Chapter 19: Closer Than a Mother

The medicine simmering on the stove was nearly ready. Lin He carefully poured the decoction into a small bowl she had prepared in advance, then handed it to Ling Xiaozi, urging him to deliver it quickly to his little uncle.

Mingshuang hurriedly reached out to take the bowl, only to be surprised by the chill that greeted her fingers—it felt icy cold, nothing like a bowl meant to contain freshly boiled medicine.

“Why is this medicine cold?” Mingshuang asked, puzzled.

Lin He replied with a hint of grievance, “My little leaf can only imbue ordinary flames with spiritual energy. While it can turn ice into water, completely dispelling your icy spiritual power is simply impossible.”

Mingshuang nodded thoughtfully, realizing that the laws of physics might not apply in a world where immortals soared through the skies. If gravity could be ignored, who cared about states of matter?

Once she understood, Mingshuang decided to tailor her approach to each situation. She promptly abandoned the nine years of compulsory education in science and resolved to reinterpret the world from the perspective of a romantic poet.

“Hurry, hurry, your uncle is fading fast, and you’re still dawdling.” Lin He pressed Mingshuang’s shoulder, sending her out of the pharmacy, then closed the door behind her, leaving a lost Mingshuang standing outside, clueless about the way.

Chu Yi, though he disliked the vain Elder Changyan, still observed proper manners. He placed tea and pastries on a tray, intending to bring them to the pharmacy for Changyan.

The little attendant, carrying tea and water, had just left the kitchen when he spotted Ling Xiaozi, hopelessly lost and spinning in circles, unable to distinguish east from west, clutching a bowl of medicine and unsure where to go next.

“How did you end up in the kitchen, Immortal?” Chu Yi saw that Ling Xiaozi was most likely lost, but mischievously asked anyway.

Mingshuang scratched her head in embarrassment, handing the bowl of medicine to the attendant and saying, “This is for my uncle. Would you mind delivering it?” To avoid exposing her incompetence with directions, Mingshuang chose to entrust the important task to Chu Yi.

The head of Crane Pavilion, a proud product of the first generation of artificially raised spirit beasts, silently complained that Ling Xiaozi’s real self was far removed from his rumored image of humility and gentleness. He’d brought medicine meant for the eastern house to the western kitchen and now asked someone else to deliver it—truly a master of delegating trouble.

“You’re too polite, Immortal. Next time, just have Lin He send a signal if there’s anything for me to do, so you won’t have to trek across half the courtyard yourself.” Chu Yi responded with outward politeness, then placed the medicine bowl on the tray.

Mingshuang forced a dry laugh, followed the attendant back to the pharmacy, and found Lin He had shut herself away. With no other option, she went to deliver the medicine to her uncle. Retracing her steps, Mingshuang realized she had initially set out in the opposite direction, no wonder she could never find her uncle’s room. Her embarrassment grew.

“Que Yue City is home to many skilled craftsmen. Every year, the youths exchange alchemical pills for magical tools with our sect. I heard Lord Hengshu recently invented a new compass that automatically searches for the aura of spirit beasts. Perhaps you should visit Que Yue City during next month’s Spirit Hunt Festival, Immortal Ling Xiaozi.” Chu Yi, seeing Mingshuang’s embarrassment, casually suggested it. He wondered how this child could be so helpless, unable to find his way or use a compass—like a low-functioning child of the immortal world.

Meanwhile, the low-functioning Mingshuang was mentally searching for what a “compass” was. Judging by the name, it must be something like a directional needle; was Chu Yi suggesting she buy one? She mused that Chu Yi truly was a considerate person.

And so, the pair—a person and a crane—slowly made their way back to her uncle’s room. Inside, the sleeping beauty remained unconscious, while the Daoist Pingxu, who stood guard, had fallen asleep himself, lulled by the calming sachet Lin He had hung in the room.

“Such an unfit sect leader, sleeping beside a patient!” The little attendant set down the tray and stomped hard on Pingxu’s shoe.

The sect leader, awakened by the child’s secret move, cried out in pain. Seeing his beloved disciple Ling Xiaozi in the room, he swallowed the rest of his complaint.

Pingxu silently mourned for his poor foot but maintained a serious expression. “Ling Xiaozi, you’re here as well. Do you know what happened to Kong Mingzi?”

Called out by her master, Mingshuang thought, Wasn’t her little uncle unconscious because you forced him to kneel in anger, and he, principled as ever, refused to yield?

She grumbled inwardly but wore a smiling face as she replied, “I don’t know why uncle fainted; perhaps it was fate.” In this whimsical, unscientific world, blaming everything on fate seemed safest.

The sect leader had worried that Kong Mingzi’s collapse would upset his disciple and prompt him to complain to Elder Changyan. But his obedient, lovable disciple was clearly not the type to snitch.

Pingxu felt both gratified and proud. He stood, patted Mingshuang’s head, and couldn’t resist sending a strand of spiritual sense to check his disciple’s cultivation, only to be startled once again.

“Ling Xiaozi… have you formed a Golden Core?” Pingxu asked uncertainly.

