Immortality Starts With Face

[Warning: Golden Core-level Toxin 'Eternal Abyss Entombing Earth' Detected. Immediate Treatment Is Strongly Recommended.]

Oh. Joy.

Of-fucking-course someone would try to assassinate the Princess at her own welcome banquet! Why would I think any differently? This is a world of ambitious, backstabbing cultivators, not a polite tea party. And I, like a fool, walked right into the crosshairs.

In that instant, my senses, already heightened by my cultivation, went into a state of extreme overdrive. The world slowed to a crawl, each moment stretching into an eternity of hyper-detailed perception. I could see the individual droplets of spilled wine arcing through the air, each one a tiny, shimmering orb of death. I could see the horrified, wide-eyed expressions of the guests, their faces frozen in masks of shock and terror. I could see the almost instantaneous reaction of the powers at the main table.

A flash of purplish-gold light from the main dais drew my attention. As if in slow motion, I saw Wei Long, his face a grim, impassive mask, place a hand on the Princess's shoulder as a complex, multi-layered teleportation talisman flared to life, its spatial fluctuations warping the very air around them. She gave me one last, fleeting look—an unreadable expression of what might have been regret, or perhaps merely annoyance at this untidy complication—and then they were gone, vanishing in a swirl of light and distorted space that left behind only the scent of ozone and crushed violets.

Ah yes, of course, I thought, a flicker of cynical, detached amusement running through my strangely calm mind.

It's likely standard security protocol. Extract the Primary away from danger. Cut your losses. Abandon the pawn.

I didn't blame them for leaving in the slightest. It was, after all, the correct, logical, and utterly ruthless move.

It was also a stark and useful reminder: in the end… I would always be on my own.

The world erupted into a cacophony of chaos.

Shouts of alarm from the lesser lords, the sharp, discordant scrape of overturned chairs on stone, the panicked, high-pitched cries of servants, and the authoritative bellows of the Imperial Guard establishing a perimeter—it was all a distant, meaningless roar, like the sound of a faraway sea crashing against a shore I could no longer reach. My perception, my very consciousness, had collapsed inward, a dying star falling into itself, focused with a terrifying, singular intensity on the point of contact on the back of my hand where the droplets of poisoned wine had landed.

There was no burning pain, no searing, soul-rending agony as one might expect from a Golden Core-level toxin. There was only a heavy, sinking, and profound cold. It was not the sharp, invigorating frost of my own Qi, a force I could command and bend to my will. This was a dead, ancient, and altogether different kind of cold, an alien presence that was utterly inimical to life.

It was the cold of a tomb sealed for ten thousand years.

The stifling silence of the earth's deepest chasms where not even the memory of light had ever touched.

I watched, with a kind of detached, clinical horror as a sickly, grey, stone-like texture spread from the point of contact. My skin, a moment before warm and alive, visibly lost its vitality, the fine hairs upon it turning brittle and grey — then crumbling to dust.

The veins beneath the surface, which had pulsed with the vigorous flow of my Xue Qi, were rapidly turning a dark, hard black — no longer carrying blood but some sickening, petrifying sludge.

My own vibrant, flowing Ling Qi that had just moments ago sung happily in my meridians, grew sluggish, thick, as if it were turning to mud.

My dantian, the sea of power within me, felt as though it were being compressed, crushed under the weight of a phantom mountain range that was slowly, inexorably grinding it into nothingness.

Outwardly, I projected an image of calm.

I did not scream.

I did not panic.

Instead, I reached for the pouch on my belt, withdrawing the bottle of Myriad Poison Dissolving Pills I had manifested during the Fallen Star City Auction – and now carried around with me just for such toxic occasions.

The pills were shockingly effective for a Foundation Establishment-grade antidote: the moment I swallowed the entire bottle's contents, a wave of purifying, verdant energy immediately surged through me… but, in the end, it was only a small, desperate dam holding back a raging, muddy river. It bought me moments, perhaps — precious, stolen heartbeats — but I quickly realized that it would not be saving my life. I could already feel the medicinal energies of the pills losing ground; the relentless, grinding power of the earth toxin overwhelming their defenses; the dam cracking and groaning under the impossible pressure.

