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

The bronze door slowly opened inward, and a dark red light seeped from the cracks, surging out like a tide and instantly engulfing Li Bai's vision. The light carried a temperature—not warmth, but a scorching heat, like the flames of desire, or like blood dripping from the heart. Within the light, he smelled familiar scents: the smoky aroma of Chengdu street food, the acrid smell of car exhaust, and… the faint scent of gardenias emanating from Yang Xiaohuan. He heard the sounds of traffic, voices, and the rough, cold laugh of the tattooed man. The scene behind the door distorted in the light; the outline of the street began to emerge, and the glow of streetlights spread in the darkness. Li Bai gripped his Azure Lotus Sword tightly, a cool sensation emanating from its blade, attempting to resist the scorching light. He didn't retreat, but instead stepped forward, venturing into the dark red glow.

One step, and the world spins.

The feel underfoot had changed—from cool obsidian to rough cement. The buzzing of traffic became real and noisy, and the air was filled with the unique scent of a summer night in Chengdu in 2003: the spiciness of hot pot broth, the charcoal smell of roadside barbecue, the fragrance of camphor trees on the roadside trees, and... the smell of sweat mixed with cheap perfume.

Li Bai opened his eyes.

He stood on a familiar street.

On the east side of Tianfu Square, at the intersection of Renmin East Road and Shuncheng Street. It was around 7 p.m., the sky was just beginning to darken, the streetlights had just come on, and their dim yellow glow spread across the deepening twilight. The shops on both sides of the street were lit up with neon lights, and the signs for "Longchaoshou," "Zhongshuijiao," and "Fuqi Feipian" (a type of Sichuan-style beef and offal soup) flickered in the night. The sounds of bicycle bells, car horns, vendors' cries, and pedestrians' laughter blended together into a noisy background.

Everything felt so real.

It was so real that he could feel the cool evening breeze on his cheeks, so real that he could smell the aroma of dan dan noodles wafting in the air, so real that... he could see the three people standing on the opposite sidewalk.

Yang Xiaohuan.

She wore a beige dress, the hem just reaching her knees, revealing her fair calves. Her hair was styled in the fashionable large waves of the time, dyed chestnut brown, shimmering softly under the streetlights. Her face was adorned with exquisite makeup, her lipstick a vibrant fuchsia, which made her skin appear even whiter. She stood there, arms crossed, chin slightly raised, her gaze cold and aloof, like a delicate porcelain vase.

Two men were standing behind her.

The man on the left is about 1.85 meters tall, with a buzz cut and a blue dragon tattooed on his neck, running from his collarbone to behind his ear. He wears a tight black T-shirt, his muscles are bulging, his arms are crossed, and a cigarette dangles from his lips, smoke curling in the dim light. The man on the right is slightly shorter, but still about 1.8 meters tall, bald, with a scar on his left cheek that runs from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth, making his face look ferocious and terrifying. He's toying with a switchblade in his hand, the blade reflecting a cold, gleaming light under the lamplight.

Li Bai looked down at himself.

He wore a faded gray shirt with worn cuffs, and dark blue jeans with faded knees. A pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and behind the lenses, his eyes held a mixture of timidity, confusion, and…resentment. He carried no sword, only a crumpled folder containing a geological survey report.

This is him in 2003.

Li Bai, who had just graduated from the Geology Department of Tianfu University of Technology three years ago, was working in an exploration team, earning a monthly salary of 800 yuan, and renting a 10-square-meter single room in an old residential area.

That... Li Bai, who was about to die.

"Li Bai, stop bothering me!"

Yang Xiaohuan's voice rang out.

The voice was clear and crisp, with a deliberately high-pitched tone; every word pierced Li Bai's ears like an icicle. Her lips moved, and her bright red lipstick shone brightly under the light. Her eyes were cold, but Li Bai saw it—he saw a fleeting panic deep within that coldness, saw her eyelashes trembling slightly, saw her fingers gripping her skirt tightly, her knuckles white.

"Even if you were truly the great poet of the Tang Dynasty, I wouldn't like you! Besides, you're just a geologist who spends his days chipping away at rocks in remote mountain valleys!"

Her voice continued.

Every single word was exactly the same as the memory from my past life.

But this time, Li Bai was not blinded by anger and humiliation as he had in his previous life. He stood still, quietly looking at her, at her eyes, at the sorrow that was deliberately suppressed deep in her pupils.

"All I like is money, and you, you penniless wretch, get out!"

The burly, tattooed man behind her took a step forward; the blue dragon tattoo writhed under the light, as if it had come to life. He spat out the cigarette butt, which fell to the ground, sending up a few sparks.

"Did you hear me? Sister Xiaohuan told you to get lost." The burly man's voice was rough and hoarse, with a heavy Sichuan accent. "Tomorrow, obediently sign the divorce papers and deliver them to Boss Liu's teahouse. Otherwise..."

