In an age that not many who are still alive remember, the land was divided between kings and emperors. Chaos was the only law, as the various states endlessly competed with each other for dominance over the middle kingdom. However, in an impasse that lasted centuries, not even one of them managed to permanently unify the land and build a lasting legacy- even the greatest empires would fall into civil war as soon as their founding father passed away, and what was once united, quickly divided itself, in a never-ending cycle of death and destruction.

However, most of this didn’t concern the monks, who lived peacefully in their secluded temples. While armies of mundane people clashed and painted the earth crimson, these devoted ascetics cultivated their inner life energy, known as qi, not concerned with the matters of the outside world. It was their belief, that the only way to reach enlightenment and ascend to the heavens, was to forfeit worldly ambitions and desires, mortify the flesh, and hone the spirit.

Occasionally they would leave their monasteries, and travel the land, performing miracles, healing the sick, and purging the undead and evil spirits, that in the age of unending warfare fest on the corpses and plagued the land. And throughout these journeys, they’d see with their own eyes what sickness befall the land. Razed villages, displaced populations, burning farmlands…Some mortified, would retreat even further into isolation, not wishing to have anything to do with such a corrupt world. But others….

“We must act!” exclaimed young man, speaking to an assembly of seniors and elders, passion and righteous anger coloring his voice crimson “If we stay blind to the injustice, then we are just cowards! How can cowardice ever bring us to immortality? How can we cultivate, if we are eaten from the inside by fear and doubt?”

Many agreed with his words, but the eldest cultivators remained reluctant. They knew that this age of war can only be brought to an end with war, and the order that followed might not be any better than what is now.

But the youth, whose name was Lan Caolu, didn’t listen, and secretly conspired with other like-minded young people. Their efforts…ultimately would have led to nothing, if not for a spectacular opportunity that presented itself soon enough.

A certain bloodthirsty emperor, known in history only as The Red Emperor, as the later historians found him too abhorrent to even record his name, decided that the time had come to bend the cultivator monasteries to his will. They were wealthy and prosperous, and he thought it’s preposterous that at the very least they don’t pay taxes to fuel the war machine of his ever-expanding state.

To teach the cultivators a lesson, a monastery was raided and razed to the ground. The armies that laid siege to it…suffered massive losses, and the general in charge of the troops found it mostly concerning. Overtaken by a terrible foreboding, he pleaded to the Red Emperor, and begged him to apologize to the cultivators and forgo his ambition of subduing the sects to his will.

However, the evil emperor would have none of it. In rage, he blamed the general for losing so many soldiers, claiming he’s incompetent and merely making excuses, and executed him on spot. Then he declared war upon the cultivation world and proceeded to lay siege to many other monasteries, desperate to teach these asocial recluses a lesson they will never forget.

This did not end well for him, nor his empire. The monks, enraged at the loss of their friends and families, and the injustice that was done to them, finally listened to the words of Lan Caolu, and united against the common threat. The vengeful cultivators brought a storm of fire and ice upon the invaders, massacring their armies and conquering their lands castle by castle, town by town.

The mundane armies equipped with spears and bows had no chance of standing up to such superhuman powers, so they engaged in guerilla tactics- rather than facing these superhumans in the open, they would devise clever traps and conduct nighttime ambushes, to moderate success.

Especially useful over the course of this irregular warfare was a so-called black powder. Mines laced with fire medicine and arrows padded with the incendiary substance took the life of many monks…but alas, all these valiant efforts merely delayed the inevitable. Eventually, the imperial capital was besieged, and the Red Emperor died in battle. But the revenge of the sects did not just end at taking his life and conquering his empire- they also mercilessly persecuted the royal family, the clerks, the scholars employed by the tyrant, and anyone who has ever had even the slightest connection to the man and thus shared the burden of his sins.

At this point, Lan Caolu, who fashioned himself a Supreme Leader of the cultivator armies, truly believed that what his actions were just, and after the Red Emperor is deposed, they would come back to their peaceful life of reclusive cultivation. After all, the world had already seen their power, and there was no one sane or insane left who would ever dare to attack them again. However, after witnessing the brutality of his own forces, for the first time in his life, a foreboding shadow of self-doubt crept over his heart.

He realized that violence prolongs hate, and hate prolongs violence. However, “eternal peace” is just a pipe dream- as long as humans exist, there will be conflict.

So, knowing that war can’t truly be eliminated from society, he designed an elaborate system, which purpose was to ensure that horrors of war would not spill outside the designated battlefields. He drafted a treaty that separated people into “combatants”, such as soldiers, and “non-combatants” such as farmers or traveling merchants, who until now all too frequently fell victim to wartime raiding and looting. He would travel the land, personally addressing all the minor kings and governors, and gather their signatures under the new treaty, which all of them agreed to sign without argument or hesitation, though more so out of fear of suffering Red Emperor’s fate, rather than a genuine belief that this is the right thing to do.

But when Lan Caolu returned to his home monastery, confident that his efforts were not wasted, what greeted him was an army of monks, battle-ready and waiting for him to lead them to further conquests.

