In the northern part of the Eastern Victory nation, the mountain ranges extend endlessly, among which one large mountain soars into the clouds like a colossal sword. Hence, this place is named ‘Cloud Sword Mountain Range.’ Currently, it is winter, and the chilling wind bites to the bone.

On a mountain path, a young man and an elder are walking, one in front of the other. The young man up ahead has a striking appearance, but his pale complexion coupled with his white hair gives him the look of someone chronically ill. After walking a few steps, he suddenly clutches his chest and bends over in pain as a severe cough tears through him. His originally pale handsome face now flushes with pain.

“Master, shall we rest for a while?” The elder hurries to the young man’s side and pats his back, his face full of compassion.

“Hack, tui!” After a violent fit of coughing, Jiang Xiaobai spits out a mouthful of blood-tinged sputum. He raises his head to look at the snow-capped mountains with red eyes, his face showing a reluctance to admit defeat.

At this moment, if one phrase could describe Jiang Xiaobai’s mood, it would undoubtedly be ‘cursing the heavens’. When others time-travel, they live a life of luxury, surrounded by beauty and pleasure, but what about him? He’s been sick for thirteen years since he came to this world. Every day it’s nothing but plain food—his only fortune being a handsome face.

In modern terms, ‘this young man is so handsome, it’s criminal.’ His looks are indeed impressive, but what is the use? Bedridden year-round, he doesn’t even have the strength to fight off a chicken, and on top of that, his hair has turned half white at a young age.

“Cloud Sword Immortal Mountain’s secret realm is long and untraveled, who can grasp its vast expanse amongst the mists; its rugged peaks perpetually covered in snow, the streams flowing like cascading jade… Damn it all, sob, damn it all!”, he exclaims amidst bitterness.

“Master, please take care of your health and refrain from such thoughts!” The elder behind him speaks with bitterness: “Once we obtain the elixir, your illness will surely be cured!”

“It’s been a month.” Jiang Xiaobai lifts his head to look at the mountain, with even more reluctance: “A month and not a single person in sight, the immortals…”

“Hehe, do immortals really exist in this world?” Jiang Xiaobai asks with a forced laugh.

“Of course, they do!” the elder promptly responds, though he closes his mouth swiftly, only to open it again moments later and reaffirm, “They must exist!”

Sighing, Jiang Xiaobai glances back at the elder and continues to tread the mountain path against the cold wind.

The elder, with sorrow etched on his face, follows behind, watching over the desolate figure of Jiang Xiaobai. After half an hour, an exhausted Jiang Xiaobai sits on a stone while the elder kindles a fire and begins toasting some biscuits. Jiang Xiaobai can’t help but criticize, “Grandfather Song, these biscuits are a month old, how come they haven’t spoiled yet?”

“It’s because of the cold,” Song Fengquan explains. “They’re frozen solid, they can’t spoil!” He continues to warm the biscuits by the fire, occasionally softening them with some snow, while the snow sizzles on the fire.

Jiang Xiaobai can only smile wryly and falls silent while holding a jade pendant in his hand, gently rubbing it. His father in this world had given him this pendant before going up the mountain. An extraordinary piece of warm jade, it could stave off the cold when worn close to the body.

That was why, despite not wearing very thick clothing, he did not fear the cold. And as for Song Fengquan’s resistance to the harsh cold, it was because he himself was an expert in internal martial arts—protecting Jiang Xiaobai all this way.

“The biscuit is ready, Master!” calls Song Fengquan in his hoarse voice, passing a toasted biscuit to Jiang Xiaobai. After Jiang Xiaobai takes a bite and swallows, he looks up at the snow-covered mountains and recites, “Ah, thousands of miles in eternal autumn, always a guest; a hundred years of illness, alone I ascend the stage. Why is my path so fraught with hardship?”

“Master, once we find the elixir, everything will improve,” Song Fengquan assures while nibbling on a biscuit, admiringly adding, “Especially someone as talented as you, Master, will surely win great honors once you recover!”

“If only I didn’t have this illness!” Jiang Xiaobai says bitterly. “I’d just plagiarize some poetry from my previous life, then enjoy the romantic life with beautiful women at my side, not even desiring three thousand concubines…”

Before he can finish, a sharp pain in his chest leads him to cough violently again. Song Fengquan sees this and gets up immediately to pat Jiang Xiaobai on the back.

“Grandfather Song,” Jiang Xiaobai gasps for air, “Do you think I might die here?”

“Of course not!” Song Fengquan looks at the blood Jiang Xiaobai has coughed onto the ground, feeling a heavy heart but still shaking his head. “We will definitely find the elixir!”

“Right, we definitely will,” Jiang Xiaobai agrees, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth and continuing to munch on the biscuit. After finishing one, he lifts his hand with a somewhat carefree look, “Come on, give me another one!”

“Alright!” Song Fengquan is heartened to see Jiang Xiaobai still has an appetite and hands over another toasted biscuit.

At that moment, Song Fengquan’s pupils constrict as he fixes his gaze on something behind Jiang Xiaobai, squeezing out the words through clenched teeth, “Master, don’t move…”

Huh? Jiang Xiaobai, puzzled, glances behind him. He doesn’t see clearly what it is, but he does notice a huge shadow approaching slowly.

Jiang Xiaobai swallows hard, sweat trickling down his forehead. As the shadow draws closer, Song Fengquan’s urgent voice rises, “Master, lay down!”

Without thinking, Jiang Xiaobai throws himself onto the snow. As a thunderous roar sounds, Song Fengquan punches at something powerfully.

Thud! With a muffled sound, Song Fengquan is sent flying back. After rolling on the ground a couple of times, he lifts his head, his face suddenly pale: “Is it… a monster beast?”

Jiang Xiaobai lifts his head and sees it too—a fierce, snow-white beast with icy blue eyes and a horn on its forehead. Its breath is chillingly cold. As it locks eyes with him, Jiang Xiaobai feels as if he’s falling into an ice cellar.

Crack! The warm jade in his hand cracks. As the beast roars again and swipes at him, Jiang Xiaobai is thrown away, landing on the snow, staining it red with his blood.

The piercing pain causes him to gasp for air and look up self-deprecatingly as the beast charges at him once more. “To die before achieving one’s ambitions, does it have to be so unlucky for me, Jiang Xiaobai?”

Cursing, Jiang Xiaobai staggers to his feet, facing the beast, “Demon creature!”

He raises his hand and slaps it. The soft sound signifies that he has made contact, but facing the beast’s gaping mouth, he can only close his eyes in resignation.

He fears death but also looks forward to it; at least he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

Two seconds later, drops of hot blood fall on Jiang Xiaobai’s face, prompting him to open his eyes again. He sees the white beast paused before him, blood dripping from its head. A sword has pierced through its skull, but where did this sword come from?

As Jiang Xiaobai looks around, still puzzled, a fragrance fills the air. Lifting his gaze, he sees a breathtaking figure descending from the sky.

A woman in a white dress, with cold eyes, a graceful figure, and an ethereal aura, surpasses the beauty of anything in this world, leaving one breathless.

Her beauty eclipses the past and present, like a lotus flower’s bashful face against jade.

Jiang Xiaobai moves his lips, murmuring so faintly, only he can hear, “So, it’s true, there… there are immortals in this… this world…”