Chapter Two: Diagnosing the Path to Immortality

To put it another way, Old Master Lin had risked his life for the Xiao family village.

Lin Ze possessed cultivation at the peak of the Qi Refinement stage. Even though he couldn’t recall the techniques or forms, sheer physical strength alone allowed him to command respect in the village.

By all rights, he had no obligation to concern himself with this couple.

Yet he said nothing. He simply looked at Xiao Bao, pondering for a moment before asking, “If your life and death were uncertain, would you still wish to follow me on the path of cultivation?”

For Lin Ze, the most critical attribute on the character panel was trust.

Only with a high level of trust could he gain greater rewards from the simulator.

Besides, he didn’t even know if he could leave these mountains alive, so he wanted to seek the child’s opinion.

The path of cultivation was never smooth. If Xiao Bao was willing to risk everything by his side, Lin Ze would never treat him unfairly.

From behind the woman, a small, shaven-headed boy struggled to peer out, his fair face flushed with effort. “Disciple is willing.”

Xiao Bao’s mother’s expression darkened. She yanked him back forcefully, then looked up at Lin Ze. “Old Sir, we’ve never met the disciple you mention. They say you’re an immortal, but you look no different from us. Bao’er’s still a child—how can he decide for himself?”

“Hmm.”

Lin Ze nodded at Xiao Bao. A touch of gravity appeared on his slender face as he reminded, “It was you who begged me to take him as my disciple. Though the bond was never formalized, the title was agreed upon.”

“Go home.” Lin Ze waved his hand, clearly dismissing them. He was no longer the kindly old man they once knew; before crossing over, he’d just turned twenty-five—full of youthful vigor.

Xiao Bao’s mother’s look shifted between anger and uncertainty. She hesitated, then finally lost all restraint and pointed in fury. “Lin, you deceived us first!”

The burly man clenched his fists, looking awkward. He wanted to drag his wife away, but, recalling her shrewish ways, he shrank back and could only mutter apologetically, “She’s talking nonsense, sir, please pay her no mind.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, glaring at her husband, clutching Xiao Bao’s wrist so tightly the child’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“If you ask me, this old coot is just a freeloader! How long did we raise that pig? One chop and it was gone—now what?!”

At this, Lin Ze’s face remained calm, though a flicker of anger stirred within. No matter what, the old man was a cultivator. He never demanded a banquet, nor would he risk his life for their paltry livestock.

Tension filled the room. At that moment, a clear, cold female voice sounded from outside.

“Disciple Su Bailu apologizes for arriving late to offer birthday greetings. Master, please forgive me.”

A tall figure hurried in, white robe fluttering in the wind. Her long, jet-black hair was simply bound with a blue ribbon at her waist. In her hand, she carried a sword; two faint scars marked her fair, delicate face.

The blade was stained with blood, as if she’d just fought a fierce battle.

She stood at the threshold, gazing at Xiao Bao’s mother with icy calm, a hint of chill glinting in her autumn-water eyes—clearly, she’d overheard the earlier quarrel.

“There really is a disciple of an immortal…”

The peasant woman, who’d been in the midst of her tirade, now trembled all over as she took in the newcomer’s appearance. She barely dared to breathe, cowering at the sight of the gleaming sword, nearly collapsing in fear.

Women from the countryside had never seen such a spectacle.

In her imagination, immortals should ride clouds, exude a sage-like grace, and smile gently like spring breezes.

Not a beautiful woman exuding a faint aura of blood, terrifying with every glance.

The burly man quickly pulled his wife behind him, inwardly lamenting. That woman outside, sword in hand, was at the very least a roving swordswoman, if not an immortal. How could ordinary folks like them afford to offend her?

“Come in,” Lin Ze said, somewhat surprised himself.

“You must be Third Senior Sister?” Xiao Bao finally broke free from his mother’s grasp, steadied the woman who was weak with fright, and looked up curiously.

At his words, the frost on Su Bailu’s face melted slightly. The corners of her lips curved in a faint smile, and she nodded, acknowledging him as her junior.

Having said her piece, she knelt on one knee before Lin Ze, a hint of apology in her voice. “Disciple is late… I even lost the birthday gift on the way. Master, please punish me.”

