I have Immortality In The Cultivation World

Yang Jin had just returned to give back the books, and fortunately, the 100,000-word reflection he wrote was of much better quality than before, with some insights as profound as those of a Golden Elixir True Monarch.

“Continue!”

…

Back in his cave dwelling.

Yang Jin placed the books on the table and seized the time to cultivate his mana.

With only average aptitude and time lost on reciting scriptures and writing reflections, he had fallen far behind his peers, and in a few more years, the younger disciples with the “Jing” prefix would surpass him.

In these ten years.

Yang Jin had experienced the warmth and chill of human relationships.

His fellow disciples went from envy to disdain, from closeness to distance.

Some unkind words, even when spoken in private, would reach Yang Jin’s ears after being repeated often and loudly over time.

They dared not say there was something wrong with the old ancestor’s teaching method, only that Yang Jin had a blockheaded, lowly aptitude.

Cultivation ended.

Yang Jin opened the books, reciting and contemplating every word and phrase, and he recorded whatever feelings came to him.

After one reading, he would have a hundred or so words of insights.

After a hundred readings, he would have four or five thousand words of insights.

After a thousand readings, he had only written about ten thousand words of insights, and as his understanding of the books deepened, the gains diminished.

Yang Jin wrote 100,000 words of insights, which meant at least 100,000 readings, each word worth a volume.

“Understanding the dao is difficult, more so than ascending to the heavens!”

…

Two months later.

Yang Jin, who was running late, finally amassed the needed reflections.

Zhou Yi took out a new book: “Little Yang, if you can’t hold on, just tell this poor daoist, I won’t force you!”

“Old ancestor…”

Unlike ten years ago, when he had agreed with unwavering determination, Yang Jin hesitated for a moment before taking the book and leaving.

Zhou Yi watched Yang Jin’s desolate figure and shook his head with a sigh.

“What a pity, what a pity, the Nascent Soul will not be formed.”

“The scriptures this poor daoist has selected are the essence of 8,000 years of scripture recitation, each volume is truly exquisite. There is no repetition among them, and persisting for thirty years will increase the probability of forming the Nascent Soul by thirty percent!”

In Dongsheng Divine Continent, there are as many daoist texts as there are hairs on a bull, and even the humble Mysterious Primordial Sect has tens of thousands of volumes.

Any cultivator who has gained insights during their lifetime can write them down into books to be passed on to future generations, mingling among all the daoist texts for others to choose from.

Ordinary cultivators reading daoist texts would only choose books that interest them or are useful, yet those aren’t necessarily the essence of such books. With good luck, they might find some use in them; with bad luck, they might come across a Wild Taoist Priest’s writings, which could be detrimental.

Zhou Yi’s selection of a few thousand books from countless texts represents an excellent choice for understanding the dao.

Each book, read 100,000 times, guides one’s understanding of the dao straight toward Divinity Transformation!

…

Four months later.

Yang Jin finally finished writing his insights and picked an evening when he could avoid his fellow disciples to come to the outside of the Scripture Storage Hall.

Zhou Yi didn’t say much, for after agreeing to guide an old friend, he wasn’t there to be a nanny.

The next time Yang Jin came over, it was already a year later.

“Master Ancestor, there’s demonic cultivation causing chaos in Lan Manor, and I’ve gone with my fellow disciples to slay the demons.”

“This is an accumulation of merit, not bad.”

Zhou Yi looked increasingly frail and exuded a strong aura of death, as if he was on the verge of passing away.

Yang Jin took out a stack of books from his storage bag: “Master Ancestor, there have been new tales in the mundane world these recent years, I’ve brought them for you.”

Zhou Yi stayed silent for a long while, then pulled out a Foundation Establishment Pill and a volume of scriptures from his sleeve.

“If you want to continue reading, take the books. If you want to break through the Foundation Establishment stage, take the Foundation Establishment Pill!”

Yang Jin hesitated for a moment, then tentatively said, “Master Ancestor, can I take both?”

Zhou Yi’s mouth twitched. Why did he always encounter these shameless fellows? Yet, such a temperament was suitable for the Cultivation World, and clearly, Yang Jin would muddle along just fine in the future.

“Yes, you can.”

“Thank you, Master Ancestor.”

Yang Jin quickly took both the book and the pill, as if he feared Zhou Yi might change his mind.

“Remember to write the reflection!”

Zhou Yi lowered his head to browse the tale, with its well-produced illustrations every few pages, and the trace of melancholy in his heart instantly dissipated.

Two years later.

Yang Jin had successfully established his Foundation and took up a post in the Treasure Hall.

From then on, he was busier with cultivation and sect affairs, leaving even less time to recite and understand the scriptures.

However, he visited the Scripture Pavilion more often.

Not to return books, but to chat with Zhou Yi, to tell him interesting mundane stories, bringing a stack of newly edited tales as if caring for an elderly father.

Zhou Yi, under repeated exhortations, contemplated a volume every two or three years and couldn’t help but curse.

“You unprogressive thing!”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

When Yang Jin heard the scolding, he nodded repeatedly in agreement, as if appeasing an old man.

“Just wait for the regret,”

Zhou Yi sighed helplessly, recalling how in his youth he didn’t appreciate the preciousness of a long life and busied himself with the futile concerns of the world. But as old age approached and his lifespan neared its end, it was too late for efforts; all he could do was sit and await his life’s end along with his vanishing path.

