Immortality Starts With Face

The flying boat cut a near-silent, arrow-straight path through the heavens, leaving the pastoral tranquility of the Lin estate far behind. A couple thousand feet below us, the patchwork of farms and rugged hills gave way to the view featuring the great artery of commerce that was the Imperial Highway: a broad, checkered ribbon of packed earth and heavy stone blocks (the surfaces of the latter worn smooth and grooved by the passage of countless wheels over the centuries), teeming with the slow, ant-like crawl of merchant caravans making their way to and from Yuhang City.

I watched it all from the crystalline window of the main cabin, my thoughts already moving far beyond the immediate horizon, mapping out the consequences and contingencies of my recent actions.

The visit to Ruolan's relatives — besides the immediate satisfaction of allowing my dearest subordinate the pleasure of a heartfelt reunion — had also been an objective success, more so than I had anticipated. The Lin family, their worldview shattered and then rebuilt on a foundation of impossible truth and undeniable wealth, were now firmly bound to my cause.

Before leaving, I had promised them the use of "one of my industrial-sized airships" —a thought that still brought a faint, private smile to my lips —to transport their entire estate in a few weeks' time. The image of them and their belongings lifted into the sky and carried to Qingshan… was a pleasing one. This power, the sheer ease with which I could now alter the destiny of an entire family lineage, was both intoxicating and deeply, profoundly isolating.

It was a power that set me apart, placing me on a peak so high that the concerns of the world below were becoming increasingly distant. I could see how the struggles of "mere mortals" could come to resemble the scurrying of ants; their triumphs and tragedies a brief, passing spectacle.

Mine was the power of a god.

…And with it came the temptation to act as one. To become arbitrary and capricious. To act upon the wildest of my whims… simply because I could!

It was no wonder, then, that so many cultivators fell to the so-called Demonic Path — pursuing advancement through the exploitation of others, freely utilizing sickening cultivation methods that required mass human sacrifice (and worse!). After all, if one was indeed a god, what need did one have to follow an external source of morality?

As we drew closer to Yuhang proper, the geography of the Azure Province laid itself bare beneath me. The city was a nexus: a critical juncture where the great land-based trade routes forked: one path leading north to the empire's heartland, the other west to the resource-rich provinces closer to the Great Sea. Yuhang was the southernmost and easternmost major city before the land began to fray and unravel into the untamed wilderness of the Frontier.

And looming over it all, their peaks often wreathed in clouds and mist, was the famous Whispering Peaks mountain range, the ancient home of the venerable Azure Cloud Sect, from which the province itself took its name.

Looking down to the world below from the safety of the vessel, I could almost feel the great, tragic paradox of this land. Here, so close to the Frontier, the ambient Qi was potent, thrumming with a richness that would be the envy of many other parts of the Empire… And yet, it was a dissonant, chaotic hum to my senses -- like a thousand out-of-tune instruments all trying to play a different song at once.

Even now, I could feel as that disconcerting Qi almost scraped against the hull of the flying boat: a constant, abrasive static that was always right on the edge of my senses.

This was the infamous "Frontier's Breath:" a spiritual energy so wild and unstable that it actively resisted conventional cultivation.

I contrasted it with the imagined harmonious symphony of Qi I'd read about in texts describing the distant Imperial Capital, a place where the spiritual energy was said to be as calm and deep as a resonant temple bell, a tranquil sea of power ready to be shaped and molded at will.

Here, the land was ruggedly beautiful — a tapestry of sharp peaks and verdant, untamed jungles — but it was spiritually malnourished, seemingly unable to properly digest the very energies that so deeply saturated it.

The flying boat began its slow, graceful descent, and the sprawling metropolis of Yuhang resolved itself from a hazy blotch on the plains into a clear, intricate tapestry of human endeavor.

It was a city built in concentric circles, a perfect, brutal physical manifestation of its rigid social hierarchy.

First, we passed over a nameless penumbra of despair: a vast, sprawling shantytown pressed up against the city's towering outer walls like a desperate, filthy tide seeking warmth from a dying fire. It was a chaotic maze of faded canvas tents, of hovels built from rusted metal sheets and dried mud-and-wattle, of lean-tos made from scavenged junk that looked as though a strong wind would tear them asunder.

