Quantum Immortal

One year had passed since Wuji and his small group of friends had begun their daily training. The difference in their physiques and abilities was stark compared to when they had first started.

Jinhai, once heavy and slow, had shed much of his weight, becoming leaner and more agile, but still like a bear with immense strength. Mei, small but quick, had honed her reflexes and balance, often darting around during their sparring sessions. Zhen, though still quiet, had surprised them all with his resilience—his strength hidden beneath his introverted demeanor.

But Wuji, more than anyone, had pushed himself to the limit. His body was toned and strong, far beyond what one would expect from a seven-year-old child. His daily regimen was scientific, a blend of Earth's martial arts disciplines with techniques he'd picked up from observing the village guards. He often incorporated resistance training, endurance exercises, and balance drills. He knew that mastering his body was only the beginning—the real challenge would come when he began cultivating Qi.

Yet, despite his intense training, Wuji's curiosity was far from limited to just physical exercise. He had recently developed an interest in wood craftsmanship. The way the villagers shaped wood into tools, furniture, and sometimes even simple carvings had caught his eye. Perhaps it was his scientific mind, always seeking precision and control, that made him gravitate towards the craft. He began experimenting with small pieces of wood, shaping them into various forms.

Over the last few months, his skill with wood had grown rapidly. His small hands, though still those of a child, were surprisingly dexterous. Today, Wuji sat under the shade of an old tree near the orphanage, carefully carving a block of wood into the shape of a tiger-like creature he had seen in one of the village's stories.

His focus was intense, each stroke of his small carving knife deliberate. The wood slowly gave way to form the creature's powerful limbs, sharp claws, and fierce face. His craftsmanship was impressive for a boy of only seven years, a testament to the patience and precision that had defined his previous life as Amar Kumar.

As Wuji carefully shaped the beast's fangs, a sudden burst of energy disrupted his concentration. Mei came running toward him, her face flushed with excitement.

"Wuji! Wuji! A bard has arrived in the village!" she exclaimed, nearly out of breath. "He's talking about Qi and the sects!"

Wuji's hand froze mid-carve. "A bard?" he echoed, his eyes narrowing with interest. He set the carving aside and stood up. "Let's go."

Without another word, they hurried to gather Jinhai and Zhen, and the four of them ran to the village center where a large crowd had already gathered. Standing in the middle of the crowd was the bard, a man in his mid-thirties dressed in a flowing white hanfu, his long hair tied back neatly. His presence commanded attention, and the air buzzed with anticipation.

The village center was packed, and Wuji and his friends had to push through to get a clear view. The bard raised his hand to quiet the crowd, and once everyone had settled, he began to speak in a smooth, captivating voice.

"People of Celestial Harmony," he began, his voice ringing out clearly across the square, "you have heard whispers of the mysterious power known as Qi, have you not? The energy that flows through all things, granting those who can harness it unimaginable strength, longevity… even immortality."

The crowd murmured, captivated by his words. Wuji listened intently, his heart racing. This was exactly the kind of knowledge he had been seeking for the past year.

"The nobles and aristocratic families," the bard continued, "hoard this knowledge, passing it down only among their descendants. But there is hope for commoners as well. The great sects of our world hold exams every ten years, offering the chance for ordinary people to learn the secrets of Qi cultivation."

He paused, allowing the information to sink in before continuing. "The next sect exams are to be held in eight years in which only children between 13 to 18 years old can take part since that is the ideal age to cultivate Qi. And they will take place only in the grand cities, where the sect elders will personally oversee the selection process. The nearest city to this village, where the exams will be held, is 2000 li from here—over mountains and rivers. But for those with determination, the journey is worth it."

Wuji felt a surge of excitement. 'Eight years… I have eight years to prepare.'

The bard went on, explaining the various aspects of the exam. "The tests will assess three things," he said, holding up three fingers. "First, your physical ability. Strength, speed, endurance. Second, your innate talent to control Qi—something only the sect elders can discern. And lastly, your will. Those without a strong heart, without determination, will fail, no matter how talented they are."

The crowd hung on every word, murmuring in amazement. Wuji, however, remained silent, absorbing every detail. 'Physical ability, Qi talent, and will' he repeated in his mind. His physical training was already well underway, but the unknown factors—his Qi talent and will—gave him pause. 'I'll need to learn more about Qi before the exams.'

But the bard wasn't finished yet. His voice dropped, taking on a more mysterious tone as he began to weave a tale. "But let me tell you of a legend," he said, his eyes gleaming as he looked around the crowd. "A legend of this very region… The story of the Mad Swordsman."

A ripple of whispers went through the villagers. The name was familiar to some, though few knew the details.

"The Mad Swordsman was no noble," the bard continued, "but a commoner, like yourselves. Born in a village not unlike this one, he was a man of simple origins, but with a heart full of rage and ambition. He wielded a sword, but not with the grace of a trained noble. No, his style was raw, brutal, and unpredictable. They say he fought like a storm—wild and untamed, with a bloodlust that terrified even the most hardened warriors."

Wuji's eyes widened. He leaned forward, captivated by the story.

"It is said that the Mad Swordsman sought only one thing: power. And through his sheer will and ruthless fighting, he achieved it. He broke through the barriers of mortality, becoming an immortal cultivator, his name etched in the annals of history. But the truth of his fate remains shrouded in mystery. Some say he ascended to the heavens, while others claim he still wanders the mortal realm, a blade in hand, seeking worthy opponents."

The bard's voice dropped to a whisper, leaving the crowd in suspense. "What is known for certain is that the Mad Swordsman was not born into privilege. He earned his immortality through blood and fury, carving his path into legend with nothing but a sword and his indomitable will."

The crowd was silent, the weight of the tale settling over them like a heavy mist. Wuji felt a chill run down his spine. The idea of a commoner, someone like him, achieving immortality through sheer force of will and determination struck deep within him.

The bard smiled, clearly pleased with the effect his story had on the villagers. "And so, my friends, remember this: though the path of cultivation is long and perilous, it is not closed to those who dare to walk it."

With that, the bard bowed, signaling the end of his performance. The villagers slowly began to disperse, discussing the tales and information they had just heard.

---

Later that night, Wuji lay on his straw bed, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts were a whirlwind of ideas and possibilities. The story of the Mad Swordsman resonated deeply with him. The mystery of the man's fate intrigued him, but more than that, the idea of forging his path, regardless of his background, lit a fire within him.

'If a commoner could do it, so can I', Wuji thought. 'The sect exams are only the beginning. There's more to this world than anyone here realizes.'

As he drifted off to sleep, the legend of the Mad Swordsman lingered in his mind, a shadowy figure of mystery and power that seemed to beckon him forward on his journey.