Immediately, Yang Xuan was pulled out of his thoughts, and he turned to face the source of the noise. It took him just one look to realize what was happening; after all, it's not like the cultivator was trying to hide his identity. Rather, he had it on full display.

Yang Xuan was worried, extremely so. Last time he had a conflict with a cultivator, he found himself completely crippled in the blink of an eye. That was less than a week ago. This time, his system would not save him - it had made that rather obvious. This time, he had to get out of this on his own.

Without hesitation, he instantly bowed, forming a ninety-degree angle so perfect it would make a mathematician blush. "Forgive me, Great Defier of Heavens, Usurper of Fates, oh Cultivator of the Crimson Bear! How insolent, how ignorant, how foolish I was! I cannot believe how terribly I have sinned! I beg of you, Great Cultivator, to forgive my insolence just this once. I swear, I have learned from this mistake - such a thing shall never happen again!"

The cultivator seemed to consider for a moment. Then, he began to approach Yang Xuan. Step by step. Yang Xuan's heart began beating faster than he thought possible - he could not only hear it, but he could also feel it throughout his entire body. Every. Single. Beat. Fresh memories of his last meeting with a cultivator were resurfacing. While those memories may not have been shameful to Yang Xuan, they were undeniably traumatic.

Yang Xuan blinked, interrupting his thoughts for but a moment. His eyes opened to an unforgettable view of the cultivator's fist as it approached his face from below. The fist could not have been traveling at a comprehensible speed, and yet he saw it as though it were a sloth's punch. He silently awaited his impeding doom; Yang Xuan had given up yet again. He might have been able to see the fist, but reacting to it was impossible.

Then, it made contact. From his bowing position, Yang Xuan took off into the sky. He thought he was flying to Heaven, rewarded for his struggles in this unforgiving world. Though, he had yet to experience the worst of it - this barely even qualified for that list. In a second, he had returned to the ground. Strangely, though he was in intense pain and had gotten blood everywhere, he was fine. The cultivator had held back.

"That was an... adequate apology. People of Chengdu! Today, you have all witnessed the great mercy of the Crimson Bear Sect's young master! You shall do well to remember it, especially its rarity," he spoke to the people. Yang Xuan felt relieved. He was not ashamed in any way. In his eyes, there was nothing shameful about going to great lengths to save one's life. After all, "The greatest glory in life lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." Yang Xuan saw death as the one fall you could not rise from, one that must be avoided at all costs. Ironic, perhaps, as he had already risen from death once, but he was not one to leave his fate to chance - not if he could help it, at least.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Yet, just moments ago, he had given up. It was not even the first time - it was the second in less than a week. Even if there was nothing he could possibly do, that did not change the facts: he had resigned himself to his death. He had not bothered to struggle. Even if he could not stop it as he was, he could have at least scoured the system, desperately grasping at any straws which may allow him to preserve the most important thing: his life. No matter how pathetic. As he lay on the ground, bleeding and miserable, silently he vowed. He vowed to never stop struggling, to never resign himself to a predetermined fate; he vowed to always fight for his life, no matter how small a chance he had; and, he vowed to reach a point where he did not need to be so desperate. He would use his blessings, and he would reach the top with them.

Some time had passed. Yang Xuan had quietly left the shopping district, though he attracted many gazes regardless of how he tried not to attract attention. It would take a true professional, who had devoted his life to the craft, to look inconspicuous after causing such a ruckus - not to mention the blood. Still, eventually, he found himself out on the outskirts of Chengdu. There was a small hill on this side of the city, so he hiked up it, so he could be alone. The hill's peak was small and empty, nothing more than a nice view of the city. On the peak, he sat, stretched his legs, and leaned back, supported by his arms. He needed to organize his thoughts and formulate a plan.

As he began to think through his situation, suddenly he noticed something. The ring he had bought, it was shining. Suddenly bloody and lustrous, the "plain" ring captivated Yang Xuan. Then, it began emitting a strange vapor. As the vapor steadily floated higher and higher, it began to settle into its proper form: a human face. "Ho, it seems this world has not abandoned me just yet. Tell me, child, what year is it?"

Shocked, Yang Xuan attempted to poke the vapor, yet his hand went straight through. "W... What are you?" He wondered aloud. "Me?" The vapor replies. "I am merely a bag of bones that refuses to leave this world. I am just a cultivator who tried to prolong his life with a different method. But enough about this old grandpa, tell me what year it is."

"It is year 15721 of the Shen Continent calendar," he finally answered. At this, the vapor vibrated, as if taken aback. "... Ten thousand," the vapor muttered under its breath. "What is it?" Yang Xuan asks. "I have been locked in this ring for over ten thousand years," the vapor answers, simply. "What? How could that be? Why did you only escape now?" Yang Xuan, confused, barraged him with questions.

"Calm down, Child," it urged. "I, Danxiao Gui, locked my soul within this ring many millennia ago. As an Immortal Realm cultivator, I was constantly fighting in wars for my country. And, eventually, I found myself in a fight I could see no way out of. And thus, though I was one of the strongest cultivators of my time, I locked my soul in this ring to save my life."

"I believe the reason it took this long," Danxiao continued, "other than the difficulty of finding and retrieving such a small object in such a large world, is that you must bond with this ring, the container of my soul, before I am able to leave it. And to bind with the ring, a person must wear it and then wet it with his own blood. Otherwise, the ring would remain nothing more than a loop of rock."

'This... the ring must have bound to me when that cultivator punched me,' he thought. 'This is exactly what I was looking for! This cultivator simply must become my master!'