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Otherwise, we'll break your legs."

Li Bai's heart was pounding violently in his chest.

It's not fear.

It's anger.

It was the kind of anger that had been suppressed for too long, welling up from the depths of his bones. He could feel the blood surging in his veins, feel his temples throbbing, and feel his nails digging deep into his palms with his clenched fists, bringing a sharp, stinging pain.

But he didn't move.

He is waiting.

Waiting for that past self to say those words.

Sure enough, he heard his own voice—a voice that trembled slightly, sounded timid, but carried an almost foolish persistence:

"Let her go! She's my wife! I'm taking her home!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the bald man on the right moved.

He darted out like a cheetah, his movements incredibly fast. Li Bai didn't even see how he made his move; he only felt a flash of cold light before his eyes and a chill run down his chest.

Then came the excruciating pain.

The excruciating pain was like ice piercing his skin, muscles, and ribs, penetrating deep into his chest. He could feel the blade churning inside him, and he could feel warm blood gushing from the wound, soaking his shirt and clinging stickily to his skin. He could smell blood—a strong, rusty smell, mixed with the spiciness of hot pot in the air, creating a bizarre and nauseating odor.

He lowered his head.

He saw the switchblade stuck in his chest.

The hilt of the knife was in the bald man's hand; the blade was completely submerged, with only the hilt sticking out. Blood flowed down the hilt, dripping onto the concrete pavement with a soft "drip, drip" sound.

My vision began to blur.

The sounds around me became distant and distorted.

He heard Yang Xiaohuan scream—a scream filled with genuine terror, not feigned. He heard the burly man's sinister laugh, the gasps of passersby, and the distant sound of police sirens.

Then, he collapsed.

Her body crashed heavily onto the concrete pavement, the back of her head hitting the ground with a dull thud. All that remained in her vision was the dim yellow light of the streetlamp and Yang Xiaohuan's pale face beneath it.

But this time, he did not "die".

His consciousness began to float away.

As if his soul had left his body, he saw himself lying in a pool of blood, a knife protruding from his chest, his body twitching slightly. He saw the bald man pull out the knife, wipe the blood on his trouser leg, and then turn to Yang Xiaohuan and say something. He saw Yang Xiaohuan standing there, her body stiff, her face ashen white.

Then, he saw her turn around.

That moment he didn't see when he fell to the ground and his vision blurred in his past life.

She turned away from the two burly men, away from him lying in a pool of blood. Her shoulders trembled, very slightly, but definitely. Her fingers gripped the hem of her skirt tightly, her knuckles frighteningly white. Her lips moved, silently uttering something.

Then, a tear slid down her cheek.

The tear glistened under the streetlight, slid down her cheek, lingered for a moment on her chin, then fell and disappeared into the night.

She raised her hand and quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, the movement so fast it was almost invisible. Then, her shoulders stopped trembling, her back straightened, and she transformed back into the alluring, cold-eyed Yang Xiaohuan.

"Let's go," she said to the two burly men, her voice regaining its calmness, even carrying a hint of impatience.

Two burly men flanked her on either side and led her to a black Santana parked by the roadside. The door opened, and she got in. The window rolled up, the car started, and the taillights left two red streaks in the night before disappearing into the traffic.

Li Bai floated in the air, watching all of this.

His chest still ached—the excruciating pain of being stabbed, so real it almost suffocated him. But what hurt even more was his heart, the agonizing pain that welled up from the depths of his soul as he watched his wife being forced to act, watched her shed that one unseen tear as she turned away.

he knows.

He always knew.

Yang Xiaohuan wasn't truly greedy or heartless. She was simply... forced into a corner. Her parents were seriously ill and needed enormous medical expenses. People from Liu Han's Group approached her, promising to pay all the costs, on the condition that she leave Li Bai and become Liu Han's mistress. She struggled and resisted, but seeing her parents lying on their deathbeds, she ultimately succumbed.

That night, she asked him out and said those heartless things to force him to leave, to make him give up, and to... protect him.

But she didn't expect Liu Han's men to be so ruthless.

She never expected him to be so stubborn, so stubborn that he would rather die than let go.

"sorry……"

Li Bai heard his own voice echoing in the air, very soft and hoarse.

"I'm sorry, Xiaohuan. In my past life, I was too cowardly and incompetent to protect you. I'm sorry..."

The scene began to distort.

Streets, streetlights, bloodstains, pedestrians… everything was spinning, distorting, melting, like an oil painting washed away by water. Colors mixed together, forming a chaotic vortex. The sounds around me became blurred and distant, finally leaving only a low hum.

Then, a new scenario emerged.

It is Chengdu.

Springtime in the twenty-third year of the Kaiyuan era.

