Death Powder. A poison designed to kill without sound, suffocating its target in their sleep.

He waited. Five minutes passed.

No movement.

A cruel smirk crept across his face. "Dead already?" he whispered to himself.

Silent as a phantom, he pushed the door open, his lips curling into a smirk. "Too easy." The fool had fallen for the poison without resistance. "A supreme treasure… and now, it will be mine." He stepped forward, savoring the moment.

Inside, Jiang Cheng's still form lay on the bed, shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

The intruder stepped forward, sword in hand, his movements cautious but deliberate. As he approached the bed, he leaned in to inspect it more carefully—only to find it empty.

"Not good!" he muttered, his voice tinged with alarm.

But before he could activate the shield talisman he was reaching for, it was already too late. Jiang Cheng, who had been lying in wait, didn't waste time with words. From behind, he unleashed his technique—Thunderclap Sword Art—aiming directly for the intruder's neck.

The man panicked, raising his arm in a desperate attempt to block the attack. But the blade with lightning sliced through flesh and bone with ease, severing his arm in an instant. Blood sprayed across the floor as the intruder staggered back, clutching the stump where his arm had been.

"Fifth level of Qi Refining?!" the man gasped, his voice trembling with shock and pain. He stumbled backward, his face pale as he tried to placate Jiang Cheng. "Fellow Daoist, this is a misunderstanding! A misunderstanding!"

But Jiang Cheng's heart was pounding in his chest, a mix of fear and adrenaline surging through him. He didn't hesitate.

Before the intruder could even reach for another talisman from his spirit bag, Jiang Cheng was already upon him, his sword moving with lightning speed.

The intruder didn't stand a chance. Jiang Cheng's blade flashed like lightning, slashing through flesh, bone, and desperate screams. One cut. Two. Three.

The man hit the ground with a gurgling choke. Jiang Cheng didn't stop.

By the time his sword finally stilled, the corpse was just meat on the floor.

Only then did Jiang Cheng stop, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. His hands trembled, and his sword felt heavy in his grip. He stared down at the mangled body, his mind racing.

"You deserve to die," he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky but filled with a strange sense of vindication. "You deserve to die."

But as the adrenaline began to fade, a wave of nausea hit him. His stomach churned, and he doubled over, retching violently. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, and the sight of the gruesome scene before him made his head spin.

This was the first time he had killed someone.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave. His legs felt weak, and he sank to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp. His hands were stained with blood—both the intruder's and his own, from the force of his strikes.

A mix of emotions overwhelmed him: relief that he had survived, disgust at what he had done, and a deep, gnawing fear of what this meant for him. He had taken a life. The weight of that act settled heavily on his shoulders, and for a moment, he felt as though he couldn't breathe.

But then, a strange clarity emerged. This was the world of cultivation—a world where survival often meant killing or being killed. The intruder had come to harm him, and Jiang Cheng had done what he had to do.

Jiang Cheng stood over the mutilated corpse, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The stench of blood filled the small room, thick and metallic, clinging to his clothes, his skin. His hands trembled, still locked around the hilt of his sword, its blade drenched in crimson.

He staggered back, his stomach churning. The world seemed to spin—his breath hitched. Then, without warning, he doubled over and vomited onto the floor.

His body heaved, the mixture of fear, adrenaline, and nausea overwhelming him. His mind screamed at him—this was real. Not a sparring match, not a fight where the loser could get up and walk away.

He had killed.

The corpse—or what was left of it—lay in a twisted mess at his feet. The man's face was unrecognizable, his body nothing more than shredded flesh. Jiang Cheng's own hands were stained deep red, his sleeves soaked in blood.

A sudden chill crawled down his spine. His fingers twitched, gripping the sword tighter as if letting go would make him fall apart.

His first kill.

He had told himself he was ready. That he would kill if needed. But standing here, looking at what he had done, a strange numbness crept into his chest.

Guilt? Fear? Relief? Satisfaction?

He didn't know.

His thoughts swirled in chaos. What if I hesitated? What if he was stronger?

Then he would be the one lying in a pool of his own blood.

Jiang Cheng wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. This was the path of cultivation.

If he wanted to survive, if he wanted power—he had to be ruthless.

The bile still burned in his throat, but he forced himself to straighten. He looked down at the lifeless heap, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Then, he took a deep breath, and his trembling stopped.

"You deserved to die." His voice was hoarse but steady.

He turned away from the corpse, but not before grabbing a bag from the remains. If this man had come to kill him, then he had no right to keep his treasures.

A cultivator's world was cruel.

And he had just taken his first step into it.