Immortal Paladin

The scenery shifted once more, bringing us to a bustling dock. Wooden piers stretched out over murky waters, and the air carried the scent of salt and fish, mixed with the sweat of laborers hauling cargo. Unlike the past visions, this one felt… grittier, more grounded. There was no grandeur of the Heavenly Demon’s reign or the chaos of war. Just the dull, suffocating weight of survival.

Gu Jie stood beside me, her face unreadable as she continued her story.

“I didn’t know where I was going,” she said, staring out at the water. “I just knew I had to leave. Riverfall sounded nice, I thought.”

She recounted how she had barely scraped by, clinging to life with nothing but desperation and instinct. Each day bled into the next, a miserable cycle of hunger, exhaustion, and the constant threat of death.

“I became a petty thief,” she admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Stealing chickens, scraps of food… anything that could keep me alive. At some point, people started calling me a plague rat. Fitting, I suppose.”

I remained silent, letting her speak.

Gu Jie turned, facing me with an expression that was both bitter and amused. “There was even a time I tried to sell myself.”

I barely managed to keep my expression neutral, but she caught the flicker in my eyes.

She scoffed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Master. It’s not like it worked.” She spread her arms wide, gesturing at her own frail form in the vision. The younger Gu Jie was little more than skin and bones, her once-bright eyes dulled by suffering. “I wasn’t exactly… desirable. Too thin, too sickly, too close to death. They threw me out, nearly killed me for the offense.”

I clenched my fists.

If it weren’t for her sliver of cultivation and talents, she would have died long ago. Even then, it wasn’t a gift—it was a curse. Every moment she lived was another moment her life force drained away, another moment where her own misfortune gnawed at her from the inside out.

She laughed again, but it was empty. “Looking back, I don’t know whether to be ashamed or impressed that I lasted that long.”

I didn’t let it show on my face, but I felt immensely sorry for her.

No one should have to live like that.

Gu Jie’s voice carried no emotion as she continued her story.

“I got desperate,” she admitted. “So desperate that I started advertising myself.”

I glanced at her. “Advertising?”

She smirked bitterly. “My Sixth Sense Misfortune. I figured someone out there would find it useful. A clan, a sect, maybe even a rich merchant. Or…” Her gaze drifted away. “Well, I wouldn’t have minded if they just bought me outright.”

I inhaled slowly, processing her words.

That must have been how Kang Shi knew about her bloodline ability.

The vision around us shifted again, morphing into a chaotic chase. A younger, more desperate Gu Jie darted through a dense cityscape, her breath ragged, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. Behind her, a group of cultivators pursued with murderous intent, their shouts carrying over the rooftops.

“She’s a rare specimen,” one of them sneered.

Another scoffed. “She’s barely holding herself together. Useless in combat. But her bloodline…”

I watched the scene with narrowed eyes. These weren’t demonic cultivators. Their robes bore the insignias of righteous sects.

“She has no sect, no family.”

“She’ll make a fine pill.”

I exhaled sharply. Even knowing the nature of cultivators, hearing it out loud still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Gu Jie merely shrugged. “Turns out my plan didn’t go so well.”

I turned to her. “You were hoping to be bought, not hunted.”

She nodded. “I thought I could be useful. Maybe as a breeding pig for some clan that wanted special talents. Maybe as a lab rat for an alchemist. I didn’t have any trace of demonic qi in me, so I figured I was still… viable.”

I clenched my jaw.

She chuckled. “I underestimated cultivators.”

I turned to the present Gu Jie and asked, “What was even the benefit of turning you into a pill?”

She raised a brow, then let out a short laugh. “Plenty. My misfortune could be harnessed for certain cultivation techniques.” She tilted her head. “Ever heard of the Calamity Reversal Method? Supposedly, absorbing misfortune in controlled doses can strengthen one’s Dao Heart. Of course, that only works if you don’t die first.”

I frowned.

She continued. “And if not a pill, I could be refined into a talisman to curse an entire clan. There are ancient arts that use misfortune as a weapon, condemning bloodlines for generations.”

I kept my expression neutral, but inwardly, I grimaced.

“If not a talisman,” she went on, “then a cursed weapon. The properties of my misfortune could be bound to a blade, a spear, or something even worse. Imagine a sword that spreads catastrophe with every swing.”

I stayed silent, digesting the implications.

“And then there’s dual cultivation.” Her lips curled into a humorless smile. “Under specific conditions, my misfortune could be transferred to another person and—get this—transformed into fortune. Of course, that would come at the cost of my life.”

“…You learned all of this while on the run?”

She nodded. “Hunted people pick up things quickly. I gained quite the reputation as a cultivator without ever fighting anyone. I just kept surviving.”

I didn’t miss the irony. She had become infamous just by existing.

“But infamy only lasts so long,” she added. “Eventually, my cultivation deteriorated to the point that I barely registered as a cultivator at all.”

The scene before us shifted once more. The dark alleys and dense forests faded away, replaced by a humble, rural landscape.

Gu Jie, frail and barely distinguishable from a mortal, knelt in the dirt, tending to a patch of potatoes.

I wasn’t a stranger to a tough life.