Lin Ze glanced at the scars on her face and could guess what had transpired.

What a pity.

At least she still had a conscience.

But the old man had left too soon.

The deepest sorrow in life is to be a step too late: separated by life and death, with not even a chance to explain.

“Get up. These mountains are teeming with demons—you are not to blame. As long as you’re unharmed.” Remembering the old man’s final sigh of relief, Lin Ze spoke the words for him.

“Disciple could have set out two days earlier,” Su Bailu said, shaking her head in self-reproach. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the couple slipping quietly out of the hut. She snorted coldly; if not for her junior’s sake, she would have confronted them.

At that moment, another voice was heard outside.

“Junior Sister was receiving instruction from our elders two days ago—how could she have left earlier?”

With those words, a graceful woman entered the hut. She studied Lin Ze for a moment, then chuckled softly. “So you must be the… elder that Junior Sister Su spoke of.”

There was a hint of mockery in her tone as she called him elder.

Su Bailu furrowed her brows, puzzled. She had only spoken of offering birthday greetings for her master, never used the word “elder.”

Lin Ze gazed at her quietly.

He understood—the woman was mocking him for posturing as an elder while only in the Qi Refinement stage.

“Master, this is Senior Sister Zhao Ling, whom I met at Dongyue Sect. Fearing the dangers of the Demon Mountains, she accompanied me here,” Su Bailu explained, sensing the tension.

“No need to worry. We’re all sect mates; it’s only right to look after each other,” Zhao Ling replied with a light laugh, though a trace of derision flashed in her eyes.

She had never heard of a cultivator celebrating a sixtieth birthday.

At the Foundation Establishment stage, sixty was considered the prime of life—who would squander time on such matters?

From the start, she’d looked down on Lin Ze. In her view, he was nothing more than a pitiful itinerant cultivator putting on airs in the backwoods simply because he possessed a bit of cultivation.

Now, seeing him in person—patched, plain blue robe, not a single magical artifact, not even a storage pouch at his waist—her thoughts were confirmed.

Only someone as naïve as Junior Sister Su would take such a man’s birthday seriously.

“Elder, you’ve seen your people. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take Junior Sister Su back to the sect.” Zhao Ling sighed indifferently, already heading for the door. Along the way, they’d slain at least three demons, all for the sake of this one man—she found it hardly worthwhile.

“Senior Sister Zhao…”

Hearing this, Su Bailu’s brows knitted, her expression growing earnest. She bit her lip and said, “I hope you’ll show my master a little more respect.”

“Respect?” The woman smiled coolly and turned her head. “We’re all at the peak of Qi Refinement. Calling him ‘elder’ isn’t respectful enough?”

“And you—our master took time to explain the merits and flaws of two cultivation techniques, yet you squandered it on such a pointless matter. Or do you not wish to participate in the sect competition three months from now?”

A trace of mockery flickered in Zhao Ling’s eyes as she added sharply, “Or perhaps you’d like this elder to explain the techniques to you?”

At this, Su Bailu clenched her fists.

After a long silence, she replied quietly, “Cultivation is not just about technique but the heart. One who is ungrateful, no matter how advanced, is unworthy of the path.”

“Tch, Junior Sister’s will is admirable—makes me quite envious,” Zhao Ling said dismissively.

At that moment, Lin Ze, holding the bewildered Xiao Bao’s hand, suddenly smiled. “Why not give it a try?”

Both women turned in surprise.

Su Bailu hesitated, explaining, “Master, I’ve already studied the two techniques passed down in the sect. I just need to practice them to decide which suits me best. There’s really no problem, you needn’t worry.”

Zhao Ling sneered, “Indeed, slow progress is nothing to fear. With such unshakable resolve, you can remain an outer disciple for another few years.”

Lin Ze ignored the sarcastic woman and extended his hand to Su Bailu.

“Master, this is…?” Su Bailu paused in confusion.

“To take your pulse,” Lin Ze said calmly.

Zhao Ling stared, then burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Diagnosing cultivation technique by taking the pulse? She’d never heard of such a thing.

It seemed the man was not only an itinerant cultivator but also moonlighted as a wandering healer.