Chapter 0001: The Fate of the True Dragon

“Xiao Fan, haven’t you felt a golden dragon inside your body?”
The old man speaking wore a long robe of azure, his beard was snow-white, and his eyes shone with vigor. People called him the Daoist of Qingyun.
“Old man, how many times have you asked me that? There’s no golden dragon, not even a fart,” replied the boy named Zhang Xiaofan, whom the old man had picked up from the foot of the mountain.
Since childhood, Zhang Xiaofan had followed Qingyun on Kunlun Mountain, learning medicine and martial arts. After every session of cultivation, the old man would always pose this question.
Truthfully, the old man himself wasn’t certain if Zhang Xiaofan had a golden dragon within him. It was just that every time Xiaofan practiced, he would vaguely sense a flicker of golden light, reminiscent of a golden dragon.
“Xiaofan, today I calculated your fate—you are no ordinary man, yours is the destiny of a true dragon,” the old man said earnestly.
“With your mediocre skills, can you really see that?” Zhang Xiaofan muttered under his breath.
“Xiaofan, although I made one mistake with Widow Zhang down the mountain, you really don’t need to doubt your grandfather’s ability.”
“Enough, enough, not many days left for me anyway. Today, your grandfather’s going all out!”
“The secret art of Heaven’s Gate—Celestial Eye! Piercing the cycles of fate!”
The old man uttered a low shout, pressed his joined fingers to the center of his brow, and instantly his life force gathered rapidly. One could see his skin shrivel swiftly.
He was nearly two hundred years old, and lately he kept saying he didn’t have much time left.
Zhang Xiaofan knew about the Celestial Eye—it was a secret art that required sacrificing one’s lifespan; supposedly, with enough power, it could see through someone’s past and present, their cycles of fate.
Though the old man was always eccentric, he had treated Zhang Xiaofan well.
Activating the Celestial Eye would certainly kill him. Xiaofan’s eyes grew moist.
“What a powerful cycle of fate!” The old man’s voice was nearly gone, his life force now extremely faint.
He had indeed seen it—Zhang Xiaofan’s cycle of fate was a golden dragon.
“Cough… brat, you truly have the fate of a true dragon. You will soar high one day.”
Suddenly, the old man coughed up blood. “There’s a letter… go to Jinghai City…”
He had barely finished speaking when his life slipped away.
Zhang Xiaofan wiped away his tears. The old man often made him do dirty, tiring work, but now that he was truly gone, Xiaofan felt an indescribable ache.
Carrying the old man’s body, Zhang Xiaofan walked to the back of the mountain, chose the largest peach tree, dug a deep pit, and buried him beneath it.
This was the old man’s wish—to be buried under a peach tree, so that in his next life he might enjoy a romance as beautiful as peach blossoms.
He built a grave mound, found a wooden board, and erected a headstone for him.

The Tomb of the Immortal Qingyun.
The old man had always yearned to become immortal, even giving himself the title of Qingyun Immortal.
Zhang Xiaofan knelt and bowed three times, then returned to the house and burned all the old man’s belongings, including his treasured adult magazines.
For seven days, Zhang Xiaofan kept vigil for him, repaying the old man’s kindness in raising him.
He meant to pack up before leaving, but upon inspection, there was nothing worth taking—only old, worn items from years past.
All he carried was a change of clothes, the letter and address left by the old man, and the silver needles the old man had always cherished.
Glancing at the thatched cottage, Zhang Xiaofan was filled with emotions. After all, it had been his home for eighteen years, and he felt reluctant to leave.
He lingered for a long while before finally turning to walk down the mountain.

…

A day later, Jinghai City, Lantian Garden, Building 12, Apartment 203.
After asking the security guard, Zhang Xiaofan found the place and knocked on the door.
A middle-aged woman, a little over forty, opened it. Her face was lined, her complexion poor.
“Little master, who are you looking for?”
She looked at Zhang Xiaofan in surprise.
He handed her the letter. “My master sent me.”
She took the letter and read it. After a while, she said, “So you’re Master Qingyun’s disciple. Come in, little master.”
Zhang Xiaofan smiled slightly and followed her inside. The house was simple, but tidy and bright.
Not far away, a memorial tablet stood, with incense still burning.
“My husband passed away a month ago. Twenty years ago, Master Qingyun saved his life, letting him live for twenty more years.” The woman’s expression was tinged with sorrow.
“Auntie, please accept my condolences,” Zhang Xiaofan said quietly.
“Call me Aunt Yun. Your master was our benefactor. From now on, you’ll live with us. I’ll arrange for you to attend school,” Aunt Yun said softly.
“School?”
Zhang Xiaofan was taken aback. The old man had never mentioned this. Was the letter’s meaning to have him live here, go to school, and lead the life of an ordinary family’s child?
Thinking it over, Zhang Xiaofan found the idea agreeable.

“Mom, I’m home!”
Aunt Yun was about to explain when the door was pushed open and a girl of seventeen or eighteen walked in.
She wore a neat, clean school uniform, her skirt revealing white, slender legs. Her long black hair cascaded like a waterfall, her features were exquisite, her figure alluring—a vibrant aura of youthful beauty surrounded her.
“Xiaofan, let me introduce you. This is my daughter, Wang Yuqing,” Aunt Yun said.
“Hello.”
Zhang Xiaofan nodded politely to Wang Yuqing.
“Mom, who’s this country bumpkin?” she sneered, glancing at Zhang Xiaofan’s coarse homespun clothes. Her tone carried thinly veiled ridicule.
“Don’t be rude. He’s our benefactor’s disciple. He’ll be living with us from now on,” Aunt Yun said, displeased.
“No way! He’s going to live with us? Mom, since Dad died, you’re struggling to support me. Now you want to take care of him too?” Wang Yuqing was instantly furious, as if facing a great enemy. She had no desire for Zhang Xiaofan to share her pocket money.
“I can earn my own money,” Zhang Xiaofan explained.
“Yeah, right. You? What are you going to do—set up a street stall, act like a charlatan?” Wang Yuqing mocked.
“Yuqing, you’re out of line!” Aunt Yun snapped, her expression stern.
“But Mom, a strange man living here—what if he has bad intentions toward me?” Wang Yuqing eyed Zhang Xiaofan warily. His intense gaze made her uneasy.
This remark made Zhang Xiaofan’s face flush. Wang Yuqing was the first girl his age he’d ever met, and she was so beautiful—naturally, he looked a few times more, a normal reaction for an eighteen-year-old boy.
“Enough, enough. Go do your homework,” Aunt Yun intervened, saving Zhang Xiaofan from further embarrassment. Wang Yuqing reluctantly retreated to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“This child…”
Aunt Yun murmured, “It’s my fault for spoiling her.”
“Hmph, country bumpkin! I’ll make sure you’re kicked out!” Wang Yuqing clenched her delicate fists, already plotting how to deal with Zhang Xiaofan.
Soon after, they ate dinner. Aunt Yun explained she would arrange for Zhang Xiaofan to attend school the next day.
“He still hasn’t gone to the bathroom…”
Peering through the crack of her door, Wang Yuqing secretly watched Zhang Xiaofan, preparing to implement her plan.