Pillborn Immortal

Pant,

Pant.

"I think I got away," the young boy muttered, pressing himself against the rough bark of an old tree. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting shadows across his face. He tightened his grip on the worn manual in his hands, its cover rough with age and inked with symbols. It was a manual how to start cultivation.

His breathing gradually steadied, but his heart still pounded with excitement and fear. He carefully peeked around the tree, scanning the dimly lit forest path for any signs of pursuit.

"Maybe when I learn how to cultivate, I won't have to steal to survive and I can become a disciple in the sect." 

But before he could celebrate, a cold voice echoed from the shadows.

"You really thought you could steal from the sect and get away with it?"

"Wake up!" the Qi Pill Ancestor's voice echoed in Zhuan Ming's mind.

"Yeah, yeah, old man, just had some memories of the past creeping up on me." He joked.

"Tomorrow will be the entrance exam to become an inner disciple." Qi Pill Ancestor's voice reminded him.

Today, I'll form my Nirvana roots, Zhuan Ming thought with a smile, remembering his first attempt. In his past life, it had taken him ten tries to form his Nirvana roots. Each failure left him injured, but survival had no room for weakness.

"Well, let's hope this time goes smoothly," he muttered to himself.

The wind rustled through the trees. He was deep in the forest, as this process required both spiritual and life energy. With a deep breath, Zhuan Ming sat cross-legged beneath a tree, closing his eyes. He let the life and spiritual energy flow into his body, becoming one with the universe. The world around him seemed to fade as he concentrated, gathering his energy and focusing it at a single point to form his Nirvana roots.

A faint warmth spread through him, all the energy converging near his navel. It was easy for him—after all, he was a rank 6 cultivator with ample experience. This level of control was nothing to him.

Moments later, the process was complete. Zhuan Ming's Nirvana roots had formed.

"In stillness deep, the spirit soars,

Beneath the boughs, where moonlight pours.

A spark ignites, a flame unbounded,

Within the core, where roots are grounded.

Through winding paths, the Qi does flow,

A force eternal, vast, and slow.

With every breath, the heavens bend,

In silent whispers, truths transcend.

The roots take hold, both fierce and free,

A bond with earth, a bond with me.

Through trials faced, through time's embrace,

The seed of power finds its place." Zhuan Ming said outload.

"Now it is time to visit the market to but better clothes so you don't look like a total bum." Qi pill ancestor interrupted Zhuan Ming moment.

"Yeah, yeah." Zhuan Ming matured.

He took the money and went out.

The bustling streets were a stark contrast to the quiet seclusion of his house. Zhuan Ming weaved through the crowd, his eyes darting from one stall to another. Cultivators of various ranks haggled over spirit stones and magical artifacts, their voices a cacophony of greed and ambition.

"Young cultivator, come see my wares!" A wrinkled old woman called out, her toothless grin revealing more cunning than kindness. "I have robes that will make you look like an Immortal!"

Zhuan Ming approached analysing the option that were present.

"How much?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

The old woman's eyes gleamed as she sized him up, her grin widening. "For you, young master, a special price! Only fifty spirit stones for this fine set of robes." She held up a shimmering garment, its fabric catching the light with an almost ethereal glow. The embroidery was intricate, depicting swirling clouds and soaring cranes—a symbol of longevity and grace.

Zhuan Ming raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Fifty spirit stones? For something that looks like it'll fall apart after one wash? You must think I'm a fool."

The woman cackled, her voice raspy. "Ah, a foul mouth you have? Fine, fine. For you, forty spirit stones."

Zhuan Ming glanced at the robes again, his mind calculating. They were flashy, perhaps too much so for his taste, but they would certainly make him stand out during the exam. However, standing out wasn't always a good thing—especially when he was trying to keep a low profile.

"Thirty," he countered, crossing his arms. "And you throw in that belt over there." He pointed to a simple but sturdy-looking belt adorned with a small jade clasp.

The old woman gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "Thirty? You'll ruin me, young master! But… since you have a keen eye, I'll agree. Thirty spirit stones and the belt. But only because I like you."

Zhuan Ming smirked, reaching into his pouch and counting out the spirit stones. He handed them over, and the woman quickly wrapped the robes and belt in a cloth bundle, shoving it into his hands.

"Pleasure doing business with you," she said, her grin returning. "May your cultivation reach the heavens!"

Zhuan Ming nodded, tucking the bundle under his arm and moving on. The Qi Pill Ancestor's voice chimed in his mind, dripping with sarcasm. "Flashy robes and a belt? Really? You're supposed to be preparing for an exam, not a fashion show."

"Relax, old man," Zhuan Ming replied under his breath. "A little flair never hurt anyone. Besides, I got a good deal."

"Hmph. Just don't regret it later."

Zhuan Ming ignored the jab, his attention shifting to a nearby stall selling talismans. The stall was run by a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, his arms crossed as he watched potential customers. The talismans on display were simple but well-crafted, each one imbued with a faint spiritual energy.

If I could buy a bunch of high-level talismans, I could prepare a trap and kill the fire serpent. Tho that requires money that I am short on right-now. But since I am a regressor I do know many things about the future but starting a business right now is just not optimal, I am too weak and poor.

Zhuan Ming veered off the main path, heading toward a modest food stall tucked between a blacksmith's forge and a herbalist's shop. The scent of roasted meat and steamed buns wafted through the air, making his stomach growl in anticipation. He hadn't eaten properly in days, too focused on preparing for the exam. But now, with the test looming, he knew he needed to fuel his body for the challenges ahead.

The stall was run by a burly man with a kind face, his hands deftly flipping skewers of meat over a crackling fire. A young girl, likely his daughter, handed out steaming buns to customers with a bright smile. Zhuan Ming approached, his eyes scanning the offerings.

"What'll it be, young master?" the man asked, wiping his hands on his apron. "We've got roasted spirit beast meat, vegetable buns, and rice cakes. All fresh!"

Zhuan Ming's mouth watered at the mention of spirit beast meat. It was expensive, but he decided that he can afford it. "Two skewers of the spirit beast meat and a dozen vegetable buns," he said, pulling out his pouch of spirit stones.

The man's eyebrows shot up. "That's quite the order! Preparing for something big, are you?"

"Something like that," Zhuan Ming replied with a faint smile.

The man nodded, handing over the skewers and buns wrapped in clean cloth. "Good luck, then. May your path be smooth and your stomach full."

Zhuan Ming thanked him, in the process paying the man and tucked the food into his bag. As he turned to leave, the Qi Pill Ancestor's voice echoed in his mind.

He made his way back to the shed he called home. He took out his food that had become warm.

"Finally, I can eat." Zhuan Ming rejoiced.

After a satisfying meal, Zhuan Ming leaned back against the wall of the shed, the warmth of the spirit beast meat still lingering in his chest. The food had done its job, replenishing his energy and sharpening his mind. He stared at the flickering candlelight, his thoughts drifting to the exam tomorrow.

The inner disciple exam was more than just a test—it was a gateway. A chance to rise above the life of scraping by. In his past life, he had clawed his way to power through sheer will and countless sacrifices. This time, he had the advantage of foresight and he didn't plan to waste it.

He glanced at the new robes and belt he had purchased, neatly folded beside him. They were flashier than he would have liked, but they served a purpose. In the world of cultivators, appearances mattered. Looking the part could mean the difference between being taken seriously and being dismissed as a beggar.

As the candle burned low, Zhuan Ming lay down on his bed. It was time to call it a night.