The Book of Immortal Cultivation

"Hello, young child," the old man spoke softly, his voice tinged with wisdom. His eyes twinkled with a glimmer of mischief as he observed the innocent face before him. "I can't help but notice your remarkably distinctive aura, one that holds great potential for the cultivation of immortality," he said, his words carrying a certain sense of intrigue. A warm smile slowly spread across the old man's weathered face, revealing years of wisdom and experience etched into his every crease. The little boy, his face bearing the signs of a recent scuffle but still filled with a glimmer of curiosity, hesitantly met the old beggar's gaze, a flicker of hope emerging in his eyes. He responded with a mixture of uncertainty and genuine interest, "Really?"

The aged man shuffled through his tattered beg, the wrinkles on his weathered face deepening as he searched for something amidst the jumble of his meager possessions. His eyes gleamed with an altered motive, a secret agenda hidden beneath his facade of a humble beggar. Finally, his trembling hands grasped hold of a worn book, its pages yellowed and edges frayed from years of use. With a careful grip, he cradled the book, its weight heavy with the weight of hidden knowledge, and embarked on his mission.

Guided by a strange purpose, the old man followed an invisible thread of fate that led him to a young child, innocence radiating from his wide eyes and untarnished soul. The boy's face lit up with curiosity and anticipation as the old man approached, his presence exuding an aura of wisdom and mystery. "If you practice the skill with this," the old man uttered, his voice carrying a hint of ancient wisdom, "you can become immortal."

Intrigued by the prospect of such power, the boy reached out eagerly to receive the book. Yet, in a sudden twist, the old beggar abruptly withdrew his hand, a sly smile curving his lips. His eyes, once filled with benevolence, now shimmered with a mischievous glint. "Nothing is free in this world, young one," he spoke with a hint of cynicism. "If you desire this precious gift, you must provide me with some compensation."

Confusion danced across the boy's face, his innocence momentarily clouded by the realization that everything comes with a price. With a touch of disappointment, he mustered the courage to respond, "I only have five coins."

A flicker of amusement flashed in the old beggar's eyes as he chuckled softly. "It should be enough," he replied, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. The exchange had been made, and the weight of anticipation hung heavily in the air.

With the transaction now complete, the elderly gentleman and the young boy stood on the verge of bidding farewell. However, just as the old man was about to let the boy go, he abruptly halted him and inquired, "Pray tell, what might your name be?"

Startled by the unexpected question, the boy replied with a soft voice, "My name is Evan Rivers."

Eager to explore the potential of the cultivation book, the boy found solace in a secluded spot under the shade of a towering oak tree. Its gnarled branches reached out like ancient hands, providing a sanctuary where he could delve into the depths of the mysterious text. With each turn of the page, his young eyes devoured the intricate diagrams and ancient characters that seemed to pulsate with hidden power. He traced the strokes with his fingertips, feeling the energy thrumming beneath the surface.

He followed the instructions meticulously, mimicking the postures and movements depicted, his body a canvas for the ancient art of cultivation. He stretched his limbs, adopting the stances of warriors from another time. His muscles trembled with exertion as he sought to channel the essence of the techniques. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the dirt on his brow, as he delved deeper into the practice.

For a single day, the boy immersed himself in the art, his determination unyielding. With each breath, he felt the surge of energy within him, a spark of newfound strength and resilience that kindled his spirit. The world around him faded into obscurity as he focused solely on harnessing the power that lay dormant within his being. As dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, he closed the book with a sense of accomplishment, convinced that he had harnessed a fragment of the immortality the old man had promised.

Buoyed by his newly acquired skills, the boy's confidence swelled, and he saw an opportunity to put his cultivation to the test. His bully, a hulking figure with a sneer permanently etched on his face, had tormented him for far too long. This time, armed with his newfound power, the boy believed he could stand up to his oppressor and emerge victorious.

The next day, with his heart pounding, the boy confronted his bully in the schoolyard. The other students watched with bated breath as the tension thickened in the air. The bully, initially taken aback by the boy's newfound strength, soon realized that this was not the same timid child he had tormented in the past. A cruel smile stretched across his face as he engaged in combat.

The boy's movements were swift and purposeful, his cultivation techniques guiding his every strike. He evaded punches and retaliated with precise precision. The crowd gasped in astonishment, momentarily caught between disbelief and awe. But as the confrontation unfolded, the bully's experience and brute force began to tip the scales in his favor.

Blow after blow landed, each one stealing a piece of the boy's resilience and hope. His body ached, bruises forming like dark blossoms upon his skin. The bully's laughter echoed in the air, drowning out the boy's dreams of triumph. Sweat mingled with tears as the boy's strength waned, his cultivated power is unable to match the relentless assault of his adversary.

Defeated and battered, the boy lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his spirit dampened but not extinguished. As the crowd dispersed, leaving him alone in his agony, the weight of disappointment settled upon his young shoulders. Doubt gnawed at his heart, casting shadows over the promises the old man had made. He questioned the validity of the ancient book, doubting whether immortality was truly within his grasp.

"After all," he murmured to himself, a mixture of pain and determination in his voice, "immortality is nothing but a scam." He gathered his tattered belongings, the cultivation book clutched tightly in his hands. The journey was not over; it had only just begun. With each step, he vowed to cultivate not only his physical prowess but also the strength of his character. For it was in that balance that he would discover his own path to resilience and true immortality.

15 years later,

"Well, finally, it's time for me to leave my village and go to the big city in search of a job," Raven said, his face filled with a tinge of sadness as he shared his decision with his mother.

- To be continued.