Chapter 62

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[Shuili Village, under the jurisdiction of the Prefecture City]

Qi Wuhuo glanced at the address left behind by the victimized girl from that incident. He performed an incantation to obscure himself before stepping out of the gate. As he turned, he caught sight of the grand city gates. Above the main gate stood an imposing tower, its highest point adorned with majestic bronze statues of divine beasts—Chaofeng and Jiaotu.

Chaofeng was fond of gazing into the distance, while Jiaotu despised intruders entering its domain.

The gate tower was adorned with numerous sculptures, but Qi Wuhuo couldn’t shake the feeling that the Chaofeng statue atop the central gate of Zhongzhou City was unusual.

It seemed almost alive, as if it had just glanced at him.

And then, it abruptly turned its head away.

Now, its eyes were fixed intently on the clouds in the distance.

“Was it just an illusion?”

The young Daoist was startled. Yet, when he sensed the Chaofeng staring at him again, he bowed his head slightly in the direction of the statue.

At that moment, the Chaofeng appeared to twitch slightly. Its eyes visibly shifted. Though carved from stone, it gave off an oddly stiff impression.

“As expected of Zhongzhou City. It’s not the same as in my dreams.”

Qi Wuhuo pondered this, silently committing the peculiar encounter to memory.

Immediately, Qi Wuhuo activated the Earth Spirit Deity Technique, following the directions recorded in the jade slip gifted by Tao Taigong. Even as he traversed through the Earth Veins, there was no fear of losing his way. Zhongzhou Prefectural City was the most prosperous location in the entire Zhongzhou region. Within the empire, it ranked just below the imperial capital in grandeur. However, only a small portion of the populace resided within the city’s walls, in the [wards], while the majority lived in villages and settlements outside.

The divisions of villages, towns, and hamlets remained intact.

Shuili Village wasn’t too far from the prefectural city.

This settlement, built near a river flowing by the city’s left side, thrived from its proximity to water. When Qi Wuhuo arrived, it was still early. The winter river seemed to flow more sluggishly than usual. The village appeared well-off, with villagers bustling about, their faces brimming with joy and contentment. Many households had already pasted up spring couplets, preparing for the upcoming New Year festivities.

The young Daoist noticed an elderly man lounging in a recliner, basking in the rare warmth of the winter sun.

Approaching him, Qi Wuhuo began to inquire. Using the details the girl had shared with him as proof, he claimed to be an acquaintance of hers, entrusted with a task that had brought him to the village. The old man, holding a scroll in his hand, looked up at him and said: “Are you speaking of Zheng Xiu’s family? Her daughter went missing a long time ago. Has there finally been word of her?”

“May I ask, elder, where her family resides now?”

“Her family? Well, it’s complicated. Little Daoist, come with me. I’ll show you the way.”

The old man shook his head, setting the book in his hand aside. He motioned for Qi Wuhuo to follow and began leading the way.

As they walked, the two engaged in casual conversation. Qi Wuhuo learned that the elder had once been a scholar who had passed the imperial exams at the level of Xiucai, but his career in officialdom had been disappointing. In his later years, he returned to his hometown, spending his days reading, admiring flowers, and teaching children to read and write. A simple and content life. When the topic shifted to the missing child, the old man sighed deeply, recounting how he had once taught her to read and write. He never imagined she would disappear so suddenly. [TL_Note: This title was awarded to individuals who passed the county-level examinations.]

Stopping before a doorway, the old man abruptly turned to Qi Wuhuo and asked: “Little Daoist, tell me…”

“That child, has she already…”

His words trailed off.

Noticing the young Daoist’s expression, the elder seemed to guess the truth but said nothing further, only heaving a sigh.

He knocked on the door and called out, “Xiao Lian? Xiao Lian?” After calling a few times without any response, he pushed the door open and gestured for Qi Wuhuo to enter. The courtyard was that of an ordinary farmhouse. On one side, there had once been a plot of land likely used for growing vegetables, but it was now overgrown and abandoned. Dust covered every corner of the courtyard, weeds sprouting in clumps. Though the New Year was near, there were no signs of festive preparations. The place seemed utterly desolate.

