I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

Li Bai lay prone in the shadows behind the artificial hill, his breathing long and shallow. Ten paces ahead lay the entrance to the covered walkway, the lantern light casting shimmering circles on the ground. He could see the guards standing watch beneath the walkway—leaning against pillars, halberds in hand, their heads nodding in the night. Further away, the two-story building stood silently, a faint light filtering from the window of the eastern room on the second floor, the pale pink paper windowpanes resembling a flower about to bloom in the darkness. He calculated the rhythm of the guards' drowsy slumber, the frequency of the lantern light's flickering shadows, and the distance of each step from the artificial hill to the walkway, and from the walkway to the side of the building. The Azure Lotus Sword Intent in his dantian trembled slightly, as if reminding him—the most dangerous part of the journey was about to begin.

He moved.

Like a breeze blending into the night, he glided out, brushing against the shadows of the artificial hill. His toes touched the cracks in the bluestone slabs, each touch as light as a feather. The air was filled with the damp chill of night dew, mingled with the faint fragrance of withered chrysanthemums from the distant flowerbeds. He could hear his own heartbeat—steady, slow, like the rhythm of a distant watchman's clapper. At this moment, all five senses were heightened to their fullest: his eyes captured every change in light and shadow, his ears discerned the sounds of the wind, the chirping of insects, and the subtle snores of his guards, and his nose sniffed every unusual scent in the air.

Three steps, five steps, seven steps.

He came to a pillar in the corridor, separated from the dozing guard by only a wooden post. The guard's breathing was heavy and reeked of alcohol. Li Bai held his breath, activating his concealment technique to its maximum, minimizing his physical presence. Like a shadow, he slid past the pillar and into the shadows of the corridor.

The corridor floor was made of wood, old and dilapidated, making a creaking sound when stepped on. Li Bai didn't step on it—he stayed close to the outer edge of the corridor, his fingers gripping the crossbeams under the eaves, his body suspended in the air, moving forward like a gecko. The muscles in his arms were slightly tense, his inner energy flowing through his fingertips, providing support. He could feel the rough paint on the wooden beams and smell the faint musty odor of decaying wood.

Ten breaths, twenty breaths.

He walked through the corridor and came to the open space in front of the small building.

The moonlight here was divided into two distinct sections, one bright and one dark, by the eaves of the small building. Li Bai stopped at the edge of the shadows, not immediately stepping into the moonlight. He closed his eyes, and his consciousness spread out like ripples on water.

really.

He sensed it—a thin, almost imperceptible spiritual energy field, like an invisible net, enveloped a three-zhang radius around the small building. The spiritual energy field was very weak, fluctuating regularly and steadily, clearly some kind of simple warning talisman. This kind of talisman was ineffective against ordinary people, but for cultivators, touching it would trigger an alarm.

Li Bai opened his eyes, his pupils slightly contracting in the darkness.

He carefully observed the structure of the spiritual energy field. As a geological engineer, his understanding of energy fields far surpassed that of the cultivators of this era. In his perception, this spiritual energy field was like a stress field in the Earth's crust—with varying strengths, nodes, and faults. He needed to find the weakest node, much like finding a crack in the Earth's crust.

The divine consciousness continued to extend.

He "saw" the entire spiritual energy field: eight lines of spiritual energy radiated outward from the small building, forming nodes in eight directions. The spiritual energy flowed between the nodes, forming a simple Bagua (Eight Trigrams) formation. However, the formation was not perfect—the spiritual energy at the node in the northwest corner was noticeably weaker, and the flow was somewhat sluggish. That must have been an oversight during the setup, or wear and tear from long-term operation.

That's it.

Li Bai took a deep breath, his true essence flowing slowly through his meridians. He needed to use his own spiritual power to "neutralize" the spiritual power at that point, creating a temporary opening. This required extremely precise control—too much spiritual power would trigger an alarm, while too little would prevent him from breaking through.

He raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers joined together, a wisp of pure Foundation Establishment spiritual energy gathering at the fingertips. The spiritual energy was pale blue, almost invisible in the moonlight. He pointed gently at the node in the northwest corner.

The spiritual energy, like a fine needle, pierced into the spiritual energy field.

Instantly, Li Bai felt a resistance—the spiritual energy field was repelling the external force. He steadied his mind, continuously outputting his true essence while adjusting the frequency of his spiritual energy, attempting to synchronize with the fluctuations of the spiritual energy field. This was an extremely subtle process, like plucking a string with a needle—it had to produce sound without breaking the string.

Time seemed to stand still.

Sweat beaded on Li Bai's forehead, trickling down his temples. He could hear his own heart pounding, and feel the subtle vibrations of his spiritual energy field emanating from his fingertips. There was a tense atmosphere in the air, like a taut bowstring.

Three breaths, five breaths, seven breaths.

Suddenly, the resistance disappeared.

A tiny gap appeared in the spiritual energy field in the northwest corner—only the size of a palm, and it could only last for three breaths. But that was enough.

Li Bai's figure flashed, and he activated the Phantom Step technique.

He moved through the gap like a ghost. As his body brushed against the edge of the spiritual energy field, he felt a faint tingling sensation, like static electricity. The next second, he was standing in the shadows at the base of the small building, his back pressed against the cold brick wall.

Successful.

He exhaled softly, his true energy slowly calming within him. He looked up at the second floor—the pale pink window was right above him, about two zhang above the ground. The light coming through the window was very faint, like the dying light of an oil lamp. He could see a blurry silhouette projected onto the window paper—sitting, head down, seemingly reading a book, or perhaps lost in thought.

Yang Yuhuan.

The name exploded in Li Bai's heart like a raging fire. Memories from two lifetimes intertwined at this moment: the deep sorrow hidden in Yang Xiaohuan's eyes on the streets of modern Chengdu; the exquisite beauty of Yang Yuhuan at the age of fifteen in the prosperous Chang'an of the Tang Dynasty. The two faces overlapped, transforming into the blurry silhouette on the window paper at this moment.

He needs to go up.

The walls of the small building were made of smooth blue bricks, offering almost no footholds. But this posed no challenge to a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Li Bai took a deep breath, channeling his true energy into his feet. He leaped into the air, his toes lightly touching the wall for leverage, and then rose again. With two leaps, he had reached the area below the second-floor window sill.

He gripped the windowsill with one hand, his body dangling in the air like a bat perched under the eaves.

The window opened inwards, not bolted shut—perhaps for ventilation, or perhaps to allow the maids to come and go. Li Bai gently pushed it open a crack, his movements slow and cautious. The wooden window hinges creaked softly, a sound particularly jarring in the quiet night.

He stopped moving and held his breath.

A soft sigh came from inside the room through the window.

The sound was soft, like a feather falling on water, yet it made Li Bai's heart clench. It was Yang Yuhuan's voice—tinged with weariness, confusion, and an indescribable sorrow. He could imagine her at that moment: sitting under the lamp, watching the flickering flame, contemplating the unknown future.

The window was pushed open half a foot.

Li Bai slipped sideways and slid into the room through the gap.

His feet landed on the wooden floor without making a sound. He immediately looked around—the room was small and simply furnished. There was a carved wooden bed with a pale pink gauze curtain hanging from it; a dressing table with a bronze mirror covered in a thin layer of dust; a desk with a book open on it and an oil lamp beside it, the wick already burned very short, the flame flickering weakly.

Yang Yuhuan sat at the desk.

She stood with her back to the window, wearing a plain white nightgown, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, gleaming softly in the lamplight. She didn't turn around, seemingly unaware of anyone entering, simply gazing quietly at the books on the table. A faint scent of sandalwood filled the air, along with the unique, delicate fragrance of a woman's body.

