As Kai left the sect’s main grounds, he walked a good distance away from the imposing gate before finally exhaling a deep sigh of relief. The tension that always coiled tightly around him within the sect's boundaries began to ease. The air here, outside the main grounds, was lighter—not in terms of qi, which was noticeably less dense than even just past the gates, but in its atmosphere.

  Finally, that’s over with, he thought.

  Kai despised interacting with his fellow sect members. In truth, he disliked cultivators altogether, some more than others. He had never wanted to be one, but that choice had been stripped from him seventy five years ago. His parents had given him up to the sect, entranced by the promise of what they thought was a better future for their son. He had shown a faint spark of cultivation talent, and that was all it took.

  It was a tale as old as time. Cultivators would journey from village to village, scouring the mortal lands for any child with even the slightest glimmer of potential. To mortals, it was a dream come true—a chance to ascend from the struggles of daily life into a realm of power, prestige, and immortality. Parents would surrender their children eagerly, believing they were granting them a golden opportunity.

  But it was all a lie.

  The cultivators weren’t offering a better life. They were offering a life of servitude. Mortals taken into the sect rarely, if ever, ascended to the inner circle. Instead, they became outer sect disciples, toiling endlessly for the benefit of the inner sect elites. At best, they were workers—servants doing menial tasks to keep the sect running. But to Kai, the truth was harsher: they were slaves.

  As far as the sect was concerned, people like him were expendable. Fodder. Resources to be exploited and discarded when no longer useful. Kai had realized this brutal truth long ago, and it had shaped him into someone who saw the world in a way no cultivator likely ever had before:

  He believed he would have been better off as a mortal.

  True, cultivators lived much longer than mortals, and for the most ambitious and talented among them, there was the tantalizing possibility of living forever. But the path to immortality was a lonely one, filled with sacrifices that Kai found impossible to reconcile. If given a choice, Kai would rather live a mere century surrounded by people he loved and cared for than endure endless millennia in isolation. Unfortunately, he had been granted neither option.

  Instead, he was thrust into a life among cultivators—a world devoid of genuine affection. In the sect, relationships were transactional, built on calculated exchanges of benefit rather than heartfelt connections. Even romantic relationships were merely another form of manipulation. Cultivators would feign love if it meant gaining an advantage, but the moment a bond ceased to serve their ambitions, it was discarded without hesitation. In Kai's eighty years of life, he had never experienced meaningful companionship with anyone in the sect.

  Kai’s disdain for this hollow existence set him apart, not just in his actions but in his very soul. His worldview, one of longing for human warmth in a cold and selfish environment, was an anomaly among cultivators. He often wondered how he had come to see the world so differently when everyone else around him embraced its brutal realities. And then he remembered—the dreams.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  In his dreams, Kai lived another life. He wasn’t a cultivator but a mortal named Mike, inhabiting a world vastly different from this one. As Mike, he had a mother who doted on him, a father who guided him, and a sister, Sara, with whom he shared an unbreakable sibling bond. The love he experienced in those dreams was profound, unconditional, and genuine. It was everything the cultivator world lacked, and it left an indelible mark on him.

  Though they were just dreams, they were his anchor. They reminded him of what could have been and shielded him, however slightly, from the crushing loneliness of his reality. Those fleeting glimpses of familial warmth and love were treasures he clung to fiercely, often replaying them in his mind when the weight of his existence felt unbearable.

  If those dreams were just fabrications of my mind, Kai often thought, then why do they feel more real than this life I’ve been forced to live?

  The irony was not lost on him. In a world where cultivators sought to pierce the heavens and attain ultimate freedom, Kai longed for the simplicity and fleeting joy of mortal life—a life filled with love, family, and meaning. Those dreams, fragments of another existence, were his sanctuary, and he valued them more than anything in the cold, calculating world he had been forced into.

  As Kai’s thoughts continued to churn in his mind, he found his feet moving instinctively along the well-trodden path. After a few minutes, he reached a small, familiar fork where a narrow trail branched off toward his modest shack. Yet, without hesitation, he walked past it. Today, his destination lay elsewhere.

  The path stretched on, winding through the quiet forest. The wind rustled the leaves overhead, casting dancing shadows along the ground. Occasionally, the chirping of birds broke the stillness, adding a sense of serenity to the journey. The earthy scent of the woods surrounded him, calming his restless thoughts.

  Eventually, the dense forest began to thin, and the towering trees gave way to open fields. Before him sprawled a patchwork of farmland, with neat rows of rice paddies glimmering in the afternoon light. The rhythmic splashes of workers in the fields and the soft hum of activity created a tranquil melody.

  At the heart of the fields lay a small village called Haebaek. Its simple, weatherworn houses huddled together, their thatched roofs and wooden walls a stark contrast to the grand architecture of the sect villages. The entire place exuded an air of humble resilience, a testament to the mortal farmers who lived and toiled there. Compared to the outer sect territories Kai had just left, Haebaek looked almost decrepit. Yet, to Kai, it carried a warmth and authenticity that no sect settlement could match.

  As he walked along the dirt path leading to the village, a few farmers tending the fields took notice of him. Their faces, streaked with mud from hours of labor, lit up with genuine smiles. The straw hats perched atop their heads bobbed as they waved enthusiastically at him. Their simple joy at his presence was palpable, and it tugged at something deep inside Kai.

  He raised a hand to wave back, his lips curving into a small, unguarded smile. There was no mockery or ulterior motive in their greetings—just honest, uncomplicated warmth. After acknowledging him, the farmers quickly returned to their work, plunging their hands back into the muddy water of the paddies, their focus undeterred by the sweltering sun.

  Kai lingered for a moment, watching them. This place, with its hard working villagers and straightforward way of life, represented everything that cultivators looked down upon. Yet, to him, it was a haven. Here, he wasn’t “Stinky Kai” or the useless stable master. He was just Kai, a visitor who the villagers welcomed without judgment.

  The sight of their unpretentious lives stirred a bittersweet yearning within him. It was a reminder of the path he had never been given the chance to walk—a life of simplicity and love, free from the endless ambition and cutthroat politics of the cultivator world. He let out a quiet sigh, then continued down the path toward the village, his steps lighter as the burdens of the sect seemed to fade, if only for a little while.