Mingshuang didn’t understand why elders reacted with more shock than joy upon learning of her and her uncle’s cultivation. Wasn’t higher cultivation a good thing? She was full of immortal questions but decided to answer properly.

Suppressing her curiosity, Mingshuang said, “Yes, Master, I am indeed at the Golden Core stage.”

Pingxu’s expression grew complicated. “Do you know when I and your grandmaster formed our Golden Cores?”

Mingshuang shook her head. As she was administering medicine to her uncle, Chu Yi paused and said, “Elder Changyan formed his Golden Core after coming of age but before reaching thirty—one of the best talents in Jade Gate for centuries. Unfortunately, he became complacent, convinced he was a genius, and frolicked in the flower gardens instead of cultivating. Only when his youth had faded did he regret his wasted years.”

Pingxu felt his dignity bruised hearing his master’s faults laid out so bluntly in front of his disciple. Yet Chu Yi’s words were all true, and as his master’s pupil, no one knew Changyan’s faults better than he did—neglected cultivation, dallied in gardens, and that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Seeing the sect leader did not interrupt, Chu Yi cheerfully continued detailing the elder’s embarrassing history.

“As the saying goes, ‘If you don’t work hard in youth, you’ll regret it in old age.’ Changyan only began to cultivate earnestly when he was halfway to the age of destiny. Even after reaching the Nascent Soul stage and gaining a body immune to aging, it was too late—he was already half an old man. He prized his appearance, so he sought Lin He’s rejuvenation secret on Apricot Grove Peak. After regaining his youthful looks, he worked hard at cultivation, mainly because he heard that cultivators at the Integration stage could forge new bodies. The previous sect leader admired his diligence and passed the leadership to him…” Chu Yi summarized Changyan’s story in one breath, then watched with satisfaction as Mingshuang stared, wide-eyed, before returning to his task of administering medicine.

“Ha… Grandmaster’s story is truly legendary, isn’t it, Master?” Mingshuang, after hearing the dramatic saga of Elder Changyan’s rise, felt inspired. Someone could go to such lengths for youth and beauty, and rise to power—truly the archetype of a ruthless female protagonist, except he was born a man. Had he been a woman, perhaps the heroine of “The Immortal Girl’s Trials” would not have been the naive Ling Qiqi but someone like Changyan.

Pingxu, the model disciple who had served Elder Changyan for decades, was suddenly asked what he thought of his master’s history. He looked awkward for a moment, his square face showing a conflicted expression, making him appear even more serious.

“My master’s story is indeed… quite legendary…” After a long pause, Pingxu finally managed to squeeze out a sentence, acknowledging his master’s wild and remarkable life.

After being fed a bowl of specially prepared medicine, Yun Ting began to shiver, slipping into a fragmented dream. First, he dreamed of the plum courtyard in the Ming family estate, blanketed in white during the depths of winter, while the pale yellow plum blossoms bloomed gracefully, their fragrance elegant and refined.

In the icy snow, Madam Ming held his and Mingshuang’s hands, telling them her favorite flower was the plum blossom. Little Mingshuang, still round and chubby, wriggled free from her mother’s hand, climbed the tree, and broke off two sprigs—one for Madam Ming, one for him.

The scene shifted; another winter, and Mingshuang’s father somehow acquired a red-boned plum tree, transplanting it into the courtyard as if presenting a treasure, visible from the window.

Madam Ming, delighted by the red-boned plum, invited a jade carver to delicately sculpt a pair of hollowed white jade plum pendants modeled after the blossoms. One, strung on black cord, she gave to little Mingshuang; the other, on red cord, to little Yun Ting.

“No matter where you go in the future, seeing this pendant will remind you of the plum blossoms of your homeland.” Madam Ming’s gentle beauty surpassed even the rare red-boned plum in the snow.

...

Yun Ting opened his eyes, clear-headed. He reached to his chest, and after finding the cool, hard object he sought, sat up in bed.

“Do you have a place in mind for next month’s Spirit Hunt Festival?” His uncle’s first words were neither about his health nor his cultivation, but a random question that left everyone else in the room baffled.

Still, Mingshuang was delighted, taking her uncle’s arm. Chu Yi, seeing this, wisely carried the tray out, while the sect leader excused himself to preside over the competition, leaving only uncle and nephew in the room.

“I’d like to go to Que Yue City for the Spirit Hunt Festival and buy a compass,” Mingshuang answered first, then continued, “Uncle, are you feeling any discomfort?”

Yun Ting thought about how Que Yue City wasn’t far from the Ming family’s home in Jiangxia City, and nodded, “No discomfort; my spiritual energy has stabilized. Though Lin He can be eccentric, her medicine is reliable. It’s just that I still feel a lingering chill inside—rather odd.”

Mingshuang’s eyelid twitched, then she replied shyly, “Maybe it’s because my cultivation has grown lately—holding your arm makes you feel cold.”

Yun Ting wondered how, after a nap, his nephew had become even more foolish. If he brought him home like this, would Madam Ming think her precious son had suffered a cultivation mishap?

The little uncle fell into deep thought.