Chapter One: The Mine Tunnel

The mine tunnel was dark and soaked, everywhere riddled with bogs of varying size.

In the marsh, many people stooped waist-deep, their backs bent as they searched for ore.

“What are you staring at, get to work!”
A harsh, barbed whip lashed heavily across Li Mu’s back.

Pain stabbed through him; his body trembled violently. He hurriedly returned to digging, his heart still thudding wildly. The bloody scene on his back seemed to hang before his eyes.

The voice behind them continued shouting, “Stay in line! Anyone who dares to slack off or tries to escape will meet the same fate!”

Crack!
The whip snapped again and again through the damp air.

The overseer’s voice rang out, “The rules are the same as always. Whoever finds a Colorstone or digs up a batch of Five-Colored Clay, you’ll be set free and even get an Immortal Cultivation Technique! Anyone who doesn’t—will die!”

As the whip fell slowly once more, it raised a body covered in welts, dragging a long trail of blood through the mire straight toward the cave’s entrance.

The slave cultivators, heads bowed, heard the footsteps grow distant before they dared speak in hushed tones.

“So Wang Er’s gone, just like that.”

“He was urging everyone to work hard yesterday—maybe one or two could escape, he said. And today…”

“You dare talk about it? Get back to work! Fill your bowl quickly, and you’ll suffer less.”

The voices faded. Everyone stood in the muddy water, heads down, silently laboring.

They were searching for a rare ore: the Colorstone. Hidden deep in the muddy water, its blend with the muck made it nearly impossible to spot—only the most skilled could distinguish it.

Hearing the others talk, Li Mu’s face remained expressionless, as if he hadn’t heard a word. His dark eyes melted into the gloom.

Every three days they’d be given a single black pill to eat, then returned to their endless search for the elusive Colorstone, day and night.

Li Mu had survived like this for ten days.

He had once been a newly employed planner, but an unexpected electric shock had torn his soul from his world and thrust him into this strange land’s mine tunnel, where he became a slave cultivator.

A slave cultivator was, essentially, a laborer for the immortal clans.

In this world, when cultivators discovered mineral resources, they would drive the locals to exhaustion in their service.

The body Li Mu now inhabited bore the same name and had suffocated in the muddy water just as his own soul arrived, fusing with and consuming the original’s memories—merging, shattering, then reforming, his mind nearly splitting apart. But after these days, he had accepted it.

Having accepted his fate, his first thought was to escape the mine.

But seeing the bowl in his left hand, Li Mu shook his head in resignation. He knew the bowl looked small, able to hold at most half a serving of water, and no matter how many Colorstones he dropped in, it would only ever barely cover the bottom.

It could never be filled.

A cruel joke—the promise that a full bowl would earn freedom and a cultivation technique was an empty one, a pie painted on paper, never to be tasted.

But what exactly was the Colorstone?

Escape was impossible; countless had tried and failed. Before the eyes of the immortal overseers, any attempt meant certain death.

This wretched mine had no intention of letting anyone leave alive. As these bitter thoughts swirled in Li Mu’s mind, his right hand suddenly brushed against something hard.

He picked it up, wiped away the mud, and examined it closely.

It was a pebble-sized stone, about the width of a finger, smooth as jade, its surface pitch-black and faintly shining, a trace of warmth and dampness lingering on it.

Could this be a Colorstone?

But the stone was so black—where were the five colors?

Frowning, Li Mu moved toward the dim light near the tunnel wall, raising the stone to see it more clearly.

Smack!

A hand struck out of nowhere, hitting Li Mu sharply and knocking the stone from his grasp. It landed, unerringly, in the hand of another.

“Li San, what are you doing?” Li Mu glared angrily at the man beside him and reached for the stone. He knew this man—Li San, from his own village, once a friend.

He hadn’t expected to see his true colors now.

Li San was taller and stronger than Li Mu. He laughed, kicked Li Mu hard, sending him sprawling several meters away, then ran toward the cave mouth, shouting, “Immortal Master! I found a Colorstone!”

“Colorstone…Colorstone…”
The shout echoed through the mine.

In a flash, a sudden strong wind gusted in from the cave entrance. In the wind was a flash of purple—a figure appeared in the blink of an eye, standing above the muddy water.

He wore pale scholar’s robes, a deep red belt at his waist, a white token swaying there, catching the light.

He stood atop a small flying sword, cheeks slightly flushed. “A Colorstone? Where? Hand it over!”

Li San knelt in the mire, holding the stone aloft. “Please look, Immortal Master.”

With a wave of his hand, the stone floated into the Immortal’s grasp. He rubbed it, and his face flushed deeper.

The pitch-black stone suddenly shone with five colors in his palm.

The mine tunnel was lit with brilliant light.

“It is indeed a Colorstone! I never expected to find one on my watch—ha!” he laughed, carefully tucking the stone into his robe, then turned his gaze on Li San, “Very good. You may leave.”

Li San was almost delirious with joy, kowtowing until his face was caked with mud. “Thank you, Immortal Master! Thank you!”

“And the cultivation technique?” he asked, looking up timidly.

The Immortal Master’s brows tightened; a faint, inscrutable smile curled his lips. “You’ll get it. Certainly.”

Li San smiled, stood, and bowed again.

Seeing things turn out this way, how could Li Mu accept it? He forced himself to stand and strode forward. “Immortal Master, that Colorstone was found by me, not him!”

The Immortal Master glanced at Li Mu with contempt. “Whether you found it or he did, it belongs to me.”

Li San straightened, grinning, “Get out of the way! The Immortal Master doesn’t have time for your nonsense! Get back to work, or the whip will kill you!”

“But I found it, not him!” Li Mu faced the Immortal Master without fear and pointed at Li San, raising his voice so that the whole mine echoed with his words.

“Bold,” the Immortal Master grunted, and a black whip appeared in his hand. With crackling force, he lashed Li Mu into the bog.

Blood streamed out, staining the mud red.

“Get back to work. Or die.”

His gaze swept the mine, icy and indifferent.

“To shout before the Immortal Master—death wish.” Li San spat, then followed after the Immortal.

The Immortal Master floated above the muddy water, Li San following behind, head held high, ecstatic as if mad.

At last, he could escape this hell and receive a cultivation technique—how could he not rejoice?

The slaves around them looked at Li San with burning envy, then plunged back into the mud with renewed desperation, hoping to find a Colorstone of their own.

But as Li Mu struggled in the mire, no one paid him any mind.

The whip hadn’t killed him, but had torn open flesh and muscle, and the pain was excruciating.

He floundered, unable to regain his balance, and his body soon collapsed into the mud.

His misfortune was not over; he had landed in a deadly sinkhole.

There were many deep sinkholes in the mine’s marsh, claiming countless slave lives. Li Mu knew to avoid them, and had done so many times, but now there was no escape.

Shortness of breath, terror, and pain all struck at once.

Was he going to die?

As the mud closed over his head and his consciousness faded, an image suddenly appeared in Li Mu’s mind—a stone platform, and atop it, a golden tower radiating soft yellow light.

The gentle radiance was like winter sun, and all pain and discomfort faded away.

All his thoughts gathered toward the tower.

“Why is it here?”
Li Mu was stunned.