The luminous herb, Radiant Stargrass, begins to temper the body.

In the examination hall, Fan Qiulin’s college entrance exam was still underway, but at home, Fan Qiuming was practically bored out of his mind. Ever since he set foot on the path of immortality, his days had alternated between being hunted and cultivating; such rare leisure now left him strangely out of sorts.

His eyes fell on the box on the table, and the longer Fan Qiuming stared at it, the more agitated he became. It was nothing but an ordinary spirit-grade box (item levels were divided into mortal, spirit, divine, saintly, and immortal, each with upper, middle, and lower ranks), yet he was utterly powerless before it.

“I don’t believe this…”

More and more irritated, Fan Qiuming rummaged under his bed for a toolbox, retrieved a screwdriver, jammed it into the crack of the box, braced one foot against it, and summoned all his strength.

With a click, there was a sound.

“Is it open?” Fan Qiuming stooped to pick up the box, only to find it had opened by just a finger’s width.

“But it’s not fully open…”

Still, even with that narrow gap, Fan Qiuming could see what was inside: a pale golden herb lay quietly within.

“That’s… Radiant Star Grass? But why does it look so stunted…”

Recognizing the herb in the box, a flash of delight crossed Fan Qiuming’s face.

Yet the herb was shriveled, resembling nothing so much as a malnourished skeleton wrapped in skin.

“Just an ordinary spirit-grade herb… It’s somewhat useful for tempering the body, but this is pitiful!”

He turned the box upright and the Radiant Star Grass slipped right out through the gap—a testament to how scrawny the herb was.

He glanced at the time, making sure he wouldn’t miss the end of Fan Qiulin’s exam, then swallowed the herb whole and sat down cross-legged.

The medicinal power spread, strengthening his body. Fan Qiuming’s brow furrowed, his skin reddening as his temperature climbed, his body trembling uncontrollably.

“Hiss… The potency is stronger than I thought, quite a rush…”

He slowly drew in spiritual energy, dissolving the medicine’s effects. Gradually, his skin returned to normal, and the bruises on his face faded.

Rising to his feet, Fan Qiuming clenched his fists and threw a couple of punches at the air.

“Barely adequate. I’m a bit stronger than before, but it’s just physical reinforcement.”

“Still a long way from the stage of cleansing the meridians and marrow. But I should be able to start basic energy channeling.”

He checked the time again and breathed a sigh of relief—there was still time; the exam wasn’t over yet.

“Well, that’s enough. I’ll go buy some groceries and pick up Qiulin.”

The road of cultivation was long, but life still had to be lived.

The bell rang—ring after ring—signaling the end of the exam, and the students trickled out of the examination hall.

“It’s over, I’m finished…”

“See the security guard at the gate? That’ll be me next year!”

“They told the exam writers to innovate, but did they have to kill me in the process?”

“Heh… Did they really think this lousy exam could stop me from becoming a wage slave?”

Outside, the atmosphere was a mixture of sighs and banter—clear signs that this year’s exam had been no easy feat.

Fan Qiulin wheeled herself out of the hall and, from afar, spotted Fan Qiuming waiting for her with groceries in hand, waving enthusiastically.

“It’s actually kind of nice to have someone waiting for you outside the exam hall…”

Neither spoke as they made their way home. Fan Qiulin sat with her head bowed in her wheelchair, clutching the vegetables Fan Qiuming had just bought.

“Didn’t do well? You seem a bit down,” Fan Qiuming ventured.

But Fan Qiulin didn’t answer, still keeping her head lowered.

“It’s all right. Just do your best in the next subjects. With your abilities, you’re sure to get good results.”

Fan Qiuming continued to comfort her.

At last, Fan Qiulin mustered her courage and spoke in a small voice, “Brother…”

Hearing that word, Fan Qiuming froze where he stood, the comforting smile on his face stiffening.

“What did you just call me?” He thought he hadn’t heard clearly.

“Brother? I… I didn’t do badly on the exam, I’m just afraid… afraid…”

She broke off, worry clouding her delicate face, making her look heartbreakingly fragile.

“Afraid of what? You can tell me. Now that you’ve called me ‘brother’, I have every reason to do my best to help you.”

Inside, Fan Qiuming was elated; at last, the girl was beginning to thaw—their relationship was no longer as awkward as before, but turning toward harmony.

His main motive for this change was the path of cultivation ahead. His memories had merged with the original owner’s, and recalling the way he had treated Fan Qiulin before—not exactly evil, perhaps, but certainly wrong—he couldn’t fathom why he’d acted so harshly.

He’d called her useless, crippled, again and again; she was his sister, and she’d done nothing to deserve such blame.

If nothing changed, it would cast a shadow over his own state of mind. Should he encounter spiritual attacks or inner demons while cultivating, it might well spell disaster.