Li Bai stood three steps behind her, momentarily at a loss for words.

A thousand words stuck in his throat. Longing, guilt, resentment, and love from two lifetimes surged up at this moment, almost bursting through the dam of reason. He wanted to call her name, to tell her everything, to take her away from this cage.

But he can't.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. First, he needed to confirm safety—he again used his divine sense to perceive the situation inside and outside the room. Only Yang Yuhuan was in the room, her breathing steady but tinged with melancholy. Outside, the corridor was empty, and downstairs, the soft snoring of a maid could be heard. Everything seemed safe.

He took a step forward.

The floorboards made a slight creaking sound.

Yang Yuhuan's body stiffened slightly.

She slowly turned her head.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on her face. It was a face that had momentarily captivated Li Bai—the fifteen-year-old Yang Yuhuan, not yet possessing the voluptuous beauty of later legends, but with the unique purity and elegance of a young girl. Her eyebrows and eyes were like a painting, her skin as white as snow, her lips a pale pink, like peach blossoms in early spring. But her eyes—those eyes held a melancholy incongruous with her age, as if veiled by a thin mist.

She looked at Li Bai without panic or screaming, just watching quietly.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered, casting two intertwined shadows on the wall.

"You…" Yang Yuhuan began, her voice soft and tinged with uncertainty, "Who are you?"

Li Bai opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry to make a sound. He looked at her, at her face that bore a striking resemblance to Yang Xiaohuan, at the deep sorrow hidden in her eyes, and his heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand.

"I am..." he managed to utter two words, "...someone who shouldn't have come."

Yang Yuhuan's eyelashes trembled. She stood up and turned to face Li Bai. Her plain white nightgown shimmered softly in the moonlight, outlining the girl's slender figure. She was half a head shorter than Li Bai, and had to tilt her head slightly to meet his gaze.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked, her tone eerily calm.

Li Bai was taken aback, then shook his head: "No. I will never hurt you."

"So you came to save me?" Yang Yuhuan asked again, a faint light flashing in her eyes, but it quickly dimmed again. "But... no one can save me. Not even His Majesty."

These words were like a knife, piercing Li Bai's heart. He knew she was telling the truth—in this era, imperial power was supreme, and no one could take away what Emperor Xuanzong wanted. But he was unwilling to accept it; he didn't believe in fate, nor did he believe history was unchangeable.

"I can try," Li Bai said, his voice carrying a firmness he himself didn't realize. "If you're willing, I can take you away from Chang'an to a place where no one knows us."

Yang Yuhuan looked at him for a long time.

The moonlight moved across her face, from her forehead to the tip of her nose, and then to her lips. Her expression was complex, showing surprise, doubt, a hint of wavering, but mostly helplessness and resignation.

"Why did you do this?" she asked softly. "I don't know you. Why did you risk your life to save me?"

Li Bai fell silent.

How should he answer? Tell her he's a person who traveled from a thousand years in the future? Tell her she was his wife in his past life? Tell her he knows her future fate—entering the palace, becoming a favorite, and then being hanged at Mawei Slope? She wouldn't believe these words, nor could he say them.

"Because..." Li Bai ultimately chose the answer closest to the truth, "Because in your eyes, I see the same loneliness as I am."

Yang Yuhuan's body trembled slightly.

She lowered her head, her long hair falling down and obscuring half her face. Li Bai could see her shoulders trembling slightly and hear her suppressed, soft sobs. The flame of the oil lamp flickered in her eyes like the light of tears.

"I..." she choked out, "I don't want to go to the palace. I don't want to be some kind of imperial concubine. I just... just want to be an ordinary person, marry an ordinary person, and live an ordinary life. But... but my father said it's the family's honor, and I can't refuse. His Majesty said it's a divine favor, and I can't disobey. Everyone says it's my fate, and I must accept it."

