Senior sister, stop working and go home for dinner.

Chapter 392 Old Stone Sees Immortals Four Times

The next morning.

Fatty Li, sporting dark circles under his eyes, blocked Old Man Shi, who had just arrived to work at the entrance of Xian Shan Fang.

"Uncle Shi, I have something to ask you."

Old Master Shi quickly put down his broom and bowed, saying, "Please speak, Immortal Master."

"Have you heard of the Great Qian Western Army?"

Shi Laosi stopped moving.

He raised his head, a complex emotion flashing in his cloudy old eyes.

"...I've heard of it." His voice was a little hoarse. "That's the backbone of the Great Qian Dynasty."

Fatty Li was taken aback.

Old Shi didn't explain immediately. He lowered his eyes, as if lost in memories.

"When I was young, I went with the villagers to sell mountain products in Tiannan Prefecture. That year, we happened to witness a great victory in the northern frontier. The prefecture was decorated with lanterns and colorful streamers, saying that the Western Army had once again repelled a barbarian invasion. People in the city were saying that Commander Wei personally donned his armor and went into battle, beheading the number one warrior under the barbarian Left Wise King." He paused, his voice lowering, "Back then, I was still young, and hearing these things, I felt that the heavens of the Great Qian Dynasty were still being held up."

Li Pangzi was initially puzzled as to why his master would ask him to inquire about this, but upon hearing what Shi Laosi said, he instantly understood.

Because this general's surname is "Wei".

Is it related to his second senior uncle?

Fatty Li remained silent for a moment before asking, "And then?"

Shi Laosi did not answer "later".

He simply shook his head, his cloudy eyes gazing into a distant direction, and after a long while said, "Later... the immortal masters remained immortal masters, and mortals remained mortals. The Western Army fought against barbarians, not immortal masters. They protected the territory of the Great Qian, but not the people of the Great Qian."

………………

Originally, Shi Laosi planned to explain in detail to Li Pangzi, but Li Pangzi pulled him straight up the mountain.

Shi Laosi was pulled along by Li Pangzi, stumbling and staggering as they walked up the mountain.

His legs were actually quite weak; years ago, he had hunched over making a living in the mountains, and his knees were worn out. Usually, he had to rest three times to walk from the resort to the foot of the mountain. But at this moment, Fatty Li was gripping his wrist, taking quick and large strides, and he didn't feel any pain.

My heart was pounding.

"Immortal... Immortal Master..." he gasped, his Adam's apple bobbing, "This is going to..."

"My master wants to see you," Fatty Li said without turning his head. "He's the one from our Cloud Hidden Sect, you know him."

Of course, Shi Laosi knew.

Although he had only wandered around the Immortal Cuisine Hall for the past two months, he could still see the misty main peak every morning. The villagers had talked about it privately, saying that there was a real "Great Immortal Master" on that mountain, far more powerful than Immortal Master Qi Lan and Master Hui Ming. The day the Immortal Master of Qingyang Valley was pinned to the ground and unable to get up, it was he who had done it.

I've never seen Shi Laosi before.

He would quietly bow in the direction of that mountain every morning as a gesture of gratitude.

Now it's time to go see them.

Shi Laosi's legs began to feel weak.

The stone steps rose one by one, with lush bamboo groves on both sides, their spiritual energy so rich it was almost palpable. He had never walked such a path in his life.

Too clean, too neat, every step looks like it has been carefully polished.

He recalled the path he had walked before.

The dirt road at the entrance of Xiaoshi Village was so muddy on rainy days that you could sink halfway into it, the cold mud sticking to your calves. He walked that road for seventy-two years, wearing it down, and wearing it down himself.

And now, he is walking on a real fairy mountain.

Go and see a true immortal master.

Shi Laosi's breathing became increasingly rapid.

"Immortal Master..." he began again, his voice hoarse, "This old man... this old man is just a farmer, I've never seen much of the world. What if I say something wrong..."

"Don't be afraid." Fatty Li finally turned around, glanced at him, and smiled broadly. "My master doesn't eat people."

Shi Laosi was stunned for a moment.

He lowered his head and stared at his old cloth shoes covered in mud.

I was in a rush this morning and didn't have time to change. There are still bits of scallion on my shoes that I brought from the kitchen of Xian Shan Fang last night.

"I know," he said softly.

he knows.

For the past two months, he had observed daily how these immortal masters treated them, these peasants. Fatty Li would serve the freshly cooked porridge to the elderly and children first. Immortal Master Qi Lan was sharp-tongued, but whenever someone in the village needed help, she was always the first to arrive. Master Huiming never hid from them when chanting sutras, saying that Buddhism saves all beings, regardless of whether they are cultivators or mortals.

he knows.

But he was still afraid.

It's probably not in the brain, but in the bones. In the cracks of the bones that have been broken and reattached over seventy-two years by those "immortal masters." In the tendons that have been kneeling for so many years that their knees have forgotten how to stand upright. In the spine that instinctively wants to prostrate itself every time it hears the words "immortal master."

