[A hundred years of karma entanglements have been calculated — Collecting rewards.]
...
[You have received 1x Pill of Nirvanic Reincarnation]
[You have received the Cultivation Method — Penetralia of Solitude]
[You have received the Heavenly Treasure — Spotless Dust Staff (Sealed)]
...
Xian's pupils constricted, and he froze, breath caught in his throat.
For a heartbeat, he felt the world fall silent
Yet— Before he could process the staggering words flashing before his eyes, the air around him thickened, vibrating with a low hum, as if the very space had begun to bend in response.
Before his widening eyes, the translucent screen flickered once more, its golden light sputtering like a dying flame.
Then—
With a soundless pulse, three illusory objects materialized from the fading shimmer, as if pulled out of some hidden fold in the void.
They floated serenely before him:
First, a palm-sized wooden box, its surface covered in intricate, interlocking symbols too ancient for the mortal tongue to name.
It hovered to his right, spinning lazily in place, emanating a deep, rhythmic warmth—beating like a hidden heart.
Second, a long and narrow scroll, encased in a metal case of blackened steel and flickers of deep cobalt-blue, intricately embroidered with a smoke dragon motif that coils elegantly around the edges.
Pure white silk was wound tightly around it, while coils of smoke slithered along its surface. A single thread of smoky energy sealed it shut, pulsing with a slow, solemn beat.
Despite it extravagant appearance, an unfathomable depth of solitude and isolation seemed to seep from its very fibers, as though its true nature was hidden from all but the most worthy.
Third—
A Staff.
Or rather, what appeared at first glance to be an ancient, weathered broom: a shaft of dark, almost blackened wood, its handle capped with cool, polished green jade wrapped in a simple red ribbon.
The bristles, made of dried wheat stalks, were bound neatly together, radiating an aura of inconspicuous plainness.
Nirvanic Reincarnation? Penetralia of Solitude? Spotless Dust Staff?
Xian's weakened mind reeled, battered by the sheer absurdity of the names, momentarily forgetting the throb of his old injuries and the chill gnawing at his bones.
A pill of transcendent rejuvenation—its name, a cruel irony. Despite his doubts, it unmistakably spoke of new life rising from dying embers.
A technique he'd never heard of before, yet its aura of utter isolation and its ominous shape hinted at grand, untold prospects.
A Sealed Treasure… a treasure with its own spirit! Even after almost century of life, Xian had never encountered one. Hell, he'd only heard of three others, all owned by legendary figures.
The corner of his mouth twitched — not in amusement, but in something closer to a silent, ragged disbelief.
If he had seen these names a century ago — back when his blood still ran hot and his dreams still soared — he might have roared with laughter, seized the gifts with greedy hands, and carved his name into the heavens themselves.
Now, all he felt was a deep, aching suspicion.
And yet, despite himself, a flicker of hope — stubborn, fragile — lit up in his weary eyes.
As Xian stood there, unfocused, his thoughts were forced to snap open in alarm due to his current surroundings.
He was still out in the open, The cold wind stirred his tattered robes, the thin fabric flapping weakly against his frail frame.
A few villagers were passing by on the dirt path nearby — farmers, tradesmen, a handful of curious children tugging at their mothers' sleeves.
Their gazes inevitably fell on him: a hunched, ragged figure standing alone looking at the air, his hair unkempt, his clothes little more than patched rags.
Their expressions differed — some with fleeting pity, most with thinly veiled contempt.
Xian watched them without much feeling. Their scorn barely grazed him; their pity meant even less.
Yet something made his brow furrow slightly.
None of them even glanced at the three illusory treasures floating before him — the wooden box spinning slowly in the air, the midnight-blue scroll pulsing faintly with dim light, the ancient broom humming softly against the wind.
They only saw him — the beggar, the madman standing blank-eyed under the grey sky.
Could it be... they couldn't see the treasures?
As Xian pondered, his gaze swept across the villagers — and landed on a familiar face.
A scrawny boy, the son of the old widow who, moments ago, had pitied him enough to gift him a scrap of dry bread.
The bread had been harder than stone and smaller than a sparrow's wing, but at the time, Xian had accepted it with a silent nod of gratitude.
Now, seeing the lad, Xian eyes flickered, Perhaps he could test it.
He raised a hand — thin, weathered, trembling ever so slightly — and gave a slow wave, motioning the boy to come closer.
The boy noticed him and hesitated, squinting suspiciously before trudging over, arms crossed tight over his chest.
He stopped a few paces away, scowling up at Xian.
"Old beggar," the boy shouted, his hands on his hips. "You shouldn't be taking advantage of Ma. She gave you that bread out of the goodness of her heart, not because you deserved it!"
Several nearby villagers turned at the boy's outburst, their expressions ranging from mild amusement to disdainful snickers.
Xian's expression twitched, yet he didn't let the boy's words sting as he might have once.
Instead, he moved on, as if accustomed to the weight of such things. He raised a shaky hand and pointed at the three illusory floating objects still suspended before him.
"Lad, Do you see anything here?" Xian asked, his voice low, tinged with curiosity.
The boy glanced at where Xian was pointing, his brow furrowing in confusion.
He stared for a moment, silence stretching between them, his eyes flicking back and forth from Xian's hand to the air where the objects hung motionless.
For a brief moment, Xian thought the boy might answer, but then the boy's face shifted.
A frown deepened, and he took a step back, shaking his head slowly, as if unsure how to respond.
Before Xian could ask anything further, the boy sighed, shaking his head again with a soft look of pity.
"You've really gone mad, old man." His voice was flat, and he gave a slight shrug, as if the matter were too sad to really care about.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and stepped back, as though he had done his part by speaking his mind.
Xian paused, his gaze lingering on the boy, then returning to the floating items. A dry chuckle escaped him, but it wasn't filled with humor, only emptiness.
"…Maybe I have," Xian muttered, as his attention shifted back to the illusory floating treasures before him, unseen by others.
...
[COMING NEXT] - CHAPTER 3 - Earthly Motions
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GLOSSARY -:-