And then the hallucinations began.

The polished floor of the banquet hall dissolved.

The panicked shouts of the cultivators faded away, replaced by a deep, groaning tremor that shook my very bones. I was no longer kneeling in a brightly lit palace, but standing on the dusty, warped floorboards of a place I knew with a chilling intimacy.

The Theater. The very stage where Leo Maxwell had drawn his last breath.

But it was all wrong.

The air, which should have smelled of velvet, popcorn, and cheap perfume, was thick with the scent of ancient, choking dust and damp, subterranean decay. The rows of plush velvet seats were empty, covered in ghostly white sheets, their forms like a silent, seated audience of the dead. Above, the grand chandelier was dark, its crystals coated in a thick layer of grime. A fine powder of plaster and dirt constantly trickled down from the high, vaulted ceiling, which groaned and creaked under an immense, unseen weight. The entire building felt like it had been buried alive, a grand tomb deep beneath the earth.

A sudden, violent tremor shook the building, sending a cascade of dust and debris raining down from the rafters. It was the echo of the poison's illusory earthquakes, a physical manifestation of my internal agony. I felt a primal, claustrophobic terror begin to rise in my throat, the fear of being trapped. Of suffocating alone in the dark.

Then I heard it.

A faint sound, cutting through the groaning of the buried theater. A soft, rhythmic thump-thump, coming from backstage. It was a desperate, terrified sound. The sound of a trapped animal.

Slowly, drawn by an instinct I didn't understand, I made my way off the stage, my feet kicking up clouds of dust that swirled in the gloom. I pushed through the heavy, moth-eaten velvet curtains and stepped into the labyrinthine darkness of the backstage area. Here, the smell of decay was even stronger. Ropes hung from the rigging like ancient, desiccated vines. Old props—a chipped plaster crown, a wooden sword, a faded silk banner—lay scattered about, forgotten relics of a dead world.

The thumping grew louder, more frantic. It was coming from a small, cluttered dressing room at the end of a narrow corridor. I pushed the door open with a groan of rusty hinges. And there, in the center of the room, was the source of the sound. A large, old sea chest, the kind from my grandfather's antique shop.

The thumping was coming from inside it!

A memory, unbidden and unwelcome, surfaced from Leo Maxwell's past.

A boy of seven, playing hide-and-seek in his grandfather's dusty antique shop. He had hidden in a large, old storage chest, pulling the heavy lid down over himself, giggling in the dark, musty space that smelled of cedar and decay.

But the latch — a rusty, ancient mechanism that could not be opened from the inside — had clicked shut.

The initial thrill of his cleverness turned to confusion.

Then to a creeping unease.

And, finally, to a frantic, heart-pounding terror.

The air grew thin.

The darkness became an almost physical weight, pressing in on him, suffocating him.

That little boy had screamed until his throat was raw, his small fists beating uselessly against the unyielding wood.

…

With trembling hands, I knelt and fumbled with the rusty, ancient latch. It resisted for a moment, then gave way with a loud, grating click. I lifted the heavy, cedar-scented lid.

Inside, curled into a tight ball, was a boy of seven. He had my face — Leo Maxwell's face — his cheeks streaked with tears, his small fists raw and bruised from beating against the unyielding wood. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with a frantic, heart-pounding terror, the terror of a child who has been utterly abandoned in the suffocating dark.

In that moment, I understood. The insidious poison hadn't just attacked my body; it had burrowed into my very soul, seeking out the oldest, deepest fear it could find, the primal terror of that forgotten childhood trauma. It was trying to paralyze and demoralize me with the echo of a little boy's panic.

What an absolutely terrifying toxin!

However…

I looked at the child, at my own younger self, and the frantic terror in my own heart began to subside, replaced by a profound, almost paternal wave of empathy and resolve.

Gently, I reached into the chest.

"It's alright," I said, my voice soft, the voice of Jiang Li speaking the words of Leo Maxwell.

"You're not trapped anymore. I'm here. I'll get you out of here."

The boy stared at me, his sobs quieting. He hesitantly reached out a small, trembling hand and placed it in mine.