He wasn't afraid of the Cloud Hidden Sect.

What he feared were the words "immortal master".

The stone steps suddenly became gentler.

Fatty Li stopped and stepped aside, saying, "We're here."

Shi Laosi raised his head.

Ahead was a small stone slab with a few clumps of slender bamboo growing along its edge. The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and wisps of it clung to the bamboo leaves, like clouds still lingering in a dream.

A person stood at the edge of the stone platform, with his back to them, gazing down at the gradually awakening settlement below the mountain.

He wore dark cloth robes, ordinary in material and style, unlike the immortal masters of Qingyang Valley whose robes were embroidered with thunder patterns and fiery clouds, radiating spiritual light as they walked. He stood there, his short hair gently ruffled by the mountain breeze, without revealing a trace of spiritual energy, just like any ordinary young man in the mountains.

He wore dark cloth robes, ordinary in material and style, unlike the immortal masters of Qingyang Valley whose robes were embroidered with thunder patterns and fiery clouds, radiating spiritual light as they walked. He stood there, his short hair gently ruffled by the mountain breeze, without revealing a trace of spiritual energy, just like any ordinary young man in the mountains.

But Shi Laosi only glanced at that back view.

His knees buckled.

It wasn't that he wanted to kneel; the movement was faster than his conscious thought, a conditioned reflex etched into his bones for over seventy years. His knees had already begun to bend, his spine had begun to hunch, and his forehead had begun to search for the ground to touch.

But he did not kneel down.

Fatty Li helped him up.

"Master said," Fatty Li's voice was low, as if relaying an ordinary instruction, "that in the Cloud Hidden Sect, you don't need to kneel before anyone."

Shi Laosi's knees were hanging in mid-air.

He remained in that half-kneeling position, like an old sculpture that had forgotten how to land. His throat bobbed violently, and something was rapidly gathering and overflowing in his cloudy eyes.

The figure turned around.

Young, even younger than he had imagined. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were peaceful, lacking the condescending scrutiny of the Qingyang Valley Immortal Master, or the undisguised indifference of a roadside immortal master upon first seeing a mortal.

He was just looking at someone.

As Shi Laosi was being stared at by those eyes, he suddenly realized that all of his more than seventy years of groveling, his more than seventy years of desperate struggle for survival, and his more than seventy years of waking up in terror every night to reach for the wood-chopping knife by his bedside had been seen.

It's not about being judged.

It was simply seen.

Chen Anran smiled slightly at Shi Laosi and then said, "Please have a seat, Mr. Shi."

He pointed to a flat bluestone at the edge of the stone platform.

It wasn't a offer of a seat.

It means to sit.

Shi Laosi's lips trembled violently.

He wanted to say "This old man dares not," he wanted to say "There is no seat for this old man before the immortal master," he wanted to say the first and only words he had learned in those seventy-two years to save his life.

A lowly person dares not sit on equal footing with a celestial master.

But in the end he said nothing.

He sat down.

Chen Anran sat down next to him.

This wasn't the first time Chen Anran had met Shi Laosi, but it wasn't exactly the first time he'd known him either. Because within this 30-kilometer radius, Chen Anran could know everything and everyone if he wanted to.

There was no condescension, no looking down. They simply sat side by side, like two ordinary people, watching the smoke from the chimneys rise gradually below the mountain.

"My disciple said that you know about the Western Army."

Old Shi clutched the coarse cloth on his knees.

"...I know." His voice was dry, as if it had been ground from gravel. "The backbone of Daqian."

Chen Anran did not ask any further questions.

He remained silent.

Old Shi's eyes began to well up with tears again.

He knew that this immortal master was waiting for him to speak.

It wasn't an interrogation, nor was it forced confession, nor was it like those Qingyang Valley Immortals holding a knife to his throat and demanding, "Will you talk or not?" He simply waited, like an ordinary young man listening to an ordinary old man recount stories from bygone years.

Old Shi slowly loosened his grip on the coarse cloth.

"...Commander Wei," he began, his throat sounding as if it had been rubbed raw by coarse sandpaper, "I've never seen him. I've only heard of him."

"I've heard that he fought without regard for his life. During the years when the barbarians invaded the border, the Western Army fought thirteen battles in a single year, and he went into battle eleven times in armor. In the last battle, an arrow pierced through his chest and back, but he was still on horseback when he killed the number one warrior under the barbarian Left Wise King."

He paused.

"That was forty-three years ago."

Forty-three years ago, he was twenty-nine years old. That year, Qingyang Valley had just taken over this land, and the "spiritual food" had increased from ten catties to thirty catties per month. His wife was newly pregnant with their first child and was so hungry that her ankles were swollen and left a dent when pressed.

He was young then, nimble on his feet, and dared to cross mountains and valleys to sell mountain products in Tiannan Prefecture in exchange for a few handfuls of coarse rice.

