Cultivation Nerd
Chapter 270: The Old Meets The New

Ling Huyin looked up at the sky, his breath steady, shoulders heavy.

The sun sank low on the horizon, casting its dying light across the clouds and staining them a deep, smoldering crimson, like blood smeared across the heavens. The lake before him rippled quietly, reflecting the fiery sky in its still surface.

He hoped, really hoped, this was the last lake.

This journey, wandering from one forgotten corner of the map to another, far from any trace of human civilization, had worn him down more than he cared to admit. Each place felt more remote than the last.

He exhaled through his nose and glanced around.

No shrines. No altars. No beasts. Just cold wind, tired legs, and one more sunset over water.

Let this be the last one, he thought, narrowing his eyes against the light.

There was a time when he’d been an Immortal, when he could cross the continent in a breath. But now, without enough Qi to support wide-range teleportation techniques, that time was long gone.

He’d need to be at least a one-star Nascent Soul cultivator to handle that kind of drain again.

As the soft, dewy snow crunched beneath his feet, Ling Huyin sighed. He sensed monstrous beasts in the distance, again.

He’d dealt with plenty of them recently. And with his meager Foundation Establishment cultivation, there wasn’t much he could do anymore. He’d already driven off two hordes and had no interest in dealing with a third.

If only the old rabbit hadn’t been so vague.

But Ling Huyin knew how these kinds of techniques worked. The information was never exact, and always veiled. After all, an immortal technique was an absolute glimpse of a future that couldn’t be changed. They were future certainties wrapped in riddles.

Still, it had taken him a long time just to begin the search for the youngest and oldest immortals alive.

The oldest? Ling Huyin didn’t even want to think about it. It was probably some old monster like the Eternal Grave Immortal, the one who killed other immortals like it was breakfast.

That generation had been full of lunatics. Which was probably why they’d all died off so quickly.

As for the youngest… that was easier.

Though not as easy as one might think.

First, he had to figure out who it was. And he’d gotten a rough idea after hearing news of what sounded suspiciously like a heavenly calamity near the Blazing Sun Sect.

It clearly hadn’t been for the Blazing Sun Immortal, based on the name alone, the guy likely used fire.

And Heaven’s will, while not conscious or scheming, would never send such a measly calamity after someone who could easily handle it.

The real problem was finding the guy.

Because no Immortal was ever easy to find.

If he’d already built defenses against divination techniques, then this was going to be a very long journey.

Ling Huyin might have to look for this guy in his next life.

However, after months of nothing turning up, Ling Huyin had to do something he didn’t necessarily like.

He used a Future-Reading Sky Grade Technique.

The Thread Cutter Revelation Technique was a Sky Grade ability that could peer once into the future yearly, and only for one person. Despite its limitations, its sheer precision had earned it the coveted Sky Grade classification. It was one of the more refined ones of its type: highly restricted, but brutally accurate under the right conditions.

Of course, the future it revealed wasn’t fixed. Immortals, beings outside fate's norms, could still bend it.

That was exactly why Ling Huyin had hesitated to use it. He was no longer one of those creatures. He could be bound by the fate cast from a mere Sky Grade technique.

Thankfully, the reading hadn’t been about his death. Or he might’ve had to reveal himself just to survive.

“Anybody there?” he called out, voice echoing slightly off the lake’s surface.

He’d be here a few days, maybe more. Just him, the cold, and a prayer to his future immortal self. Unfortunately, he’d never been a real Array Conjurer, Alchemist, or Artifact Maker in his previous life. If he had, that knowledge would’ve carried over, and he wouldn’t be quite so helpless now.

Sure, he had basic mastery in all three. But nothing considered impressive.

And against an immortal, unless one of those practices had been pushed to the eighth or ninth stage, they were nearly useless. That level of refinement required not only talent but thousands of years of cultivation and practice.

That was why he’d never bothered.

He was beginning to regret that now.

Even at the sixth or seventh stage, those skills would’ve been invaluable and might’ve made up for his severely lacking strength.