Even from this height, sealed within my vessel's perfectly filtered air, I knew what it would smell like down there. The memories of the original Jiang Li, who had once passed near its edges on a supervised trip, were clear enough. It would be a miasma of thousands of wood and charcoal fires, of unwashed humanity, of damp rot and filth that had seeped into the very earth.

My cultivator's eyes, sharper now than any mundane eagle's, could pick out the details with a painful, intrusive clarity.

A child with the old, knowing eyes of a starved man, wearing clothes that were little more than stitched-together rags, trying to sell what looked like a single, half-wilted wildflower to passersby who ignored him.

A man with a sunken chest hacking away at a piece of scrap metal in some kind of a makeshift forge.

The general listlessness of the people, a pervasive aura of exhaustion and defeated hope that was a palpable weight on the air.

I reflected on the brutal efficiency of the one-silver-coin entry fee — implemented by the Yuhang City government to "keep the riffraff out." These souls were trapped in a self-perpetuating cycle of poverty, tethered to the city's shadow by the cruel illusion of hope.

Hope to be safe from the spirit beast attacks that plagued the surrounding countryside.

Hope to one day make it inside the city walls to start a new life.

Hope that their children might somehow, by some freak one-in-a-million chance, be noticed by one of the local Martial Arts schools -- or, perhaps, even by the Azure Cloud Sect itself.

Could I change this? The thought was an unwelcome intrusion, a ghost from my past life, a whisper of a different morality.

Should I even try?

The questions were too large, too complex — and I pushed them away, a task for another day, perhaps even another lifetime.

My thoughts were interrupted as I became acutely aware of the ongoing conversation in the cabin.

"…As I was saying, His Excellency, Governor Sheng Yan, is a man who appreciates punctuality and diligence," City Lord Zhang Wei declared, his voice booming with enthusiastic self-importance. He was entirely and cheerfully oblivious to the squalor passing beneath us, his eyes fixed firmly on the shining prize of the city's heart.

"Delivering the taxes personally, far larger than anticipated and ahead of schedule, will surely put him in a receptive mood for my… our… proposals."

"Careful, Your Lordship," Jiang Yue half-teased, her sarcastic voice dry as desert sand, "show too much 'diligence' and His Excellency might think you are angling for his job."

I listened silently to their byplay, saying nothing — my gaze still lingering on the shantytown as we left it behind.

Ruolan, too, was silent beside me.

I noticed she was not looking at the view outside; instead, she was watching me. Her intelligent and perceptive eyes, which seemed to miss less and less these days, had followed my gaze and now held a quiet, questioning look. She was becoming attuned to my foreign morality, to the moments when my actions deviated from the cold indifference expected of a cultivator — let alone one from a family as prominent and ruthless as the Jiangs.

It occurred to me that her perceptiveness was a double-edged sword.

On the plus side, it made her an unparalleled confidante: someone who might be able to understand the 'why' behind my actions, not just the 'what.'

But it also made her a potential liability: a witness to the parts of me that simply did not belong to this world. And there was only so much I could explain away through my earlier "near-death Immortal enlightenment" excuse.

Keeping her around was certainly a risk — but one I was, at least for now, willing to accept.

Below, we crossed the massive outer wall: a fifty-foot-high curtain of granite that seemed to separate not just the city from the slums, but dream from nightmare.

The view below us transformed instantly.

The first ring of the city proper, the Stonecutter's Circle, announced itself visually with a fine, perpetually hanging grey dust that coated every tiled roof and cobblestone in a uniform, gritty film. It was a district of stark, functional utility. I knew from past journeys on foot, from the memories of the boy whose body I now inhabited, what it would be like down there. The sounds rising to meet us, were we not sealed in this silent vessel, would be a discordant symphony of industry: the rhythmic, percussive clang of hammers on anvils from a hundred smithies, the grinding of gears from workshops, and the raw, guttural shouts of bare-chested laborers as they hauled heavy stone blocks on thick, groaning carts.

This was the district the city's servants and ordinary laborers called home. The buildings here were simple, sturdy structures of wood and stone, built for purpose rather than beauty, their walls seemingly perpetually stained with soot and grime. This was the city's engine, a place of sweat and toil where many raw materials of the earth -- extracted from the nearby hills, mountains, and forests -- were given their first rough shape.

As we glided further inward, the grey dust and imagined cacophony of the Stonecutter's Circle gave way to the vibrant, prosperous hum of the Silk Ward. Even from here, I could see the change in color and texture.

