Immortality Starts With Face

AN: Most of this chapter text -- I kid you not -- was written on my phone, in the dead of night, during a long trans-Pacific flight... then edited on a computer in a blistering hot, 93-degree room without AC. If you see something incorrect, I apologize.

Also, another update is coming this week. Thank you for your patience and continued support.

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"Well, well, look at what the provincial dust has dragged in. Jiang Li. Our clan's newest…. celebrity…."

The voice, sharp and laced with a sarcasm so thick it was almost a physical poison, practically dripped from the branches of a nearby spirit-peach tree -- whose blossoms (a delicate, glowing pink) seemed to wilt in its mere presence.

From behind its well-manicured trunk stepped my brother.

Jiang Feng.

He was seventeen, two years my junior, and at that awkward age where a young man's burgeoning arrogance tends to far outstrip his wisdom. Or, put another way -- as is the case with most teenagers, he was a walking cocktail of insecurity, impulsiveness, misguided ambition, and raging puberty hormones that made for a confusing and volatile combination all around.

He did have a rather handsome face. The same high cheekbones and dark, intense eyes that marked all of us in the main family line… but these days, his features always seemed twisted into a petulant sneer, a carefully practiced expression of disdain.

Similarly to the old Jiang Li's own fashion tastes, little bro was dressed in ostentatious silks of a vibrant, almost offensively bright peacock-blue, embroidered with gaudy golden threads that glittered aggressively in the afternoon sun, depicting a phoenix that, upon closer inspection, looked more like a startled, overfed chicken.

I knew why he was doing it, of course. It was a matter… of face.

The young Jiang Feng was trying, with all the subtlety of an elephant in a China shop, to project an image of wealth and power.

His spiritual aura, I noted with a raised eyebrow, was a vibrant, almost unstable shimmer around him: the tell-tale sign of a recent and – perhaps – slightly forced breakthrough. He had apparently just broken through the challenging bottleneck to the Seventh level of the Qi Gathering stage (admittedly a very braggable achievement for someone his age).

And now, he was clearly bursting with the need to shove that achievement into the face of the one person he had always felt insecure around.

His older sibling.

Me.

He was alone behind that tree in the outer garden.

Hells, he must have been waiting here, lurking like some common bandit amidst the serene beauty of the ornamental rockeries and perfectly landscaped spirit bamboo, specifically to ambush me before I could reach the main estate.

The original Jiang Li would have been unnerved by this, his heart sinking at the prospect of meeting his more talented bully of a sibling. He would have been apprehensive of the inevitable verbal lashing. Hesitant to be reminded of the casual, thoughtless cruelty that had defined the sibling relationship since childhood.

As for me, however? As I looked at him now; as I took in his puffed-up chest and the carefully practiced sneer that didn't quite hide the flicker of deep-seated insecurity in his eyes, I felt nothing but a faint… amusement. The memories of Leo Maxwell, the lifelong student of human psychology I had once been, recognized his type instantly: this was a classic, almost textbook case of inferiority complex manifesting as aggressive posturing.

Yes, I could see it all clearly now.

My brother wasn't a predator. He'd never truly been one to begin with. No, he was merely a small, yapping dog – desperate to prove he could bite, and terrified of someone powerful calling his bluff.

And so, I decided to play against type, to shatter the familiar script my dear brother had so carefully prepared.

Instead of the cowed silence or weak retort he expected, I beamed.

A wide, genuine, and utterly disarming smile spread across my face: a weapon he was completely unprepared for.

"Younger Brother!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with a warmth that was entirely feigned – but sounded utterly convincing, echoing slightly in the tranquil garden.

Before he could process this shift in the narrative, my enhanced body shifted into motion, closing the distance between us with two quick strides. He tried to take an involuntary step back, his sneer faltering, replaced by a flicker of pure confusion.

But I didn't give him time to recover.

I pulled him into a firm, back-patting hug – the kind one gives a long-lost sibling!

He went rigid in my arms, his entire body a knot of tense, baffled muscle, the expensive silk of his robes crinkling under my grip. I could smell the cloying, sweet scent of the high-end perfume he wore, a futile attempt to mask the scent of youthful sweat and anxiety.

"It is so wonderful to see you again!" I said, still holding him firmly, my voice resonating with cheerful sincerity.

"And I see congratulations are in order—you've recently broken through to Stage Seven of Qi Gathering, have you not? My, my – my bro is officially into the late Qi Gathering levels at just seventeen! Truly, your progress is the pride of our family! Father must be overjoyed!"