War changed a lot of his friends and brothers in arms. Some got so used to killing they didn’t think much about it anymore; some others grew to like it and desired to utilize their powers further in such a fashion; and all feared that as long as kings and emperors still exist, one day another tyrant will emerge from among them, and the cycle of tragedy will restart.

A certain man cleverly played on these fears during Lan Caolu’s absence, and he convinced most of the cultivators that they should settle for nothing less than total domination; they had, after all, superhuman control of the energy of life itself- what was there to fear? Not to mention, countless magical artifacts and relics enclosed in the depths of monastic vaults, sacred objects of religious cult that in a moment of despair, can become weapons of certain victory….

His name was Bai Guowei, and he and Lan Caolu were brought up in the same monastery; first childhood friends, then sworn brothers in arms; but where one saw a grim duty, the other saw an opportunity; blinded by ambition, he spread rumors that Lan Caolu became soft and traumatized by fighting, and was no longer fit for the position of Supreme Leader.

Unaware of these rumors, Lan Caolu made a case before the assembly; he explained to them the content of the treaty he drafted, signed by so many locals rulers and warlords, and begged them to stop further bloodshed; however, his words fell on deaf ears, and only gave legitimacy to Bai Guowei’s case.

And soon enough, he was presented with an ultimatum- either he would do his job and lead the monastic armies to triumph over the rest of the middle kingdom, or give up the position of the Supreme Leader and do whatever he wanted afterwards. Angry, humiliated, and betrayed, Lan Caolu made a decision that he would regret deeply many decades later- he stormed out of the assembly hall, without giving any answer, as mocking laughter of Bai Guowei and his clique of fans echoed behind his back.

He left civilization, not wanting anything to do with humanity, and traveled far north. There he found a cave beneath a waterfall, which became his hermitage. The land surrounding it was fertile, and the river provided him with all the food and drink he needed.

Many, many years had passed. Lan Caolu, no longer interested in mortal matters, spent all this time cultivating and eventually reached unprecedented levels of power. Despite being, by all means, a very old person, he maintained the appearance of a healthy man in his 40’s, his muscular body tempered by regular training and self-discipline, and his mind as sharp as ever. Although the memories of his past life still troubled him occasionally, he found peace and was content to live the remainder of his days in such a fashion.

Until some people settled nearby, initially unaware of his presence, and built a village they called “Chenfei”. Initially reclusive and unwilling to make contact with these strangers, he actually considered abandoning his modest dwelling, and moving further north; but eventually, curiosity won, and he approached these newcomers, introducing himself as a hermit monk who lived in nearby wildlands since times immemorial.

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They welcomed him warmly, and over time, he established a healthy relationship with what was initially a small group of tightly knit families who moved here from the south. Apparently, a lot has changed over the course of many decades- the cultivator sects now held almost all the political power, large-scale warfare ceased, and an era of peace and prosperity dawned over the land.

The name of the era reflected that- Changan- and it was the 50th year of this new time period, counted since war hero Bai Guowei deposed the last king of old. The rapid growth of population gave rise to many small villages such as this one, and the North, once considered a wildland, slowly but steadily adopted customs of the southern lowlands.

Most curiously, there were some weird people among the new residents of Chenfei. Some of them had animal ears and other body parts! Lan Caolu heard of these “beastfolk” during the times of his youth, but they were thought to be savage people, who preferred to stay away from humanity, and lead nomadic lifestyle in the northwestern mountains and southeastern bamboo forests. But now, it seemed they lived a settled life alongside humans!?

Apparently, one of the first decrees of then-Supreme Leader Bai Guowei was to allow and even encourage the settlement of these “yaren” alongside pure-blooded humans.

As a source of the cheap labor force, that is. In fact, the rapid growth of civilization had only been possible thanks to yaren workforce, who could lift heavier, sleep less and work harder for even lesser pay than their human counterparts. Of course, not all of them found such arrangements satisfactory, and in recent years, many families migrated to the mountainous north to live free and unoppressed among the pine trees and rocky peaks.

Finally, he inquired about Bai Guowei, the man who was considered the founding father of this new age. Apparently, a few years ago, he passed away in the most infamous fashion- pursuing power and immortality, he dabbled in forbidden art of necromancy, and went up in his own flames, dying to the after-effects of qi deviation. His own descendants renounced him, and his legacy was all but gone and forgotten.

Hearing that, Lan Caolu’s heart was temporarily overtaken by vengeful satisfaction. He was terrified of that feeling, of his inner demons, and regretted talking to these newcomers, cursing his curiosity and thirst for knowledge that invited such impurity into his soul.

However, this thirst was soon tempered when he got to know a beautiful and wise woman among the villagers. She would continue bringing him gifts and food even when he made it clear that he didn’t want to receive any more visitors, and in return, he would talk about cultivation, heavens, qi, and all the esoteric teaching that were so familiar to him, but left the woman completely dumbfounded.

