Sword of Immortal Annihilation

Chu Ran stood at the foot of the mountain, looking up at the long, steep white jade stairway with an impassive expression. Compared to the weathered, yellowed, ancient stairway he knew ten thousand years later—one that had endured wind, frost, snow, and rain, bearing the marks of time—this white jade stairway before him was pristine, wreathed in ethereal mist. He never thought he would set foot on this Ascension Stairway again. Chu Ran’s gaze lingered on the jade-white, mist-shrouded stairway, and he let out a soft sigh. He murmured under his breath, “The moon the ancients saw is not the moon we gaze upon today; yet the moon we see now once cast its light upon those long-gone souls.” Clad in a dark-colored curved-hemmed robe, his slender frame was accentuated, his waist so delicate it seemed as if it would snap with a single squeeze. His complexion was pale, his features uncommonly handsome and refined—yet there was a faint, sickly frailty about him. “Cough… cough…” A low fit of coughing seized him. He pulled a snow-white embroidered handkerchief from his sleeve and pressed it gently to his lips, coughing softly. His wide sleeves billowed in the wind, fluttering as if they would carry him off with the breeze. Already as handsome as an immortal, he was tall yet slight of build. Everything about him exuded a pale, fragile elegance, his robes swirling around him as if he were about to ride the wind away. The people around him froze in their tracks, transfixed. This was the ancient Primordial Era, ten thousand years in the past—a time when the cultivation realm was known as the Savage Wasteland. True to its name, it was a land of barbarism and desolation, dominated by towering mountains and treacherous terrain. Beasts, fierce monsters, demon clans, and sea tribes held sway over half the continent. The western lands were a chaotic melting pot of exotic beasts, savage monsters, and shaman clans; the east belonged to the demon tribes; the southern seas were ruled by the sea peoples; as for the north… it was a frozen wasteland, home only to a handful of powerful demons. Humans, meanwhile, clung to existence in the Central Plains, surrounded on all sides by demon beasts, savage monsters, demon clans, and sea tribes—truly surviving by the skin of their teeth. Survival was no easy feat! Every step of the way, humanity had fought against heaven, against earth, against fierce monsters, against demon clans… this endless struggle had forged them into a people of formidable strength and unyielding spirit. In short: the ancients were brutes. Against this backdrop, Chu Ran—this pampered young master of a noble clan, raised on a steady diet of medicinal tonics ten thousand years in the future—stood out like a sore thumb. His air of elegant refinement, coupled with his sickly frailty, left the ancients utterly dumbfounded. “Holy s**t! That kid’s drop-dead gorgeous!” A burly man in black armor, shouldering a massive battle-axe and sporting a face crisscrossed with scars, stared at Chu Ran, his eyes glued to him. He was practically drooling, transfixed. “If I cultivate immortality, will I turn out as handsome as him?” the brute asked, l*****g his lips greedily. His companion, a tall, lanky man standing beside him, looked on with disgust and snorted coldly. “Wipe the drool off your chin, and quit daydreaming!” Up ahead, Chu Ran heard their exchange and turned to glance at the two men. One was built like a tank, with a rock-solid stance and a battle-axe that must have weighed a thousand jin. Yet his spiritual aura was meager, his soul weak—clearly a Body Cultivator. In this ancient era, besides Qi Cultivators, there were also Body Cultivators, Buddha Cultivators, Shaman Cultivators, and the most mysterious of all—Soul Cultivators. Chu Ran hadn’t expected to encounter a Body Cultivator today. A faint smile tugged at Chu Ran’s lips. To someone like him, who had traveled back ten thousand years, everything in this era was novel and fascinating. When the brute caught sight of his smile, his eyes went wide, and his head spun. He mumbled in a daze, “He smiled at me! He actually smiled… He’s so handsome! Even more handsome than Immortal Changle, isn’t he?” “No way,” the brute went on. “Immortal Changle doesn’t hold a candle to this kid!” The tall, lanky man beside him paled and snapped sharply, “Watch your tongue!” “Loose lips sink ships! You’ll bring trouble upon yourself if you’re not careful!” The brute waved a dismissive hand. “You’re overthinking