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

Sunlight streamed in through the cracks of the inn's small window, carving a thin, swaying beam across the dusty floor. Within the beam, dust motes silently tumbled and swirled. Li Bai opened his eyes, stared at the light for a moment, then abruptly sat up.

The wooden bed creaked and groaned.

He took a deep breath, the stale, dusty smell of the air mingling with the stench of cheap liquor wafting from next door, filling his nostrils. Outside the window, the sounds of Chang'an city at dawn were already rising—the faint crowing of roosters in the distance, the rumble of carriages and horses on the stone-paved road nearby, and the clanging of shop doors being removed from some unknown building. These sounds intertwined, forming the unique and vibrant background music of this era.

He rolled out of bed, his movements swift and decisive. The helplessness and uncertainty of the previous night, the fear of the future, seemed to be temporarily suppressed deep within his heart in the morning light. In its place was an almost mechanical, resolute determination to do what he had to do.

He checked his bundle, tightened his hemp shoes, and put on his straw hat. As he pushed open the door, the wooden door made a dull creaking sound. In the inn's lobby, the innkeeper, who was dozing at the counter, looked up at him sleepily upon hearing the noise.

"Are you leaving now, sir?"

"Let's go." Li Bai took out a few copper coins from his satchel and placed them on the counter. The crisp sound of the coins hitting the wooden board was particularly clear in the quiet hall.

The shopkeeper counted them, nodded, and then lay back down.

Li Bai pushed open the heavy wooden door of the inn. The morning air rushed in, carrying the coolness and dampness unique to Chang'an in late April, along with the aroma of steamed buns and the earthy scent of fresh vegetables wafting from the distant morning market. There weren't many pedestrians on the street yet; a few vegetable vendors carrying loads hurried along, their carrying poles creaking rhythmically. The bluestone pavement was damp with morning dew, gleaming with a dull luster.

He tightened the bundle on his shoulder, determined the direction, and headed towards Yanping Gate in the west.

***

As he exited Yanping Gate, the guards leaned lazily against the gatehouse, glancing at him only briefly before waving him through. The scenery outside the city was strikingly different from inside—rolling fields stretched along the official road, wheat seedlings already sprouting heads, rippling in the morning breeze like waves of green. Further away, the outline of the Qinling Mountains stretched across the horizon like a vast, dark green barrier.

Li Bai walked westward along the official road. At first, the road was relatively flat, with villages and teahouses appearing from time to time on both sides. He didn't walk fast, but his steps were steady. His bamboo hat covered most of his face, revealing only his tightly pursed lips and well-defined jawline.

Around noon, he stopped at a roadside teahouse to rest, ordering a bowl of coarse tea and two steamed buns. The tea was bitter, and the buns were so hard they were gritty, but he ate quickly, swallowing them whole with the tea. Inside the teahouse were several travelers who looked like merchants, loudly discussing the prices of goods and their observations along the way. Li Bai listened silently, and as he took out a few copper coins from his satchel to pay, his fingers touched the silver ingot given to him by Imperial Censor Cui; it was cold and hard.

In the afternoon, the road began to become rugged. The official road gradually narrowed, and there were more gravel pieces on the surface. Li Bai's hemp shoes had thin soles, and they hurt painfully when he stepped on the gravel. He had to slow down and carefully choose his footing. Sweat seeped from his forehead, slid down his cheeks, and dripped onto his collar, leaving dark sweat stains. The coarse cloth short coat on his back was already soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin, sticky and uncomfortable.

As the sun began to set, he arrived at the first post station at the foot of the Qinling Mountains—Ziwu Post Station.

The post station was a simple mud-brick courtyard with a few low-lying houses. Several skinny horses were tethered in the yard, and the air was filled with the mixed smell of horse manure, hay, and sweat. The postmaster was a gaunt old man who was squatting under the eaves smoking a pipe. When he saw Li Bai enter, he raised his eyelids and sized him up.

"A hotel?"

"I need a place to stay." Li Bai took off his bamboo hat and wiped the sweat from his face. Sweat mixed with dust, leaving several streaks on his face.

"A shared room costs five coins, a single room costs twenty." The postmaster exhaled a puff of smoke, which slowly dissipated in the twilight.

Li Bai requested a shared sleeping area. He followed the postmaster into a large room with two rows of large sleeping platforms covered with straw mats. Four or five people were already lying there, their snores rising and falling. The air was stuffy, a mixture of foot odor, sweat, and the musty smell of the straw mats. Li Bai found an empty spot against the wall, put down his bundle, and sat on the straw mat. The rough mat pricked his skin, making it itchy.

