Chapter 89 – Qingbai Village

The Sour-faced Cultivator and his companions had vanished without a trace, nowhere to be found. Hushi was locked up in jail, and his final punishment had yet to be decided—at worst, it would be attempted murder, and if the Gongsun Clan pulled some strings, he might very well be released in a few days.

But having forced these people out of the shadows, Zhan Changfeng felt at ease. Since both sides wanted each other dead, it was better to have everything out in the open.

Between the Gongsun Clan and the Yi Family, there was no room for reconciliation.

Zhan Changfeng emerged from her meditation and opened the door of her room, only to find the inn attendant’s hand raised mid-knock.

He suppressed a flicker of surprise, then offered a letter with both hands and smiled. “Guest, someone just delivered a letter for you. I brought it up for you.”

“Thank you for the trouble.”

Zhan Changfeng returned to her room and opened it. It was a reply from the Qingbai Mountain Community School, inviting her to visit the school on the fifteenth for a detailed discussion.

The Qingbai Mountain Community School was located on Qingbai Mountain in the western outskirts of the city. At the foot of the mountain lay Qingbai Village, and Zhan Changfeng decided to go take a look at the village ahead of time. If she was going to study on Qingbai Mountain, she would need to think carefully about where to stay.

The road to Qingbai Village was quite long, so Zhan Changfeng bought a fine horse, passed through the city gate, and followed the route marked on the map to find the village.

The place was surrounded by clear mountains and beautiful waters, with refreshing air. Looking from a distance, the houses were arranged along the undulating terrain one after another—black-tiled roofs, white walls, and green stone paths.

It was the busy farming season, and there were few people to be seen in the village. She dismounted and led her horse by the reins for a stretch before a young child with yellow-tufted hair called out to her, “Who are you? Who are you looking for?”

Zhan Changfeng turned her face toward the child. The child was startled by the long scar on her face, pursed his mouth, and ran inside. Before long, he pushed out an old man and hid behind him, whispering something.

The old man patted the child’s head and looked over at Zhan Changfeng, asking, “Are you a student from up the mountain?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. Excuse me, elder, could you tell me where the village chief lives? I’m looking to find lodging in your village.”

“Oh, oh, so you’re preparing to go up the mountain to study. There are some open spaces here,” the old man pulled the child out and casually stuffed a handful of sweets into his hand to comfort him and keep him from being afraid. “Can you take this young miss to find Grandpa Village Chief in the eastern fields?”

The child clutched the sweets and peeked timidly at Zhan Changfeng, then nodded. But then, as if still uneasy, he leaned close to the old man’s ear and whispered, “Big Brother Daxiong says only bandits have tattoos, knife scars, and eye patches. What if I get kidnapped?”

Zhan Changfeng, who had just been likened to a bandit: “…”

The child was squirming with embarrassment, but the old man was tickled with laughter.

“Don’t worry, you’re too skinny—you wouldn’t even make a full pot of soup.” The old man patted the child on the back. “Off you go. I’ll make you scallion oil flatbread when you come back.”

The child chose the flatbread with the resolve of a man marching to his doom. “Follow me, then.”

He trotted a few steps, looked back at Zhan Changfeng, trotted a few more steps, looked back again.

Zhan Changfeng kept a steady ten meters between herself and the child at all times, which put the boy considerably at ease, and he stopped running in erratic bursts.

They descended a slope, and fields gradually appeared on both sides. Looking up, the ridges of the paddies stretched out like chopper blades, slicing the water fields—which reflected dazzling, multicolored hues—into neat, orderly rectangular shapes, one beside the other.

The paddies were breathtakingly vivid, so radiant that even the people transplanting seedlings within them seemed to exist in a dreamlike, illusory realm.

Zhan Changfeng bent down and reached into the water, scooping up a handful of small red and yellow pebbles.

“Those are insect-warding stones. Rice is most afraid of pests—if the crop gets sick, we’ll be crying from the start of the year to the end.” Fan Zhili said jovially, his gaze also appraising Zhan Changfeng. He noticed her bearing was upright and her spirit concentrated yet gentle, with a manner all her own, and he couldn’t help but look a few extra times.

“I have been narrow in my knowledge,” Zhan Changfeng admitted. Seeing him holding the child by the hand, barefoot with mud on his feet, his long beard braided and wrapped around his neck, and a bundle of seedlings in his hand, she gave a Daoist greeting. “You must be the village chief, elder. I intend to go up Qingbai Mountain to study, but I have no place to stay. I wanted to ask whether there are any spare properties in your village available for rent, purchase, or transfer.”

Fan Zhili mulled it over for a moment. “When are you starting?”

“Around tomorrow.”

“That’s quite urgent,” Fan Zhili said. “There are a few empty houses in the village. How about this—if it’s convenient for you, stay at my home tonight, and I’ll gather the owners who are willing to transfer their properties.”

“That works. I apologize for imposing on the village chief.”

“It’s nothing. Wait here for a bit—I’m almost done with what I’m doing, and then we can head back together.”

Fan Zhili went back into the fields to finish his work. Zhan Changfeng observed the techniques and postures of the seedling transplanting, occasionally asking a question or two, and found it not uninteresting.

Spirit rice was more demanding of soil quality and temperature than ordinary rice, and far more susceptible to pest damage. What they were cultivating was Purple Spirit Rice that only ripened once a year—though it was highly profitable, the risks it carried were considerable.