The old man knocked on the door several times before a voice finally responded from within.

A figure fumbled out—it was the mother of the missing girl. She couldn’t have been more than forty years old, yet she appeared haggard beyond her years. Her face was gaunt, her body emaciated, and most of her once-black hair had turned white. What little remained was brittle and lifeless, resembling withered grass after autumn—its roots severed, devoid of nourishment, with vitality fading like drifting thistledown.

The old man sighed heavily, his expression dark with sorrow.

“When she was little, I used to hold her in my arms.”

“When she was born, I was about your age, a young scholar, full of ambition. Watching her grow up, I never thought things would turn out like this.”

He whispered softly to Qi Wuhuo.

The woman greeted them, her voice weak yet tinged with hope: “Ah, is it you, Brother Zhou?”

“You came to find me, is it news about my daughter? Has she been found?!”

Her tone was eager, yet her eyes were dull and unfocused, as though she could no longer see clearly and she was looking in the wrong direction. Qi Wuhuo didn’t ask any further questions and instead replied calmly: “I have news of her…”

“Ah!”

At his words, the woman’s emotions surged. She stumbled forward, only to knock into the side of a table, sending its contents clattering to the floor. She collapsed to her knees, trembling, but her hands reached out desperately to grasp Qi Wuhuo’s, refusing to let go. Her voice broke into choked sobs, barely coherent:

“Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven!”

“Thank you, Bodhisattva! Thank you, Buddha! Thank you, Jade Emperor! My daughter… my daughter…”

She wept uncontrollably.

The old man was about to comment that this was a Daoist priest before her, not a monk, so why was she thanking Buddha and Bodhisattvas? However, before he could speak, the young Daoist knelt slightly, his hands gently supporting the woman’s frail and wrinkled hands. His voice was calm and reassuring:

“Mm, the Bodhisattva will bless her… and will bless you as well.” The woman, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions, cried herself into exhaustion before falling into a deep, unconscious slumber. Qi Wuhuo opened the door to the inner room, and even the air seemed to carry a faint, musty scent, as if decay had already begun to settle in. He carefully helped the girl’s mother onto the bed and laid her down.

Then, he checked her pulse.

The old man stood silently nearby.

After a long moment, Qi Wuhuo withdrew his hand and said: “She already has chronic ailments… combined with grief and emotional trauma, it has greatly depleted her vital essence. She eats very little, which has further drained her vitality… Her life force is severely damaged. Without proper rest and care to calm her spirit and replenish her strength, I’m afraid she won’t live much longer.”

“As for her eyesight…”

Qi Wuhuo turned his gaze toward the old man.

The elder sighed heavily and explained: “Her health was never good to begin with. Later, in order to raise her daughter, she pushed herself far beyond her limits. You know how it is in villages—many people can’t bear to spend money on doctors. They endure illnesses until they worsen, and when it gets bad enough, they still grit their teeth and hold on. That’s what happened to her.

She worked so hard to raise her daughter, even asking us to help find a good match for her. But later, the girl rejected the proposal, saying she didn’t want to marry far away because she needed to stay close to care for her sick mother.”

“The groom’s family didn’t want her to marry into their household either, and they quarreled several times about it.”

“Later, the girl disappeared.”

“Her mother dragged her frail body everywhere, searching and searching. After months of finding nothing, her health gave out. She couldn’t walk anymore, so she just cried. And as she cried… she went blind.”

“But she didn’t dare die.”

“She was afraid her daughter might come back one day and not find her here.”

“So she kept holding on. We villagers brought her food, and she would eat it.”

“That’s how people are, isn’t it? No matter how bitter life gets, they don’t want to die. They just keep enduring.”

The old man sighed heavily as he spoke.

Qi Wuhuo stood silently for a long time. Then he extended two fingers and, with a series of precise movements, quickly pressed on the acupoints of the woman lying on the bed. In an instant, even the elder could sense her breathing becoming steady and regular. The young Daoist’s face, however, grew noticeably pale. The old man was startled and asked: “This… ”

Qi Wuhuo replied: “It’s a form of acupuncture. The fundamental principle is to restore the body’s righteous Qi to expel evil spirits.”