Li Bai stood on a street paved with bluestone slabs, flanked by antique wooden buildings with upturned eaves and red lanterns hanging from them. The air was filled with the fragrance of flowers—the sweet and rich scent of peach blossoms. In the distance, the melodious sound of string and wind instruments drifted in, mingled with the soft laughter of a woman.

He saw himself.

The twenty-five-year-old Li Bai, dressed in a blue robe, with a wine gourd hanging from his waist and a scroll of poems in his hand, staggered out of a tavern. His face was slightly flushed, his eyes were unfocused, and his steps were a little unsteady, but there was a smile on his lips, a smile of poetic elegance and unrestrained enjoyment of nature.

Then, he saw Yang Yuhuan.

She had just stepped down from a richly decorated carriage.

That year she was fifteen years old, wearing a pale yellow ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) with a light green half-sleeved outer garment. Her hair was styled in double buns, adorned with a simple jade hairpin. She wore no makeup, her face bare, yet her skin was as white as snow, her eyebrows and eyes as beautiful as paintings, and her lips naturally red. She stood beside the carriage, slightly tilting her head to look at the peach blossoms by the roadside, her eyes clear and curious, like a fawn just peeking out of its den.

A spring breeze swept by, scattering a few peach blossoms.

A petal landed on her hair bun.

She felt it, reached out to brush it away, her fingers slender and white, her movements gentle. The petal was brushed away, twirled in the air, and drifted to the ground. She looked down at the petal, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

That smile.

Like the first ray of sunshine in spring, like the clearest stream in the mountain valley, like the brightest star in the night sky.

Li Bai stopped in his tracks when he saw his twenty-five-year-old self.

The gourd of wine in his hand fell to the ground with a soft "thud." The poems scattered all over the ground, blown by the wind and dancing in the air. But he was oblivious, staring blankly at the girl, at her smile, at her graceful figure under the peach tree.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still.

The people, vehicles, and sounds on the street all vanished. Only the girl and the young man staring blankly at her remained in the world.

Then, the girl seemed to notice the gaze and turned her head.

Her gaze met that of the young man.

Eyes facing each other.

A flicker of surprise, curiosity, and...shyness flashed in her eyes. She quickly looked away, lowered her head, and her cheeks flushed slightly. Then, she turned and, supported by her maid, strode into a nearby mansion.

The door closed.

The young man remained standing still.

After a long while, he bent down to pick up the wine gourd and the scattered poems. He patted the dust off the poems, looked up at the closed door, and his eyes shone with an unprecedented light.

That was love at first sight.

It was love at first sight.

It's a fateful entanglement.

Li Bai floated in the air, watching all of this.

My chest started to hurt again—not the pain of a knife wound, but a different kind of pain. The pain of knowing the outcome but being powerless to change it, the pain of watching beautiful things destined for destruction.

he knows.

This fifteen-year-old girl would one day become Yang Guifei, Emperor Xuanzong's most beloved concubine, and would be strangled to death with a three-foot-long white silk ribbon at Mawei Slope, her life ending tragically.

he knows.

This twenty-five-year-old youth will become a poetic immortal, a sword immortal, love her to the bone, storm the palace for her, endure the torture of being slowly sliced ​​to death for her, and return from a thousand years ago for her.

He knew all of this.

But he can't change it.

At least, he can't change things now.

The scene distorted again.

Peach blossoms, streets, carriages, mansions... everything is melting. Colors blend into a chaotic mass, then recombine to form a new scene.

It is Chang'an.

Autumn of the fourth year of the Tianbao era.

Li Bai stood by the window of a tall building, holding a letter in his hand. The letter, sent by Du Fu through a messenger, contained only one sentence: "Yang Guifei has entered the palace and has been made a Noble Consort."

Outside the window is the night view of Chang'an. Thousands of lights twinkle like stars in the sky. In the distance, the Daming Palace is brightly lit, filled with the sounds of music and revelry. A chilly autumn wind blows, stirring the curtains by the window and bringing a refreshing coolness.

Li Bai looked at the letter.

Looked for a long time.

Then he smiled.

The laughter was soft and hoarse, carrying an almost desperate mockery. He picked up the wine jug on the table, tilted his head back, and took a large gulp. The wine dripped from the corner of his mouth, soaking his clothes. He continued drinking, sip after sip, until the jug was empty, which he then smashed violently on the ground, shattering it into countless pieces.

Porcelain shards flew, cutting the back of his hand, and blood seeped out.

But he was completely unaware.

He simply stood there, looking out the window at the Daming Palace, at the brightly lit palace, at the cage that imprisoned his beloved.

Then he drew his sword.

The sword was an ordinary iron sword, not the Azure Lotus. He gripped the hilt tightly, the tip pointing towards the Daming Palace. His hands trembled, his whole body shook. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze crazed and desperate.