it, Zhen.” Chu Ran listened to their bickering and smiled to himself. How amusing. To meet two such unusual individuals on his first day here—the tall, lanky man was undoubtedly a Shaman Cultivator, wasn’t he? His gaze lingered on the cyan patterns etched onto the man’s hand. Others might not recognize them, but Chu Ran had once seen a description in an ancient text: those marks were the exclusive symbol of Shaman Cultivators, a means to communicate with the powers of heaven and earth. Since the man bore those symbols on his hand, he must be a Shaman Cultivator. Shaman Cultivators practiced witchcraft—a discipline that would be all but lost in later ages. The few surviving arts, such as gu poisoning, curses, sacrificial prayers, and divination, were all branches of witchcraft. Yet in this ancient era, the most formidable ability of Shaman Cultivators was not any of these—it was shamanic medicine. Legends claimed their skills could raise the dead and mend bones; their healing prowess was nothing short of miraculous. If Body Cultivators were a dime a dozen—you could stumble across five out of every ten cultivators—Shaman Cultivators were a rarity beyond compare. You might not find a single one in a thousand people. This odd pair—a Body Cultivator and a Shaman Cultivator—coming to Shangqing Sect to learn Daoist cultivation… how intriguing. A playful smirk curved Chu Ran’s lips as he watched them. The tall, lanky man sensed Chu Ran’s gaze and quickly tucked his hand into his sleeve, hiding it from view. Noticing this, Chu Ran casually averted his eyes and turned his attention back to the Ascension Stairway before him. The brute standing beside the lanky man noticed the gesture and tensed up. “What’s wrong? Did he find out?” “I don’t know…” the lanky man whispered, his voice tight. “But his gaze… it makes my skin crawl.” He reassured himself silently: this was the Central Plains, far from the western lands. No one here knew his true identity. These Qi Cultivators knew next to nothing about the shaman clans—no one would recognize what the marks on his hand signified… But… was that really true? The lanky man thought back to the young man’s piercing gaze, and a chill ran down his spine. Under that gaze, he felt completely exposed—as if every secret he had worked so hard to hide had been laid bare under the sun. “That young man… he’s terrifying,” the lanky man muttered under his breath. “Bullshit!” The brute scoffed, unconvinced. “Terrifying? He’s as skinny as a chick! I could crush him to death with one finger!” “…” The lanky man fell silent. He shot his companion a speechless look. “That’s not the kind of terrifying I mean…” “Then what kind of terrifying is it?” the brute pressed stubbornly. “Is he taller than me? Is he stronger than me?” “…” The lanky man had no words. “Be honest with me—are you into that kid?” the brute demanded, his brows furrowing in anger. “Have some shame, will you? That boy can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen—fifteen at most!” “How old are you, hitting on a kid that young? Have you no decency?” “That’s a classic case of an old cow trying to eat tender grass!” “…” The lanky man. “…” Chu Ran, who had been eavesdropping nearby. Chu Ran choked on his own saliva and erupted into a fit of violent coughing. So much so that he coughed up blood… The snow-white handkerchief pressed to his lips was now dotted with crimson stains, a shocking sight. Serves you right for eavesdropping, he berated himself silently. This is what you get for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong! “You…” The lanky man stared at the brute, utterly dumbfounded, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Finally, he flung up his hands in frustration and spat out, “You can’t explain winter to a summer insect!” With that, he turned away, refusing to speak to the brute any further. At that moment, Chu Ran turned around and walked forward. He stopped right in front of the lanky man. The lanky man looked up, his gaze locking with Chu Ran’s. The brute beside him tensed up immediately, his expression filled with anxiety. Oh no—this pretty boy actually has the hots for Zhen, doesn’t he… Chu Ran shot a glance at the nervous, fidgeting brute, then fixed his cold gaze on the lanky man and said flatly, “If I were you, I’d take a needle and thread and sew his mouth shut. Otherwise, he’ll offend the wrong person one day, and neither of you will know how you died.” Dare to call me a chick? Dare to say he could crush me to death with one finger? Hmph.