Gently, ever so carefully, I helped him climb out of the chest.

He stood before me, small and vulnerable, still shaking. I knelt before him, bringing myself to his level. I didn't hug him. I didn't offer empty platitudes. I simply met his terrified gaze with a look of calm, absolute certainty.

"The darkness is just the absence of light," I said. "The weight -- just a feeling. None of these things can hope to hold us. None of them have power over us unless we give them that power."

I stood up and took my younger self's hand into my own.

"Come," I said. "Let's head back into the light."

Together, the cultivator and the ghost of a terrified child, we walked out of the dressing room, through the dusty backstage labyrinth, and back onto the main stage. As we reached the center, the oppressive darkness of the buried theater began to fade away, the groaning of the earth replaced by the distant, panicked shouts of the banquet hall. The ghost of the little boy squeezed my hand once in a silent thank you, and then dissolved into motes of golden light that flowed back into me.

My mind, the mind of Leo Maxwell, was clear once again.

The primal fear was gone, confronted and comforted. I was still dying, of course, but now, at least, I could think.

Yet those thoughts, unfortunately, weren't leaving me many options. Conventional means were failing me. My life was measured in breaths. The antidote pills were a temporary stopgap at best. I could feel my own body turning against me.

And so, with the cold, sweating logic of a man with nothing left to lose, I decided to do what I did best: turn my own impending death into a performance. It was an actor's final trick. A desperate bluff against the house — hells, against the very laws of this universe.

I vividly remembered my first "resurrection" in Qingshan, the performance I had given before Ruolan and Alchemist Chen, a desperate lie about my alleged "special constitution" that had —through the miracle of the System— become reality back then. The audience now was infinitely more powerful, the stakes infinitely higher.

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But the principle remained the same.

All I needed to do was to manipulate the belief of the powerful "audience" that remained in the room—specifically the two Golden Core experts, Governor Sheng Yan and Manager Jin Shen, whose belief was surely potent enough to get me out of this mess!

Through sheer force of will, despite the crushing weight of the foreign Earth Qi, I managed to force myself back to my feet. My limbs feeling heavy as lead, my movements stiff and unnatural, like a puppet made of cooling clay.

I forced a confident, almost arrogant smirk onto my lips, a rictus grin of defiance against the encroaching stone. I even let out a laugh: a ragged, breathless sound that cut through the panicked din of the hall.

"This toxin..." I said, my voice hoarse but carrying with it a hint of resonant power, "it is potent, I will grant it that… but the idiot children who deployed it are akin to frogs in a well, ignorant of the true vastness of the world."

I pushed myself fully upright, my gaze sweeping across the shocked faces of the assembled cultivators.

"These pathetic would-be assassins still believe in the simplified tales of the five elements; in the childish notion that Earth always conquers Water. They are unaware that the truly transcendent physiques stand far above such things."

I raised my afflicted arm, displaying the creeping, grey petrification for all to see, not as a sign of weakness, but as a curiosity, a strange and interesting phenomenon.

"Haven't you realized it by now? Earth does not conquer the Frost within me," I declared, my voice ringing with a mad, theatrical confidence. "It feeds it. This poison shall not become my demise! Instead... it shall serve as a rare and potent tonic that can only further refine my meridians!"

To sell the — frankly nonsensical and utterly outrageous — lie, I flared my twin cultivation auras.

The frosty, azure chill of my Ling Qi erupted from me, followed immediately by the dense, colorless, and far more oppressive haze of my Xue Qi. I tried to project an image of overwhelming, indomitable strength, of a being for whom this deadly poison was nothing more than an interesting appetizer.

And it seemed to work! I felt the tide begin to turn.

The relentless advance of the stone on my arm seemed to slow. To hesitate.

In the corner of my vision, I suddenly saw the belief points from the powerful experts trickling into my System log:

[+1000]

[+1000]

[+2000]

[+3000]

A fragile, shimmering manifestation began to take hold within my meridians, a nascent power rising forth to meet the toxin. I even began to rise, not just to my feet, but even a few inches into the air, a visual testament to my supposed mastery.

But then, His Excellency the Governor — a logical man, and a Golden Core expert steeped in a lifetime of established cultivation knowledge — decided to ruin everything.