He stood in front of the state government's notice board, listening to someone read out the battle report of the great victory in the northern frontier.

"Commander Wei," the man pronounced, "Weifu Army."

He carried the brown rice in his pocket and walked back, traversing the mountain path all night.

He didn't know what Commander Wei looked like, nor what color the Western Army's banner was. He only knew that someone was fighting in the northern frontier against those barbarians who were even more ferocious than Qingyang Valley, who refused to pay tribute and only ate human flesh.

He helped his wife up and fed her the bowl of brown rice porridge spoonful by spoonful.

His wife finished her drink and said, "This spring is so cold, I'm afraid half of the seedlings in the fields will freeze to death."

He said, "It's nothing."

He didn't tell her about the great victory in northern Xinjiang.

What's the use of saying anything? The barbarians can't be defeated, and the immortal master of Qingyang Valley is right at the foot of the mountain.

"And then?" Chen Anran asked.

Shi Laosi remained silent for a long time.

"Later..." His voice trailed off, "Forty-three years ago, that bowl of coarse rice porridge couldn't save that child. My wife got pregnant again the following year, and this time she gave birth to a boy. When he was seven, people from Qingyang Valley came and said he had spiritual roots. They took him away to test his destiny for immortality. After the test, they brought him back and said it wouldn't work; his spiritual roots were too mixed, and he couldn't become an immortal master. He lay in bed for three days and then died."

He paused.

"My wife didn't make it through that winter either."

"I don't know if this counts as something Wei Shuai saved," he said. "The barbarians from the northern frontier didn't attack, and the immortal master of Qingyang Valley is still alive. My wife is gone, but I'm still alive."

"To live... you always have to find something to look forward to."

He turned to Chen Anran, his cloudy old eyes glistening with a thin layer of tears, but they didn't fall.

"Immortal Master," he said, "may this old man have a question—"

"Are there many immortals like you?"

This question is completely unrelated.

Chen Anran understood.

He asked: Are there many immortal masters like you who don't treat people like ants?

Are there many immortal masters like you who would give up their seats to mortals, wait for others to speak up, and ask "What happened next?" instead of "Where is the Spirit Valley?"

Are there many places like the Hidden Cloud Sect?

Chen Anran remained silent for a moment.

"Not many," he said, "but there will be more and more."

Shi Laosi looked at him.

Something was slowly changing in those cloudy old eyes.

It's not trust; trust is still too far away. It's not hope; hope is too extravagant.

That was merely the first crack appearing on the ice of more than seventy years of fear.

What seeped out from the crack was a tiny glimmer of light, one he dared not even name.

"...That would be great," said Old Man Shi.

His voice was very soft, as if he were afraid of waking something.

After saying "That's great!", Shi Laosi remained silent for a long time, so long that the wisps of smoke from the chimneys at the foot of the mountain turned into a dense thicket, so long that Fatty Li paced back and forth several times in the distance, but still didn't dare to go up and urge him.

Chen Anran didn't move either.

He sat there beside Shi Laosi, gazing at the gradually forming settlement below the mountain, at the tiny figures moving in the morning light, and at the vast, boundless primeval forest in the distance.

"Immortal Master," Shi Laosi suddenly spoke again, his voice steady this time, "you just asked about the Western Army..."

He paused.

"I also know one more thing."

Chen Anran turned her face to the side.

"More than ten years ago," Shi Laosi spoke slowly, as if he were laboriously retrieving something from the depths of his memory, "there was a flurry of gossip in Tiannan Prefecture. It was said that a happy event had occurred at Marshal Wei's residence—the general's only son, Wei Qiming, had a daughter."

His fingers curled up on his knee.

"That child, still named Yiran."

Chen Anran's eyelashes trembled slightly.

Old Shi didn't look at him. The old man's gaze was fixed on a distant, mist-shrouded mountain peak, the sunlight reflecting in his cloudy eyes.

"I was young then, so I just listened. What does the daughter of a general have to do with us commoners? We're hundreds of miles apart, separated by a city wall that's as insurmountable as a chasm. She's a phoenix, born to perch on a golden branch."

"But somehow, I remembered the name."

Chen Anran did not respond.

He simply gazed down the mountain, his eyes fixed on a single point in the void.

Fatty Li stopped a short distance away. He couldn't hear what his master and Old Man Shi were saying, but he could see his master's back.

The back that had been ramrod straight since the transmigration, seemingly never to bend, now seemed to sag slightly.

It was just a fleeting moment.

Li Pangzi thought it was just his imagination as they approached.

"Immortal Master," Old Man Shi said, supporting himself on his knees as he stood up, his joints cracking softly. "If there's nothing else, I won't disturb your peaceful cultivation any longer."

After regaining his senses, Chen Anran said to Fatty Li, "Let's escort Old Man Shi down the mountain."

"Yes, Master."

The hunched figure slowly made its way down the stone steps, one by one, and Fatty Li quickly stepped forward to help him. The old man's steps were slow, but he never stopped.