I finally released him.

He stumbled back a step, his face a comical mixture of shock and outrage. The hug, the praise, the sheer, unexpected friendliness from his perceived rival—all of it had completely thrown him off balance. This was not the dynamic he was used to. It wasn't the familiar dance of tormentor and victim.

He quickly tried to rally, to get back to the familiar, comfortable ground of insults and reactions, his face flushing a blotchy red.

"T-that's right!" he stammered, his voice just a little too high, cracking slightly.

"And... and that's not something that can be said for your progress!" His voice slowly grew firmer and more confident as he threaded familiar ground.

"Why, brother," he said, his sneer returning, though it now felt a bit forced and brittle, "I don't even sense any Qi from you whatsoever! Have you finally decided to give up, disperse your cultivation, and join the mortals?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He began to pace around me – trying, perhaps, to portray some sort of tiger stalking its prey. His next words were delivered with an extra helping of a drawling, false sweetness.

"I understand, of course! After all, it's the only way you could avoid embarrassing the family further. Why, with your talent, it might take another twenty years before you even hit Stage 3!"

He took a deep breath, finally finding his rhythm again, his voice dripping with a condescending pity that was almost perfectly feigned.

"And… you must realize by now that you're simply too weak to be trusted with whatever treasures you stumbled upon in that piece of shit Qingshan. So, why fight the inevitable? I'm sure that Mother can be persuaded to arrange a nice and comfortable mortal residence for you – some place where you could partake of the endless flow of wine and whores you seem to enjoy so much…"

"…But don't worry," he added, as if with an afterthought – puffing out his chest again like a peacock displaying his gaudy feathers, "I am far more suitable for dealing with the proper, immortal matters. I'll take good care of the future in your stead!"

What a vicious little shit!

...

I'm almost impressed!

I feigned a look of thoughtful agreement, nodding slowly as if considering the profound wisdom of his words.

"Ah. An excellent point, little brother," I said, my voice laced with faux sincerity.

"Indeed, you are correct! Not everyone can have heaven-defying cultivation talent, after all. In time, some must learn to… accept … their limitations."

I nodded sagely to myself before continuing.

"And, I do think you'd make an excellent caretaker! But... why should you have to wait for the family to bestow rewards upon you? Your loving and generous brother is here now – and that means you need not delay enjoying the wealth I've built!"

From a simple leather pouch on my belt, I produced a storage ring. And this kind was not a common one like the inconspicuous "stealth" rings I sold in Fallen Star City.

No, this ring was designed specifically to draw attention.

The storage artifact was crafted from polished, dark star-iron, its surface cool and smooth, with faint, silvery veins running through it that seemed to absorb the light. It was a mid-grade ring, the kind a very wealthy Foundation Establishment expert might be expected to use, a clear and immediate statement of value.

I saw Feng's eyes fix upon it immediately, a flicker of raw greed in their depths, his bullying sneer momentarily forgotten.

I casually tossed it to him.

He caught it instinctively, his fingers closing around the cool metal.

He began to scoff, "If you think a few trinkets can..."

…

But, as expected, his voice cut off abruptly as his Qi dipped inside the ring to observe the contents.

His face went completely blank.

The blood drained from it, leaving his skin a pasty, sickly white. His jaw went slack, his eyes losing focus as his mind was assaulted by the absurd reality of what he was perceiving.

I didn't blame him in the slightest.

After all, I've worked hard on these "bribe" type rings with his namesake, Feng the Restored, only a couple days before.

This particular ring had a volume of around sixty thousand dou: a cavernous space of over five hundred cubic meters in size… and I had left no corner of it empty.

Right now, my brother was likely staring at an entire arsenal of lower mid-grade spiritual artifacts, any one of which would be a highlight at the Yuhang City annual auction.

There were water-aspected swords that shimmered with a constant, liquid light, their blades humming with the sound of a distant ocean.

There were flame-wreathed daggers that radiated a palpable heat, distorting the very air around them with a painful and deadly haze.

There were heavy earthen shields etched with defensive runes that pulsed with a slow, steady, golden light.

Belts that enhanced the wearer's strength.

Jewelry accessories capable of granting brief bursts of speed or a fleeting shield against attacks.

Wood-element boots promising incredible speed, even in the most overgrown of the Frontier's wetlands.