In short, the former Fan Qiuming had left him a ticking time bomb.

“But having a family member isn’t so bad. At least I won’t be so alone in this world,” Fan Qiuming thought to himself.

“I’m just afraid you’re only being nice to me because of the exam. That once it’s over… you’ll go back to being the cold person you used to be.”

Fan Qiuming raised his hand, and Fan Qiulin instantly ducked her head, bracing for pain. But instead, she felt a gentle warmth on her head.

Fan Qiuming’s affectionate pat swept away the last of the distance between them.

“No, never again. It was my fault before, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

He continued stroking her head, as if petting a kitten.

“Really?” Fan Qiulin’s voice was tinged with tears. She turned to look at him, her eyes already red, on the verge of spilling over.

“Really! I swear!” Fan Qiuming raised four fingers solemnly toward the sky.

“Let’s pinky swear…”

She reached out her hand to him.

“All right!”

Fan Qiuming grasped her hand without hesitation.

“Hungry after the exam?”

“Mm…” Fan Qiulin blushed shyly.

“Then sit tight—I’m going to speed up!” Fan Qiuming grinned, pushing the wheelchair full tilt toward home. Fan Qiulin clutched the vegetables to her chest with one hand, the other gripping the armrest, one eye squeezed shut in anticipation.

“Ahhh… Brother, slow down!” she cried.

The air between them was lighter now, the oppressive tension of before beginning to lift.

Night fell. Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder rumbled, and a torrential rain poured down. Thunder and lightning raged overhead; tonight, the world seemed uneasy.

At the edge of an artificial lake in the park, a figure in a raincoat approached a willow tree, blood mingling with rainwater as it trickled down his face.

“Finally shook off those damned rats. All the effort I spent stealing the Radiant Star Grass from the Dragon Sect wasn’t in vain.”

He reached into the tree hollow where he’d hidden the box, only to find his face contorted in shock.

“Where is it? How is it gone?”

He reached in again, searching.

“Where is it?”

Enraged, he punched the willow with all his might; the ancient tree, thick as a man’s waist, snapped in half.

“Who’s there?”

In the pouring rain, he looked pitifully small.

He spotted the surveillance camera on a nearby utility pole and snarled, “Don’t let me find you, or you’ll end up like this willow.”

Meanwhile, back at Fan Qiuming’s home, just after finishing his exercises, he suddenly sneezed.

“Who’s cursing me now? Whatever, time to cultivate and later find a way to change my constitution.”

He sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth—a technique he called “circulating breath,” used to expel impurities from his body.

His body also drew in the thin spiritual energy from the surroundings.

Knock, knock knock.

Someone rapped on his door. Without opening his eyes, Fan Qiuming called out, “Come in!”

The door opened. Outside, Fan Qiulin sat in her wheelchair, dressed in pajamas.

“What is it, Qiulin?”

“Well… um… There’s thunder outside, and I… I’m scared… Could I… could I stay here tonight?”

Another flash of lightning lit the window, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.

Fan Qiulin shrank into her wheelchair, trembling from time to time. Even for ordinary people, such a storm was enough to startle anyone.

Fan Qiuming sighed, opened his eyes, and got up from the bed to wheel her inside.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be afraid of this or that? Just this once—there won’t be a next time.” His tone was indulgent.

After tucking her into bed, he returned to the foot of the bed. “Get some sleep. You have two more exams tomorrow.”

“Brother, aren’t you going to sleep?” she asked, glancing at him sitting at the foot of the bed.

“I’m not sleepy yet. You rest first.” He didn’t look back, but resumed his cross-legged position, as still as a statue of Buddha—a sight that made Fan Qiulin feel more at ease.

“All right. You should sleep early too.” She looked at him once, then lay down. “I hope this isn’t just a dream. Even if it is, I never want to wake up.”

She whispered this last line in her quilt, the words so soft they were almost inaudible, yet Fan Qiuming heard them.

Soon, the gentle rhythm of her breathing told him she was asleep.

Fan Qiuming let out a breath. “Finally, she’s asleep.”

From the box, he’d learned that cultivators still existed in this world, though their power was generally limited.

What Fan Qiuming didn’t know was that this was a newly merged world, originally two worlds fused together, and the level of spiritual energy here was less than one percent of what it had been in the Xuanyao Continent.

He didn’t dwell on it. The most urgent task was to quickly recover his ten immortal artifacts and his physical body.

Before the worlds merged, he had already dissipated, but the Bright Mystery Hall was not just a palace—it was a manifestation directly linked to his physical form, essentially his other body.

As long as a single wall remained, Fan Qiuming could not die, and his body would gradually reconstitute itself within the hall.

For now, he could only take things one step at a time.