Ling Huyin muttered a short chant under his breath, the words barely audible over the wind. His fingers moved with practiced precision, forming a sequence of hand seals in smooth, fluid motions. As the last seal locked into place, a low hum rippled through the air.

A heating array flared to life around him, faint lines of red light forming a square the size of a small house. It expanded outward in a quiet wave. Within moments, the snow within its radius began to melt, sizzling softly as warmth spread through the ground.

The chill in the air dulled. The biting wind no longer clawed at his skin. Frost on his robes began to lift and vanish.

The warmth wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to take the edge off. To make the cold survivable, rather than suffocating.

He sat down in the array’s center, stretching his legs with a quiet sigh.

It wasn’t luxury.

But it was enough.

He stared at the darkening sky. One prophecy, one thread, and now nothing but waiting.

The prophecy went like this:

When the plum tree bears frost before its flower,

And a falling star is seen by none,

Go to the lake where no birds sing at dawn.

There, the boy who bears the mark of silence waits.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

His flame is pale, yet not extinguished.

Lit not by heaven’s will, but by defiance.

A fisherman who casts without bait

Will speak your name before you offer it.

Follow the ripples, not the fish,

For the youngest Immortal walks the shore unseen.

As he sat on the warm ground, heated by his array, Ling Huyin’s thoughts drifted toward the prophecy, its cryptic phrasing, and its weight.

Then something tingled at the edge of his senses.

Faint. Like a hair brushing his skin. But sharp enough to pull him from thought.

His eyes narrowed. He turned northward, toward a sparse forest of naked, skeletal trees stretched into the dimming light.

There, among the shadows of a larger tree, was a smaller one.

At first glance, it looked ordinary and unremarkable in shape or color. But to someone attuned to the flow of Qi, it stood out. Not visibly. Not physically. But its presence was too perfect. Its Qi was faint, but refined, blending so seamlessly with its surroundings that even a Core Formation cultivator might overlook it if they weren’t paying attention.

But Ling Huyin was.

That tree… no, that thing had the strength of a peak Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Well-hidden. But not well enough.

He slowly rose to his feet, eyes never leaving the still silhouette cloaked in winter bark and quiet intent.

Among the longest-lived monstrous beasts were the plant types. But they were also the slowest to cultivate. For a plant-beast to live this long and grow this strong, it had to develop cunning. And despite being far across the field, it was still cautious and still hiding.

Though Ling Huyin had lost an Immortal’s natural sensitivity, he still retained a sliver of that higher perception. Enough to sense something as subtle as this, a mere tree, not even using a Sky Grade technique to veil itself.

He closed his eyes.

The world dimmed into hush.

He gathered his Qi, not into his limbs or dantian, but into his eyes. The energy coiled tighter, denser, swirling behind his eyelids until the air itself began to pulse in response.

Then he opened them.

His pupils were gone.

In their place were two voids. Deep. Lightless. Endless.

Like twin black holes carved into his face, they pulled at the air, the light, and reality itself. Looking into them felt like staring into the universe’s wound, the stars stripped away, time paused on the edge of meaning.

He sighed.

This technique was a pain to use at long range. It cost too much Qi for his current stage.

Soul Blink Erasure Technique.

A sharp, clean crack echoed through the still air.

A fist-sized hole appeared in the tree’s thick trunk. Precise, brutal, and without warning.

A moment later, dark blood burst from the opening in a violent spray, splattering across bark and soaking into the roots.

The tree shuddered once.

Then went still.

Ling Huyin exhaled. Now that that was over, he could return to thinking about the prophecy.

He didn’t like them. Never had.

But he’d worked with hundreds.

Vague. Metaphorical. Often nonsense. Usually full of wording only an all-knowing being would understand. Open to interpretation. Frustratingly poetic.

When the plum tree bears frost before its flower.

A disruption of the natural sequence. Ling Huyin recognized it immediately: a sign of premature awakening. Likely tied to the strange winters of recent years.

And a falling star is seen by none.

A cultivation breakthrough that escaped the eyes of the world?