He took off his hemp shoes; several blisters had formed on the soles of his feet, burning with pain. He rummaged through his bundle and pulled out the ointment Duan Qiniang had prepared—a pale yellow ointment with a pleasant herbal scent—and carefully applied it to his feet. The ointment was cooling and temporarily relieved the pain.

As night fell completely, oil lamps were lit in the inn. The dim light cast flickering shadows on the walls. Li Bai ate a few mouthfuls of dry rations with cold water; the rations were as hard as stones, and he chewed them with difficulty, his throat parched. Outside, the mountain wind howled, its mournful sound seeping through the cracks in the wooden planks like the low growl of some wild beast.

This is what travel was like in ancient times.

There are no cars, no high-speed trains, and no smooth asphalt roads. Every step must be measured by one's own two feet, every meal may be rough and hard to swallow, and every night may be spent sleeping on a dormitory bed filled with odors and snoring.

Li Bai lay on the hard straw mat, staring at the dark rafters of the roof. His body was exhausted, but his mind was unusually clear. He thought of the high-speed train he had taken on business trips in his previous life, the clean bedding in the budget hotels, and the hot meals he could buy anytime. Those conveniences he had once taken for granted now seemed as distant as another world.

But he did not regret it.

He didn't even have much time to reflect. The pain in his feet, the exhaustion in his body, and the anxiety about the unknown road ahead had already occupied most of his senses and thoughts.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to fall asleep.

We still have to travel tomorrow.

***

Over the next few days, Li Bai gradually adapted to this arduous pace.

Every day, I would get up before dawn, eat a few bites of dry rations, drink a bellyful of cold water, and then set off. At noon, I would rest briefly at a roadside teahouse or under a tree, and then continue walking until dusk before searching for an inn or village to stay overnight. The blisters on the soles of my feet would burst and reappear, eventually forming a thin callus. My calf muscles were sore and stiff from walking for so long, and every night when I lay down, they felt like they were filled with lead.

The roads are becoming increasingly difficult to travel.

Once inside the Qinling Mountains, the so-called "official roads" are often just narrow paths carved into the cliffs, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. On one side is a steep mountain wall, bare rock covered in moss; on the other side is a bottomless valley, from which the roaring sound of rushing water echoes like muffled thunder. Mountain winds, carrying moisture and the scent of vegetation, swirl up from the valley floor, making clothes flutter wildly and almost causing one to lose their footing.

Li Bai had to cling tightly to the mountainside, moving with extreme caution. The ground was slippery with wet, loose stones; a single misstep could send him sprawling. He dared not look down; the deep valley floor seemed like a gaping maw, ready to swallow him whole at any moment.

Once, he encountered a particularly treacherous section of the path—less than three feet wide, with no guardrails on the outside. He held his breath and shuffled forward step by step. Suddenly, the mountain wind picked up, causing him to sway. Gravel tumbled from his feet, plunging him into the deep valley. Several breaths later, he heard a faint splash. At that moment, cold sweat instantly soaked his back, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if it would shatter his ribs.

He clung tightly to the protruding rocks on the mountainside, his fingernails digging into the crevices, his knuckles turning white from the force. The rocks were rough and cold, carrying the damp scent unique to the mountains. He stood there against the mountainside for a long time, until his heartbeat gradually calmed down, before daring to continue.

That night, he stayed in a makeshift hut built by a mountain dweller. The hut was made of branches and thatch, and it let in drafts from all sides. The mountain dweller was a taciturn old hunter who brought him a bowl of hot wild vegetable soup. A few unknown leaves floated in the soup, and it tasted bitter, but after drinking it, his stomach finally felt a little warm.

The old hunter squatted by the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. The firelight danced on his wrinkled face, reflecting in his cloudy but sharp eyes.

"Young man, traveling the Shu Road alone?" The old hunter's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing.

"Yes." Li Bai held the rough pottery bowl, feeling the warmth emanating from its walls.

"What are you going to Sichuan for?"

"Looking for people." Li Bai paused, then added, "And... looking for some things too."

The old hunter glanced at him but didn't press the matter. The fire crackled, sparks flying, tracing brief arcs of light in the darkness. Outside the hut, the mountain wind howled, carrying with it the long, mournful cries of unknown wild beasts in the distance.

"Sichuan..." the old hunter suddenly spoke, his voice low, "is a good place, the land of abundance. But it also hides some things... that ordinary people can't find."

