Immortality is one of those things people talk about endlessly, yet almost no one agrees on what it actually feels like. For Li Shiming, it didn’t arrive with thunder or visions of heaven splitting apart. It came quietly. An ancient Immortal rested a hand on his head, tied his hair in a gesture that felt more symbolic than grand, and that was it. No warning. No explanation. Just a sense that something had been locked into place, something that would never let go again.
Afterward, time itself seemed to loosen its grip on him. His life no longer felt like a straight line with a clear ending. And buried far deeper than his meridians or dantian, something unfamiliar stirred. It wasn’t spiritual energy. It wasn’t Dao insight either. Inside him existed a sealed computational domain—cold, orderly, and utterly out of place. Within that space rested an IBM z15, complete with 190 CPUs, massive memory capacity, and billions of transistors waiting in silence. It was a relic of another world, a thing that shouldn’t exist here, yet somehow did.
When Li Shiming regained awareness, the Immortal was gone. He was no longer standing at the edge of eternity but lying in the body of a fifteen-year-old boy. The Cultivation Realm stretched around him, vast and indifferent, and his new identity was already set: the son of Nanling Prefecture’s magistrate. From the outside, his life looked enviable. A large residence. Attentive servants. Books stacked neatly in his study. His days followed rules, rituals, and expectations that left little room for chaos.
But calm was a thin layer at best. Li Shiming knew two things almost immediately. First, this world was not kind to the unprepared. Second, if anyone ever discovered what he carried inside him, his fate would be far worse than death.
That understanding sharpens on a quiet night, the kind that usually passes without incident. While strolling through the family garden, he is seized without warning. A blade presses against his neck, cold enough to burn. The man behind him smells of blood and exhaustion, his voice hoarse and strained. Panic threatens to rise, but Li Shiming forces it down. This isn’t an assassin moving cleanly and efficiently. This is someone cornered, desperate, and dangerous because of it.
The intruder identifies himself as Chief Escort Wang from the Weiyuan Escort Agency. He speaks of a massacre, of companions slaughtered at Tianxiang Building, of survival that feels more like punishment than luck. Wang doesn’t want Li Shiming dead—at least not yet. He needs help. To ensure obedience, he produces the Three-day Soul-breaking Pill, a poison infamous enough that no explanation is necessary. Swallow it, he says, or die later. Refuse, and die now.
Li Shiming appears to comply. In reality, the pill never touches his body. It slips into his hidden storage space, locked away inside that silent data center carried over from another life. Wang leaves believing he holds all the leverage. Li Shiming knows better.
That storage space is more than a hiding place. It can observe, analyze, and simulate. Spiritual energy, which most cultivators feel only vaguely, can be quantified there. Techniques can be broken down, tested, and refined. What others call intuition, Li Shiming approaches like a problem waiting to be solved.
For the moment, though, he plays along. Wang demands a prescription prepared with rare medicinal ingredients, insisting nothing be altered. Promises of an antidote are offered, but Li Shiming doesn’t trust them. He could reveal everything to his father with a single sentence. Yet doing so would draw attention he cannot afford. Some problems are safer when handled quietly.
Back in his courtyard, life resumes its familiar rhythm. He speaks politely with his maid Si Qin, gives Mo Yan simple errands, and keeps his expression carefully neutral. No one notices when he checks the mechanical parts he has ordered in secret—components meant for a generator. Power grids don’t exist here, but the IBM z15 will not run on faith alone.
These moments, small and easily overlooked, shape the road ahead. Li Shiming does not rush forward, nor does he hide forever. He moves with caution, weighing risks, watching people, and preparing for a future that will not wait for him to be ready.
In a realm governed by cultivation traditions and spiritual law, Li Shiming is an anomaly. Not a reckless genius. Not a chosen hero. Just someone who refuses to leave his fate to chance. With Dao and technology moving side by side, he advances step by deliberate step, planning eternity with the patience of a machine that never forgets.