She looked up at Li Bai, her eyes blurry with tears, and asked, "Tell me, is fate truly unchangeable?"

This question struck Li Bai like a thunderbolt.

Can fate be changed?

He traveled through a thousand years, wasn't it all to change his fate? To change Yang Guifei's fate, to change Yang Xiaohuan's fate, to change his own fate. But... could he really change it? The inertia of history is so powerful, and the power of an individual so insignificant. He tried in the Tang Dynasty, but ultimately met a tragic end, being slowly sliced ​​to death. He tried in the modern era, but ultimately died in the streets.

but……

Looking at the tears in Yang Yuhuan's eyes, at those eyes that were exactly the same as Yang Xiaohuan's, a sudden, unprecedented determination welled up in his heart.

"Yes," he said, his voice resolute. "Fate can definitely be changed."

Yang Yuhuan was stunned.

She looked at Li Bai, at this strange man who had suddenly appeared in her room, at his eyes that shone brilliantly in the moonlight. There was a light in those eyes she had never seen before—firm, persistent, even with a hint of madness.

"You..." she murmured, "You really believe it?"

"I believe you." Li Bai took a step forward, now only a foot away from her. He could smell her faint fragrance and see the teardrops clinging to her eyelashes. "Because I've come to change my fate. To change your fate, and to change mine."

He reached out, wanting to wipe away the tears on her face.

But just as his fingertips were about to touch her cheek—

A sudden change has occurred!

A sharp sword aura suddenly shot in from outside the window without warning!

Not from the doorway, not from the corridor, but from outside the window—from the very window Li Bai had just entered through! The sword energy was icy cold and carried intense killing intent, piercing straight towards Li Bai's back!

too fast!

So fast that Li Bai had no time to think; his body reacted instinctively. He activated his Phantom Step technique at full power, his body moving three feet to the left like a blur. A sword aura grazed his right shoulder, tearing the fabric of his nightclothes and leaving a shallow bloodstain on his skin.

A burning pain shot through me.

Li Bai steadied himself and suddenly turned to look out the window.

Under the moonlight, a dark figure stood on the windowsill.

It was a swordsman dressed in black, his face veiled in black. He was slender, wielding a long, thin sword whose blade gleamed with a ghostly blue light in the moonlight. His aura was cold and sharp, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows. What alarmed Li Bai most was that this swordsman's cultivation level was also at the Foundation Establishment stage!

Could such a master be hidden within the building?

The black-clad swordsman gave Li Bai no time to think. With a flick of his wrist, his slender sword transformed into three sword shadows, stabbing Li Bai from above, below, and in the middle. The swordsmanship was unpredictable and cunning, the angles extremely tricky, each strike aimed at a vital point.

Li Bai hastily retreated, simultaneously pulling out the few copper coins from his pocket, infusing them with his true energy, and then tossing them away.

"Ding ding ding!"

The copper coin clashed with the sword's shadow, producing a crisp metallic clang. The coin was knocked away by the sword's energy, but the sword's shadow was also momentarily blocked. Li Bai seized the opportunity to create distance, simultaneously shielding Yang Yuhuan behind him.

"Hide behind the bed!" he hissed.

Yang Yuhuan's face was pale, but surprisingly, she didn't panic. She quickly retreated behind the carved wooden bed, squatted down, and used the edge of the bed to cover herself. Her movements were practiced, as if she had received some kind of training—this made Li Bai feel a little suspicious, but now was not the time to think about it.

The black-clad swordsman had already leaped into the room from the windowsill.

He landed silently, like a feather. The slender sword pointed diagonally at the ground, its tip trembling slightly, locking onto Li Bai's presence. Above the veil, a pair of eyes were as cold as frost, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

"Who are you?" Li Bai asked in a deep voice. "Sent by Li Linfu? Or Gao Lishi?"

The swordsman in black did not answer.

He simply raised his sword slowly, the tip pointing at Li Bai's throat. Then, he moved.