Prologue: A Drop That Cannot Be Retrieved

For countless centuries, every cultivator in the world had heard the legend: somewhere on earth, there existed a true dragon from the celestial realm, which, upon entering the sea, became a mirage serpent, its whereabouts unknown. Once in sixty years, or perhaps after several centuries, when fate permitted, it would exhale a grand temple of mirages, one that only those at the Divine Transformation stage could enter.

This temple’s appearance was fleeting, its location unpredictable. Yet if someone were blessed by fortune, arriving in time and passing myriad trials to ascend to the highest chamber, they would receive unimaginable rewards—even the opportunity to bypass the heavenly tribulation and become a true immortal, thus sharing longevity with heaven and earth.

This secret was first discovered unwittingly by Shang Qingzui, the foremost Divine Transformation cultivator thousands of years ago. He relinquished his chance at immortality, and instead requested from the temple a boon of great significance to the cultivation world. Since then, the Temple of Mirages had become known to all.

But among the multitudes, how many had the fortune even to set foot on the path of cultivation? Even fewer reached the Divine Transformation stage—rare beyond measure. Thus, cultivators in every sect only ever heard of powerful figures perishing, never of anyone following Shang Qingzui’s footsteps to enter the temple and ascend in a single leap.

Yet on this day, the Temple of Mirages briefly appeared deep within the boundless sea, and, unusually, welcomed a young cultivator.

White mist curled about him, and the final gate of the temple stood before his eyes. He staggered forward, reached out to push it, thinking hazily, “No one knows this door is still vermilion.”

The vermilion door opened quietly with a gentle push, a chilling cold pouring forth, enveloping him like a lingering drizzle. His mind cleared; now his spirit had left his body, and it was his spiritual incarnation that entered the temple. Thus the mist merely made him feel icy cold, but had he been at the Nascent Soul stage, he would have been reduced to icy fragments—body and soul alike—long before reaching this place.

He knew he must hurry; if the mist thickened enough to obscure his vision, he would likely vanish with the temple in an instant.

Suppressing his despondence and fear, he stepped inside.

The white mist thickened, gradually engulfing his phantom feet. Ahead, a faint glow penetrated the mist, drawing him forward—a treasure from the celestial realm suspended in midair.

He reached out, palm open beneath it, and the treasure bounced lightly, sending a message straight into his mind: “Child of Heaven, you have passed many heart tribulations—well done, well done. Three choices, hehe, but I think you need not choose again. Time is short. Take this ‘True Fruit’ and I will send you away.”

“‘True Fruit’?”

“Yes, this is best suited for you. Use it wisely—it will add centuries to your cultivation, and shield your spirit during tribulation. Do not be greedy; the other two are no better than this.”

“…Thank you. But I wish to see the others. This one… it is not what I desire right now.”

“Not what you want? Then why did you risk coming here? Hmph!”

“Forgive me. When I arrived, I thought I wanted this, but…” He fell silent, for the foreign consciousness in his mind had vanished after the last disdainful snort.

The coveted “True Fruit” disappeared, replaced by a vivid green elixir. He placed his hand upon it; this time, nothing spoke to him, and he merely sensed its purpose—to prolong life.

Cultivators live long, but even their lives end in old age. If a disciple failed to establish their foundation, they wouldn’t live past two hundred. Succeeding added a hundred years, forming a golden core granted another two or three centuries. He himself was at Divine Transformation; even so, none lived beyond two thousand years. Though that was still distant for him, the leap from Divine Transformation to true immortal was harder than all his past trials. The temple’s life-prolonging elixir was extraordinary—taking it might grant him centuries, perhaps a thousand years more. More importantly, since he had found the temple once, he might return again, becoming an undying elder.

His fingers trembled, his heart torn between choices, when a bone-deep weariness suddenly swept over him. He withdrew his hand, despairing: “Enough. Why wait another few hundred years? If I fail, I’ll remain here, fading away with the temple.”

The mist now rose past his chest; perhaps because time was nearly up, the life-prolonging elixir soon vanished, and the final choice gradually took shape before him.

It was a single droplet of water—crystal clear, nothing remarkable. The all-or-nothing hope in his heart flickered to disappointment. He sighed and brought his palm closer, then—huh? His eyes widened in astonishment, disbelief written across his face. Spilt water cannot be recovered, yet this was a droplet of “Reversed Water.”

The mist closed in, and without time to ponder, he stepped forward and swallowed the “Reversed Water.” As a spiritual incarnation, he did not ingest it physically, but fused it with his spirit.

He wondered how far back this droplet would turn time—one hundred years? Two hundred? His heart ached; heaven had shown mercy. His journey to the Temple of Mirages was not in vain. Though he could not gather and revive the vanished spirit of that person, at least he could return to the past and begin anew.

He stood dazed, memories from childhood to now flashing through his mind. Uncertainty crept in. Such a divine item as “Reversed Water” was unheard of—where would it take him? If only for a fleeting moment, he would merely suffer again the agony of parting. Better then to let his soul dissipate. But if he could return to the time when he first formed his Nascent Soul, he could relive the most fearless, unrestrained days of his life. He would cherish the chance. The path of immortality was full of thorns and traps, but with the experience of one who had lived before, surely that person would be happier than before… Until they both reached Divine Transformation. And then, would he have enough strength to change the fate before him?

The mist thickened, yet strangely, neither he nor the temple faded away.

His spirit grew unstable, and he lay down, letting himself drift. He thought, “Since it’s so, let me return to before foundation establishment, and try cultivating both the way and the demonic path. Perhaps I’ll die quietly, and she won’t even remember that I ever existed. But with so many years of foundation, my chances are not entirely hopeless. I could deceive others, but not myself—I would become a monster, a demon. Alas, let it be. As long as she survives, she won’t know me, so she won’t fall in love with me. She’ll meet someone else…”

Darkness closed in; he could see nothing. Whether from sorrow or cold, he felt as if his wish had been granted, returned to those lonely, dark childhood days. He lay quietly, eyes closed, and a single clear tear slipped from the corner of his eye.