Li Bai's heart skipped a beat: "What does the old man mean?"

The old hunter drew a few lines on the muddy ground beside the fire with a twig: "Qingcheng Mountain is very secluded. When I was young, I was chasing a lame deer. I chased it deep into the back mountains and got lost. As it was getting dark, I saw a light in the valley. It wasn't firelight, but... an indescribable light, a hazy blue light, shining through the cracks in the rocks. I went closer to look, and the rocks were as smooth as mirrors. Inside... it seemed like something was moving."

Li Bai held his breath.

"I reached out to touch it," the old hunter continued, his eyes becoming somewhat unfocused. "The stone was cold, but the light... was warm. Then I heard a sound, like many people whispering something, or like the wind blowing through a cave. I was so frightened that I turned and ran away, and never dared to go back."

"Is that light still there?"

"Who knows?" The old hunter shook his head. "I told others about it later, but no one believed me. They all said I was old and blind, or that I had encountered a mountain demon. Young man, these things are best left unsaid. The road to Shu is difficult, not only because of the road itself, but also because of people's hearts. Some things, once seen, may not necessarily bring good fortune."

Li Bai nodded silently, keeping the old hunter's words in mind.

Qingcheng Mountain. In a secluded spot. An eerie light.

***

After traveling for another three or four days, Li Bai finally crossed the most treacherous section of the Qinling Mountains and entered a relatively flat hilly area. Although the road was still rugged, at least there were no longer those terrifying cliffs and precipices.

That afternoon, he rested by a mountain spring. The spring water gushed from the cracks in the rocks, crystal clear, with smooth pebbles lining the bottom. He squatted down, scooped up a handful of water, and drank it. The spring water was sweet and cool, instantly quenching his thirst. He then washed his face; the icy spring water stimulated his skin, invigorating him.

Just as he was about to get up and continue on his way, he heard footsteps and voices behind him.

"Please wait, brother!"

Li Bai turned around and saw a young man walking up the mountain path. The man was about twenty years old, tall and thin, wearing a worn blue long gown, a square scarf on his head, and carrying a book basket with several scrolls inside. He was panting heavily, his forehead covered in sweat, but he had a hearty smile on his face.

"Are you also heading to Shu, sir?" The young man approached, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, "I am Wu Zhinan, a native of Luoyang, who has come here to study. I saw you traveling alone earlier, and your steady gait impressed me, so I came to make your acquaintance."

Li Bai returned the greeting: "I am Li Bai, a native of Chang'an, who has come south to Shu to visit a friend."

"Li Bai?" Wu Zhinan's eyes lit up. "Is that the Li Taibai who was famous in Chang'an for his poetic talent?"

Li Bai was slightly taken aback, not expecting his reputation to have spread this far. He nodded: "A little bit of empty fame, not worth mentioning."

"Oh my, it really is Brother Li!" Wu Zhinan exclaimed excitedly. "I heard Brother Li's fragments of 'The Road to Shu is Hard' when I was in Luoyang: 'Alas, how perilous and high! The road to Shu is harder than ascending to heaven!' It truly captures the treacherousness of the Shu Road! I never expected to meet you in person here!"

Li Bai smiled bitterly to himself. That poem was from his past life's memories; he hadn't expected it to have become so widely known in this life. He changed the subject: "Brother Wu, are you traveling and studying alone?"

"Exactly!" Wu Zhinan wiped his sweat, sat down on a rock by the spring, and untied his book basket. "Read ten thousand books and travel ten thousand miles. My father often said, 'What you learn from books is never enough.' This time, I want to see the scenery of Sichuan with my own eyes. If I can find a few reclusive masters to learn from, that would be even better."

The two began to chat. Wu Zhinan was a forthright and talkative man with considerable insight into poetry, geography, and local customs. Although Li Bai was preoccupied, he was also infected by Wu's enthusiasm and occasionally responded with a few words. He learned from Wu that the man came from a family of minor officials in Luoyang, was of decent means, and had been studious since childhood, especially fond of exploring famous mountains and rivers and seeking out secluded and unusual places.

"Which friend did Brother Li visit in Sichuan?" Wu Zhinan asked curiously.

Li Bai paused for a moment: "A descendant of an old friend. It has been many years since we last met. I wonder if I can still find him."

Wu Zhinan sensed that he seemed to have something difficult to say, so he didn't press him further. Instead, he began to recount what he had seen and heard along the way: "Brother Li, I have heard many strange and wonderful stories about Sichuan along the way. Especially the legends about 'Shushan', which are simply incredible."