No. More likely, it was Heaven's chosen, the one he'd almost killed. The Four Way Immortal must have nudged fate just enough to complete the job.

Go to the lake where no birds sing at dawn.

A simple lake, perhaps. Cursed in local superstition, or maybe just lonely. Unvisited. Avoided.

Ling Huyin could find it. Ordinary lakes were easy. The problem was that there were so damn many of them.

There, the boy who bears the mark of silence waits.

That could mean anyone. A boy in spirit or in mind.

His flame is pale, yet not extinguished.

Lit not by Heaven's will, but by defiance.

This line was likely the key.

A new immortal, but not one blessed by the heavens. One who slipped through fate's cracks and burned with something else.

A fisherman who casts without bait

Will speak your name before you offer it.

A hidden expert? A remnant spirit?

This was the sign.

The fisherman was the map, not the solution. The prophecy wasn't about catching the fish but finding the one who knew where to look.

Follow the ripples, not the fish,

For the youngest Immortal walks the shore unseen.

Watch the reactions. Ignore the obvious. Don't chase the target. Stir the water, and let the answer come on its own.

He gathered his thoughts in silence.

What troubled him most was that a large part of the prophecy had nothing to do with him and was likely predicting the Age of Immortals in one way or another. Which meant the age was almost here. It was close. Too close. Probably less than half a millennium.

He walked along the quiet shore of the lake and finally arrived at the edge of the field, and was about to enter the forest surrounding the lake. An abandoned lake, isolated and far from any known settlements. No footsteps, no fire pits, no signs of foraging.

Just silence.

He turned toward the water, momentarily dazed by its beauty.

The lake stretched out before him, calm and still, its surface like polished glass. It reflected the sky with perfect clarity, and the light danced gently across the ripples made by the passing wind. Beneath the surface, he could see fish weaving through the water. Graceful, undisturbed, as if they'd never once known fear.

The water was so clear it bordered on surreal. No murk, no scum, no hint of algae or decay. It was untouched. Untainted. Not by human hands, not by beasts, not even by time.

Ling Huyin had spent quite some time as an Immortal, and before that, as a peak Nascent Soul cultivator. He had almost forgotten the feeling of hunger, sleep… even breathing.

But now, with only a Foundation Establishment cultivation?

He felt mortal again.

And, strangely, a part of him liked it.

Eating something delicious after real hunger. Sleeping after a long, exhausting day. Feeling the bite of the wind against skin that could bruise.

It made him feel alive.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. Sentimentality didn’t suit him.

There were still lakes to search, likely even those unmarked on maps. If only he still had his inheritance. But that had almost certainly been destroyed by the Soul-Eating Piranhas that killed him in his last life.

Even so, he decided to rest for a bit.

His cultivation had stalled from traveling through dead zones, areas with no life, no Qi, nothing to absorb. In his previous life, talent had let him bypass these issues. But now?

His talent was average. He had to make every decision count.

Imagine wasting a second life because he couldn’t live long enough to break through. That would be tragic.

Still, if that happened… maybe he could leave behind something valuable. An inheritance in a place no one would ever find. A map for his next self. Somewhere to begin again.

Somewhere his future reincarnation wouldn’t have to start from nothing.

That thought was still dancing in his head when a voice interrupted him.

“Huh. Got some visitors here?”

The tone was calm. Almost lazy.

Ling Huyin didn’t flinch. He’d once been an Immortal himself, and he knew the difference between mundane stealth and the kind of presence that couldn’t be detected even with Sky Grade techniques.

He turned slowly.

A man stood behind him.

Tan skin. Average-looking. Dark hair, brown eyes. A straw hat tilted low over his face. White linen shirt. Dark pants.

If someone had asked Ling Huyin to picture a farmer who’d never ridden in a proper carriage, this would have been the image.

But he’d seen weirder.

No average person ever became an Immortal. They were all twisted, eccentric, and obsessed. It was that unique, immovable, and absolute sense of self that let them slip past the bindings of fate.

“Hello, new Immortal. I’m here to make a deal that would benefit both of us," Ling Huyin said and folded his arms. Finally having found his target.