Prologue

A dilapidated thatched hut, dim lamplight.

A small, hunched figure knelt before a simple altar, upon which rested a black spirit tablet and a rusted bronze lamp.

The figure remained motionless, as if determined to kneel there like a stone for eternity.

With a sudden "crack," the flame in the bronze lamp flickered, and at last, the small figure stirred.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

After knocking his head three times with all his might, the small figure abruptly raised his head, revealing a delicate-faced, somewhat pale youth of about twelve or thirteen, dressed in plain mourning clothes.

"Mother, your son is leaving now. Please rest assured—when I go to the The Sullivan Family, I will devote myself to cultivation. Once I master the immortal arts, I will honorably enshrine your spirit tablet in the sacred grounds of the The Sullivan Family, so that all those who once looked down on you will have to bow and pay respects to you year after year."

The youth spoke these words in a low voice, bowed once more, then stood up, turned, and pushed open the door to leave the hut.

"Young Master Brooks, are you ready to return to the The Sullivan Family?" Outside the hut, on a patch of open ground, stood an old man in a green robe with white hair and beard. Seeing the youth emerge, he asked unhurriedly.

"Uncle Harvey, I have already said my farewells to my mother. Please cast your spell," the youth replied, hands at his sides.

"In that case, this old servant will not stand on ceremony. Since Young Master Brooks has never cultivated immortal arts before and his body is still mortal, I will personally escort you back to the The Sullivan Family this time." Uncle Harvey nodded, then raised his head and let out a long howl, rolling on the spot.

With a muffled "boom," a surge of energy swept out in all directions, and in his place appeared a giant azure crane over thirty feet long, its feathers emerald and lustrous, its eyes glowing red.

Moments later, the giant crane let out a clear cry, spread its wings, and soared into the sky with the frail youth on its back, flying toward the horizon.

Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, five years had passed.

The thatched hut still stood alone in that remote place, but the frail, small figure was never seen again...

Chapter One: Exorcising the Demon in the Mountains

Qi Sword Mountain—a massive peak resembling half a sword blade. The upper half was barren, with scarcely any grass or trees, and almost no path to the summit. The lower half, however, was encircled by winding mountain roads, lush and green as far as the eye could see.

At this moment, beside a small path midway up the mountain, next to a meandering brook, two figures sat cross-legged.

One was an old man in a gray robe and bamboo hat, his face wrinkled, looking every bit the part of an old farmer. The other was a young man in blue, with sword-like brows and a handsome face, appearing only seventeen or eighteen.

Each sat on a pale yellow meditation mat, with a massive stone slab between them, about a yard wide, carved with intersecting straight lines and scattered with round black and white pieces—a giant chessboard.

The old man suddenly let out a long sigh, tossed his chess piece into the box, and said to the young man across from him with a wry smile, "Impressive, impressive! I've known you for over half a month now, and we've played chess every day, but I've lost nine out of ten games. Your skill is truly the greatest I've seen in my life."

"I'm merely somewhat adept at calculation. In truth, your chess skills are already quite formidable," the young man replied calmly, lifting his head from contemplation.

"Haha, you are too modest. To my shame, though we've known each other for so many days, I have yet to ask your name. May I know which family you hail from, to have raised someone with such astonishing chess ability?" The old man stroked his beard as he spoke.

"You flatter me, senior. My surname is Sullivan, given name Brooks." The young man smiled slightly.

"Sullivan!"

The old man's expression changed dramatically.

"That's right—the very same The Sullivan Family among the thirty-six Immortal Clans!" Grant Sullivan added slowly.

"The The Sullivan Family! This is bad!"

The old man's face turned deathly pale, and with a shout, he rolled on the ground, transforming into a thick white mist that burrowed into the earth and vanished.

"Trying to escape now? Isn't it a bit late? Did you really think I spent half a month with you for nothing?" the young man murmured, slapping his palm onto the giant stone chessboard before him.

"Bang!"

The seemingly solid stone slab shattered, shooting out countless crystalline threads that flickered and vanished.

A rumbling roar followed, and within a radius of thirty feet, a multicolored magic array appeared on the ground, its surface shimmering with spiritual light, runes of various colors emerging and fading.

A miserable scream rang out.

At the edge of the array, a ball of white mist shot out, spun rapidly, and transformed once more into the old man, now with a face full of terror.

"Impossible! If there was a restriction set here, how could I not have noticed at all?"