"Preposterous!" Sheng Yan exclaimed, his voice cutting through the hall's stunned silence — most likely not out of spite or malice, but out of a deep-seated, unshakable belief in the established laws of the universe.

"The boy's bravery in the face of certain death is to be commended, but he is only hastening his own demise by circulating his Qi that way! Everyone knows the Frost constitutions' great weakness is to Earth-aspected Qi: this has been studied for centuries! Are we now to believe a youth from a largely unknown provincial clan possesses a Special Constitution that defies the very laws of cultivation — a Frost constitution that is superior even to the Emperor's own? Why, the very notion of such a thing… ridiculous on its face!"

His words were a dagger to the heart of the fragile belief I had desperately constructed… And the doubt of a Golden Core expert was a powerful, contagious thing. I could feel the change in the room, the collective awe curdling back into skeptical pity. The trickling belief points in my System log immediately tapered off.

The manifestation — so close to taking hold — shattered like brittle glass.

A wave of righteous, incandescent fury surged through me, a rage directed entirely at the Governor.

Why, you pompous, ignorant, unimaginative fool! I screamed in the confines of my own mind.

You and your 'logic'!

You and your 'everyone knows'!

You are literally killing me with that conventional wisdom!

The poison, no longer held in check, surged back with a terrifying, vengeful force. The black veins on my limbs once again spread with horrifying speed, like cracks racing across a frozen lake. I fell hard to my knees, a strangled gasp escaping my lips as the stone-like texture crawled up my arm.

Over my shoulder.

Across my chest.

In the silent desperation of my mind, I screamed internally at the System to save me.

Use the points! Spend them all! Manifest toxin resistance!

But the System's response was cold and entirely unsympathetic.

[Manifesting Toxin Immunity ('Eternal Abyss Entombing Earth') requires 85,000,000,000 Belief Points. Current Stored Belief: 4,350,000 Belief Points. Warning: belief point balance is insufficient. Attempt partial manifestation anyway?]

Yes! I commanded, a final, desperate gamble.

[Acknowledged]

[Partial Manifestation Initiated]

I felt a faint, almost imperceptible warmth spread from my dantian… but, like a single candle struggling against a raging blizzard, it was snuffed out in an instant.

Absolutely nothing changed.

The stone-like texture crept up my body relentlessly. Soon, the world began to go dark as the petrification covered my eyes — the chaotic scene of the banquet hall fading to a uniform, lifeless grey.

Then, to black.

Is this really how it all ends? I thought as a strange, ironic amusement took hold of my fading consciousness.

Dying on stage once again... heh. This is… becoming a bad habit.

But, just as I felt my consciousness fading, my very soul being compressed by the weight of the illusory mountains of the earth toxin, a sound pierced the encroaching silence. It was a desperate, furious cry: a sound of such raw, absolute conviction that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall.

"You are all fools!"

My fading hearing recognized that voice.

Ruolan.

I couldn't see her, of course -- my world was now a tomb filled only with darkness -- but I could certainly imagine the scene.

She must have somehow broken through the cordon of guards, her face a mask of tear-streaked fury and a faith so absolute it bordered on madness.

"Master Jiang Li is invincible!" she proclaimed, her voice raw, directed at the entire, stunned hall.

"What he says is always true! He said this toxin would only strengthen him, and it will do just that! Do you honestly believe that some third-rate excuse for a poison like this 'Eternal Abyss' can harm the likes of him? Dream on! Master Li's true powers are beyond your imagination, and just this? This is nothing to him! I refuse to believe he will die here, after everything I've seen him do!"

"…Do you hear me? I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT!"

Oh, my sweet, innocent Ruolan, I thought, a flicker of sad affection piercing through my dying consciousness.

What dramatic delivery of the lines!

What admirable conviction!

But… what could your belief possibly accomplish now? After all, you are only at the Foundation Establishment realm. Your System-assigned BQT – whatever the hells that might be -- would surely be a mere drop in the vast ocean of power required to counteract a Golden Core toxin.

…

That poor, deluded girl…

[Transcendent−Quality Belief Detected!]

