Volume One, Chapter Five: The Senior Sister’s Secret Compassion
Eleven years.
The village he once wandered endlessly through was now smaller than the pile of charcoal he had sold.
Then, like soybeans, like grains of rice...
Until they no longer appeared before his eyes.
Zhao Fusheng stared blankly, as if an entire lifetime had passed.
“When I was chosen for Xianfeng Peak, I was about your age,”
Song Ningxia said, casting a wind-control spell beneath her feet to glide gracefully.
“I didn’t adapt at first, missed my home terribly, and it all felt unreal.”
“But soon enough, you’ll get used to it.”
Perhaps it had been too long since she’d spoken to anyone, or perhaps the scene resembled that day a hundred years ago too closely.
Zhao Fusheng turned his head, touched by a tinge of emotion.
“How could I be like you, Senior Sister? You were chosen.”
“Your family lined the path to see you off—what an honor that must have been.”
“But I lost my grandfather, was driven away by my own people, despised and resented…”
“So compared to you, Senior Sister, I’m only grateful to have survived and left.”
Though Song Ningxia had cultivated for a century, severing all worldly ties,
she still felt a pang of sympathy.
How could such a small child survive amidst the chaos of the world?
“From now on, the Immortal Sect will be your refuge.”
“If you miss your family, let me be your family, shall I?”
Zhao Fusheng lifted his eyes and looked at Song Ningxia’s naturally aloof and cold face, yet found something oddly familiar.
Perhaps because most of his life had been spent in that shrine to the goddess,
he did not feel fear, only closeness.
Like the grandfather by his side, whose presence he had long since grown accustomed to.
“All right!”
“Thank you, Senior Sister!”
He answered with a newfound strength.
After descending the mountain, Song Ningxia’s lips curved slightly for the second time, and she unconsciously reached out to touch them.
But as her hand extended, it suddenly froze.
Like an electric shock!
“That’s not right…”
She clenched her palm and muttered softly.
From a young age, Zhao Fusheng had dealt with the world’s cold cruelty and learned to read people well, so he could sense the unforeseen change between them.
Though just a charcoal seller, knowing the world only as a frog at the bottom of a well,
he owed his knowledge of the immortal sects to his grandfather.
How many long-life dreams existed in this world? How many were truly fulfilled?
To be chosen by the mountain sect was one in a million chance.
Zhao Fusheng was born to his mother in a cattle shed; no heavenly radiance, no dragons or phoenixes.
Just an ordinary mortal, plain beyond compare.
How could he measure up to those gifted beyond measure?
The private tablet was merely Song Ningxia’s repayment for his body and flesh, a personal favor.
How could a personal debt be made public as sect affairs?
Since the moment Zhao Fusheng left his village, he had already come to terms with it all.
Though lacking talent, he had self-awareness.
“Senior Sister is a transcendent immortal; I am but a mortal. How could I ever aspire to such heights?”
“Besides, I don’t really want to become an immortal who lives forever.”
“Being mortal is just fine!”
Song Ningxia gently pressed her sword finger, and the wind ceased.
She glanced back at Zhao Fusheng with a sigh.
“Junior Brother, are you hungry?”
“How about I take you to eat a bowl of plain noodles?”
Zhao Fusheng rubbed his stomach, nearly three days since his last proper meal.
“All right!”
Seeing her well-nurtured junior brother, Song Ningxia’s gaze deepened.
By the roadside near the mountain’s pass before the town was a small shop.
Song Ningxia ordered three bowls and added some extra boiled eggs for nourishment.
Glug glug!
Zhao Fusheng tried his best to suppress his stomach’s noisy protests, but instinct got the better of him.
“Junior Brother…”
“I have something to tell you.”
Song Ningxia’s face had been clouded with worry for some time.
Zhao Fusheng stood, wiping his mouth.
“Thank you, Senior Sister, for the meal!”
“If you have other matters, don’t hesitate to leave!”
Song Ningxia paused, then laughed softly and helped him sit back down.
“You’re overthinking it. As a disciple of the immortal sect, how could I break my word?”
“I promised to bring you to Qingyun Mountain; I wouldn’t abandon you here in this wilderness!”
“But there are things I must explain before we ascend.”
“If I deceived you at every turn, how could I call myself your family?”
Zhao Fusheng was momentarily stunned. So the “not right” she’d spoken of earlier was because of this?
