Immortal Paladin

I stood up from the gilded chair, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off my sleeve, and looked Nongmin dead in the eye.

“If you really want to feel attached to them,” I said, “then there’s only one solution. Spend more time with the people you want to feel attached to. Doesn’t matter if you know how to do small talk or not.”

“I’m too busy,” he replied flatly.

I rolled my eyes. “Too busy is a term people throw around when something isn’t their priority. Let’s be real, Nongmin, you just haven’t put them at the top of your list.”

“That is a fact,” he replied, his voice a step above indifferent. “If I want to keep the people I love safe, then safeguarding the Empire is my highest calling. Everything else comes second.”

I stared at him for a moment, letting the silence press between us.

It was weird. I used to think this guy was just another cold, calculating ruler. And sure, he still was, but this side of him, the one trying to wrap his head around emotional connection like it was an alchemical formula, made him oddly human. Endearingly clueless, in the way only an emotionally stunted immortal warlord could be.

I think I got it now, where this sudden interest in small talk came from.

He missed her.

Xin Yune. The Divine Physician. His mother.

It wasn’t hard to figure out. The way he kept circling around the idea of connection without actually saying it. The awkward yearning in his tone. It made sense, especially knowing how their bond had been veiled by political necessity. He insisted that her identity remain a secret. Publicly, she was just a great healer. Privately, she was his mother. And now she was gone.

I respected his choice, even if I didn’t like it.

Being proud of your parent while you still had them, that was a blessing. One not everyone got. I couldn’t say whether what he gave up was truly worth it.

Nongmin sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “If only it were that easy.”

I crossed my arms. “But maybe it is,” I said. “I think you’re hesitating like this because you need that attachment to keep going. Not strategy. Not duty. Something that actually moves you.”

He blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Give up trying to understand things you can’t. Sometimes, knowing is enough.”

I shrugged. “I know the world is round. Do I understand orbital mechanics or tectonic plate drift? Hell no. Doesn’t mean I can’t live with it.”

He stayed quiet, looking thoughtful in that dispassionate, vaguely terrifying Emperor way.

“So here’s my advice,” I continued, tone softening. “Ask yourself what you really want. Strip away the Empire, the duty, the foresight. What do you, Nongmin, want? Not the Emperor. You.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either.

I took a breath. “If what you want is to feel attached to people... then how about this?”

I walked forward, slowly, like I was about to hand him a forbidden scroll. Maybe I was.

“Think of it like a mental exercise,” I said. “Once a week. Short intervals. Use your Heavenly Eye and precognition, like you already do. But this time, not for war, not for politics. Use it to walk among commoners. Your wives. Your sons. Your grandsons. Everyone.”

He tilted his head. I kept going.

“In those alternate futures, eat with them. Drink with them. Tell them stories. Celebrate their birthdays. Listen to their dumb jokes and laugh even if they suck.”

He didn’t interrupt. That was progress.

“The people in those visions… they won’t remember it. They won’t get attached to you. But you will get attached to them. You’ll feel it. You’ll carry it.”

Nongmin blinked, lips parting slightly. “Won’t that just be a waste of energy?”

I scoffed. “Only if you think the only value in a dream is the result. But guess what? Even if it’s a dream, it’s still a dream. Still yours. And maybe that’s enough.”

He stared at me for a long moment, like he was reading three layers beneath what I said.

Finally, he spoke. “I never considered it like that.”

“Well,” I said, turning toward the corridor, “that’s why you talk to people instead of reading their bloodline histories.”

I didn’t wait for a thank you from him. That would be uncool.

But I could feel something shift in his eyes, carrying a subtle ripple in the air. Maybe I managed to teach a thousand-year-old emperor how to be a slightly better person. That’d go on my resume if I ever made it back home.

“So, what is it gonna be?”

“I’ll do as you say,” Nongmin finally said.

His voice carried the weight of someone agreeing not just to a plan, but to the unfamiliar idea of longing. Not strategy. Not control. Just… longing. I nodded, not gloating, just letting the moment sit between us like cooling tea.

“Good,” I said, then leaned against the edge of a bookshelf, arms crossed. “Now to the important matter.”

He raised an eyebrow. I could already tell he knew what was coming.

“You said I’d be able to refine my current cultivation method. That I’d find a way to resurrect my disciples if I came with you to the World Summit.” I kept my tone level. “Elaborate.”

Nongmin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, walking toward the far side of the room where a black mirror sat inside a gilded frame. It wasn’t magical. Just reflective. Still, it felt like he was looking at more than himself in the glass.

