Volume One, Chapter Two: Recommendation for the Official Appointment Letter

Zhao Fusheng was momentarily stunned.

Since childhood, he had heard his grandfather speak of it.

Not far away, nestled among the verdant peaks of Qingyun Mountain, stood a renowned immortal sect called the Linglü Sect.

Its disciples were devoted to slaying demons and banishing evil, purging malevolent spirits, and ensuring peace and safety for the people of the region.

They had always been held in great reverence.

Within this sect, on the Sixth Peak, there was a direct disciple named Song Ningxia, the fifth-generation descendant of the Song family from Tangkou Village.

The villagers felt immense pride and gratitude for her protection of their mountain and village, so they built a shrine in her honor within the village.

Song Ningxia herself never forgot her roots; remembering the village that nurtured her mortal body, she granted them the privilege of recommending one person for a private talisman of protection.

On any given day, should the elders of the village’s four clans recommend someone, she could petition her master to mark their forehead and admit them into the Linglü Sect.

No matter their innate constitution, it was solely an act of gratitude.

However, this honor was limited to one person per century.

Yet now, Fusheng shook his small head.

“Uncles, Grandpa, I don’t want to go!”

For a moment, the elders exchanged glances.

The Song clan elder cleared his throat and cautiously asked, “Child, do you know the year Lady Ningxia was born?”

Without hesitation, Zhao Fusheng replied, “The third year of Chongxing.”

“How long ago is that?”

“About… about a hundred years.”

“See, when mortal bodies enter the mountain, they can be reborn anew, prolonging their lives—a blessing outsiders can only dream of. Why would you refuse?”

Zhao Fusheng glanced at his grandfather.

“I’m still young, but Grandpa is unwell now.”

“If Lady Ningxia can only protect one, I hope it’s Grandpa, so he may live another hundred years!”

A hush fell over the room.

Old Zhao sighed deeply, his expression a mixture of relief and complexity.

In the days of peace, the four clans could never agree on who should be recommended, so the honor remained unclaimed for three or four generations, and no one had ventured into the mountain.

He too had once been young and yearned for ascension and longevity.

But five years passed, then ten, then six decades, until his hair turned white and his beard grey—yet the chance never came.

Alas.

He beckoned his grandson closer and firmly patted his shoulder.

“Foolish grandson, cultivation after coming of age is already late. Who would seek out an old man like me, frail and nearing the end?”

“If fate isn’t right, no amount of seeking will help. But if it is, no one can stop it.”

“I’ve lived long enough.”

“Besides, you brought me a warm bun before leaving; I should leave you a treasure in return. Agreed?”

Zhao Fusheng hesitated, then embraced his grandfather.

“But grandson does not want Grandpa to go!”

The old men in the room sighed, some eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Perhaps they all recalled the past days of national peace and family harmony,

When children filled the halls and parents were kind and sons filial.

It was once so good.

But now, the land lay broken, and they had become burdens... mere coins of meat to be sold in their grandchildren’s eyes.

How cruelly ironic.

Only Zhao Fusheng still upheld the bonds of filial piety,

Like a few bright stars piercing the night.

“Child, life and death are destined. Don’t shed tears for our old bones.”

“Focus on your own future instead!”

“The Song clan elder once told me that even if one obtains the recommendation, it’s never easy or immediate.”

“Being accepted doesn’t guarantee you’ll stay.”

The Song clan elder sighed further.

“Yes, when Lady Ningxia was born, there were unusual celestial signs—ten thousand miles of crimson clouds in the sky.”

“She was a reincarnated immortal beauty, gifted with a rare, half-inch profound spiritual root. The sect’s elder personally tested her wisdom, granting her entry to the peak as a Linglü disciple.”

“Though your character is upright, you lack the spiritual roots and innate constitution of heaven, earth, mystery, and yellow. You don’t possess even a trace.”

The Chen clan elder added a few words.

Old Zhao then grasped Fusheng’s hand tightly, his gaze fixed.

He pulled a worn ledger from his pocket, filled with his own handwriting.

Small, dense characters filled the pages.

Zhao Fusheng recognized the book—his grandfather had never been without it for decades.

“Grandpa’s plans in recent years are all here.”

“We are mere mortals, far less gifted than those with spiritual roots and innate constitution. We can only rely on postnatal effort to change our destiny.”

“To defy fate with a mortal body is difficult; there can be no slackening.”

“So no more wavering, understand?”

Fusheng saw the seriousness in his grandfather’s eyes and the care from the elders.

He nodded earnestly.

“Grandson understands!”

But he still asked, “If I became like Lady Ningxia, could I save my uncles and Grandpa?”

The elders laughed heartily.

“If you become like her, you will see through the mundane world. As long as your grandfather and we four remain within the Six Realms, you will meet us again!”

“Well… if that’s so, I’m willing to go!”

Zhao Fusheng’s voice grew steadier, his small fingers clenched tightly.

For his grandfather!

And for the dream of longevity he had nurtured since childhood!

The elders exchanged looks and nodded in approval.

Then the Song clan elder rose, took a sleeve case from his pocket, and unveiled a half-rolled golden silk scroll.

A rich fragrance wafted from it, calming the mind and sweet as fresh honey to the nose.

Fusheng puckered his lips in delight.

The characters on the scroll seemed like lively spirits dancing; though he could not read them, he forgot everything else, sinking into the moment.

In a daze,

Each of the four elders pressed their thumbprints in red ink upon the scroll, with Zhao Fusheng following suit.

Then the scroll was placed before the shrine’s altar.

The elders bowed and knelt, reciting the revered titles before the deity.

Perhaps the ritual was too long and intricate.

Halfway through, Zhao Fusheng leaned against the statue’s ankle, growing drowsy.

In his dream, he heard a woman’s voice, gentle and melodious, like a nightingale.

“Zhao Fusheng…”

“Your name is on the scroll.”

“I have come to fetch you.”

…

The dream was vivid, but he was roused by a sudden noise, still longing for the vision.

Yet the dilapidated shrine was empty.

“Grandpa? Uncle Song?”

As he searched, sounds came from outside.

“These old folks, they’d make good meat…”

“Grandpa, can we trade them for some rice?”

On a barren slope near the broken shrine,

Fifth Uncle bowed low, bargaining with a man nearby, while several emaciated naked bodies lay close by.

“Will this dry meat feed a few mouths?”

“Two jin of rice and oil, no more.”

The speaker wore a cap and an open vest, wielding a butcher’s cleaver.

He kept glancing at the pale bodies.

Zhao Fusheng recoiled in fear.

“Butcher Wang!”

He was the pork vendor from the neighboring village, rumored to deal in human flesh.

The village charcoal sellers warned everyone to avoid the cannibal.

Never had they imagined Fifth Uncle would bring him here, inviting him to do business in Tangkou Village?

“Grandpa, isn’t that too little?”

“Yesterday, I slipped some medicine into the buns and had my nephew deliver them to these old men—it’s what drugged them.”

“The flower market sheep costs ten wen per liang, and the flour for the buns is precious.”

“Should we raise the price a bit?”

Fifth Uncle chuckled as he bargained again.

Zhao Fusheng was stunned—no wonder he had fallen asleep so early and deeply last night.

And no wonder the elders had vanished early this morning…