Cultivating Immortality, Starting from Childhood Sweethearts

[Detected: Host has dueled with Hongxiu and earned the recognition of the Ancient Sword Spirit, Hongxiu. Gained: Sword Qi +200, Sword Intent +200, Sword Technique Integration +200, and the spell Shadow Split Technique.

Shadow Split Technique: Upon activation, creates a clone with 80% of the host’s strength. Lasts one hour. Usable once every three days.]

[Detected: Host has obtained the Ancient Divine Weapon—Hongxiu. Achievement unlocked: Ancient Divine Weapon Wielder.

Reward: Passive ability—Divine Weapon Affinity.

Divine Weapon Affinity: When using an ancient divine weapon, regardless of type, adaptability increases by 10%, and power increases by 10%.]

Sitting in a mountain cave, recuperating, Xu Ming once again heard the voice of the system in his mind.

He had expected substantial rewards this time—and sure enough, the system delivered.

After all, he had practically clawed his way back from the jaws of death.

If all he got were some stat points, that would’ve been completely unreasonable.

He could even use it for deception—diverting attention, swapping places, and executing tactical misdirection.

And as his cultivation and strength increased, so too would the power of his clone.

Imagine reaching the Ascension Realm—his shadow clone would still retain 80% of his strength, meaning it would also have the power of an Ascension Realm cultivator.

If he were to battle another high-level cultivator, summoning his clone would immediately turn the fight into a two-on-one. His opponent might just fall into despair on the spot.

As for Divine Weapon Affinity, that was even more impressive.

He had heard that obtaining a divine weapon didn’t necessarily mean one could wield it.

Any weapon of this caliber possessed a spirit of its own.

And spirit-forged weapons had their own personalities.

Not all divine weapons would willingly submit to their wielder.

If one failed to earn a weapon spirit’s recognition, that divine weapon wouldn’t be much better than a lifeless chunk of gold—it might be worth a fortune, but in battle, it would be practically useless.

And ancient divine weapons were on an entirely different level.

A weapon that had existed for countless ages was bound to have a far more peculiar temperament than an ordinary divine weapon.

This 10% affinity boost was essentially a direct increase in the weapon spirit’s favorability toward him, making future interactions much smoother.

And an extra 10% boost in power? That needed no further explanation.

A passive buff like this was top-tier—far more valuable than any ordinary treasure.

As for Xu Ming himself, now that he had obtained the ancient divine weapon Hongxiu, he had also gained its acknowledgment.

The only problem was—his strength wasn’t enough.

At his current cultivation, he could only wield Hongxiu as a regular sharp blade.

To tap into even a fraction of Hongxiu’s true power, he would need to reach at least the Nascent Soul Realm.

And to unleash its full potential? He would need to step into the Jade Purity Realm.

Even then, he wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

After all, this wasn’t just an ordinary immortal weapon—it was an Ancient Divine Weapon.

Of course, even if he couldn’t use it yet, Hongxiu could theoretically act on its own.

The problem was—it had fallen into a deep slumber.

No one knew when it would wake.

And when it did, Xu Ming would still have to ask whether it was willing to become his lifebound sword.

Only when a weapon became a cultivator’s lifebound sword could it achieve a synergy where “one plus one is greater than two.”

But regardless of all that—this trip to the Rootless Secret Realm had been incredibly rewarding.

Xu Ming had initially thought that simply obtaining the realm’s core treasure would have been enough.

Now, he had gained far more than he had ever expected.

Of course, back in the Samadhi Cave, he had also come dangerously close to death.

Feeling that his meditation had restored him enough, Xu Ming slowly opened his eyes—only to see Shi Xin sitting nearby, roasting corn over a small fire.

Xu Ming actually wanted grilled meat.

But there was no way Shi Xin would prepare that for him—she would only make vegetarian food.

“Forget it. Eating vegetarian once in a while isn’t too bad. Consider it a cleanse,” Xu Ming consoled himself as he walked over and sat beside her.

Shi Xin glanced at him briefly, then refocused on the corn, carefully turning it over the fire.

“Here.”

Once the corn was ready, she stretched out her arm and handed one to Xu Ming.

“Thanks.” Xu Ming took the corn and took a bite.

…Yeah, just ordinary grilled corn.

No salt. And it was roasted a little too cautiously, as if she was afraid of burning it. But in truth, slightly charred corn was the best kind.

“Is it good?” Shi Xin asked.

Xu Ming had been about to give an honest answer, but when he saw the anticipation in her eyes, he hesitated.

“…Yeah, not bad.” He lied.

“Good.” Shi Xin nodded in satisfaction.

Xu Ming continued eating, thinking to himself that he should probably just cook for himself in the future.

After finishing the corn, Xu Ming leaned back, planning to get some proper rest.

Meanwhile, Shi Xin sat beside him, rhythmically striking a wooden fish while chanting sutras.

This was part of her daily practice—her monastery, Leiming Temple, had a nightly recitation routine before sleep.

Xu Ming had to admit, Shi Xin was extremely disciplined. Even here in the Rootless Secret Realm, with no one to supervise her, she still never skipped her training.

But before beginning her chanting, Shi Xin took out a small creature from her storage pouch—the sleeping Chaos Beast.

Normally, storage pouches couldn’t hold living beings, except for some rare and specialized types.

The reason she could store this Chaos Beast was that her pouch was one of those rare ones—Xu Ming remembered it was called a Qiankun Pouch. It could hold up to two living creatures, but only for six hours a day.

So, at night, Shi Xin would take the little Chaos Beast out to let it breathe.

Of course, Xu Ming suspected she had another reason as well—she was probably trying to do “prenatal education,” letting the creature listen to Buddhist scriptures before it even woke up.

That way, when it was finally born, she could raise it with Buddhist teachings from the very beginning.

Truly starting its education from infancy.

Xu Ming closed his eyes, letting the sound of Shi Xin’s chanting and the rhythmic tok-tok of the wooden fish lull him to sleep.

To be honest, it was surprisingly soothing.

Before long, Xu Ming had completely dozed off.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep.

Until he felt something tugging at his clothes.

Slowly, he opened his eyes—only to see Shi Xin staring at him, her eyes filled with excitement and anticipation.

“Xu Ming, look!”

She pointed toward the small Chaos Beast resting on a bed of grass.

The thin membrane that had been encasing it—had begun to crack open.