Chapter Fifty-Four: Discussing Immortals Within the Yangping Clan

It was said that eating a single flat peach could grant immortality, allowing one to ascend as an immortal. The golden plum, renowned alongside it, was also said to possess many wondrous and mysterious properties. At this moment, Nan Luo rather hoped such legends were true, for the two seeds of the flat peach and golden plum, whose lineage was unknown and had been passed down through generations, had finally sprouted under his care. For three years, Nan Luo had watered them daily with spiritual energy, and now, they had truly begun to grow. Naturally, this brought him great joy. Though he wished the flat peach and golden plum were as miraculous as the stories claimed, deep down, he did not quite believe it. If it were truly so, everyone would be vying for them, and who would spend decades or centuries cultivating through hardship?

Gazing at the two seeds, now putting forth tender shoots, he thought to himself, "Since they have sprouted, their old names are perhaps no longer suitable, nor do they deserve such grand titles... From now on, let them simply be called Peach and Plum. The names honor their heritage but are more fitting for this mortal world."

The wooden hut where Nan Luo resided had changed little over the past three years, though now, beneath a large tree to the left, there were more than a dozen stone stools of various sizes, shapes, and colors. These, of course, had been brought by the children who had come to learn cultivation from him.

When these children expressed their wish to learn, Nan Luo readily agreed, imparting to each the basic methods of cultivation. The Taoist Yuangi would judge each candidate’s future prospects based on their physical constitution and would decide whether to teach them accordingly, but Nan Luo thought otherwise. To him, the path of cultivation was not determined solely by the body one was born with; effort and fortune played their part as well.

"If you wish to learn, I will teach you. Whether you succeed or not depends on your own striving." Such was Nan Luo’s thought, giving each of them a fair chance—perhaps, in his heart, he saw in these children the image of his younger self.

Reciting or listening to the Huangting Scripture not only enlightened the mind but felt more like reading a book inscribed with the very language of the universal Dao.

Ever since the children had learned the methods of cultivation, they would gather daily before Nan Luo’s hut to listen to him recite the Huangting. The Dao was mysterious and formless, yet it could be felt.

Birds perched upon branches, cicadas nestled among the leaves, their sounds like a spring breeze brushing the ear, or the fragrance of March blossoms.

After finishing a passage, Nan Luo set the scroll aside and smiled at the dozen or so children before him, each with a different expression. He couldn’t help but recall his own childhood, learning from the priest elder, and realized that over a decade had passed since that elder’s death. Now, he himself had taken up the mantle of teaching the next generation.

A sturdy, spirited little boy said, “Priest Elder, may I ask you a question?”

Nan Luo smiled: “Of course, Little Hu. What do you wish to know?”

Glancing at his companions, the boy called Little Hu said, “We... all want to ask, Elder, are you an immortal now?”

Nan Luo chuckled: “I am not an immortal, just a man like all of you.”

“How can that be? Elder, you’re amazing—you can fly, no monster in the mountains can defeat you, and you can even make it rain. Isn’t all that what an immortal does?”

Even before Nan Luo finished, the boy beside Little Hu piped up, and the rest eagerly echoed him.

More than a dozen pairs of eyes blinked at Nan Luo, clearly concerned about his denial. In their hearts, their priest elder was all the more admirable for being powerful.

Nan Luo couldn’t help but laugh, asking, “Then what do you think an immortal is like?”

“Anyone who can ride the clouds and mist is an immortal.”

“Someone who doesn’t need to eat is an immortal.”

“Someone who can summon rain is an immortal.”

“Whoever can defeat mountain monsters is an immortal.”

“Someone like Elder is an immortal.”

The children all spoke at once, repeating the same few points—all traits they saw in Nan Luo himself.

Nan Luo burst out laughing.

“Uncle, then what do you think an immortal is like?” asked Luoshui, who had been quietly sitting nearby, blinking up at him. The others fell silent, waiting for Nan Luo’s reply.

