Pillborn Immortal

The night was thick with silence as Zhuan Ming moved through the Verdant Wilds, his steps measured and precise. The towering trees loomed like silent sentinels, their dense canopy filtering the moonlight into scattered beams that barely reached the forest floor. The air was damp with the scent of moss and decaying leaves.

Ahead, a lone figure trudged through the undergrowth. Xiao Wei, a poor outer disciple, moved with nervous energy, his small satchel clutched tightly against his side. The boy's crude harvesting knife glinted under the moonlight as he scanned his surroundings. He was here for the same reason many desperate disciples ventured into the Verdant Wilds—to gather spirit herbs and earn enough resources to survive. The Moon Light Blooms, which only flourished under the full moon, weren't worth enough to make the risk worthwhile but the boy was desperate and poor. He needed the money to survive and not live on the street.

Zhuan Ming watched him from the shadows, his gaze cold and calculating. The boy was diligent, determined even, but determination meant little in a world governed by strength.

Xiao Wei knelt beside a cluster of glowing blooms, their silver petals shimmering faintly. A relieved sigh escaped him as he carefully cut the stems and tucked them into his satchel. "Just a few more," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

"A pity, but the distance you walked is far enough no nobody will hear you." Zhuan Ming said with a still expression.

Zhuan Ming stepped forward, emerging from the shadows with a silent grace. Xiao Wei stiffened, his hand tightening around his knife as he turned. His eyes widened with recognition, then terror.

"Y-you…"

Zhuan Ming offered no words of comfort. His blade flashed under the moonlight—a clean, merciless arc. The boy's body remained upright for a moment, as if unaware it had been cut—the result of a master swordsman's precision. His satchel slipped from his grasp, spilling its contents onto the damp earth. Freshly cut, the Moon Light Blooms glowed softly beside his lifeless form.

Zhuan Ming knelt, retrieving the flowers before beginning his true purpose. He worked quickly, carving intricate symbols into the ground with practiced efficiency, using the boy's blood to complete the array. The talismans—twelve in total—were placed in a perfect formation, each absorbing the lingering death energy of the fallen disciple. The air thickened with power as the blood rose into the air before flowing into Zhuan Ming's body. Its color was a deep crimson, and if someone were watching from afar, they might have found it almost beautiful. As the array activated, Zhuan Ming felt the surge of blood energy flowing into his meridians, feeding his The sensation was intoxicating—a raw, primal force strengthening his foundation. But Zhuan Ming, with years of experience, knew how to control himself in the face of power. While power was key, life was everything. What did strength matter if one allowed power to control them? They would be nothing but a puppet, having lost their true self.

The Blood Path Marks on his Nirvana Tree pulsed with a faint crimson glow, expanding as his mastery over the Blood Path deepened.

When the process was complete, Zhuan Ming stood, his expression unreadable. The Verdant Wilds had claimed another life, and the world moved on, indifferent to the weak. He cast one last glance at Xiao Wei's body before disappearing into the night, the rustling leaves swallowing his presence entirely.

The Verdant Wilds remained silent, as if nothing had ever happened.