Eighteen thousand years after the Investiture of the Gods, eight hundred years after Journey to the West.

A reincarnated engineer, starting as a lowly yamen runner in the southern Zhan Continent, rises to become a leader, in a tale where ten thousand immortals come to pay homage.

When ten thousand immortals come to pay homage, it is the Immortal Dynasty!!!

Volume One: The Mortal World

Chapter One: Youthful Constable

"The rain has just cleared, willows sway, golden threads curl in the mist. Tender clouds support the sun, breaking through to new brightness, old green seeks fragrant grass. On a secluded path, orchid buds are still small. Strange, this year, spring has returned too early. By the willow pond and flower courtyard, ten thousand red lotuses bloom overnight. Plum blossoms and snow swirl in the sky, hard to bear letting the east wind age them. Surrounded by fragrant petals, the Poet Immortal is embraced, driving away the lingering chill of spring. Now, music and song liven the dawn. At the banquet, relatives and guests gather, laughing together. When returning drunk, the moon passes the pearl tower, stars cross the Peng Isle."

This poem, "Candle Shadows Swaying Red," describes the beautiful scene of plum blossoms blooming before the hall. In the dilapidated county office's backyard in Dongling, there are also a few plum branches, but they have long since bloomed, now withered and dry, devoid of any beauty. Beneath the branches, a dozen yamen runners sit in a circle. In the center is a constable of about forty, holding a teapot in one hand, one leg propped on a bench, speaking eloquently, spittle flying, as he recounts the currently popular "Tales of Jianghu Grudges" from the teahouse. The old fellow is quite the storyteller, bringing the tale vividly to life. The expressions of the yamen runners change with the story's twists, and at the exciting parts, they all cheer in unison, shaking loose even more of the already scant tiles atop the shabby county office.

"When the alliance leader is lost, the martial world falls into chaos…"

"And so, heroes vie for supremacy, and champions rise…"

……

……

Dongling, one of countless lower counties in the Tang Empire, was originally the imperial mausoleum of a previous dynasty. Thus, a garrison was stationed here for protection. After the dynasty fell and the world plunged into chaos, the imperial mausoleum gradually became a mass grave. The original garrison survived the catastrophe and settled here, and after a hundred years, a small town formed. Another century later, a new dynasty was established, gathering refugees and setting up a county here, naming it after the old Dongling. Thus, it became today's Dongling County. Now, the Tang Empire has lasted over eight hundred years, and it is an era of peace and prosperity. In a lower county like Dongling, the yamen runners and constables have little to do—usually just handling trivial matters like a chicken lost from the east house or a dog missing from the west, and occasionally extorting some oil and water from merchants at the market. In such a backwater, losing a cow would be considered a major case. So, these yamen runners and constables feel little pressure, and even while on duty, they are quite relaxed—simply out of habit.

The old yamen runner, having finished his story, was pleased by the cheers around him. He gulped down a pot of tea to moisten his throat.

"Alright, that's it for today. No more new stories from He Tower this morning—there's nothing left!!"

"Henry, whose 'nothing' is left?!" Among the yamen runners, a slick, handsome fellow shouted as if he'd struck gold.

"Besides you, who else has nothing left?" Henry chuckled, pointing at the fellow. "Jack, looks like it's your shift today. Hurry up and get going! If Mr. Carter catches you slacking off here, you might get kicked a few more times!!"

The yamen runners burst into laughter again.

Jack grinned sheepishly, grabbed his baton, and ran out.

"By the way, where's Lucas? Practicing in the back again?"

"Yeah, every day at noon, he's always cultivating in the back office. Who knows where he gets the interest!" a yamen runner laughed. "If only Ethan worked half as hard as him, he wouldn't have lost so much face!"

"You're itching for a beating, aren't you!" Henry's face turned stern as he scolded, "If Ethan hadn't done it for his brothers, how could he have gotten hurt? Let me tell you, now that Lucas has joined the yamen, you all need to look out for him. Think about it—which of you here hasn't benefited from Ethan's kindness?"

"Yes, yes, of course!" The yamen runners all nodded in agreement and dispersed.

Henry shook his head, set down the teapot, and turned to enter the inner office.

Dongling is a lower county with limited finances, so the county office is small and in disrepair. Aside from the magistrate's family living in the inner residence, the rest is quite dilapidated. The yamen runners' quarters are especially rundown, but no one minds, since they only stay here twice a month anyway.

The quarters are spacious, with a row of communal beds. The roof has several holes—the largest the size of a bowl, the smallest the size of a finger. At noon, sunlight streams through the holes, forming beams of light. A youth of sixteen or seventeen sits cross-legged on a gray-black bed, meditating and cultivating his qi.

With each breath, as fine as silk, he perfectly grasps the essentials of deep, slow, long, and continuous breathing. Each inhale draws the surrounding air into his abdomen, and with each exhale, a trace of invisible vital energy remains in his body, circulating along several meridians before finally settling in his dantian, forming a small vortex of qi. The youth cannot see this vortex, but he can clearly feel its presence.