And for each set, there were numerous, stylish, matching cultivator robes of enchanted silk, embroidered with protective formations that shimmered with their own faint light, resistant to attacks from certain elements (while, of course, being weak to others).

And, as if that weren't enough, my brother was also seeing mountains of high-purity pills, glittering like jewels in neat, orderly stacks within jade boxes – and I went all out on the alchemy offerings here.

There were Qi Gathering pills that pulsed with a gentle, nourishing energy.

Antidote and detoxification pills that smelled of clean, sharp herbs from a thousand forgotten mountains.

Generic, Qi-gathering level "five-element" temporary enhancement pills for bursts of greater strength and speed that crackled with barely-contained power.

Specifically-attuned pills that offered potent resistance to every major element… and many more kinds of pills and elixirs besides – enough to make any proprietor of a Second or even Third Grade alchemy store in this backwater province weep with envy.

Next to this alchemical wonderland, there were stacks of all kinds of talismans – nothing approaching what I was capable of making with my own hand, mind you – but still undoubtedly impressive mid-grade works of art. Each talisman was drawn with a master's hand on high-grade spirit paper, their ink looking like a vibrant, living thing. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I was quite certain they would at least match the power and complexity of any charm sold in Yuhang City's most exclusive shops.

And those were not even the most shocking of the ring's contents.

My brother grew speechless as he beheld luxuries that would make even the wealthiest of the local merchants question their existence. There were whole heaps of pure white salt from a distant sea (far more valuable than gold in many parts of the Empire!) And, to go with it: entire barrels of exotic spices—including mundane and spirit-grade peppers from the far south that promised both fire and fragrance.

There were saffron threads like spun gold.

There was star anise that held the scent of the heavens.

There was a wide selection of casks of unique, mid-grade spirit wines, their rich, intoxicating aromas sealed within special containers, promising – if not enlightenment – then at least a heavy buzz in every drop.

There were also original works of art, manifested based on my own newly-acquired mortal skills—scroll paintings of breathtaking landscapes that seemed to pull the viewer into them, and calligraphy so potent it seemed to hum with the artist's intent, the very strokes containing a sliver of some unspeakable meaning.

All these were next to bolts of shimmering spirit leather and cloud worm-silk in every color of the rainbow, and crates of delicate, colorful porcelain and glassware -- each piece a priceless work of art.

And then… there were the manuals.

Dozens of them, bound in fine, supple spirit-beast leather.

Manuals on offensive and defensive martial arts. Finger techniques. Palm techniques. Fist techniques. Foundational concepts for wielding nearly any conceivable weapon. Esoteric movement techniques that promised to make a warrior a phantom on the battlefield. Body tempering and breathing exercises that could – given time and effort – forge even the weakest mortal body into a lethal weapon.

There was even a manifested treatise describing my own thoughts regarding the applications of herbalism and acupuncture for Xue Qi accumulation.

Each of these texts, without exception, was a priceless treasure among the mortals. Each depicted a perfected technique that could form the basis for starting a brand new martial arts school.

And, resting atop them all: a genuine, Second-Grade Alchemy manual, its cover simple but its aura profound, a tome so rare and valuable, its like rarely went on sale. At an auction, it would undoubtedly be worth tens of thousands of low-grade spirit stones by itself.

And finally, filling every remaining nook and cranny… was the glittering, soul-shaking collection of low-grade spirit stones.

Not a few hundred.

Not even a few thousand.

But a vast, rolling landscape of the things.

Nearly uncountable in sheer numbers, they were piled up high in enormous, glittering, glowing heaps that filled every cubic inch of the remaining space. Their sheer collective energy made the very space inside the ring feel heavy and pregnant with power.

Jiang Feng stood there, all but catatonic.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

A faint, strangled croak was the only sound he seemed to be able to produce.

His eyes were wide and utterly unfocused, staring into the middle distance as his mind, his entire conception of wealth was systematically dismantled and utterly broken by the impossible fortune I had just casually tossed to him.

A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, his knuckles white where he gripped the ring as if it were – somehow – both a priceless treasure and a venomous snake.

"I think you broke him," Yue murmured from behind me, her voice laced with an appreciative giggle.

I gave a pointedly casual shrug, as if I had just handed out a copper to a passing beggar… then turned my back on my brother's dazed, statuesque form and continued calmly walking towards the main estate, Big Sis Yue and Ruolan quickly falling into step behind me.