154: Chapter 153 Island Retreat

Yun Ming stood under an ancient pine tree on Wanghai Peak, gazing at the tranquil fishing village at the foot of the mountain.

There were no worries about the depletion of Spiritual Qi, no clamor of Sect disputes, and no crisis of being hunted by devil Cultivators.

There was only the boundless azure sea and a cluster of islands isolated from the world.

Thirty-six islands were scattered amidst the green waves, like a forgotten emerald necklace.

The people on the islands had lived here for generations, working at sunrise and resting at sunset, their days passing slowly and peacefully.

He had already stayed on this island for several days. His Golden Core was also slowly reconsolidating.

The new Golden Core was more solid than before; the cracks had disappeared, and its light was brighter.

But he was in no hurry to leave. Standing atop Wanghai Peak, he watched the fishing village below, the fishermen working at dawn, and the children running on the beach, suddenly feeling that he hadn't seen such a sight for a very, very long time.

This morning, a boy of seven or eight years old, carrying a bamboo basket on his back, headed up the mountain along the winding path to gather herbs.

He didn't walk fast, squatting down from time to time to pull a few herbs from the roadside and toss them into his basket.

He had walked this path many times; he could find which stretch of road had wild fruit, which patch of forest had mushrooms, and which rock hid scorpions even with his eyes closed.

But today, when he rounded that familiar large boulder and looked up toward Wanghai Peak, he froze.

A small building had appeared on the mountaintop.

The building wasn't large, only two stories high, with upturned eaves and painted rafters. It was constructed entirely of a light green wood he had never seen before, glowing with a warm luster in the morning light.

The boy rubbed his eyes and looked again; the small building was still there.

He rubbed them again, and it remained. He stood frozen in place, the bamboo basket in his hand nearly falling to the ground.

He had been gathering herbs here since he was a child and had never seen this building.

The mountaintop clearly only had bare rocks and a few old pine trees; when did such a building appear?

Then he remembered the stories told by the elders—every few decades, Immortals would descend upon these islands, treading on seven-colored auspicious clouds to land on Wanghai Peak.

His eyes instantly lit up, and abandoning his basket, he turned and ran down the mountain, shouting as he went, "The Immortal has come! The Immortal has come!"

The news spread through the entire fishing village as if it had grown wings.

In less than half an hour, the village entrance was crowded with people.

Men put down their fishing nets, women set aside their needlework, elders leaned on their canes, and children held the hands of adults.

Everyone put on their cleanest clothes and, with the most pious expressions, marched in a grand procession toward Wanghai Peak.

Leading the way was the village's Elder Patriarch, a man over eighty years old with white hair and a hunched back, yet his pace was faster than anyone's.

He held a stick of incense in his hands, muttering prayers, his face flushed with excitement.

The group slowly climbed Wanghai Peak along the winding mountain path.

When they rounded the large boulder and saw the small building that had appeared out of thin air, everyone was stunned.

Several elderly villagers knelt on the spot, their foreheads thumping against the stones.

"Immortal! It is an Immortal!"

"May the Immortal bless us! May the Immortal bless us!"

More people knelt down.

Some kowtowed, some burned incense, and some muttered unintelligible prayers.

Children were pressed down by their heads by adults to kowtow as well. Several women took offerings from their baskets—a few dried fish, a basket of wild fruit, and a jar of home-brewed rice wine—and respectfully placed them on the stone table in front of the building.

The Elder Patriarch knelt at the very front, holding the incense high above his head with both hands, his voice trembling: "The Immortal descends to protect all living beings. We pray for the Immortal to bless us with favorable weather, to protect those who go out to sea so they return safely, and to keep the children free from illness and disaster..."

Behind him, the villagers chanted in unison. The sound echoed across the mountaintop, startling several seabirds in the forest.

Just then, the door of the small building opened.

A person walked out from inside. He wore moon-white robes, his hair was loosely tied, and his face was young, looking no more than in his early twenties.

He stood at the door, looking at the villagers kneeling all over the ground, his brow furrowing slightly.

Then he raised his hand and gave a gentle flick. The Elder Patriarch felt a soft force support his arms, lifting him from the ground.

"I am not an Immortal," the man spoke, his voice not loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly. "I am just a wandering Cultivator passing through this place, staying for a while. You need not do this."

The villagers looked at each other in confusion.

The Elder Patriarch was stunned for a moment and asked cautiously, "Immor... You are not an Immortal?"

The man shook his head: "No."

"Then... you are..."

"A Cultivator." The man paused, seemingly feeling that this explanation wasn't clear enough, and added, "Similar to the Immortals in your stories, but not that powerful. I will live here for a period; do not disturb me unless there is a reason."

After saying this, he turned back into the building, and the door closed gently.

The villagers remained kneeling, and for a long time, no one dared to move.

The Elder Patriarch was the first to stand up. He bowed deeply toward the building and then turned to the villagers: "Did you all hear that? Do not disturb the Immortal's rest. Go back, everyone go back."

Only then did the villagers stand up one after another. Some kowtowed a few more times toward the building, some left their offerings on the stone table, and some walked back while muttering prayers.

While descending the mountain, the Elder Patriarch deliberately walked at the very back. He looked back at the small building and whispered instructions to the young men beside him: "Pass the word down; no one is allowed to come up the mountain to disturb him from now on. If anyone disturbs the Immortal, I will not let them off."

