The rain had passed.

In the azure-blue sky, there wasn’t a single cloud – it was crystal clear to the extreme.

At the bottom of a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides, beneath a cliff, a low new grave had appeared at some unknown time. The loose earth was piled up in a sharp mound, with a simple wooden marker stuck in front, carved with a few characters.

The air carried the fragrance of earth and green grass. Dense foliage in the forest dripped with dewdrops that inadvertently slid down, moistening patches of soil.

The rolling mountains in the distance had gentle curves. A breeze passed through, bringing the sound of a shepherd boy’s flute.

Accompanying it came waves of strangely-tuned singing.

The singing gradually drew closer. The one humming was a gaunt old man with a dirty face, wearing broken straw sandals on his feet, dressed in tattered clothes with a wine gourd hanging at his waist.

In one hand, he held a thin, broken bamboo stick, while his other hand grasped a chicken leg. His cheeks moved continuously as he gnawed away happily.

“Left hand has a chicken, right hand has a duck… today there’s a chicken leg, what to eat tomorrow?”

Muttering indistinctly, the old man’s movements didn’t stop. Before long, that plump chicken leg had been cleaned completely, leaving only a chicken bone that couldn’t be licked for even half a drop of oil.

Stopping his steps, the old man raised the white chicken bone in his hand and sighed as he looked at it: “So hungry…”

“Burp.”

What followed was a satisfied belch.

The old man wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. He directly tossed the bone onto the path behind him, lifted his ragged, muddy hem, and vigorously wiped his hands.

After wiping his hands, he was about to continue on his way when, unexpectedly, as he lowered his head, his nose twitched and he sniffed hard, actually frowning.

Where was this bloody smell coming from?

It was quite faint though…

The old man’s expression immediately became solemn. Looking carefully into the grass, he discovered something unusual.

He walked forward and parted a clump of tall wormwood in front of him. Among the emerald green, he saw that patch of dark red.

A pair of dark eyes immediately flowed with an eerie and mysterious pale blue light.

The old man widened his eyes, his whole body tense as he looked in all directions, muttering to himself.

Surrounded by mountains on four sides, a qi-gathering cave. A winding stream ahead, returning with the moon…”

This was a place where heaven and earth’s spiritual energy converged – in mortal terms, a feng shui dragon lair.

Calculating on his fingers, the old man shook his head in confusion.

“Even the Great Expansion Divine Numbers can’t deduce anything. How strange.”

Having walked the mortal world for so many years, he had never seen such an odd occurrence. The old man became curious instead. Following where the dried bloodstains were, he looked ahead and saw many broken traces in the wild grass, as if someone had passed through here.

Following this trail of grass marks, the old man walked forward. As he walked, his field of vision suddenly opened up.

The verdant grass color disappeared. What appeared before him was a stretch of low cliffs.

The old man’s gaze fixed on a certain point below the cliff, his brow furrowing again.

It was a grave mound.

Fresh earth with only sporadic rainwater impact marks that the grave had been built when the rain was nearly stopping.

The old man raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, “Oh!” Then he simply jumped directly down from the cliff. Surprisingly, he didn’t fall half-dead but stood steadily in front of the grave.

On the crude tombstone, several seal script characters were carved deeply.

—— Grave of My Wife Xie Shi Jian Chou.

The old man stroked his chin covered in messy whiskers and somehow let out a snickering laugh.

Looking left and right, seeing no one around, he directly formed a hand seal. His two dirty fingers touched, immediately like heavenly thunder triggering earthly fire, exploding with a “poof” into a ball of blue light that poured out like a waterfall, sweeping toward the grave mound.

Whoosh.

The blue radiance dissipated.

The soft earth of the grave mound was swept completely away, along with the coffin lid inside that was lifted by an unknown gale and thrown to one side.

The sky was bright.

In the coffin made from freshly split tree trunks lay a fresh corpse.

It was a young woman.

Her eyelids were tightly closed, her brow also deeply furrowed, as if she had much pain that couldn’t be expressed before death. A patch of dried bloodstains spread across her chest, her rough cloth clothing had a hole with neat edges – wounded by a sharp mortal weapon.

“Tsk tsk.”

Shaking his head, the old man paced around the coffin, continuously muttering something.

“Forget it, your fate shouldn’t end here.”

Sitting dazedly in the coffin, Jian Chou looked at the huffing old man standing on the ground, still unable to react.

“Old… elder, what did you just say?”

“Argh, argh, argh, this infuriates this mountain man!” The old man was nearly mad with anger, vigorously scratching his sparse hair. “I’ve said it eight hundred times already – I was passing by here and dug you out of the grave, saved your life! Don’t keep calling me ‘elder this, elder that.’ I am Fudao Shanren, Fudao Shanren! Didn’t your parents teach you how to respect your elders?!”

“…I, I have no father or mother…”

Jian Chou spoke hesitantly.

The old man who called himself “Fudao Shanren” opened his mouth wide, as if choked half to death by her words. His eyes bulged out, and he couldn’t speak for a long time.

After a long while, he suddenly beat his chest and stamped his feet: “Curse your meddling hands, curse your meddling hands! Is performing good deeds and accumulating virtue something you’re capable of? Curse your meddling hands – you won’t dare meddle again, will you?!”

Jian Chou didn’t understand why this “Fudao Shanren,” who claimed to be her life-saving benefactor, had suddenly become furious. She just wanted to know what exactly had happened.

Her mind was completely wooden. Even looking at the surrounding mountains, trees, flowers, and grass, everything felt incredibly strange.

Fragmentary images flashed through her mind.