Several years passed.

Having not seen Yang Jin for a long time, Zhou Yi took out a messaging Spirit Talisman.

“You still owe me my books!”

Years turned again.

Zhou Yi directly captured Yang Jin, placed him in the Scripture Pavilion, and made him copy two hundred volumes.

Yang Jin, now fifty years old and holding high status in the eyes of the sect disciples, wore a pained expression as he said, “Ancestor Master, this time it’s too much.”

“There is no time limit this time,”

Zhou Yi spoke slowly, “Whenever you finish writing them, remember to burn them for me!”

“Ancestor Master, you…”

Yang Jin’s face was filled with sorrow; even though he had long anticipated their parting, the reality of it all still brought him unbearable grief.

“Don’t bear a mournful face; I’ve lived for more than five hundred years, well beyond the lifespan of an average Golden Core cultivator. This is a cause for celebration, not grief!”

Zhou Yi took out two magical artifacts from his sleeve, a shield and a flying boat.

“After more than five hundred years of life without a single spell battle, I never even crafted a flying sword. These two protective artifacts I now pass on to you. Remember, if you ever face danger, defend first and then escape!”

Yang Jin accepted the magical artifacts and kowtowed deeply.

“I respectfully see off the Ancestor Master.”

“I’m not dead yet!”

Zhou Yi cautioned him, “Don’t talk about this matter with anyone else. I’ve always disappointed my elder kinswoman in this life. I don’t want to receive her reprimand for wasting my talents as I’m dying.”

Yang Jin nodded in agreement. Often chatting with his Ancestor Master, he knew many of the Mysterious Primordial Sect’s past stories.

In those days, Zhou Yi was the sect’s beacon of hope, but who would have thought that throughout five hundred years, he would remain unknown, while it was Xuan Yu who led the sect to its revival.

One year later.

Dong dong dong!

The Xuan Yuan Bell tolled nine times, and the disciples hurried to the main hall, where Tong Xuan announced with a sorrowful expression.

“The Elder Ancestor Xuan Yi has passed into meditation and transformed!”

Moments later.

A streak of light descended in the hall, assuming the form of Xuan Yu, with a voice cold and deep.

“Where is my junior brother’s remains?”

Yang Jin stepped out from among the disciples, presenting a sealed letter: “I pay my respects to the Supreme. I had just received a transmission from the Ancestor Master not long before; by the time I arrived, there was nothing left but ashes and this letter for the Supreme.”

Xuan Yu took the envelope, opened it to find just a few words.

——Dear elder sister, see you in the next life!

As memories flooded back, tears flowed unconsciously.

…

Meanwhile.

Qingyun Mountain.

Light descended, transforming into a human figure: it was Zhou Yi, who faked his death to escape.

“A thousand and two hundred years have passed, and finally, I have returned. This time, I am determined to reclaim the position of the Heavenly Master with dignity and pride!”

Zhou Yi calculated with his fingers, noting that it was an auspicious day to ascend the mountain and seek a master, being exactly eight thousand six hundred years old.

He transformed into a robust youth around fifteen or sixteen years old, with a woodcutter’s knife at his waist and a bow and arrows on his back, following the mountain path deeper into the wilderness.

Several days later.

Zhou Yi finally arrived at the Flying Immortal Platform, where the view suddenly cleared, and through the vast expanse of fog, he could faintly make out the silhouette of protruding eaves and flying corners.

On the spacious Flying Immortal Platform gathered hundreds of people, old and young, cultivators and mortals alike.

A hundred years ago, the decree of the Heavenly Emperor spread across the world: Qingyun Mountain became the only domain in the vast Dongsheng Divine Continent that did not have to abide by the Heavenly Decree.

Qingyun Temple became the only sect that did not need the Immortal Register to freely take disciples and impart Cultivation Techniques. Loose cultivators and offenders from all places made the long journey here with the hope of becoming disciples.

The Flying Immortal Platform was thus the place where Qingyun Temple selected the best for apprenticeship.

Zhou Yi found a corner to sit and rest; he was now a mortal with no cultivation, marked with several cuts from his journey.

At noon.

A streak of light came out of the clouds and descended upon the platform, turning into a young Taoist priest. He pulled a palm-sized Compass from his storage bag; with mana flowing, it emitted columns of seven-colored light.

“I am Shou Ming, calling for all to pass under the Spirit Light of Fate. If destined, you may ascend the mountain for cultivation,” he announced.

The crowd, already aware of the rules, lined up to pass through the light. Most triggered no response, until a youth walked by, causing the light to flicker uncertainly.

With a smile, Shou Ming said, “Are you willing to enter Qingyun Temple?”

“Yes,” the youth quickly nodded in agreement, and his family, who had accompanied him up the mountain, also showed joyful expressions.

Having a cultivator in the family could ensure wealth and honor for five generations!

Zhou Yi, naturally at the end of the line, watched as hundreds passed, with only three making the Spirit Light of Fate react. It was very unlikely to be accepted as a disciple — and all those people had Spirit Roots.

The seven-colored Spirit Light shone upon Zhou Yi, and rather than flickering like the others, it turned into a pure green color.

Shou Ming’s face showed a look of delighted surprise, not expecting such a significant discovery that day.

“Wood-attributed Heavenly Spiritual Root!”

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