"Alright," he said. "I'll start looking into it. But I'll need access to information. Libraries. The internet. Maybe even… people who know things."
"Ding. The System suggests Host begin with the internet. It is free. It is accessible. And it does not require Host to interact with other humans."
Yan Xiao snorted. "Afraid I'll make friends?"
"Ding. The System is not afraid. The System simply prefers Host to be efficient. Socializing is inefficient."
"Noted." Yan Xiao pulled out his phone, then paused, staring at the cracked screen. It was the original Yan Xiao's phone — another piece of a dead boy's life he had inherited.
"System."
"Ding. Host is speaking."
"If I find something — a real location, a real source of spiritual energy — what then?"
"Ding. Then the System will guide Host. The System cannot detect such locations from a distance. The Dharma Ending Era interference is too strong. But if Host reaches the general area, the System may be able to pinpoint the exact source."
"So I'm the scout. You're the radar."
"Ding. The System prefers the term 'strategic navigation partner.' But yes, Host. That is essentially correct."
Yan Xiao nodded slowly.
For the first time since waking up in that classroom, he felt something like direction. Not just missions. Not just survival. An actual path he could walk himself.
"Alright," he said. "Let's see what this world is hiding."
Yan Xiao opened his laptop.
The screen flickered on, throwing a pale glow across the tiny apartment. The machine was ancient — a refurbished model with a cracked corner and a battery that barely lasted an hour. But it worked. Right now that was enough.
He typed into the search bar: Mount Kunlun immortals.
Thousands of results flooded the screen.
Mythology sites, travel blogs, academic papers, forum threads full of people arguing whether Kunlun was a real mountain or pure legend. Yan Xiao scrolled past the obvious fiction and zeroed in on patterns — repeated names, consistent locations, stories that kept appearing across sources.
He bookmarked a dozen pages.
Then: Penglai island immortals.
Then: Four Sacred Mountains cultivation.
Then: Yellow Emperor ascension.
An hour slipped by. Then two.
His eyes burned. His neck ached from hunching over the screen. Still he kept going.
The original Yan Xiao had been curious — poor, but curious. Those memories were buried under layers of humiliation and heartbreak, but they were there. Yan Xiao dragged them up and cross-referenced them with everything he found online.
Patterns started to emerge.
Kunlun showed up in almost every myth: a vast mountain range in the far west, home to the Kunlun Palace and the Queen Mother of the West — goddess of immortality and chaos. Some texts claimed immortals gathered there every three thousand years to eat the peaches of immortality.
Penglai was different. A floating island, hidden somewhere in the eastern sea, unreachable by ordinary ships. Only those with cultivation could find it. Some stories said it had been destroyed. Others said it had simply… moved.
The Four Sacred Mountains were more real — Taishan, Huashan, Hengshan, Songshan — places that still existed, still drew pilgrims and tourists. But beneath the tourist traps, old legends whispered of hidden chambers, sealed caves, and ancient altars where rituals had once been performed.
Yan Xiao leaned back and rubbed his eyes.
"This is a lot," he muttered.
"Ding. The System observes that Host has been staring at a screen for two hours. Host's eyes are red. Host's posture is poor. The System suggests a break."
"I'm fine."
"Ding. Host is not fine. Host is dehydrated. Host has not eaten since the noodle incident. The System recommends food and water before Host collapses."
Yan Xiao glanced at the clock. Past midnight.
He'd been so deep in the research he hadn't noticed the time.
"Alright," he said, standing. "I'll make something."
But as he walked to the kitchen, another thought hit him. The internet was useful, but limited. The information was public, sanitized, filtered through centuries of retelling. What he needed was deeper. Older. The kind of knowledge that never made it onto blogs or academic papers.
"System."
"Ding. Host is speaking."
"The internet is good for basics. But I need more. I need to find people who know things. Old people. People who've lived long enough to hear the stories that never got published."
"Ding. Host is suggesting… social interaction?"
Yan Xiao caught the hesitation in the System's voice.
"Don't sound so horrified. Not all humans are terrible."
"Ding. The System has observed otherwise. But the System trusts Host's judgment. Reluctantly."
---
The next morning, Yan Xiao took the bus to the city library.