…

Come again?

…

[Belief Sour... SYSTEM ERROR]

{a#4%98dnggiep...}

[WARNING: Unhandled Exception Detected. Attempting to Resolve...]

[Processing... Please Wait....]

Inexplicable, garbled messages flashed through my fading mind.

And then, just as I felt my soul on the verge of being crushed, a new message flashed, clear and triumphant as a divine edict.

[Thr3sh0ldM3t! M@n1festation 1nitiated!]

Suddenly, I felt a silent nuclear explosion of Qi within my dantian… or rather… that's the closest I can come to an accurate description of what occurred.

It was not a hot, destructive force I felt — but a silent, impossibly cold wave of pure power that smelled of ozone and tasted of a deep indigo-purple and Heavy Metal music. This new, belief-fueled energy, born of the purest Frost, viciously attacked the invading Earth Qi.

And it did not just neutralize the toxin.

It consumed it, assimilated it, tearing apart its fundamental structure and reforging it into a new — and fully compatible — form of my own power.

The Imperial Guards surrounding me recoiled reflexively as a wave of hoarfrost quickly raced across the floor of the dais with an audible crackle, flash-freezing the spilled wine and the shattered jade cups into the stone. The sudden, shocking drop in temperature was a physical blow, causing the assembled cultivators to gasp, their warm breath pluming in the air as if it were suddenly the dead of winter.

Then, an absolutely massive pillar of swirling azure and deep indigo power erupted from my body, shattering the grey, stony shell that had encased me like it was nothing more than dried mud.

I levitated into the air as a maelstrom of raw, untamed energy suddenly swirling around me. My Ling Qi, now infused with the converted, purified essence of the exotic Golden Core-level earth toxin, visibly thickened, shimmering as it began to liquefy on the spot: a sign of the establishment of a Foundation of unimaginable quality.

The hall, which had been in a state of panicked chaos, now erupted in a new wave of whispers — this time of pure terror and awe alike.

"Wait... he was actually telling the truth?"

"Im-impossible! He's breaking through to Foundation Establishment... now?"

"How can such a Heaven-defying special physique even exist? The Frost devours even its opposing element?"

"What a monster! No wonder the Princess was interested in sponsoring him!"

I floated back down to the floor – apparently unharmed; feeling immeasurably more powerful -- and landed softly on my feet. I quickly checked my System log, my mind giddy to have — somehow — survived the latest ordeal.

The System's messages didn't disappoint!

[Special Constitution (Unknown) ---> 70% Manifestation]

[Ling Qi Cultivation: Qi Gathering, Stage 9 ---> Foundation Establishment (Early Stage)]

[Xue Qi Cultivation: Diamond Body (Early Stage) ---> Diamond Body (Middle Stage)]

[+1,000,000 Belief Points!]

Slowly, pointedly, I looked around the room.

Elder Yue Qingxue's legendary composure was forgotten entirely. Instead, she was staring at me with an expression of outright, undisguised hunger, her earlier shock replaced by a burning, possessive desire that made me distinctly uncomfortable.

Manager Jin Shen's look was sharp and calculating, his mind clearly reassessing my value.

And Governor Sheng Yan… well, His Excellency now looked positively horrified — the blood draining from his face, and a realization dawning on him that he had, quite likely, just offended someone he really shouldn't have.

He approached me and began to stammer something – perhaps an apology of some sort -- but I cut him off with a cool, dismissive smile.

"Oh, think nothing of it, Your Excellency," I said, my voice now clear and resonant with the power of my new cultivation. "Though I must confess, tonight's wine had far too many… earthy undertones for my liking. If you'll excuse me, I believe I'd like to retire for the evening."

...

The banquet was, of course, over.

The festive atmosphere of just a few minutes ago had been replaced by one of grim, martial authority. Imperial Guards seemed to materialize from the very shadows in ever-growing numbers, their black and gold armor and dragon-crested helmets a stark and terrifying sight. Their captain, a cold-eyed woman at the Late Foundation Establishment stage, took control of the scene with brutal efficiency.

The investigation began immediately.

It was clear to everyone that the target had likely been the Princess, and I was merely collateral damage, the unfortunate taster of the cup she had so graciously offered to share.