I recalled the smells of the district from ground level: a rich mingling of expensive sandalwood incense from the temples and the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries from bustling teahouses. The streets were wider here, paved with clean flagstones where fine carriages, pulled by well-groomed, high-stepping horses, would roll with a quiet dignity.

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The buildings were two and three stories high, their facades painted in rich, auspicious lacquers of red and gold, their windows covered with intricately carved wooden lattices.

Through the open doors of shops, one could glimpse bolts of shimmering silk, exquisite jade carvings, and furniture of polished, dark woods.

This was the domain of the city's wealthy mortal merchant class, a world where silver and gold were the measure of all things, and the rustle of silk was the dominant sound.

Passing over the Silk Ward, we entered the stern and imposing territory of the Iron Pagoda District. The very atmosphere here, even seen from above, seemed to change, growing heavier.

More disciplined.

The open-fronted shops and cheerful teahouses were replaced by imposing, fortress-like compounds with high, thick walls. The architecture here was robust, built with Martial Cultivation in mind, with wide, packed-earth training yards visible within the walls.

From those yards, I knew, the faint, percussive shouts of sparring practice would echo upwards, a rhythmic and violent counterpoint to the city's commercial hum. I could see Martial Arts disciples, their bodies gleaming with sweat, practicing their forms with explosive force, their movements a blur of disciplined violence under the watchful eyes of stern-faced masters perched on viewing platforms.

This was a district of warriors, where Xue Qi strength was respected above all else.

I absently wondered how the so-called "masters" of martial cultivation below — many of which old men with decades of painstaking effort spent in the Organ Refining stages preceding the nearly-mythical Martial Grandmaster rank — would react to my Diamond Body and its capabilities. Would they worship me as the second coming of some legendary Martial Arts figure? Would they deem me a heretical practitioner of forbidden demonic techniques? I supposed that, one day — perhaps sooner rather than later — I would find out firsthand. I just hoped that I would be strong enough to absorb the consequences when they came.

…

Finally, just before reaching the heart of the city, we flew over the serene, high-walled estates of the Jade Terrace District.

Here, any sound from the city would have fallen away almost completely, replaced by a profound, wealthy tranquility. This was a world of quiet, established power, the domain of the "lesser" spirit cultivator families and powerful organizations with the resources to live in luxury beyond luxury — but lacking the ancient prestige, powerful family members, or sheer political clout necessary to secure a place in the far more prestigious and sought-after Golden Mandate Quarter.

We caught glimpses of perfectly manicured gardens over the high walls, of shimmering koi ponds the size of small lakes where fish with scales of gold and silver drifted lazily, and elegant pavilions with gracefully curved roofs where one might imagine cultivators sitting in quiet contemplation, enjoying high-quality spirit wines or teas, or playing Go.

The air itself, I remembered, seemed cleaner here compared to the lower rings of the city.

It was rarefied.

A silent but clear declaration that this was a realm apart from the struggles of the outer rings.

Lord Zhang cleared his throat, a note of reverence entering his voice. "And now," he said, "we are entering the Golden Mandate Quarter's airspace."

He had already used a government-issued communications talisman to send word ahead, identifying our vessel as being on official Imperial business. This granted us the rare privilege of flying directly to the city's heart, bypassing the standard, regulated landing zones for flying boats and flight-capable cultivators.

We passed over the final, inner wall — this one of pale, luminous jade-like stone that pulsed with the faint, shimmering light of powerful defensive formations, rumored to be able to withstand even Golden Core-level attacks.

The view below was simply breathtaking.

The very air was changed, becoming clean, crisp, and invigorating, like stepping into a perfectly climate-controlled room after wandering in a humid jungle.

The chaotic hum of the Frontier's Breath — nearly always in the back of my senses — was greatly diminished here, replaced by a palpable purity of spiritual Qi that was a balm to the senses, making one's own internal energy circulate more smoothly just by being present.

This was not just a district.

It was a vast, perfectly manicured spirit garden dotted with palatial complexes. Pristine courtyards of white stone, grand halls with roofs of golden tile that blazed like miniature suns, and serene lakes reflecting ancient, towering trees were all arranged in a perfect, harmonious design.

Our small, shiny vessel descended gracefully towards a massive complex at the very center of the Quarter—the Provincial Governor's Administrative Palace.