So even the distant immortal had her moments of doubt.
No wonder his grandfather often said: “Those who cultivate the Way remain like infants, unformed and innocent.”
“What have you deceived me about, Senior Sister?”
“For example, what you said earlier... to be honest, you truly cannot cultivate immortality, nor master the techniques.”
“This I must make clear to you!”
Zhao Fusheng responded with a soft “oh,” unsurprised, even comforted.
“It’s all right, Senior Sister, I understand.”
“Not everyone is like you, a heavenly immortal reborn.”
Song Ningxia’s eyes narrowed.
“But if I cannot grant your dream of eternal life, do you resent me?”
“No resentment!”
“Living a little longer or shorter doesn’t matter much, as long as I’m alive to give my grandfather and uncles a proper burial, that’s enough. If I can find a good place to live peacefully, even better!”
Zhao Fusheng smiled sincerely.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fulfill his grandfather’s dream.
But having endured hardship, he understood that yielding to fate was more practical than struggling for longevity.
Song Ningxia sighed.
“You have a good heart, Junior Brother.”
“Yet the situation isn’t as bleak as you think.”
“Those with exceptional innate roots are indeed rare; failure to cultivate is common. But just by entering the immortal sect, you’re already better off than the mortals below.”
“How much better depends on your innate root and fate.”
Zhao Fusheng smiled contentedly.
That meant he could live a few more years than the average person—far beyond expectation.
But still a child by nature and curious, he asked, “Senior Sister, roughly how much better?”
Song Ningxia’s gaze darkened slightly. Human nature was always greedy.
Though hesitant to crush his spirit, the cultivator’s code forbade deceiving others.
So she spoke frankly.
“Innate roots are divided into four categories: Heaven, Earth, Mystery, and Yellow.”
“Each category is further divided into upper, middle, and lower grades.”
“Heaven roots are rare throughout the world. Since the dawn of time, only ten have appeared.”
“The founder of our sect was one of them! Their lifespan is beyond reckoning.”
“The other three—Earth, Mystery, and Yellow—are common among cultivators.”
“Earth roots can reach the Great Ascension and transcend tribulations, living tens of thousands of years.”
“Mystery roots can achieve Nascent Soul formation, living over a thousand years.”
“Yellow roots—lower grade—only enhance physical strength, living about twenty years longer than ordinary people.”
“Middle grade permits Qi cultivation, extending life by roughly forty years.”
“As for upper grade, with diligent cultivation through Foundation Establishment to Golden Core, one might live nearly two hundred years.”
Zhao Fusheng was dumbfounded. To these immortals, lifespans of hundreds or thousands of years were nothing special.
To ordinary people, even an extra twenty years would be a dream.
“How do I know what my innate root is?”
He asked eagerly.
The more he asked, the more Song Ningxia felt guilt.
Leaning in, her gaze sharp and concerned, she furrowed her brow.
“Once you enter the mountain, our master will personally test your innate root. Only then will you know.”
“But don’t be troubled, Junior Brother. Fate determines longevity, but I will protect and assist you.”
“You will achieve the best possible outcome, alright?”
Perhaps because she had entered the sect early and didn’t fully grasp the differences between men and women,
the distance between them had already crossed a boundary.
The scent of her warm breath, fresh and sweet like spring, lingered at his nose.
Zhao Fusheng blushed...
Especially as he kept stealing glances at that familiar yet strange, exquisite face.
“Th-thank you, Senior Sister!”
“I’m a bit hungry. Could I have some more?”
Though young, Zhao Fusheng had been tempered by the world’s harshness, wiser beyond his years.
Some premature maturity was inevitable.
So he quickly changed the subject.
“All right, eat up.”
“Finish quickly, and we’ll set off.”
Song Ningxia drew back slightly, propping her chin and twirling the hair by her temple, yet her gaze never left Zhao Fusheng.
In her eyes flickered a strange light.
As if she had made some decision.
Zhao Fusheng hurried to finish his noodles, not daring to look up.
Though he knew it was his overactive imagination, he could not resist the unusual fragrance.
In the past, she had been lofty and cold in the temple.
Never like this neighborly figure,
and never treating a mortal like him so kindly...
Also, he found it strange—it was just noodles with a few extra eggs.
How could such a simple meal bring such heat that broke into a sweat despite the cold wind?