The Immortal Path Is Crowded

In the middle of a dense forest, Su Qingli pouted as she kicked stones on the ground in frustration. She hugged her longsword—almost as large as her own body—against her chest, and each kick sent up a small cloud of dust.

“What a scam!” she complained out loud, her voice filled with childish indignation. “Why did they even bring us if they were just going to leave us here? They didn’t even let us see the enemy sect!”

A few steps away, completely indifferent to her tantrum, Wei Han rested in a lotus position atop a moss-covered root. His calm, cold face seemed carved from jade, his breathing so faint it almost blended with the wind rustling through the leaves.

Hearing her complaints, he didn’t even bother opening his eyes.

“The battlefield unfolding ahead,” he replied in his usual calm tone, his voice as flat as a windless lake, “is not for disciples of our level.”

Su Qingli grew even more exasperated. She huffed loudly and, with a dramatic sigh, dropped to the ground. She adjusted her skirt carefully before sitting very, very close to him, almost shoulder to shoulder.

She stared intently at Wei Han’s perfect, impassive profile. After a long while, with only the sound of cicadas filling the air, she spoke in a low voice.

“Senior Brother Wei Han… you’ve been very quiet this whole time. What do you think is happening over there? Have they already started?”

Wei Han finally opened his eyes. The coldness within them softened by a fraction, and just as his lips were about to move to respond, a furious roar thundered from far ahead, shaking the treetops.

“YOU DAMN ARROGANT BRATS! HOW DARE YOU AMBUSH THE SEAT OF MY CULT?! I’LL FLAY YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOUR BONES TO THE BEASTS!!”

Immediately after, a booming laugh erupted in response—mocking and brimming with overwhelming confidence, making the air tremble.

“HAHAHA! Come here, old demon, I’ll show you what it feels like to be beaten by a ‘brat’!”

Hearing that voice, Su Qingli jumped to her feet, her eyes shining with pure excitement as she pointed toward the horizon.

“That voice! That outrageous laugh! It’s Senior Brother Xiong Li! They already started without us!”

Just as she said it, from the distant valley came a crisp, icy sound, as if a sword had been unsheathed against the very air.

From that same point, a vast and heavy pressure suddenly rose. For an instant, it was as if an ancient mountain had been born in the middle of the battlefield, crushing the air itself.

Sensing that immense and razor-sharp sword intent tearing across the distant sky like lightning, Wei Han stared toward the valley for a brief moment. His pupils, usually empty, seemed to grasp something imperceptible.

As if he had understood something, he slowly closed his eyes and let his breathing sink once more. He returned to his lotus position, isolating himself from the roaring chaos.

Su Qingli, on the other hand, leaned forward with her entire body, fists clenched, her eyes shining with a mix of fascination and overwhelming frustration.

“I can feel it! I can feel the mountains trembling!” she lamented, kicking another stone. “But I can’t see anything! They left us in the worst possible spot to watch the fight!”

---

A few li away, at the heart of the chaos, a fifteen-year-old youth of average appearance, with his black hair tied back, moved with unnatural calm. His feet barely touched the ground, executing a phantom movement technique that allowed him to flow through the shadows as if every rock and blade of grass were familiar to him.

The thunderous noise around him was no more than the buzzing of insects to his ears. A month ago, his soul—that of a Sword Immortal Venerable who had perished under the Ninth Heavenly Tribulation—had been torn from Samsara itself and forcibly returned to this mortal vessel: his own fifteen-year-old body, an outer disciple so weak and insignificant he was less than dust.

Lost in his memories, he heard the furious roar of the branch master. He was fighting a burly young man who laughed as his punches shook the earth.

At that moment, a pure sword intent and an overwhelming pressure froze the spiritual Qi.

The youth’s gaze, once calm, turned into an icy abyss.

“Finally…” he murmured, his voice a whisper carrying the weight of centuries.

Without the slightest hesitation, his figure flickered and vanished through a hidden corridor between the burning storehouses—a secret passage he had prepared in advance.

As he ran, he recalled the humiliation of his first life: a nobody who had barely managed to crawl through corpses and wandered like a stray dog until the Heavens, in a rare whim, allowed him to obtain a forgotten legacy.

A flash, as sharp as a blade, crossed his eyes.

“This time, there will be no detours,” he murmured. “With the knowledge I possess, this young body will reclaim what is mine. The legacy that forged me will be my first step to defy the Heavens themselves.”

After traveling several li without stopping, the youth finally escaped the area of the burning stronghold. He entered the dense forest to continue his escape. Moving like a shadow, he crossed dozens of trees in silence, the roar of battle already distant behind him—until something made him stop dead in his tracks.

He couldn’t help the strange expression that formed on his face.

In front of him, right in the middle of the forest and directly along his escape route… were two children.

This path… should be empty.

One of them was a girl carrying a sword almost as large as herself. Su Qingli stared at him in shock, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open, as if she had just seen a spirit emerge from a tree.

The youth’s gaze then shifted to the boy beside her, who sat in a lotus position. At the sight of him, he frowned. He was just a child with a cold, serene face. He could clearly sense that he was at the ninth level of Qi Gathering… and yet, something didn’t add up.

Suddenly, Wei Han slowly opened his eyes and, in a flat, completely indifferent voice, said, “Su Qingli, get behind me.”

Wei Han rose to his feet. His immaculate white robe barely stirred in the wind. He stood there, motionless, staring straight at him.

His memories were clear. Even now, Luo Wuji remembered it vividly—in his previous life, he had fled along this very path, grievously injured and on the verge of death… and he had encountered no one.

That discrepancy alone was enough to sharpen his gaze slightly.

In the next instant, their eyes met—and the air between the trees seemed to grow heavy and silent.