He wanted to rush out.

They wanted to storm into the Daming Palace.

He wanted to kill everyone who stood in his way.

He wanted to take that girl back.

But he didn't.

He just stood there, gripping the sword, trembling, until his strength gave out and the sword clattered to the ground. He knelt down, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders shook violently.

There was no crying.

Only suppressed gasps for breath.

Like a wounded beast, licking its wounds alone in the darkness.

Li Bai floated in the air, watching all of this.

My chest hurts so much I can't breathe.

That kind of pain is worse than being stabbed with a knife, worse than being slowly sliced ​​to death. It's the pain of having your heart torn apart, the pain of having your soul crushed bit by bit.

The scene changed again.

Countless fragments of memory surged forth.

—Yang Xiaohuan smiled at him for the first time, her eyes curving into crescents, and said, "Li Bai, you're a really interesting person."

Yang Yuhuan secretly glanced at him at the banquet. When he noticed, she hurriedly lowered her head, her ears turning bright red.

Yang Xiaohuan was cooking noodles for him in the rented room. The kitchen was small and filled with choking fumes. She coughed as she said, "It'll be ready soon, just wait a little longer."

—Yang Yuhuan danced in the Imperial Garden, her figure as light as a butterfly, and her smile when she turned her head was captivating.

Yang Xiaohuan was taking care of her parents at their bedside. Her eyes were red from staying up all night, but she smiled at him and said, "I'm fine, you should go back and rest."

—At Mawei Slope, Yang Yuhuan was strangled with a white silk ribbon, staring blankly at the sky, and her last tear slid down her cheek.

Sweet, painful, regretful, desperate...

All memories related to Yang Xiaohuan and Yang Yuhuan surged forth like a tidal wave, completely overwhelming Li Bai's consciousness. He couldn't distinguish between his past life and this one, between reality and illusion. He only felt pain, boundless pain, spreading from his heart to every limb and bone, reaching the depths of his soul.

Then, a voice rang out.

It didn't come from my ears.

It comes from the bottom of my heart.

It resounded from the depths of his consciousness, from his marrow, from every drop of his blood.

The voice was deep, hoarse, and seductive, like the hiss of a venomous snake, like the whisper of the devil:

"Is it painful?"

Li Bai trembled.

"Are you unwilling to accept this?"

The voice continued, each word piercing his consciousness like a needle.

"Look, you have power now."

The illusion before my eyes has changed.

He saw himself standing on the streets of Chengdu, sword in hand, the Qinglian Sword gleaming like snow. The two tattooed men knelt on the ground, covered in blood, staring at him in terror. He swung his sword, and both heads flew off, blood splattering and staining the street red. Passersby scattered and fled, sirens blaring, but he paid no heed. He turned, walked to the black Santana, opened the door, and carried Yang Xiaohuan out. She cried in his arms, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He gently stroked her hair and said, "It's alright, I'll take you home."

The illusion changes again.

He saw himself standing atop the palace of the Daming Palace, the Azure Lotus Sword in his hand, its light illuminating the night sky. The imperial guards surged forward like a tide, but he slaughtered them one by one, leaving corpses strewn across the battlefield. He rushed into the emperor's bedchamber; Emperor Xuanzong retreated in terror, Gao Lishi shielding him, only to be cleaved in two by a single sword strike. He walked to Yang Yuhuan, who was dressed in magnificent palace attire, her face streaked with tears. He reached out his hand and said, "Yuhuan, come with me." She threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly.

"Did you see that?"

A voice inside my heart is laughing, a wild and triumphant laugh.

"This is the true spirit of a sword immortal—a life of swift justice and fierce vengeance!"

"Go back, kill those thugs, and get your wife back!"

"Go to Chang'an, kill the emperor, and bring back Yang Guifei!"

"You have this power! You have the Azure Lotus Sword! You have the legacy of Mount Shu! You are a Golden Core Sword Immortal! Who in the world can stop you?!"

"kill!"

"Kill them all!"

"Take back everything that belongs to you!"

The sounds grew louder and more frenzied, like countless voices roaring and tempting him simultaneously. Li Bai's consciousness began to waver; the illusion before him became increasingly real and alluring. He could feel his sword-wielding hand heating up, his blood boiling, and the long-suppressed violence and killing intent deep within him stirring.

He wanted to kill someone.

He wanted to kill everyone who had harmed Yang Xiaohuan and Yang Yuhuan.

He wanted to wash away all the humiliation and pain with his blood.

I want to use a sword to carve out a path to happiness.

The Azure Lotus Sword trembled in his hand.

The lotus pattern on the sword began to glow, not with a blue light, but with a dark red light, like the kind of light seeping from the Gate of Love's Tribulation, like blood, like desire, like a heart-burning flame.

The swords resonated.

Resonate with his inner demons.