Chapter Fourteen: Several Years Have Passed in the Mortal World

That night, the villagers reveled to their hearts’ content in the first half, and were nearly hacked to pieces at midnight. At last, the latter half arrived. Their nerves had barely settled when thunder rumbled from the mountains. It was destined to be a sleepless night.

The next morning, a few brave souls pushed open their doors. Cautiously scanning their surroundings, they were stunned speechless by the scene before them.

To the south, the twin-peaked mountain the locals called Erlang Mountain now had but one summit left. The other peak was gone—sheared clean in half! This raised a new question: Should the village, named for the mountain, change its own name? Should it now be called Yilang Village? At least the source of last night’s thunder was clear.

It took a long while for everyone to calm down. Life had to go on, so the villagers slowly emerged from their homes. Unspoken agreement brought them all to Old Madam Xue’s doorstep, where they hesitated to knock. They were interrupted by a mocking, androgynous voice: “My father isn’t the village chief, nor the headman. Why are you all gathered at my house?”

Everyone looked up and saw Xue Xiaoyu, the village’s second most notorious character, perched atop the courtyard wall, gazing down with disdain. Last night, Xue Xiaoyu had also learned of the events that had unfolded over the past few years. Upon hearing what had happened with the Xie family, Xiaoyu felt nothing but disgust for these ungrateful people. The Xie family had helped them countless times, and now… well.

No sooner had Xiaoyu finished speaking than an elderly voice called out, “If you wish it, I’ll gladly nominate you as village chief myself!” The speaker was the current village chief. Caught off guard by the offer and the forced smiles of the crowd, Xue Xiaoyu found herself at a loss for words.

Just then, a group of children came running over in a panic, faces pale with terror.

“Hurry to the village entrance—quickly!”

“Hey, you little rascal, didn’t I tell you to stay home? Are you looking for a beating?”

“All right, all right. Let’s just go see what’s happening at the village gate…”

After a night of thunder rolling through the mountains, everyone now witnessed a sea of severed heads rolling at the village entrance.

A long silence fell. At last, someone spoke, “Aren’t these all people from Black Cloud Stronghold?”

“They are, they are! Look, isn’t that Blood Boss’s—”

So, the infamous Black Cloud Stronghold had been wiped out just like that? The scene was brutally bloody. Was this meant as a warning? That Xie brat was truly formidable. The villagers exchanged uneasy glances—three parts awe, two parts curiosity, five parts fear, and the remaining ninety percent was all regret for the past.

“Perhaps we should build a temple here?” someone whispered.

“Or perhaps on Erlang Mountain…” another agreed.

For once, no one objected. Those with money contributed money, those with strength offered strength, and those with both gave both. After some discussion, they decided the temple would be built on Erlang Mountain. As for the village entrance, a stone stele was erected. On it were carved words telling of a peaceful, harmonious village, a good family within it—a husband and wife, and one day a child was born… In the end, this child saved the village. No stories of petty squabbles, only the beauty of a utopian society. Years later, this was what everyone believed, this was how the story was told.

The temple was built halfway up the mountainside. Erlang Mountain, though not high, soon became wreathed in drifting clouds. From time to time, thunderous crashes could be heard, spawning all manner of wild tales.

As for Xie Huanling, once the village’s ugly duckling, every morning before dawn she found water drawn and meals prepared at her doorstep; the fields had been tilled again and again, top-quality manure spread over and over, and any pests or weeds were eradicated before they could spread. When villagers spoke to her, they kept their voices barely above a whisper, and their eyes never rose above her ankles. Xie Huanling found it both exasperating and hilarious—but she had to admit, it was deeply satisfying.

Yet, she was still an ordinary girl at heart. With her neighbors’ ingratiating flattery bordering on the absurd, old grudges gradually melted away. She was busy now—busy repaying a debt of gratitude.

To restore her face was a great kindness, an immense one. So Xie Huanling had been inviting Li Qing to meals for a year now; her debt was still not repaid, and Li Qing showed no sign of transcending worldly desires, enjoying every dish, meat or vegetable. Alas, this appetite extended only to the dining table.

A year passed. The mountain’s mists grew thicker, and reverence for the peak increased by the day. At some point, Erlang Mountain became known as Immortal Mountain, and the village followed suit, now called Immortal Village. And wouldn’t you know it, Xue Xiaoyu really did become the village chief of Immortal Village…

“Dad, did the mute boy really become an immortal on the mountain?” a child once asked, seeking the truth. The answer was a resounding slap. The child ran to his mother, hoping for justice from his usually doting parent, but found only more tears and yet another round of scolding.

Years slipped by—spring to autumn, summer to winter. Immortal Village welcomed wave after wave of pilgrims, from nobles and officials to porters and hawkers, all coming to pay their respects. The village’s GDP soared higher by the day…

Primeval World. Beiwang Continent. Crystal Palace.

“Dragon Maiden? Dragon Maiden!” Kong Xun rapped his book several times on his desk, frowning at the official-robed woman seated before him. She was a favorite pupil of his, for unlike the other dragon sons and daughters, this dragon girl from a humble background truly loved the knowledge he taught. Though everyone knew the saying, ‘Cultivate both knowledge and spirit to rule the world,’ few genuinely devoted themselves to study.

As one of the rare exceptions, Kong Xun taught her with special care, even preparing to pass on all his life’s learning to her. But today, he sensed her mind was elsewhere.

“Teacher, is today the twentieth anniversary of my father’s death?” the woman suddenly asked.

“Oh? Do you still bear a grudge against Crystal Palace?” Kong Xun asked softly.

The woman shook her head. “My master already avenged me, killed those who wronged us, took me in as a disciple, and taught me so much. She even invited you—a teacher of such renown—to instruct me.”

“Then why?”

“Teacher, what do you think love is?”

“Love…” Kong Xun sighed. “The joys and sorrows of affection between men and women run deepest of all.”

“And you, Teacher? Have you ever loved anyone?”

“I have.” Kong Xun spoke slowly, but with conviction. In that moment, he seemed no longer old—his white hair gone, his wrinkles vanished—his whole being suffused with youthful vitality.

“So what is love?” the woman pressed.

Kong Xun closed his book with both hands and answered slowly. “Two years ago, I met a young man. He had an interesting way of speaking. He said all human emotions are bodily reactions—adrenaline gives rise to anger, dopamine to happiness… He spoke of many things I’d never heard of. But at last I asked him about love. He thought for a long time and said, he didn’t know. Nor did he think it necessary to know.”

A long silence fell. The woman pictured a scene in her mind: a languid young man sprawled casually across her lap, basking in sunlight, sea breeze in his hair, telling her wondrous stories… of iron towers hundreds of meters tall, of flying without cultivation, of iron machines that could annihilate a city… and those amusing, outrageous jokes that made her blush, those strange yet beautiful songs…

Back then, was that love?