“Oh.”

The beautiful heiress took William Bolton to a very upscale place. William Bolton’s attire formed a stark visual contrast with the surroundings, drawing the attention of the other guests to him almost involuntarily.

William Bolton, however, seemed completely oblivious, following behind Grace Foster with a smile, calm and composed.

Grace Foster ordered quite a few dishes and even opened a bottle of red wine to celebrate William Bolton’s recovery.

While savoring the delicacies of the mortal world with refined manners, William Bolton chatted idly with Grace Foster.

“I feel like you’re a bit different,” Grace Foster said, her cheeks flushed from the wine, staring at William Bolton.

“Different how?” William Bolton picked up his wine glass and took a sip. Hmm, the taste wasn’t great, the alcohol content was too low—might as well be plain water.

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you just seem so calm about everything. Whether it was the car accident, your time in the hospital, or even now.” Resting her chin on her hand, Grace Foster continued, “At the very least, I hit you with my car. Most people would want to hold me accountable after waking up, right? If I’d run into someone unreasonable, they might even try to cling to me.”

“Life is unpredictable, and misfortune can strike at any time. There’s nothing to complain about. Besides, why would I cling to you? It was my fault to begin with.”

“You really are open-minded.” Grace Foster smiled, then reached into her bag and placed a bank card in front of William Bolton. “This is my compensation for you. There’s a hundred thousand in it, and the password is your birthday.”

William Bolton looked up at her and clearly saw the hopeful expectation in the eyes of this beautiful, slightly tipsy woman.

“Thanks.” After a moment’s hesitation, William Bolton accepted the bank card without the slightest reservation.

“It’s only right.” Although Grace Foster still wore a smile, it was much more forced now.

She was very disappointed. She had thought this guy was someone special, but she hadn’t expected him to accept the bank card with a hundred thousand so easily. It was far from what she’d hoped for.

The previously warm and lively atmosphere instantly fell silent.

“I’m full.” After a while, William Bolton picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth.

“Oh, I’m feeling a bit dizzy. You should head back to school on your own,” Grace Foster said, holding her forehead.

“Okay. Be careful driving.” With that, William Bolton walked out of the private room.

“Oh, and if you have any aftereffects, remember to call me,” Grace Foster said, as if in passing.

Watching the back of this boy who seemed not to care about anything, Grace Foster shook her head with a bitter smile. She couldn’t say why, but she just felt disappointed.

During their time together in the hospital, this boy had left a very special impression on her. Grace Foster had thought they could be friends—chat when bored, that sort of thing. But now… seeing him accept her bank card so bluntly, Grace Foster was disappointed.

When expectations and reality clash, Grace Foster realized that maybe this boy wasn’t as indifferent as he seemed—at least, not when it came to money.

Of the bottle of red wine, William Bolton had only taken a sip; the rest was finished off by Grace Foster alone.

When William Bolton walked out of the grand hotel, he knew that he and this girl named Grace Foster probably wouldn’t cross paths again.

What a mess! He was someone who pursued the immortal path—if he got too entangled with ordinary people, it would only bring unnecessary trouble.

So, when he understood the look in Grace Foster’s eyes, he deliberately shattered that expectation.

Leaving the hotel, he patted his pockets—only his ID card, student card, and a handful of loose change.

Where to go? Now that his cultivation was completely lost, he should find a place to quietly cultivate. Squinting up at the murky sky, William Bolton knew that this seemingly peaceful environment would probably descend into chaos in three to five years.

Demons would seek rebirth, righteous cultivators would choose successors—at most, in three to five years, some cultivators and demons would reappear in this world.

William Bolton didn’t want trouble. Immortals, Buddhas, demons—none of that concerned him. Over a thousand years ago, he was just a rogue cultivator who, through his own efforts, had gradually reached the third level of Nascent Soul.

Last time, a moment of greed had cost him his physical body and the chance to ascend. This time, having finally found a body with excellent potential, he figured he might as well cultivate again.

After thinking it over, William Bolton decided to return to Hua University first. There were lots of people there, all energetic young students—a place where evil wouldn’t easily intrude, and a good spot to hide his identity and avoid trouble.

As long as he gave himself some time to cultivate and regain the power to protect himself, he could once again pursue the immortal path.

Everything on campus felt both familiar and strange to William Bolton. The familiarity came from the original memories of this body; the strangeness was William Bolton’s own.

Relying on memory, he returned to his old dormitory. His roommates were all quite surprised to see William Bolton; none of them had expected him to be discharged from the hospital so soon.