He smiled softly, and in his mind flashed the images of all those he had met, known, and heard of—those who lived exposed to the elements, could ride clouds, and performed all manner of wonders. Suddenly, he realized he himself possessed all these traits. Did that make him an immortal? Certainly not.

That thought passed, and his gaze swept over the children as he said gently, “An immortal lives in everyone’s heart... Whatever you imagine them to be, that is what they are.”

...

The threat to the Shanyin tribe and the Youqiong tribe’s stockade had long been resolved. The fact that Nan Luo could break the enemy’s sorcery while remaining within the stockade had prompted great celebrations within the Yangping tribe, and Nan Luo became the talk of the town, which was why the children had come to ask if he had become an immortal.

After enduring the siege and assault by other tribes, the Yangping clan’s defenses were tighter than ever; day and night, sentries manned the watchtowers, ready to spot any approaching force from afar. Suddenly, Shitong, who was on watch, saw five figures heading toward their tribe.

As they drew closer, he could make out two familiar faces—the two sorcerers from the earlier ritual. Of the other three, one was exceptionally tall and carried a jet-black wooden staff.

Another was shorter but immensely sturdy, his bulging muscles straining against his skin, and the two axes he carried looked fierce and menacing, like beasts thirsting for blood.

The third was the most unremarkable, save for his gray robes and hair, which gave him a chilling, unsettling aura at first glance.

Shitong was alarmed. Could these three be reinforcements summoned by the two sorcerers? What could they do now? The three newcomers, facing only the priest elder alone, seemed an overpowering threat.

He instinctively blew the alarm whistle, his first thought to summon the whole tribe. No sooner had the sound begun than he saw a figure suddenly appear at the gate.

Dressed in azure, with a long sword in a blue scabbard at his waist, his black hair tied behind him.

Shitong could not help but murmur, “Elder...” Nan Luo turned with a slight smile and said, “Tell everyone to stay inside the stockade and not to worry about me.” With that, he stepped forward a few paces to stand outside the gate, quietly awaiting the five approaching figures.

Shitong couldn’t see Nan Luo’s expression, but that single smile calmed his heart. Watching his elder’s back, he suddenly felt that perhaps his elder might not lose, even though their adversaries appeared so formidable.

The sun had crept westward, stretching Nan Luo’s shadow long across the ground. The entrance of the Yangping stockade was crowded with people, but none emerged—evidently, Shitong had relayed Nan Luo’s instructions. Though they stayed inside, each clutched a weapon, ready for battle.

“There are five of them, and only one elder. Can he really stand against them?” The people of Yangping did not know, nor did they dare to think further. They only gripped their weapons tighter and stared intently at the five figures drawing near.

“Are you Nan Luo?” Before Nan Luo could speak, the tallest of the five, carrying the pitch-black staff, called out.

“I am Nan Luo, priest of the Yangping clan. May I ask what brings you here?” Nan Luo greeted them with a slight bow, his tone calm.

The tall man said, “I’ve heard that an old acquaintance of my Wu tribe resides here. I’ve come to pay a visit. You say you owe a great debt to the ancestor-immortal Zhu Rong; now, seeing you, I understand. You must be Nan Luo, the former sword attendant of Kongque at the Immortal Palace on Phoenix Mountain.”

His voice was soft, almost gentle, belying his imposing stature.

Nan Luo was surprised to see a gleam of wisdom in the man’s eyes. He was astonished the stranger had determined his identity with a mere glance—and even deduced his past. Since leaving the Immortal Palace, he had severed all ties with his former self, and never expected to be recognized so far from home.

Before Nan Luo could reply, the man wielding the twin axes suddenly leapt forward, pointing a fearsome blade at him and shouting, “So you’re that traitor Nan Luo! I’ll have your head!” With a great stride, he raised his terrible axe, its black gleam menacing, and brought it crashing down toward Nan Luo’s head.

So swift was his attack, it seemed to tear through space itself, the force of it like the might to split mountains.

Thanks to “Blackhearted Stonecore” for the generous reward!