We landed with a soft sigh in a vast, empty courtyard paved with smooth, blue-grey flagstones. The moment the ramp lowered, a figure was already approaching to greet us.

City Lord Zhang Wei, his robes straightened and his expression now one of official solemnity, disembarked first. He approached the waiting woman and performed a formal Imperial salute, his voice respectful but firm.

"Zhang Wei, City Lord of Qingshan, reporting to the Governor's Palace. I come to deliver this year's tax tribute ahead of schedule, and to request an audience with His Excellency, Governor Sheng, on important matters of provincial development."

The woman returned his salute perfectly.

She was undoubtedly a cultivator, her face smooth and unlined, beautiful in a severe, sculpted way that suggested she might be in her late thirties — but her eyes betrayed her true age, holding a depth and weary wisdom that spoke of a much longer existence.

She was likely in the Early Foundation Establishment realm, her aura a calm, steady presence against my senses.

She wore the formal robes of a high-ranking government official—deep blue silk embroidered with the silver emblem of the Provincial Governor, a single, elegant white jade pin securing her perfectly coiled hair. Her posture radiated a practiced deference that concealed immense authority.

I stepped off the ramp, my own retinue behind me, and observed her. As she acknowledged Lord Zhang, my mind dredged up a title from the original Jiang Li's classical education.

She was a Nüshi.

Not a mere attendant, but a highly educated female official with significant responsibilities and regional influence in her own right.

In the Imperial court, the Nüshi served as scribes, advisors, and gatekeepers to immense power, managing correspondence, organizing and recording official events, and controlling access to the great lords they served.

This woman was clearly the Governor's trusted confidante, a person of considerable standing and influence in the entire region.

And yet, she was weaker than even Lord Zhang.

How had a mere Early Foundation Establishment cultivator managed to snag such an important and influential position?

"Lord Zhang, His Excellency welcomes you," she said, her voice smooth and melodic. "He will be able to see you shortly."

Her professional gaze then swept over our party.

She gave Jiang Yue a brief, respectful nod, acknowledging a fellow powerful cultivator.

To Ruolan, she offered nothing more than a flicker of a glance, recognizing her status as a servant, however high-ranking. It was a subtle, instant calculation of the social hierarchy.

But then, her eyes landed on me…

…and her practiced composure visibly faltered for a fraction of a second.

Her gaze, which had been professionally polite with Lord Zhang Wei, now held a new, deeper level of respect that bordered on awe.

She bowed once again, this time much lower than she had for the City Lord, her posture conveying an almost comical level of reverence.

"Young Master Jiang Li. Welcome back to Yuhang City. This humble one is called Mei-Ling, a Nüshi in the Governor's service. It is a profound honor to receive you."

The shift was not lost on Zhang Wei or Big Sis Yue, who exchanged a quick, surprised glance.

As we walked from the landing courtyard to the main complex, the soft slap of our slippers echoing in the cavernous, cool corridors of the palace halls, she continued to address Lord Zhang, making polite inquiries about his journey from Qingshan and the state of the realm.

But her true attention, I could feel, was almost entirely on me. Her deference was a puzzle, and it wasn't until we reached the grand antechamber before the Governor's audience hall that she revealed the missing piece.

She paused, turning to face our group fully.

"Lord Zhang, the Governor's aides will see to your comfort until he is ready."

Then, she turned to me, her expression grave and momentous.

"Young Master Jiang, if I may… impose upon your time for just a moment longer?"

I gave a suitably dignified, magnanimous nod.

"A matter of great urgency has arisen which concerns your schedule for tomorrow evening."

She let the words hang in the air, creating a pocket of suspense.

"We received word just this morning," Nüshi Mei-Ling continued, her eyes fixed respectfully on a spot on the ground just in front of my feet.

"Her Imperial Highness, Princess Long Xueyue, will be gracing our humble city with her presence personally. A grand banquet will be held in her honor, here at the Governor's Palace, tomorrow night."

She paused, then added the crucial information.

"While the esteemed Jiang family has, of course, been allocated a table, Her Highness has specifically requested Your presence, Young Master, as a Special Guest. A seat has been prepared for you among her personal retinue."

She then produced a lavish scroll from her sleeve. It was made of a silvery, frost-aspected beast hide, cool to the touch, and bound with a silvery cord sealed with the intricate Imperial Seal depicting a Celestial Dragon in flight. The scroll itself pulsed with a faint, cold light that seemed to subtly lower the temperature of the air around it.

