Chapter One: I Beheld the Lady Sword Immortal Seated Serenely in Her Boudoir

Great Zhao, Lin'an Prefecture.

By the banks of West Lake, alabaster railings stretched endlessly into the distance. The air, still tinged with the coolness and sweet freshness left by a recent spring rain, carried a delightful fragrance. The emerald waters rippled gently, stirring the lotus leaves that floated atop them. In the lake's heart, flower boats adorned with red lanterns began to stir with the restless energy of a spring night, their windows graced by graceful ladies leaning lightly against the sills, eyes as luminous as autumn waves.

Scholars and poets strolled upon the rain-washed flagstones along the long embankment, composing verse and exchanging couplets. From time to time, they craned their necks, hoping to glimpse a bewitching silhouette aboard the flower boats without having to board—seeking, in their own way, a forbidden thrill.

“Alas, it's too far. I can't see clearly.”

“Why not buy a pleasure boat and get a little closer? We might even see the courtesan of the night and save a good deal of silver.”

Among them, a young man in blue carried a wine jug, taking a light sip as he muttered to himself.

“But if I don’t go to meet the courtesan, I won’t have to spend any silver at all.” He frowned, arguing with himself. “Scholars are all hopeless romantics.”

“Forget it. Without silver, there’s no romance to be had. I can barely pay the innkeeper for my room.” The youth sighed, his inability to enjoy these fleeting pleasures leaving him somewhat dejected.

He raised his jug, drinking in the beauty of West Lake as much as the wine.

A gentle breeze caressed his face, willows swaying in its wake.

Gazing at the lively scene before him, the youth’s eyes began to ripple with a hidden yearning. He had never imagined that one day he would encounter such an absurd fate: to traverse the boundaries of time and space and awaken in the body of a scholar journeying to the capital for the imperial examinations.

The scholar himself was not poor; he hailed from a well-to-do family in Chongzhou, but he lacked the wisdom to hide his wealth. Nearing the capital, he was set upon by robbers; his guards abandoned him, and after a sound beating, the soul of a traveler from another world took up residence in his body.

Both in his past and present lives, the young scholar bore the name An Le—a simple enough fate to accept. In his previous life, he had been an art student admitted to a prestigious academy, his talent for painting well-recognized.

After arriving in the capital, he relied on a single tael of silver hidden in his trouser pocket, using it to buy some drawing paper and charcoal. With his unique realistic sketches, he managed to sell a few paintings, earning enough silver to barely keep afloat.

In An Le’s memories, there had been no dynasty called Great Zhao in his former world. Yet, after inheriting the memories of this body, he gained a hazy understanding of this new world.

This was no ordinary land—it was a world of cultivators, divine beings, and demons, a realm enmeshed in chaos.

On his journey to the capital, he had seen lives squandered like grass, bones of the frozen poor lining the roads.

Beyond the borders lurked powerful foreign tribes, ever watchful, poised to march south and lay waste to Great Zhao, to claim the Central Plains entirely.

The capital of Great Zhao had once stood in the north, holding the line against barbarian tribes for eight centuries. When the foreigners grew too powerful, the emperor ordered the entire court to move south, establishing the new capital at Lin'an, seeking respite from the storm.

It had been five centuries since the southern migration. Lin'an thrived in extravagant prosperity; each night, the city was filled with song and revelry. The ambition to reclaim lost lands in the north had long since been buried beneath the city's splendor.

In Great Zhao, all else was deemed lowly—only cultivation was exalted.

Even scholars could not compare to cultivators.

The imperial examinations were divided into two rankings: the Alpha and the Beta. No matter your brilliance or talent for governance, if you were not a cultivator, you could only attain the Beta ranking. Only those who cultivated could ascend to the Alpha list and vie for first place.

An Le had not yet cultivated, but if he wished to live with dignity in this era, attaining the Beta ranking was at least a path forward.

This was why An Le had chosen to continue on to the capital and prepare for the exams.

In fact, he harbored an even grander ambition—to strive for the Alpha list.

To become an Alpha scholar was to truly rise above all others.

Though he had not yet set foot on the path of cultivation, he held hope, for he possessed the advantage of a transmigrator.

As he gazed at the lightly rippling surface of West Lake, An Le’s pupils grew unfocused, a translucent screen appearing before his eyes.

...

[Name: An Le]
[Threads of Time’s Qi: 2]
[Fruit of the Dao of Time: None]

...

It was a simple screen, one that had appeared three days ago when An Le first set foot in Lin'an.

Through repeated experiments, he discovered that the screen allowed him to draw forth a gray mist called Time’s Qi.