“Before we continue down this line of discussion,” he said, “we should establish the context first.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He looked back at me, expression unreadable. “How much do you know of the four biggest powers in the known world?”

“Enough,” I replied. It wasn’t bravado. Just a fact. “I’ve done my reading, you know?”

I ticked them off on my fingers. “There’s the Empire. you. Your country, your rules. Formations, technology, the works. Most advanced infrastructure in the world, or so your books and scholars claimed.”

He gave a slight nod.

“Then there’s the Martial Alliance. The Alliance, for short. State-sponsored Sects or just any righteous sect under a unified cause. Brawny heroes, blade saints, loud mouths with pure hearts. They’re more diverse than people give them credit for.”

“Go on,” he said, folding his arms.

“Heavenly Temple,” I continued. “The mystics. Cults, sages, healer lineages, secret academies buried under a hundred layers of fog. The kind of people who say things like the Dao flows through all while staring into waterfalls.”

Nongmin’s mouth twitched, maybe a smile.

“And finally, the Union. The least predictable. Profit-driven organizations, mercenaries, warlords, and independent cultivators who sell loyalty by the hour. They’ve got their own code, but it’s more business than belief.”

“Each with their own form of government,” he said. “No two alike.”

“Exactly.”

It was a rhetorical question. I knew that now.

Nongmin turned away from the mirror and faced me fully.

“While my Heavenly Eye is weaker outside the Empire’s reach,” he said, “I can still see far enough. And what I see is this: at the World Summit, you will have an encounter. That encounter will give you the opportunity to bring your disciples back.”

I stayed silent.

He didn’t blink. “I am confident.”

The way he said it wasn’t arrogance. It was a statement carved from bedrock.

“How?” I asked.

He paused, folding his hands behind his back like a professor about to lecture. “The Summit is more than a gathering of dignitaries. It is a convergence of opportunity. Each power is sending its strongest: cultivators, scholars, traders, and prophets. Not all will be on good terms. But all will be present.”

“So you’re saying I’ll meet someone?” I asked. “A fated encounter?”

“I’m saying you’ll meet several,” he said. “But one in particular, an entity tied to the Heavenly Temple, will offer you a path. Their methods skirt the boundary between life and death, spirit and echo. It will not be a guaranteed resurrection… but a foundation for one.”

“Spirit and echo,” I repeated. “Sounds like necromancy with extra steps.”

“Necromancy? Not quite,” he said. “It is closer to… hm. Imagine a library. But instead of books, it houses the echoes of lives. Lives that once burned bright enough to leave an imprint on the Dao itself.”

I squinted. “You’re telling me my disciples left echoes?”

“I am telling you,” he said slowly, “that you, through your cultivation and connection to them, might still carry pieces of those echoes within you. The right technique… the right person… may allow you to use that.”

I let that sink in. My heart beat a little faster.

“If you’re wrong…”

“Then I’ll help you find another way,” he said, interrupting me gently. “I gave you my word.”

The tension between us ebbed, just a little.

“I’m not asking you to trust me blindly, Da Wei,” he added. “Only to walk the path far enough to see for yourself.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Fine. But if this whole thing turns out to be a massive political trap, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

He smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

I cracked a smile. “I’d just be the last. Probably dramatically, with fireworks and some over-the-top revenge speech.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “You’re getting the hang of Empire politics already.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered. Then, more seriously: “When do we leave?”

“Soon,” he said. “You’ll need to prepare. The Summit is neutral ground… but only in name. Every step you take there will be watched. Judged. Manipulated.”

I shrugged. “Story of my life.”

He turned toward the mirror again, then stopped. “Da Wei.”

“Yeah?”

“You said something earlier. That sometimes, knowing is enough.” He looked at his own reflection. “I think I’d like to try that.”

There it was again, that strange, flickering humanity buried under armor and titles.

“Good,” I said, heading for the door. “Let’s hope knowing how to be a person doesn’t get you killed.”

“Likewise,” he murmured.

And with that, we stepped into the hallway together, the path ahead lit not by certainty… but by possibility.

Two days later, I stood at the foot of the holy mountain of the Isolation Path Sect. The air was sharp and clean, thin with altitude, but dense with spiritual qi. The mountain range behind the sect looked like it had been painted with a calligrapher’s brush: jagged strokes, soft mist, and a faint divine pressure pressing down from the peak. Classic aesthetic. Beautiful in that very specific way that said “no mortals allowed.”

