Chapter 2: No Way to Immortality.

At that time, he didn’t pay much attention to those words.
After all, the phrase “no path to immortality” was too heavy, completely shattering all his fantasies.

Without the talent for cultivation, he was destined to live as an ant for the rest of his life!
What, then, was the point of his transmigration?
He had no fixed place to stay, living like a beggar!
No phone or computer for cheap entertainment, and even the daily food he scrounged carried the sour stench of mold.

He began trying to blend into this unfamiliar world, searching for a way to survive.
Yet, the once-kindly residents of Clear River Town suddenly started treating him like a plague.

Whenever he approached a shop, he was met with wary glances, the sound of doors slamming shut, or harsh shouts driving him away:
“Where’d this beggar come from? Get lost! Come closer, and I’ll set the dogs on you.”

Hunger gnawed at him like a parasite, tormenting him day and night.
He tried scavenging in the garbage heaps at the town’s edge, but all he found were rotten vegetable leaves and foul-smelling refuse—no edible scraps to be had.

Of course, this wasn’t the modern world.
Unless it was truly inedible, who in the cultivation world would waste food?

He stared longingly at a steaming white bun filled with meat, freshly handed by a shop assistant to a well-dressed customer.
The rich aroma of meat and wheat hit him, making his stomach twist painfully, saliva pooling uncontrollably before he forced it back down.

Once, driven mad by hunger, he staggered toward a stall selling coarse grain pancakes, his voice hoarse as he pleaded:
“Please… just a bite to eat… I can work, I’ll do anything…”

The stall owner, a burly man with a face full of scars, didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed a stick as thick as an arm and swung it at him, bellowing:
“Scram! Filthy beggar! Come closer, and I’ll break your damn legs!”

The stick whizzed past his scalp, the gust of wind making him tremble.
He scrambled away, half-crawling, half-rolling, as the stall owner’s vicious curses and the cold laughter of onlookers followed him.

“That kid, daring to offend Immortal Zhang? He’s in for it now.”

“Hahaha, how could that idiot be so bold? That Immortal Zhang is…”

“Hey, you dumb*ss, shut your trap before you drag me into this!”

He also noticed two shirtless, muscular men in the nearby blacksmith shop, their arms crossed, watching him with mocking grins.
Their forearms were thicker than his thighs!

The ferocity in their eyes was unmistakable.
Xie Qiyang had no doubt that one punch from those massive fists could kill him on the spot.

Dignity?
In the face of hunger and survival, it was worthless.
Like a rat in the gutter, he skulked in the shadows on the town’s outskirts, surviving on bitter, unpalatable roots he dug up and a few sour wild fruits from trees.

Each swallow brought nausea and the crushing pain of the gap between this life and the comfort of his past life on Earth.

His body grew weaker by the day.
His steps became unsteady, his vision frequently darkened, and a constant buzzing filled his ears.
His once-decent cheeks hollowed out rapidly, his lips cracked and bled.

The short-sleeved shirt he’d brought with him through transmigration was now stiff and foul, caked with mud and grass stains.

“It’s been over a week since I last bathed. It’s unbearable,” he thought.
As a southerner, back on Earth, he couldn’t sleep without a daily shower.

But being dirty was the least of his concerns now.

Days later, he left the boundaries of Clear River Town, wandering aimlessly.

If he stayed, he would surely die…

Only then did he truly understand the cruelty of the cultivation world.
A rogue cultivator didn’t even need to act against him—he was already this miserable.

In novels, they’d call me a background character, he thought. I wouldn’t complain.
But if you really transmigrated here? Hmph, you’d have to call me Immortal Zhang!

The shadow of death loomed over him.
He could clearly feel his life force draining away.

Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next moment, he’d collapse from exhaustion in some patch of wild grass, becoming food for beasts, rotting silently in this alien world.

He began to fear the night.
The cold drained his strength faster, and the darkness amplified the boundless fear and despair in his heart.

He didn’t want to die.
He wanted to go home.

In this world where power belonged to the strong, being unable to cultivate meant being eternally at the bottom.
He was no more than a speck of dust, liable to be crushed by a passing beast or obliterated by the stray shockwave of a cultivator’s battle.

As if guided by fate, yesterday at dusk, he stumbled to the vicinity of a broken cliff.
In the dim twilight, he glanced up and was instantly captivated by a sight at the cliff’s peak—a figure with cascading silver hair, standing silently.

The girl was surrounded by a faint, moonlit glow, like a fairy descended from the lunar palace.

That fleeting glimpse of her otherworldly grace burned into his eyes.
Beside her stood a robust man with a heavy presence, his features indistinct.

The pinnacle he could never hope to reach in his lifetime was merely someone else’s starting point.

Suddenly, he felt an indescribable force lock onto him.
The robust man had turned to look in his direction.

Not good!
That man was no kind soul—whether a guard or a companion, Xie Qiyang’s ant-like existence spying on them was enough to invite catastrophe.

He hurriedly lowered his head, curling into himself, desperate to flee this dangerous place.

Just as he turned to leave, soul shaken and steps unsteady, a fierce sea breeze swirled across the cliff face.
It carried a light, plain white fabric fragment, drifting straight to his feet.

Xie Qiyang instinctively bent down, his fingers brushing the fabric.
It was cool and smooth to the touch, neither metal nor jade, yet oddly resilient.

In the fading light, he saw intricate patterns embroidered with fine silver thread, the torn edges jagged, as if ripped apart by force.

Though damaged, the fabric exuded a faint, bone-chilling coldness that inexplicably calmed his frantic, despairing mind.
This was no ordinary mortal object.

“Could it… belong to that silver-haired woman?” a guess flickered in his mind.