"Your formal invitation, Young Master."

I took it from her, savoring the irony.

Here I was, suppressing my cultivation aura so completely that I appeared as a mortal to all but those in the Golden Core stage (if they knew and cared to actively probe me), and yet, this accomplished Foundation Establishment cultivator, who was probably four times my age — and a Nüshi to boot — was practically trembling before me.

Or rather, before my status, I mentally noted.

It was a useful lesson in the complex tapestry of power in this world—a blend of perceived strength, political backing, and actual cultivation.

My suppressed state, my appearance as nothing, made her deference here all the more notable. If I had appeared as a powerful cultivator — and my Diamond Body indeed had power in spades (not that she would know that, mind you) — Mei-Ling's respect would be expected. Because I appeared as a spiritual nonentity, however, her reverence was entirely due to my perceived political standing; a pure reflection of the Princess's power.

"The Governor's Palace offers its full hospitality, Young Master," she said, her voice filled with an eagerness to please. "We have, of course, prepared a suite of rooms for your personal use..."

I gave her a polite, but firm smile.

"You are too kind, Nüshi Mei-Ling, but that will not be necessary. I am eager to see my family."

Her offer of hospitality was likely a veiled attempt to keep me here, under the Governor's watchful eye, where His Excellency could further assess the new player in town.

Was my refusal a slight against the Governor?

Perhaps.

But, I found that I simply didn't care.

The tedious work of lobbying public officials should be left to those with the skill and appetite for such things.

"Lord Zhang," I said, turning to my more politically-inclined friend with a polite nod. "I am sure you have many important matters to discuss with His Excellency regarding the prosperity of Qingshan. I would not dream of keeping you from your official duties."

Zhang Wei beamed, puffing out his chest.

"Indeed, that is so, Young Master Jiang! Thank you for your wisdom and consideration!"

And at that, we parted ways.

The eager, enthusiastic Zhang Wei was led away by a somewhat put-out Nüshi Mei-Ling, while Yue, Ruolan, and I exited the Administrative complex on foot.

The relatively short walk from to the Jiang Compound was a journey through a world of serene, intimidating power. As the familiar, massive gates of our family's estate — flanked by two snarling stone spirit lions whose carved Spirit Jade eyes seemed to follow our approach — slowly came into view, a phantom echo of the original Jiang Li's emotions surfaced within me.

I remembered the dread of returning here as a newly discovered five-element trash after failing a Spirit Root assessment at the age of nine.

The sting of my father turning away with a sigh of weary disappointment.

And, some years later, the sound of my younger brother Feng's mocking laughter echoing in a corridor as he recounted the tale to other young masters of the city.

I recalled how these grand walls had felt less like a home and more like a gilded cage where Jiang Li's weakness was constantly on display. Every servant's bow — a fresh reminder of his inadequacy.

The old Jiang Li feared this path, I thought, my gaze sweeping over the imposing gatehouse.

But I see only somewhat underwhelming stones and potential strategic assets.

The guards at the gate, two mid-stage Qi Gathering cultivators in heavy, dark iron armor inlaid with silver, initially tensed upon seeing us approach, their hands moving instinctively to the hilts of their swords.

Then their eyes widened in recognition as they focused on our faces.

Their captain, a stern-faced man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, barked a sharp command. The entire squad of eight guards snapped to attention, their movements crisp and practiced, and performed a deep, martial salute, their heads bowed.

"Welcome home, Mistress Yue and Young Master Li!" the captain's voice boomed, filled with undisguised respect that bordered on awe.

They swung the heavy, iron-banded gates open without question.

We stepped into the serene front garden, the familiar scent of transplanted spirit trees and the cool, damp moss that grew on the ornamental rocks washing over me. The sound of a trickling waterfall from a nearby rockery was the only sound in the peaceful air, forming a gentle sanctuary that spoke of hidden depths and a quiet sort of power.

And yet, we had taken, perhaps, only a dozen steps along the flagstone path, which crunched softly under our feet, when a male voice — sharp and laced with a sarcasm so thick it was almost a physical poison — cut through the tranquility.

"Well, well, look at what the provincial dust has dragged in. If it isn't Jiang Li -- our clan's newest…. celebrity."