I was here for Ren Jingyi.

Jiang Zhen greeted me at the gate, his expression splitting into a grin the moment he saw me.

”Well, look who’s still intact,” he said. ”And mostly alive, too. That’s already more than I expected.”

The last time I saw Jiang Zhen, he was a sharp-eyed middle-aged man with a steel spine and steady fists. Now… he looked older. Not just in the wrinkles, but in the way his qi moved—heavier, more settled, less restless.

“What happened?” I asked, eyeing him with more concern than I let on. “You look like you skipped a few decades.”

He chuckled, a bit hoarsely. “It’s my cultivation method. A side effect, that’s all. Appearance only. My lifespan’s still quite long, so don’t go planning my funeral yet.”

“Sixth Realm, huh?” I said, inspecting his aura. “Congrats. That’s no small feat.”

He waved it off modestly. “Long overdue.”

Beside him stood Fan Shi, the sharp-featured young woman who had once been a quiet shadow in the background. She offered me a clasped-hand salute with the discipline of a textbook sect disciple. “Senior.”

I returned the gesture, amused. “Third Realm already? You’re climbing fast.”

She smiled faintly. “Still can’t compare to Jingyi.”

”Don’t be modest,” came the scoff from behind them. A familiar voice, small and sharp. “It’s not that hard.”

Ren Jingyi stepped into view, arms crossed, mouth slightly turned down in a pout. Her robes were neat, her presence contained, but the glint in her eyes said she was still pissed.

“You left again,” she muttered, not looking at me directly. “And now you’re leaving again.”

I scratched my head, a little guilty. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

She just huffed and looked away, but didn’t walk off. Progress.

I turned back to Jiang Zhen. “How’s business?”

He let out a long sigh that sounded way too satisfied. “Demon-hunting’s going better than ever. Thanks for the letter to the Seven Grand Clans. They’ve stopped sticking their noses in our operations. And Master Tao Long has been a tremendous help. His spearmanship… frankly, they’re on a different level. Devil worshippers don’t stand a chance.”

The way he said Master Tao Long caught my attention. There was respect there. Real, grounded, earned respect, not the usual superficial deference cultivators throw around.

“I see he made a good impression,” I said.

“He deserves it,” Jiang Zhen replied simply. “The man’s not just strong… he listens. That alone puts him leagues above most.”

I nodded slowly. “Thanks for looking after Jingyi.”

He smiled. “She’s a handful, but she’s one of a kind. We’re lucky to have her.”

As thanks, I reached into my Item Box and tossed him a sack of Spirit Stones, big enough to make a sect jealous, and a weapon wrapped in cloth.

He unwrapped it, blinked, and held up a gleaming silver shovel. The kind of artifact you didn’t laugh at unless you wanted to find yourself buried in a spirit-sealed graveyard. It wasn’t LLO gear, but something I had Nongmin dig out from his collection. One of the nicer pieces.

Jiang Zhen gave it an appreciative once-over, testing its weight. “Now this,” he said, “is how you bribe a cultivator. Got another one?”

I smirked. “Do you want a Heavenly Punishment? Just to warn you… I’ve improved.” 

There was no way a Fifth or Sixth Realm would be able to dodge my Heavenly Punishment now just by digging underground.

He laughed, full and unrestrained. “You couldn’t even catch a goldfish last time.”

I flipped him the bird, and he doubled over, wheezing with mirth.

Ren Jingyi raised an eyebrow. “That’s the goldfish stall owner?”

“Regrettably, yes,” I said with a grin. “And unfortunately, I’m still stuck being the adult.”

I turned to Jiang Zhen and Fan Shi. “Take care of yourselves.”

“You too, Da Wei,” Jiang Zhen said, more sincerely now. “The world’s a mess. Don’t get caught in it too deep.”

“No promises,” I replied.

Ren Jingyi walked up beside me. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” I said. “Just a little place called the World Summit. Bunch of world powers, ancient enemies, and possible assassins. You know. The usual.”

She sighed. “You’re going to leave me again, aren’t you?”

“Not if I can help it,” I replied. “But yeah. Probably.”

She didn’t argue. Just took my hand for a second, squeezed it, then let go.

That was enough.

We turned toward the sky, where the Soaring Dragon boat floated like a quiet promise against the clouds. Its hull shimmered faintly with runes, sails unfurled in lazy defiance of gravity.

Hopefully, Alice wouldn’t mind playing babysitter for me.

I had the sneaking suspicion Ren Jingyi was about to test every last bit of her patience.