The farmhouse courtyard, the thunderstorm day, the clanging windows, the umbrella appearing in the rain curtain…

That was her husband, the good man she had wanted to entrust her life to…

Xie Buchen.

Jian Chou finally remembered. She lowered her head to look at her chest.

That sword hanging on the wall had been personally thrust by him into her burning chest…

But looking down now, there was no bleeding, the wound didn’t hurt at all, as if there had never been that sword thrust, as if…

Xie Buchen had never killed her.

But the hole in her clothes gaped open gently.

In that instant, Jian Chou felt as if stabbed by something. Her face turned pale, and her fingers trembled.

Every bit of their past interactions uncontrollably surged out from her memory.

On a tree with dense foliage, Xie Buchen hid in the thick shade, holding a scroll in his hands, gently reciting: “All under heaven has a beginning, which serves as the mother of all under heaven…”

She sat under the tree, copying the scriptures that Mother Xie wanted.

The noisy cicada calls couldn’t break their peaceful companionship…

…

In the small alley, Xie Buchen’s face bore undisguisable haggardness as he came out to avoid disaster, his whole person swaying as if about to collapse.

She supported his shoulder, helping him flee through the dark alleys. Running and running until there was no more road, Xie Buchen held her and rolled into a pile of firewood in the alley, using the prickly dry grass to hide them both…

She was held tightly in his arms, not daring to make a single sound…

…

On their wedding day, Xie Buchen used the ceremonial scale to lift her veil.

Jian Chou still remembered the warm smile on his face, which made her heart flutter even more than the red candles burning beside them.

…

The flickering images finally froze on Xie Buchen’s hand holding the sword.

Those were the contours she had traced in her heart thousands upon thousands of times, the good man to whom she had given her true heart and wanted to entrust her entire life!

Yet he had faced her with a sword!

On the sword was stained her fresh blood!

Weren’t they husband and wife?

Immense grief and hatred instantly invaded Jian Chou’s rationality.

She had a thousand, ten thousand things she didn’t understand: Why? Why kill her?

They had shared joys and sorrows, weathered hardships, and she even carried their child…

One day, as husband and wife bring a hundred days of grace, yet this was repaid with drawn swords?

Jian Chou felt her eye sockets burning hot, as if scorching tears were locked within, but she couldn’t cry. Instead, she wanted to laugh.

Laugh loudly.

Laugh at how “one day as husband and wife brings a hundred days of grace” was just empty words; laugh at how sincere devotion flows away like eastern waters, and all things turn to emptiness when one turns around…

Jian Chou’s shoulders shook uncontrollably as she laughed.

Mocking, with an indescribable desolation.

All her tears flowed inward to her heart. Sitting in the damp coffin, her figure appeared even more frail.

Around her was scattered earth, verdant trees… The post-rain world was full of vitality, everything growing vigorously.

Only her heart was like dead ashes.

Seeing her in this state, Fudao Shanren beside her felt his hair stand on end: “You… you… Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

After laughing, her heart felt empty.

Instead, a sentence she had heard before losing consciousness kept echoing in her mind…

“Worldly ties have been severed, your heart-nature is excellent. In future days of seeking immortals and asking about the Dao, among those with heaven-reaching great abilities, you shall surely have a place.”

Why did Xie Buchen kill her?

She had died and been sealed in a coffin, yet she could return from death with not a trace of wounds on her body…

Seeking immortals and asking about the Dao.

Were there immortals in this world?

Jian Chou subconsciously looked toward that old man, Fudao Shanren.

Dirty whiskers, shifty eyes, his entire being written with two words: lecherous.

At this moment, his eyes rolled around as if checking the surroundings for any situation, but his hand movements were decisive – he didn’t know where he pulled out another chicken leg and stuffed it toward his mouth.

“The world has changed, people’s hearts aren’t what they used to be. These days, saving someone is like saving an ancestor! Sigh…”

“Shanren.”

Jian Chou suddenly called out.

Fudao Shanren was concentrating on gnawing his chicken leg when he suddenly heard this clear call of “Shanren.” He got goosebumps all over and nearly threw away the half-eaten chicken leg in his hand.

“All fine and well, suddenly calling out ‘Shanren’…”

“Shanren, are there gods and immortals in this world?”

Jian Chou’s voice carried a trace of light melancholy that scattered when the wind blew.

Are there gods and immortals in this world?

Though it was an extremely ordinary question, Fudao Shanren was greatly shocked upon hearing it, and the chicken leg finally fell to the ground.

He pointed at Jian Chou with his greasy finger: “How do you know I’m not human-ah, ah no, not a mortal?!”

“…”

Why was there suddenly an absurd feeling?

But Jian Chou couldn’t laugh.

“Shanren, are there gods and immortals in this world?” she asked again.

Fudao Shanren stared at her for a long time before understanding that she wasn’t suspecting his identity, just inquiring.

It was he who had made a big fuss over nothing. How embarrassing.

Fudao Shanren coughed seriously: “There are, but I heard that was all several thousand years ago…”

While speaking, he bent down and quickly picked up the fallen chicken leg, wiped it vigorously, and stuffed it in his mouth to continue eating without any disgust.

He spoke unclearly: “Why, do you also want to seek immortals and ask about the Dao, wanting eternal life and immortality?”

Seek immortals and ask about the Dao, eternal life, and immortality?

No.

Jian Chou supported herself against the edge of the coffin made from tree heartwood. The hard little thorns pricked her palms, but she didn’t care at all as she slowly stood up from the coffin.

Her slender, even frail body held her spine perfectly straight.

The sky was clear blue. Jian Chou’s gaze wandered in that vast expanse as she only said: “I don’t want to seek immortals and ask about the Dao, nor do I want eternal life and immortality. I only want to ask one question – why.”