Though he had yet to understand the purpose of this gray mist, one thing was certain: if he was to embark on the path of cultivation, his only hope lay here.

In Great Zhao, the status of cultivators was exalted. Once registered with the authorities, even the lowest-ranked cultivator received a monthly stipend—thirty taels of silver, they said.

Thirty taels! Enough for An Le to live comfortably in Lin'an.

With a touch of envy, An Le dismissed the screen before his eyes. Nearby, several scholars began to stir, their attention captured by a flower boat at the lake’s center, shrouded in mist. Red lanterns were lit, and from behind parted curtains, maidservants in pale yellow dresses emerged, standing gracefully to either side.

Though distant, the maidservants’ beauty and poise rivaled that of any courtesan, stirring the hearts of many onlookers.

Such a display was rare. From the original owner's memories, An Le knew the flower boats of West Lake were ranked by prestige—the closer to the center, the more esteemed the boat, and the higher the status of its courtesan.

It was even rumored that the courtesan aboard the most prominent flower boat was a formidable cultivator herself!

A female cultivator serving as a courtesan—how could the scholars not be enthralled? That was allure compounded by power.

To win her favor would be the boast of a lifetime, worthy of a hundred poems.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted among the scholars on the embankment.

“Fairy Yun Rou has arrived!”

“She’s so beautiful—a swordswoman, peerless in her charm!”

“If I could but step onto Fairy Yun Rou’s boat, my life would be complete! I'd gladly fail the spring examination for a single night in her presence!”

The scholars babbled on, their words brimming with longing and jest.

An Le stood quietly, raising his wine jug and sipping, savoring the rich aroma as he narrowed his eyes in excitement.

“At last,” he murmured.

Overhead, a dazzling arc of sword light pierced the sky—a long sword soared through the air.

Upon the sword stood a woman in white, her form tall and graceful, three thousand strands of black hair streaming behind her. The lake’s mist swirled about her, stirred by the force of her presence. She was otherworldly, transcendent.

She alighted upon the flower boat. The maidservants on either side bowed deeply as the woman turned, her eyes shining above a veil that concealed her lips—the glance alone was enough to set the scholars’ hearts ablaze.

Though not his first sight of her, An Le was once more struck by her beauty, yet it was the spectacle of sword-flight that most captivated him.

A swordswoman—what better role-play could there be in this era? What scholar could withstand such a test?

In An Le’s half-lidded gaze, he saw that the ethereal courtesan in white, standing upon the boat, was wreathed in wisps of gray mist, twisting about her like serpents.

He counted carefully—there were more than a dozen strands.

The gray mist was utterly out of place amid the lake’s white fog. Though the distance was great, An Le saw it with perfect clarity, and sensed an almost irresistible pull.

He had spent the past few days by the lakeside for this very reason: to seek out the cultivator courtesan. The two wisps of Time’s Qi in his screen had been plucked from Fairy Yun Rou in the previous days.

When first he saw her from the embankment, he sensed the Time’s Qi swirling about her—over a dozen strands, but he could only draw one per day.

So he returned each day to West Lake, patiently harvesting one wisp at a time.

Though he did not yet know the use of this power, he believed in seizing what he could.

A faint golden screen shimmered into view.

The indicator for [Time’s Qi] flickered uncertainly.

Then, An Le watched as a wisp of gray mist drifted from the flower boat at the lake’s center, free as a dandelion seed upon the wind.

It crossed the lake, finally swirling around An Le’s fingertip.

Strangely, as the gray wisp wound around his finger, it transformed into gold—a flash of brilliance shining through sand and mud—before merging into his body.

On the screen, another strand of Time’s Qi appeared.

As to why it turned gold, An Le had no idea.

But having no answer, he simply let it be.

Satisfied, he took a deep swig of wine.

With a hopeful thought, An Le tried to draw yet another wisp from the lead courtesan, but the indicator for [Time’s Qi] no longer flickered—he could absorb no more. Clearly, he had reached his daily limit.

With a hint of regret, he turned away, pushing past the flushed and excited scholars, wine jug in hand, and slipped away.

He had only taken a few steps from the crowd when he suddenly stopped short.

Before his eyes, the golden wisp he had just absorbed flickered like incense, trailing delicate tendrils.

In that instant, a painting unfolded before him, its images shifting like scenes in a film.

He saw a woman’s bedchamber: gauzy curtains hanging low, heavy with the scent of rouge.

Upon the bed, the outline of a graceful, alluring figure could be glimpsed.

Looking closely, An Le was taken aback.

For that slender silhouette—

It was none other than the cultivator courtesan, the swordswoman who had soared across West Lake and boarded the flower boat!