“In this case, I used my own Qi as the needle to stimulate her depleted life force directly. It’s a simpler and more effective method.”

“I’ll remain here to help her recover her vitality and stabilize her condition before I leave.”

The old man, watching the young man administer the treatment, couldn’t help but ask: “Are you related to her?”

The young Daoist answered calmly: “No.”

“Then why go to such lengths for her?”

Qi Wuhuo replied: “A promise.”

“And also, the one who harmed her daughter was a Daoist, a disciple of the Daoist sects.”

“This is simply how it should be…”

The old man still couldn’t understand and asked further:

“What does it matter if they’re a Daoist disciple? What does that have to do with you?”

The young Daoist did not answer directly. He merely smiled gently and said:

“My cultivation is shallow.”

“But if I can help, I help. There’s no deeper connection than that.”

Within his sleeve was a scroll of white paper, upon which were written countless people’s stories and experiences. He had once sighed that the life and death of a person was nothing more than a line of words, a mark of ink. Yet now, standing here, he understood. That single line of text, that single mark of ink, carried such tremendous weight.

The young Daoist began to tidy up the disordered house, and the old man joined in to help.

By the end, the room was much cleaner, refreshed with a sense of newness.

The old man sighed: “With the new year approaching, I’ll bring over some red paper for couplets. And we mustn’t forget to write a post for the Kitchen God.”

[TL_Note: The Kitchen God (灶神, Zao Shen) is a deity in Chinese folklore and Taoist traditions, overseeing the household, particularly the kitchen. He is believed to observe and report the behavior of a family to the Jade Emperor, the supreme deity, at the end of each lunar year.]

He fetched the red paper while Qi Wuhuo prepared the brush and ink.

The young man composed a pair of couplets, his strokes steady and elegant. The old man couldn’t help but clap his hands in admiration. “What fine calligraphy! What splendid words!”

“Better than this old man’s by far. Here, here, write the post for the Kitchen God too!”

Qi Wuhuo picked up the brush again.

The memories of the Yellow Millet Dream were gradually fading, along with the emotions tied to it. Yet, the skills and knowledge Qi Wuhuo had gained during that time remained real and intact. With the meticulous control over his body that cultivation afforded, he reproduced the calligraphy once mastered by Master Wuhuo, inscribing a blessing-filled prayer onto the red paper. His hope was that the Kitchen God would protect this unfortunate household in the coming year.

The old man admired the boy’s writing, but suddenly shook his head and chuckled: “You’ve written it wrong, you’ve written it wrong.”

“Hmm?”

Qi Wuhuo looked down, carefully scanning the words, yet he couldn’t spot any mistakes.

The old man pointed at the paper with a finger and laughed: “Look here! It’s already the fifth year of Jingyun, why are you still writing about the fourth year?”

“The fifth year of Jingyun? But…”

The young Daoist froze, his thoughts momentarily stuck. He distinctly remembered leaving on the eve of the fourth year of Jingyun.

He recalled talking with Li Puyu’s uncle about the [Proclamation of the Virtuous Ascension], which had been announced three years prior.

Seeing his disbelief, the old man chuckled. “Ah, young people! Don’t think just because I’m old, my memory is muddled.”

“That  [Proclamation of the Virtuous Ascension] was issued four years ago. Thanks to it, I was granted the privilege to return to my hometown. How could I forget?”

“Four years ago? The  [Proclamation of the Virtuous Ascension]?”

Qi Wuhuo’s mind blanked for a moment. Numerous thoughts raced through his head. He had been certain he had not been away for that long.

Even accounting for the time spent on the mysterious island and the day and night voyage, it should have only been a short period. How could an entire year have passed?

His thoughts halted abruptly, his mind turning to the scruffy fortune-teller he had encountered earlier that day. He recalled the man’s mocking smile and enigmatic words.

“Yesterday?”

“If it were just yesterday, then nothing happened at all, little Daoist.”

A wild thought surfaced in his mind.

“Was I truly meditating on that river for an entire year?!”

As the realization struck him, it felt as if some barrier within his mind shattered.

The Primordial Qi in his body surged.

It spiraled several times, building in strength before—

It erupted!