The news quickly spread throughout the entire fishing village.

Although the villagers didn't understand the difference between a "Cultivator" and an "Immortal," they understood one thing—the person on the mountain was someone they couldn't afford to offend.

Consequently, the villagers spontaneously avoided Wanghai Peak; even those gathering herbs changed their location.

Children were strictly forbidden from playing on the mountain, and adults tried their best not to mention the matter.

Yun Ming closed the door of the small building and let out a soft sigh as he stood in the empty room.

He raised his hand, and the map of mountains and rivers flew out of his sleeve, suspended in mid-air.

The scroll unfurled, and with a flash of green light, Qin Wan's figure appeared in the room.

She was wearing the clothes woven with xuan shuang protective gauze, wearing the spirit essence heart-guarding pendant, and the fifth-rank jade bracelet was still on her wrist.

She stood in the middle of the room, looking around blankly. When she saw Yun Ming, her eyes instantly lit up.

"Ming'er! Where is this?"

Yun Ming smiled: "On an island. It's very safe."

Qin Wan walked to the window, pushed it open, and froze when she saw the azure sea outside.

The sea breeze blew in, carrying a salty scent and the distant cries of seabirds.

The sunlight spilled onto her face, feeling warm.

"It's so beautiful..." she murmured.

Yun Ming walked over and stood beside her: "Do you like it?"

Qin Wan nodded, then shook her head: "What about that Sect of yours... what happened?"

Yun Ming was silent for a moment before saying calmly, "It was overrun by devil Cultivators. Everyone fled, and I fled too. I escaped to this place."

Qin Wan's face turned pale: "Will the devil Cultivators pursue us here?"

Yun Ming shook his head: "No. This place is very far from Ximing Continent, separated by the entire East Xuan Region. They cannot chase us this far."

Qin Wan looked at him for a long time before finally nodding.

She didn't press for details about the Sect, nor did she ask about the fate of the Disciples or whether they could ever return.

She simply turned around and began to inspect the room.

"This building is nice," she said, "but it's too dirty. Look at the floor, it's covered in dust. The windows need wiping, the tables need wiping, and there's no bedding..." She chattered away, already rolling up her sleeves, prepared to get to work.

Yun Ming smiled and followed behind her, helping her move things, wipe windows, and sweep dust.

It should have been something he could complete with a casual flick of his fingers, yet the two of them stayed busy all day, from morning until dusk.

Qin Wan directed, and Yun Ming worked.

Which cloth should be spread where, which piece of furniture should be placed in which corner—she arranged everything in an orderly fashion. Yun Ming listened to her, putting things wherever she said and arranging them however she wished.

By evening, the small building was finally tidied up.

The first floor was the hall and kitchen, and the second floor had two bedrooms.

Qin Wan even started a small vegetable patch in the courtyard, scattering some seeds and transplanting a few stalks of Spirit Medicine from the map of mountains and rivers into the corner.

She said that living life required living it properly; one couldn't just make do.

Night fell. Yun Ming lay on a bamboo chair in the courtyard, gazing at the starry sky above.

The stars were very bright, even brighter than those at the Qingxuan Sect.

Without the shroud of Devilish Qi or the reflection of war, they shone cleanly—one by one, densely packed, like a handful of scattered silver shavings.

The sound of waves came from the distance, one after another, steady and unhurried, like the earth breathing.

The sea breeze blew from afar, carrying a salty scent and the faint fragrance of vegetation, making the bamboo leaves in the courtyard rustle.

He closed his eyes, feeling the five Golden Cores within his body.

They were rotating slowly, cycle after cycle, calm and unhurried.

Strands of spiritual power seeped into his body from the world, flowing into his Dantian and being absorbed by the Golden Cores.

It was slow, but very steady.

It wasn't like the days and nights of overexertion and frantic rotation at the Qingxuan Sect, nor was it like the race against time to Cultivate in the Wanfa Daojun Blessed Land.

It just turned leisurely, like the people on this island, working at sunrise and resting at sunset.

He thought back on his experiences over the years.

Sunset Glow Sect, Wanfa Daojun Blessed Land, Cangxuan Immortal Sect, Qingxuan Sect—all along the way, fighting and killing, running here and there, dying time and again, and living time and again.

He thought he was looking for the way home, thinking that as long as he found his mother and Er Ya, everything would end. But once he actually found them, he discovered even more things waiting for him. Devil Cultivators, Soul Transformation, war, death—he was dragged in, escaped, dragged in again, and escaped again. It was never-ending.

He was tired.

He didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to run anymore, didn't want to die anymore. He didn't want to be some hero, didn't want to save anyone, and didn't want to get involved in any Sect matters. He just wanted to find a place to stay quietly, talk with his mother, grow vegetables, watch the sea, perform Alchemy, and tend to flowers. As for Cultivating—he'd do it; after all, he had plenty of time. If his Golden Core shattered, he'd reconsolidate it; if his cultivation level dropped, he'd slowly Cultivate it back. No rush.

He opened his eyes, gazing at the starry sky above, a faint smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. The sound of the waves lapped against the shore, like the world's gentlest lullaby.

He wasn't leaving. He would stay right here. He wasn't going anywhere else.