That is until he discovered that she too, possessed some talent for cultivation. She became his Dao Companion, and with his patient guidance, despite being in her early twenties, she was even able to eventually manifest a golden core!

Soon she got pregnant and gave birth to their son, named Lan Chaoxiang, a name which expressed great expectations his parents had for him.

However, this joyous occasion was overshadowed by tragedy, as the mother’s body didn’t bear the burden of childbirth well, and she died in great pain several days later. The tiny village of Chenfei had no skilled healers, and Lan Caolu’s qi powers weren’t enough to save her life.

He gave the boy to foster care of one of the local families, and stricken by grief, retreated even further into his hermitage. His son grew healthy and strong, but would only see his father occasionally, as Lan Caolu never quite got over the death of his beloved, and couldn’t bear looking into this child’s emerald eyes that reminded him so much of the one he had lost. Still, he gave the boy basic cultivation instructions and shared the true story of his past and origins with his offspring.

And perhaps unsurprisingly, at 9 years old, Lan Chaoxiang manifested a golden core, and expressed the desire to leave the village and join a sect. His father gave him the blessing, secretly happy to get rid of him, and sent him off for training to the faraway town of Yafan, which even in the bygone era of kings and emperors was already considered one of the largest settlements in northern wildlands. It only grew since then, and recently, fell under the control of Songshu sect, who were known for their benevolence and adherence to virtuous teachings of the masters of old. He hoped that under their guidance the boy will grow to be a noble and wise man.

However, in the following years, there was an influx of newcomers, who were all too eager to settle in the quiet village of Chenfei. Although getting some immigrants from time to time wasn’t unheard of, the sheer number of people that flocked to this backwater location was highly suspicious. Once again overtaken by curiosity, he eventually inquired about the reason for the sudden popularity of this remote settlement.

Turned out they all want to live nearby a saint hermit, who turned out to be none other than a war hero from a bygone era, Lan Caolu!

Not realizing that they are talking to that very person, the enthusiastic immigrants would share stories about how the very ground in this land, blessed by the holy man gave bigger crops; how the river ever overflowed with fish; and the forests were full of wild game all year long!

….Apparently, his son, desperate for respect and authority, babbled everything about his father to his colleagues and teachers alike.

Enraged, Lan Caolu packed up and, traveling alongside a merchant caravan incognito, set forth for the town of Yafan, eager to see how things truly are with his own eyes.

And what he found there was….corruption.

The sect, which was supposed to be virtuous, was by the standards of monks from his youth, utterly rotten and unfit to cultivate. It’s “young masters”, as the children of wealthy cultivation clans liked to call themselves, stuck in neverending pissing contests over who is more powerful, influential, or popular with the women; its teachers spent free time either drinking or scheming in never-ending sectarian power struggles; and the locals treated the cultivators not unlike the kings of old, paying them taxes and obeying their every command.

And supposedly, it was even worse in the southern lowlands.

Lan Caolu was shocked and wondered and pondered what went wrong. No, perhaps nothing went wrong….the moment the spark of greed flashed in the eyes of ones such as Bai Guowei almost a century ago, the eventual decline of values and corruption was imminent.

If only he had controlled his anger all these years ago, took responsibility, and remained the Supreme Leader, perhaps he could had steered the land towards a better future. Alas, it’s already too late for everything…

While he was busy pondering such a depressing topic, babbling to himself in the corner of the library, having just finished reading yet another “history” book commissioned by some wealthy southern sect and written with a clear propaganda purpose, he didn’t notice that someone sat next to him, and carefully listened to his every word.

It was a teenage girl, with extremely long, well-maintained black hair that reached her waist…Looking at him with her deep-set, intelligent, hazel eyes…not a word escaped her tiny, dried-up lips, as she patiently listened to him until he eventually noticed her presence. Her unnaturally pale skin shone like moonlight itself in the dimly lit library, and he was awestruck by her beauty, which reminded him of imperial consorts of old.

However, there was something peculiar that caught his attention. Even though her black robes adorned in golden cloud patterns had long, loose sleeves, he didn’t fail to notice bandages covering her hands, wrists, and forearms, and driven by curiosity, inquired about them.

She answered in a calm, almost robotic voice, not taking her eyes off him even for a second.

“I engage in rituals of mortification of flesh, as I believe that pain is the only way to keep the will pure.”

He didn’t quite understand the meaning of this answer at first and had to repeat these words several times in his mind to grasp it. Once it dawned on him, a shiver ran down his spine, and he involuntarily grimaced.

“Back in my day…” he started, painfully reminding himself exactly how old he already was “there were monks who would find ever more creative ways to punish their flesh. They believed that discarding their physical bodies would allow them to reach even greater heights of cultivation. Pretending to be pensive, they were in fact, blinded by prospects of achieving even greater power- and most of them, unsurprisingly, failed to reach anything of note.”

“That is no concern of mine” answered the girl, smiling ever so gently “for I am not a cultivator. I am mundane, and failed to establish even a foundation.”