Seeing that Zhan Changfeng was quite curious, Fan Zhili was happy to say more. “Don’t let the looks fool you—this isn’t just physical labor. It also draws on one’s true qi.”

He deliberately slowed his transplanting movements so Zhan Changfeng could clearly see where his hands applied force. “This stuff is precious. When you press the seedling in, it’s best to wrap the roots with just a tiny thread of true qi, so you don’t damage them.”

Zhan Changfeng nodded. Projecting true qi outward—Prenatal realm. What a lavish way to farm.

When the bell rang from the mountaintop, Fan Zhili had just finished planting the last seedlings. He wiped his sweat. “Good—school’s out up there. Let’s head back quickly too. While it’s not yet dark, I’ll take you to have a look at the properties up for transfer.”

Fan Zhili knew every household in Qingbai Village like the back of his hand—which families wanted to rent, which had idle houses—and could rattle them all off. He simply led her to them directly.

“What are your requirements for the environment?”

It seemed there were quite a few options.

“Somewhere quiet. The size of the house doesn’t matter, but I can only rent for a year at most.”

“Oh?” Fan Zhili glanced at her. “Old Hu the Second has an idle house down by the lower fields, but it’s close to Bijia Mountain, where there are many wild animals—it’s not safe.”

“There’s also a small dwelling to the south at Sheshui Fort. The family who lived there moved away and left it in my hands to deal with. The place is a little run-down, so cleaning it up might be a hassle.”

“Could you take me to see them?”

“Of course. Let’s head to the lower fields first.”

Zhan Changfeng kept her aura suppressed, which ordinary people couldn’t detect. But Fan Zhili, as a Prenatal realm Grand Completion cultivator, could sense that the young fellow Daoist before him had already reached the peak of the Postnatal realm, so naturally he wasn’t concerned about wild animals. He merely wondered how someone of such cultivation at such a young age—a standout even among the Six Academies—had ended up at a community school. Most likely she had missed the Six Academies’ selection.

The house by the lower fields was close to the forest, surrounded by a stone-stacked courtyard wall, presumably built to keep wild animals from breaking in.

Zhan Changfeng assessed the feng shui and positioning—it was a risky location for wealth, neither particularly good nor bad. “The stone path has only just started sprouting weeds—someone moved out not long ago?”

“That’s right.” Fan Zhili sighed with feeling. “It was rented to a hunter before. A few months ago, a gibbon came to his home in the dead of night and caused a ruckus. The hunter chased it ten li, accidentally tumbled down the mountain, and came back the next day dragging a broken leg but cradling a white spirit mushroom the size of a wash basin. He went straight to the city and became a wealthy man.”

Zhan Changfeng said, “Being able to seize an opportunity like that isn’t bad.”

Fan Zhili saw that she didn’t seem very interested, and so he turned and led her toward Sheshui Fort.

“This place is close to the mountain and the water, with a serene environment. However… because the old folk and children of the previous family frequently fell ill, the villagers say this place is inauspicious.”

“May I open the door?”

“Go ahead, go ahead.”

The small dwelling was built half on the shore and half over the lake. When Zhan Changfeng pushed open the door, the lake wind of the evening immediately tousled her hair.

The back door, which faced the front door, had not been shut properly—it stood wide open.

Wind poured through the back door all the way to the front, with nothing blocking the path in between. It was clearly a case of a corridor draft affliction—falling ill was perfectly natural.

Zhan Changfeng walked to the back door. Outside was a terrace with a table made from a tree stump. She looked carefully and found that the stump was still alive, with short, budding branches sprouting from its side.

“This tree grew crooked. Its roots came up through the bank wall beneath the water, and it lay at a slant across the water’s surface. It was just starting to grow upward again when someone decided to build a house,” Fan Zhili explained. “Half the house rests on the trunk. But its canopy was too large and blocked the sunlight, so it was cut down.”

By nature, a tree belongs to yin, yet it occupied the wealth position of this dwelling—yin stacked upon yin. Zhan Changfeng, who read the heavens and understood the earth, actually felt a measure of satisfaction.

Fan Zhili gazed out with her into the distance. Just then, dusk was settling in on all sides. They could look out over the tranquil and boundlessly vast lake surface, its shimmering ripples slowly swaying, the far end meeting mountain ranges that cast an even deeper, heavier darkness.

He suddenly felt it was somewhat eerie and unsettling. “Fellow Daoist, the place by the lower fields is better, isn’t it? It’s also closer to Qingbai Mountain, which makes coming and going more convenient.”

Zhan Changfeng said, “I’ll take this one. This place is just fine.”

Fan Zhili didn’t press further. “All right then. Tomorrow I’ll go and have a word with the relevant party, and we’ll discuss the price.”

“Thank you for the trouble, village chief.”

“It’s nothing. It’s getting late—the city gates will already be closed by now. Stay the night at my home and head to the school first thing in the morning.”

Fan Zhili lived alone in his home. He mentioned in passing that his granddaughter was studying at the Qingbai Mountain Community School and never came home to stay.

The Qingbai Mountain Community School provided dormitories, but they were all two-person rooms, which was inconvenient for Zhan Changfeng. Fan Zhili didn’t ask too many questions—plenty of students chose to live outside.

(End of Chapter)