Chengdu's main library was a big gray building with tall windows and wide stone steps. It smelled of old paper and dust — a smell the original Yan Xiao had always found strangely comforting. He had spent hours here once, hiding from his problems between the shelves.
Yan Xiao headed straight for the reference section and pulled every book he could find on Chinese mythology, ancient history, and folk religion.
He carried the heavy stack to a table by the window and started reading.
These books were slower, denser than the internet, but they held details the online articles had skipped — footnotes, citations, references to obscure texts and real archaeological finds.
He learned about the Shan Hai Jing — the Classic of Mountains and Seas — an ancient text packed with mythical geography, strange creatures, and medicinal herbs. Some scholars called it pure fantasy. Others believed it contained fragments of real history, warped by time.
He learned about the Eight Immortals — legendary figures who had reached immortality through cultivation, alchemy, or divine favor. Their stories were famous, but the specific locations tied to them were rarely discussed.
He learned about feng shui — the art of arranging space to harmonize with spiritual energy. People still practiced it today, but most treated it as superstition. The oldest texts described it as a genuine cultivation technique for sensing and channeling the flow of Qi through the land.
By noon his notebook was crammed with scribbled notes and rough maps.
"Ding. Host has been reading for three hours. The System is impressed by Host's dedication."
"It's not dedication. It's desperation."
"Ding. The System disagrees. Dedication and desperation often look the same. The difference is intent. Host's intent is clear. Host wants to find his master. That is dedication."
Yan Xiao didn't answer. He just turned the next page.
---
In the afternoon he left the library and walked to a small teahouse in the older part of the city.
The building was narrow and faded, squeezed between a pharmacy and a shuttered restaurant. Above the door hung a weathered sign in old-style calligraphy: Lao Zhang's Teahouse — Established 1902.
Yan Xiao pushed the door open.
Inside it was dim and warm, heavy with the scent of jasmine tea and aged wood. A handful of old men sat at round tables playing chess and murmuring in low voices. Behind the counter stood an elderly woman with silver hair and sharp, watchful eyes.
"Can I help you, young man?" she asked.
"I'm looking for someone," Yan Xiao said. "Someone who knows the old stories. The ones that aren't in books."
The woman studied him for a long moment.
Then she pointed to a corner table where a very old man sat alone, staring out the window.
"Old Chen," she said. "He's ninety-three. He's forgotten more than most people ever learn. But he doesn't talk to just anyone."
Yan Xiao walked over.
The old man didn't look up. His hands, wrinkled and spotted, rested on a wooden cane. His eyes were clouded with age, yet something sharp still lingered behind them.
"Mr. Chen," Yan Xiao said. "I'd like to ask you about Mount Kunlun."
The old man's head turned slowly.
"Kunlun," he repeated. His voice was dry, like paper rustling. "Why would a young man like you care about an old mountain?"
"Because I think there's something there," Yan Xiao said. "Something real."
Old Chen stayed silent for a long moment.
Then he smiled — a small, knowing smile that made the hairs on Yan Xiao's arms rise.
"Sit down, boy," he said. "And I'll tell you a story my grandfather told me. A story about a mountain that isn't on any map… and a gate that only opens for those who know how to look."
Yan Xiao sat.
---
Chu Family Residence
"Hang on, Hanli. I really don't know what to say about you, but the Mo Family is huge, and they care about their image. If you marry Yan Xiao and something happens to him, everyone's going to link it back to the Mo Family. I don't think they'd do anything that doesn't benefit them," Chen Xiaowi said, analyzing the situation with the calm experience of someone who had seen it all.
Chu Hanli stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Okay… then I'll have to owe him one more time."
Chen Xiaowi shook her head. "Hanli, you're wrong. This time you won't owe him — he'll owe you. I can guarantee Yan Xiao's thoughts are different from yours. He'd be glad to do it. How about this… Tomorrow is Zi Xuan's birthday. We'll use that as an excuse to head to Chengdu. After the party, I'll go with you to see Yan Xiao and we'll lay out the plan."
Chu Hanli knew Zi Xuan well. Back when they were still in school, Zi Xuan had been famous for her beauty in the Capital. Then something happened with her mother a few years ago and she'd moved to Chengdu. Even so, Chen Xiaowi had stayed close friends with her.