Even in the 21st century, for all its so-called progress, cracks ran deep beneath the surface. Society dressed them up, covered them with distractions, but those flaws hid horrors of their own.

I’d seen homeless people huddled in the cold, their gazes hollow yet resigned. I’d been in arguments debating the morality of things that never should have needed debating. I’d been robbed before—felt that cold, helpless frustration in my gut. I’d seen death too, even if only secondhand. If not in the newspapers, then from the whispers of neighbors.

But that was the difference, wasn’t it?

Death in my world was distant, something to be avoided, feared. But in this one? People had long made peace with it. To them, the next life mattered more than the suffering it took to get there—whether that ending was happy or not. This was especially true for mortals.

What about cultivators then?

The vision before us shifted.

Gu Jie sat at the edge of a cliff beneath a vast night sky. The cold wind toyed with her ragged sleeves, yet she remained still. Her eyes, once filled with bitterness and survival instincts, now held something quieter.

Resignation.

She watched the night sky with dull eyes. A single shooting star burned its way across the heavens, falling slowly, inevitably. Slowly, her eyes sparkled a bit.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The night stretched on, silent and heavy.

Then, softly, Gu Jie murmured, “I used to believe that if I ran far enough, I’d find a place for myself.” She let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Turns out, I only found higher cliffs to sit on.”

“I get what you mean,” I said, my voice calm under the vast night sky. “But cliffs aren’t so bad.”

Gu Jie turned to me, arching a brow. A tiny, suppressed chuckle escaped her lips.

“I was planning to go to Yellow Dragon City,” she admitted, eyes flicking back to the sky. “I was going to beg the Isolation Path Sect to take me in.”

I hummed, waiting for her to continue.

“On the way,” she said, “I saw a shooting star.” A pause. Then, softer, “It was beautiful.”

She tilted her head slightly, lost in memory. “For a moment, it almost looked like… a falling winged man.” She let out a slow breath, as if weighing her words. “I believe the word is ‘Angel.’”

That caught my attention. Angel? Did that word even exist naturally in this world?

“I made a wish right then and there,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for someone to save me.”

The vision played out in front of us, shifting to the memory of her infiltrating Yellow Dragon City. Of her slipping through alleys and shadows, her presence reduced to a mere flicker. And then—she met me.

And I healed her.

There was a poetic lilt to it, a rhythm to the way events had unfolded.

Warlocks had a skill called Wish Upon a Star. It was sometimes shared with other classes too, but the idea remained the same—a desperate hope given to the heavens, a plea cast into the void.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Maybe that shooting star was me.”

Gu Jie turned, eyes wide with surprise.

“Maybe,” I continued, smirking, “the reason I fell into this world was, in part, because of you.” I shrugged. “Maybe fate is real, and we were meant to meet.”

It was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet…

I laughed.

Gu Jie blinked at me before breaking into laughter herself.

Why were we even laughing?

For me, it was the sheer irony of it all.

And Gu Jie?

I think she was just happy.

I stopped laughing first, but Gu Jie kept going. Her shoulders shook as she covered her mouth, failing to suppress the lingering chuckles that spilled past her lips.

“Pffft… what the?” she wheezed between giggles. “Ha ha ha… Master, that’s the first profound thing I’ve ever heard you say that truly moved me.”

I blinked. “Huh?” I scoffed, pretending to be offended. “I think I’m pretty good at it. Maybe you just aren’t listening enough.”

Gu Jie wiped at her eyes, still smiling. “Thank you, Master.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything else. She just stood there, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. It was warm. Grateful. Maybe even… at peace.

I exhaled, shaking my head. “You sure know how to kill a moment.”

Gu Jie took a step back, inhaling deeply as if steadying herself. Then, before I could even ask what she was doing, she dropped to her knees.

I froze.

She lowered her head until it touched the ground, her palms resting flat beside her. A full kowtow.

“Master,” she said, her voice resolute. “I have no family. No home. No sect. I have lived through suffering, abandoned by both righteousness and wickedness alike. You saved me. You gave me purpose. And even knowing the weight of my misfortune, you accepted me without hesitation.”

I swallowed, still processing what was happening.

She raised her head, looking up at me with a rare, sincere expression. “From this moment onward, I vow to serve you not only as a disciple but as a daughter. My life is yours to guide, my path yours to illuminate.”

I stared at her, words caught in my throat.

She… she really meant it.

My thoughts ran in circles. I had expected loyalty, sure. Maybe even a bit of admiration. But this?

I had no idea how to be a father. Hell, I was barely keeping myself together half the time.

But the way she looked at me—so certain, so unwavering—I knew I couldn’t reject her.

I exhaled, stepping forward. “Get up, Gu Jie.”

She hesitated, but I reached down and helped her to her feet.

“If that’s what you’ve decided,” I said, “then I’ll accept it. From now on, you’re my disciple… and I’ll treat you like my daughter.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if the words took a second to sink in. Then, for the first time since I met her, Gu Jie’s eyes glistened with something that wasn’t bitterness or pain.

She bowed her head again—not in reverence, but in gratitude. “Thank you, Master.”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just don’t expect me to be good at this.”

She laughed softly. “That’s alright. I think you’ll be just fine.”