This fact, ironically, worked entirely in my family's favor.

An Imperial Guard captain, his face a grim, unreadable mask, approached our family's table. His questioning was a brief formality, his tone respectful to the point of deference.

"Patriarch Jiang, can you account for the movements of your family members this evening?" he asked. My father, his face a mask of controlled fury at what has transpired, answered with a cold, clipped precision.

The captain listened, nodded, and then bowed deeply.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Patriarch Jiang. Your family are clearly victims in this treasonous affair. You are, of course, free to leave."

We were quickly and respectfully released… an honor not extended to the other clans. As we walked towards the exit, I watched as the real interrogations began.

It was a humiliating and public spectacle.

When questioning the other families, Imperial Guard did not bother with the polite fiction of interviews. They descended upon the tables of the Su, Chen, and Zhao clans like wolves upon a flock of sheep. Patriarchs and matriarchs who had, mere hours before, been the masters of their domains were now forced to stand, their faces pale, as the guards — with their cold, unforgiving eyes — questioned them loudly, for all to hear. Storage rings were demanded for inspection, their private contents unceremoniously dumped onto the tables for all to see. It was a systematic stripping of face, a brutal reminder that before the power of the Imperial Throne, even the local powerhouses' authority was nothing.

+++

Back in the safety of my suite within the Jiang Compound, as the moon climbed high into the sky, I sat on my private balcony, a cup of steaming, fragrant spirit tea in my hands. The night was quiet now, the chaos of the banquet a distant memory. But my mind was anything but calm. I replayed the night's events, analyzing them with a cold, detached clarity. My public "miracle"—surviving an incurable poison by demonstrating an apparently impossible special physique and breaking through on the spot—had been far too visible, far too loud. It was a desperate, messy gambit that had succeeded through sheer, dumb luck and the inexplicable aspect of the System that I still didn't fully understand. I had not just revealed a trump card; I had set off a signal flare that would be seen across the entire empire. I had painted a massive target on my back.

More importantly, after the Princess's public show of favor and the subsequent assassination attempt, any pretense of neutrality was, likely, gone. Everyone in the province—and soon, every ambitious prince and scheming minister in the Imperial Capital—will believe I am irrevocably part of her faction. Her enemies — whether I liked it or not — were now mine.

I took a slow sip of the tea, its warmth spreading through me, a stark contrast to the icy certainty that had settled in my heart. Neutrality was no longer an option. It was a death sentence. My best, and perhaps only, path to survival is to go "all in" with the Princess and hope her power is a sufficient shield.

This meant I had to formally and quickly reject Elder Yue Qingxue's — admittedly enticing and seductive — offer. To leave her hanging, to allow her to believe she still had a claim on me, would be to invite the enmity of a second powerful faction at a time when I really doesn't need more enemies. I decided to do it immediately.

My mind raced, considering the best way to handle such a delicate, and even potentially dangerous, conversation.

Going alone felt foolish.

The Azure Cloud Sect's compound here in the City was their territory in the truest sense of that word: a fortress hidden behind multiple layers of privacy and defensive formations where their power was absolute. True, security in the Golden Mandate Quarter was now at an unprecedented level…and the Sect surely wouldn't dare make a brazen move against me… but that was no reason to tempt fate unnecessarily.

What I needed was an influential witness.

A social buffer, of sorts.

Someone whose presence would ensure the conversation remained formal and above-board – with none of the ridiculous physical advances the esteemed Elder had attempted earlier.

My first thought was my father -- but he was too emotionally invested. Too prone to over-compensating with bluster.

My mother was a brilliant strategist, but her presence would signal a formal clan-level decision, which felt too aggressive. I had no desire for my family to suffer more blowback from the Sect that was strictly necessary.

Yue was an option, of course -- but she was too close to the situation, her own father having just sworn fealty directly to me.

And Ruolan – well, Foundation Establishment or not, her presence simply didn't carry all that much social weight.

No, the perfect candidate was the one man in Yuhang City who was now my most fervent, unquestioning, and high-status admirer.

What I needed the most right now… was a well-connected, useful idiot.