Li Bai's heart stirred: "Oh? I'd like to hear the details."

"Some say that Mount Shu is not a mountain, but a secret realm hidden deep in the clouds and mist of Mount Emei and Mount Qingcheng," Wu Zhinan said in a low voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "There, sword immortals live in seclusion, flying on their swords, traveling to the North Sea in the morning and Cangwu in the evening. Others say that there are ancient palace ruins in Mount Shu, hiding the secret of immortality."

"Is Brother Wu trustworthy?"

"Well..." Wu Zhinan scratched his head. "Confucius said, 'I do not speak of strange phenomena, physical prowess, disorder, or spirits.' But the world is vast, and there are all sorts of wonders. Although I have not seen them with my own eyes, I dare not say that they do not exist. Just like the Shu Road, if you have not walked it yourself, who can imagine how treacherous it is? Similarly, perhaps there really are some things beyond the comprehension of ordinary people, hidden in places rarely visited by humans."

Li Bai nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

The two traveled together. With Wu Zhinan, a talkative companion, the journey no longer seemed so long and lonely. Wu Zhinan was curious about everything; he would compose poems upon seeing strange peaks and rocks, and comment on mountain springs and streams. At night, he would chat enthusiastically with the innkeeper and other travelers. Li Bai, on the other hand, was mostly a listener, occasionally interjecting, but always intentionally or unintentionally steer the conversation towards the legends and secrets of the Shu region.

A few days later, while they were eating at a restaurant in a small mountain town, they encountered an old man with white hair and beard, leaning on a cane. The old man sat alone in a corner, with a pot of cloudy wine and a plate of peanuts in front of him, slowly sipping his drink.

Wu Zhinan took the initiative to approach him and ask, "Grandpa, how old are you?"

The old man raised his eyelids, glanced at him, then looked at Li Bai, and slowly said, "Eighty-three years old."

"Is the elderly person a local?"

"Born and raised in Sichuan, I've never left this mountain valley in my entire life." The old man took a sip of wine, a glint of unfathomable light flashing in his cloudy eyes.

Wu Zhinan became interested and sat down opposite the old man: "Then you must have heard many old stories from Shu, right? Like... the Sword Immortal of Mount Shu or something?"

The old man set down his wine cup, the peanuts clinking softly in the rough earthenware dish. He stared at Wu Zhinan for a moment, then looked at Li Bai, and suddenly smiled, revealing his incomplete, yellowed teeth: "Young man, interested in sword immortals?"

"Just out of curiosity, nothing more," Wu Zhinan said with a smile.

The old man shook his head, his voice low but with a strange certainty: "That's not a story."

The noisy chatter, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks, and the shouts of the waiter in the restaurant all seemed to fade away at that moment. Li Bai felt his heart skip a beat.

"Someone from my great-great-grandfather's generation saw it," the old man said slowly. "Not outside the mountains, but inside. The deepest valley is shrouded in mist all year round. One year, during a severe drought, a few daring young men from the village went into the mountains to find water, but they got lost. On the third night, they saw light in the valley, not firelight, but sword light. Bluish-white, one after another, weaving through the mist, as fast as lightning. There were also sounds, like the roar of a dragon, or the cry of a phoenix."

Li Bai held his breath. The old hunter spoke of light, the old man spoke of sword light.

"And then what?" Wu Zhinan pressed.

"And then?" The old man took a sip of wine. "Then those young men came running back in a panic. One of them went mad with fright, constantly muttering 'sword immortal' and 'flying sword.' The others also fell seriously ill and never dared to mention going into that valley again. But the older generation in the village still remembers that sword light. They say it wasn't a demon, but an immortal who guards the Shu region practicing swordsmanship."

"Where is that valley?" Li Bai couldn't help but ask.

The old man glanced at him, his eyes deep: "Young man, knowing the place is useless. That place is only for those with a destined connection. Forcing your way there will only lead you astray, or even... you may never return." He paused, then added, "My grandfather said that destiny is predetermined and cannot be forced. When it's time to meet, you will naturally meet; when it's not time to meet, you won't see them even if they're right in front of you."

After saying that, the old man fell silent and continued drinking.

Li Bai and Wu Zhinan exchanged a glance and asked no further questions. But in Li Bai's heart, the keywords "deepest valley," "year-round mist," and "sword light" were firmly memorized.

***

Seven or eight days later, the gateway to Sichuan finally came into view.

