A Record of a Mortal's Journey to Immortality: Han Li

Qingniu Village lay at the foot of the vast mountain range. A thin morning mist blanketed the land, and the distant peaks appeared and disappeared like a traditional ink painting.

Han Li crouched beside the stream, both hands submerged in its icy water. He was sixteen, lean, and dark-skinned from years of hard labor. He scooped up some water and splashed it over his face. The chill jolted him awake.

“Xiao Li!” his mother called from afar. “It’s time to go to the herbal shop!”

“Coming!” Han Li stood and brushed the dust from his coarse clothes. His fingers were long and slender, his knuckles well-defined, and his palms covered in calluses. They were the marks left by years of gathering herbs, chopping wood, and working in the fields.

Han Li hurried toward the herbal shop at the village entrance, greeting the few villagers already up along the way. Qingniu Village was small, with barely a hundred households, and everyone knew one another. Han Li had grown up here and knew every blade of grass and every tree in the village.

Inside the shop, Doctor Li was sorting medicinal herbs. When Han Li entered, he said without looking up, “Go gather some perilla leaves today. Make sure they still have dew on them.”

“Yes, Master,” Han Li replied respectfully. He took a herb basket and hoe from the wall, then checked the food and water he had packed.

As he left the shop, Han Li noticed several strangers standing beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance. They wore blue robes and swords at their waists, and their every movement carried an air of distinction. Han Li