Cultivating Immortality, Starting from Childhood Sweethearts

As Xu Ming led Wu Yanhan and the others in a desperate charge to escape, a voice suddenly echoed in his ears.

Everyone’s hearts clenched. A metallic taste rose in their throats, and they spat out fresh blood.

Just hearing the voice had thrown their spiritual energy into chaos.

Xu Ming couldn’t even begin to fathom what kind of cultivation level the owner of this voice had reached.

The next moment, a massive hand reached out toward them.

Seeing this giant hand manifest, Xu Ming felt a deep sense of despair.

The terrifying aura had completely locked onto him.

In front of this colossal hand, he felt like nothing more than an ant—one that could be crushed with a single flick.

It was as if the owner of this hand truly meant what they had said—to drag them all down as burial offerings.

But even in the face of certain death, he would not sit idly by.

Raising his longsword high, he prepared to strike with all his might.

“Seriously? You’ve been dead for so long, and you still want others to die with you? And bullying the weak like this—how shameless can you get? If the other old fogies found out, wouldn’t you be embarrassed?”

Before Xu Ming could even swing his sword, a familiar voice rang out.

A golden radiance wrapped around the massive hand, tightening, constricting—until it finally collapsed, crushed into nothingness.

The golden light faded, taking the giant hand with it.

Xu Ming and the others gasped for breath, as if they had just been pulled from deep waters.

It was only now that they realized their backs were soaked—their clothes drenched in cold sweat.

“Maitreya! Even now, you still insist on ruining my plans!” The voice was filled with rage.

“Hahahaha… when haven’t I ruined your plans?” The little monk’s laughter echoed through the chaotic void.

“You think these people can stop us? Hah! Impossible. What we failed to accomplish before, we will complete. Even if they grow stronger, they will still be nothing more than insects.”

“Well then, why don’t you try?”

Golden light erupted once more, illuminating the chaos.

The light wrapped around each cultivator caught in the void, sending them out one by one.

Xu Ming’s vision blurred.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself back in the imperial palace of Wu Du.

But beside him was only Wu Yanhan.

As for Qin Qingwan and Shi Xin, who had been with him just moments ago, they were nowhere to be seen.

Xu Ming guessed that although they had all exited through the same passage, they had been sent to different places.

They had likely returned to the same locations from which they had originally entered.

As for the three other cultivators who had followed Xu Ming into the Rootless Secret Realm, they had perished along with it, buried forever within.

The moment Xu Ming and Wu Yanhan reappeared, the formations within the imperial palace trembled violently.

Moments later, the Emperor of Wu and the palace’s guardian elders arrived at their side.

“Your Majesty.”

Xu Ming and Wu Yanhan saluted.

“As long as you’ve returned safely, that’s all that matters,” the Emperor said, finally letting out a breath of relief.

Though he knew they needed trials and hardships to grow—flowers sheltered in a greenhouse would never thrive—he couldn’t say he hadn’t been worried.

If anything had happened to these two, it would have been a loss that Wu Kingdom could never afford to bear.

“You must be exhausted. Rest for now, then come see me in the Imperial Study later.

“Attendants,” the Emperor called to the maids beside him.

“Escort the princess and Minister Wenwuqing to freshen up and change.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Xu Ming and Wu Yanhan followed the palace maids to freshen up.

Meanwhile, at the foot of the Tianxuan Sect’s mountain, Qin Qingwan and a few of the sect’s disciples had safely returned.

She glanced around but didn’t see Xu Ming or the others. It didn’t take much thought to realize that Xu Ming had likely been sent back to his original entry point.

On a small plain, Shi Xin blinked, surveying her surroundings before setting off toward Wu Du.

Compared to before, her pace unconsciously quickened.

She didn’t know why—she just wanted to see Xu Ming sooner.

Every surviving cultivator who had entered the Rootless Secret Realm had been returned to the place they first entered.

As for those who had perished within, they were now lost forever, erased along with the secret realm itself.

Whether their souls could escape and reincarnate was an open question—one left to fate.

As the returning cultivators made their way back to their sects to report what had happened, high above the clouds, a little monk sat cross-legged, gazing at the world below.

“Hmm… might as well go take a look.”

Maitreya stood up, dusted off his robes, and grinned.

“Let’s see what this world has to offer.”

Southern Demon Kingdom — The Far South

At the very edge of the Southern Demon Kingdom, closest to the desolate wastelands, stood a solitary mountain.

It was the tallest peak in the Southern Demon Kingdom, known as Endmountain.

Despite its imposing stature, Endmountain had few inhabitants—only an old man and a handful of disciples.

Yet, Endmountain was not a sect.

It seemed no different from a reclusive hermitage, an elder raising a few young children away from the world’s affairs.

But was Endmountain truly indifferent to the world?

Though the old man never set foot beyond the mountain, his knowledge of worldly events was astonishing.

And this old man, ever fond of Confucian traditions, had even given himself a scholarly title—Endmountain Hermit.

Simply put, in the entire Southern Demon Kingdom, there wasn’t a soul who dared to underestimate this man.

At this moment, the old man sat by a mountain lake, fishing.

Draped in a straw raincoat and wearing a bamboo hat, he looked every bit the image of an enigmatic recluse.

Yet, after two whole hours, his fishing basket remained empty—not a single fish caught.

It seemed that today, he would once again go home empty-handed.

“Grandfather, you haven’t caught a single fish again,” a young boy beside him grumbled.

Propping his chin in his hands, he let out a sleepy yawn.

He had come fishing with his grandfather, and before falling asleep, there hadn’t been a single fish.

Now that he had woken up—still nothing.

Yesterday was like this. Today was like this. Tomorrow would probably be the same.

The boy honestly had no idea what his grandfather found so fun about this.

“Who says there are no fish?” The old man chuckled.

“Look—it’s already here.”

“Fish? Where?”

The boy sprang to his feet, his round eyes scanning the water’s surface.

But the lake remained utterly still.

“The fish,” the old man said calmly, “is behind us.”

“Calling me a fish—now that’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

A cheerful voice rang out as a little monk strolled forward, patting his round belly.

Grinning, he added, “That’s not very kind, old man.”