It was a strategic pass, flanked by two mountains with a narrow pass in between. Banners fluttered on the pass walls, and the figures of soldiers could be vaguely seen. Above the pass, the three large characters "Jianmen Pass" carved in stone had withstood the test of time and remained vigorous and powerful.

"We've arrived! Jianmen Pass!" Wu Zhinan excitedly pointed ahead. "Once we pass this pass, we'll be in Shu!"

Li Bai looked up at the majestic fortress, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him. After nearly a month, trekking thousands of miles, and crossing the Qinling Mountains, he had finally arrived. He was one step closer to Chengdu, and one step closer to Yang Guifei.

But what happens after we take that next step?

That feeling of helplessness crept back into my heart once again.

That night, they stayed at a mountain inn outside Jianmen Pass. The inn was even more rudimentary than the previous one, consisting almost entirely of a courtyard enclosed by several wooden huts. Several packhorses were tethered in the courtyard, munching on hay, and the air was filled with the distinctive pungent smell of horses and the sour odor of fermenting hay.

Li Bai and Wu Zhinan booked a double room. The room was small, with only two wooden plank beds and a worn-out wooden table. The walls were made of planks, and through the gaps, one could see the night outside. Mountain winds blew in through the gaps, carrying the unique, damp, and slightly cool air of Sichuan, mixed with the mournful sound of the pines in the distant mountains.

Wu Zhinan was exhausted. After a quick wash, he fell asleep immediately and soon began to snore evenly.

Li Bai, however, felt no sleepiness whatsoever.

He lay on the hard wooden bed, staring at the dark roof above. Outside, the mountain wind blew in gusts, making the wooden walls creak as if something was scratching at them. In the distance came the mournful and long cry of an unknown night bird, echoing through the silent mountains.

He drifted off to sleep after an unknown amount of time.

Then, he had a dream.

In his dream, there was only pitch blackness, no light, no sound, just endless darkness. He groped his way forward in the darkness, his feet sinking into nothingness, with no solid ground beneath his feet. He felt fear and wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Suddenly, a crying sound came from the darkness.

A faint, suppressed, intermittent sobbing sound.

It was Yang Xiaohuan's voice.

"Li Bai... Li Bai... save me..."

He ran desperately toward the sound, but the darkness, like a sticky swamp, dragged his legs down. The harder he struggled, the deeper he sank. The crying grew closer and clearer; he could even feel the despair and sorrow in the voice.

"Xiao Huan! Xiao Huan!" he finally called out in his dream.

Then, he saw it.

In the darkness, a face vaguely appeared. It was Yang Xiaohuan's face, pale and haggard, with tear streaks. She looked at him, her eyes filled with pleading and fear. Her lips moved as if she were saying something, but he couldn't hear her.

He tried to reach out and pull her up, but his arm was too heavy to lift.

Just then, countless dark hands suddenly reached out from the darkness, grabbed Yang Xiaohuan, and dragged her deeper into the darkness. She struggled, cried out, and stared at him with eyes full of resentment and hatred.

"No--!"

Li Bai suddenly woke up and sat up in bed.

Cold sweat soaked through his undershirt, clinging stickily to his skin. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if it would explode. He gasped for breath, his throat parched and painful.

Outside the window, the night remained thick and impenetrable. The mountains were reduced to blurry outlines in the darkness, like lurking giant beasts. The mountain wind howled across the rooftops, emitting a piercing shriek.

Wu Zhinan was still fast asleep, his snores even.

Li Bai raised his hand to wipe his face; his palm was covered in cold sweat. The scene from his dream still lingered before his eyes—Yang Xiaohuan's pale face, her sorrowful eyes, and the despair of being dragged into darkness.

That wasn't a dream.

That was his deepest fear.

He was afraid that it would be too late, afraid that he would be powerless, afraid that he would only be able to watch the tragedy happen again, just like in his previous life when he watched a dagger pierce his chest, just like the Mawei Slope Incident that was destined to happen in history.

He threw off the thin blanket covering him and walked barefoot to the window. The wooden window was half open, and the mountain wind blew in, chilling his sweat-drenched body. He looked out the window; the dark mountains stood silent in the night, like an insurmountable barrier.

power.

He needs strength.

It's not about poetic talent, money, or empty fame.

It is a real power that can protect loved ones, fight against fate, and cleave through the darkness.

Mount Shu. Sword Immortal. Light in the secluded depths of Qingcheng. The secret realm beyond Jianmen Pass.

Those legends that once seemed so unreal now felt incredibly real and urgent to him.

He must find it.

No matter the cost.