279: Chapter 277 Lin'an City

This city was not large, measuring only a few miles across.

The city walls were built of blue bricks; they weren't tall and had fallen into disrepair over the years, with clumps of wild grass growing atop them that swayed whenever the wind blew.

The city gates were made of wood, their paint mottled and studs rusted, creaking loudly whenever they opened or closed.

Embedded above the gate was a stone plaque carved with the three characters "Linan City," though the writing had been blurred by wind and rain to the point of being nearly unrecognizable.

Linan City was a small town in the northwestern part of the Great Liang Kingdom.

The Great Liang Kingdom was a vassal state of the Zifu Immortal Dynasty; not a single Cultivator existed in the entire country, yet they had worshipped the Zifu Immortal Dynasty for generations, offering Spirit Medicine, Ore, and silk every year in exchange for the dynasty's protection.

For hundreds of years, no Yao Beast had dared to intrude, and no demonic Cultivators had dared to cause trouble; the people lived in peace and contentment, and all was tranquil.

Tucked away in a corner, Linan City was neither near the sea nor by a river, lacking both bustling docks and well-connected official roads.

It was just an ordinary, unremarkable little city forgotten by time.

The city's streets were narrow, paved with bluestone slabs that had been polished smooth and shiny by the footsteps of pedestrians and the rain.

Low-slung houses lined both sides of the streets, featuring gray walls, blue-tiled roofs, and wooden doors and windows.

Cloth banners hung before some houses, bearing characters like "Tea," "Wine," "Rice," or "Cloth"; the banners had faded and fluttered gently in the wind.

There was no spiritual light, no Formations, and no trace of any Immortal Cultivators.

The morning sun shone over the eastern wall, spilling onto the bluestone slabs and casting a warm glow.

The shops on the street opened one after another. The bun seller uncovered his steamer, sending clouds of white steam billowing upward as the fragrance of buns drifted far on the breeze. The tofu seller pushed his small cart, the wooden bucket atop it filled with freshly made tofu as white as snow and trembling slightly. The vegetable vendor carried his shoulder poles, his baskets filled with greens, radishes, onions, and garlic, the dew on the leaves still wet.

There weren't many pedestrians.

A few elderly men sat at the entrance of a teahouse, holding coarse porcelain bowls and chatting idly. A woman carrying a bamboo basket walked past the vegetable stall, picking out a few radishes and paying a few copper coins. A peddler carried his load, shaking a pellet drum as he slowly traversed the alleys, hawking "Needles, thread, and rouge! Candy and melon seeds!" A few children chased each other and played at the mouth of an alley, their crisp laughter cut short by an adult's shout, causing them to shrink their necks and run away.

In the center of the city stood a bell tower, not very tall, three stories high, built of blue bricks with a bronze bell hanging from the roof.

The bell rang twice a day, morning and evening, to mark the time.

At the foot of the bell tower was a small square where a flagpole stood, a flag fluttering upon it embroidered with the characters for "Great Liang."

Beside the flagpole was an old locust tree with a thick trunk and a canopy like an umbrella, casting a large patch of shade.

Beneath the tree were several stone stools, polished smooth and shiny from countless people sitting on them. A few old men were playing chess on the stools, the pieces snapping against the board with a rhythmic clack.

A few onlookers stood nearby, pointing and occasionally exclaiming, "Good move!"

To the east of the city was the marketplace.

It wasn't open every day, only on days ending in three, six, or nine.

Today was the ninth, so the market was open.

Early in the morning, villagers from all around arrived, driving ox carts and carrying shoulder poles.

There was no Spirit Medicine or Magical Artifacts at the market, only grain, vegetables, cloth, poultry, and daily Sundries.

Stallholders shouted at the top of their lungs while buyers bent over to pick and choose, the sounds of haggling rising and falling. A butcher had half a pig hanging before him, greasy and shiny, with flies buzzing around. A woman selling cloth spread out her colorful fabrics, attracting many women to watch. An old man selling candied haws held up his straw bundle, the bright red haws glistening in the sun as children circled him, watching with longing eyes.

To the west of the city was the school.

The school wasn't large, consisting of three tiled rooms and a courtyard. An osmanthus tree grew in the yard, its blossoms in full bloom and filling the area with fragrance. The teacher was an Old Scholar in his fifties, wearing a skullcap and a long robe, holding a scroll and swaying his head as he led his students in recitation; the students followed along, their voices uneven, some dragging their tones and others rushing, creating a lively cacophony.

To the south of the city was the blacksmith's shop. The blacksmith was a sturdy man, shirtless and wearing a black leather apron, swinging his hammer to strike the red-hot iron one blow at a time. Sparks flew, and the clanging sound echoed far and wide. Several finished farm tools—hoes, sickles, and shovels—stood at the shop's entrance, waiting for buyers. Nearby sat an old man repairing shoes on a small stool, head bowed as he stitched stitch by stitch, with several pairs of shoes waiting to be fixed piled beside him.

To the north of the city was the government office. It wasn't large, featuring a single courtyard with a main hall, side rooms, and a jail—everything one would expect. The County Magistrate was a middle-aged man in his forties with a short beard, wearing official robes and sitting in the hall to hear cases. Since there were no cases today, he was engrossed in a novel, laughing occasionally and resting his legs on the desk, looking quite comfortable. The Advisor was grinding ink nearby, yawning until tears came to his eyes.

Most of the city's commoners had never seen an Immortal Cultivator. They knew there were Immortals in the world who could fly, use Spells, and live forever. But they didn't care. Immortals were too far from them, as if they belonged to another world. What they cared about was whether the price of vegetables had risen, how the crops in the fields were growing, if their children's studies were falling behind, or if the neighbor's chicken had wandered into their yard again. Days passed one by one, neither rushed nor slow, like the small river by the city gate—flowing slowly, but never running dry.

The people of Linan City felt a simple reverence and gratitude toward the Zifu Immortal Dynasty.

They knew that it was because of the dynasty's protection that the Great Liang Kingdom had enjoyed a century without war and that they could live in peace. Every year before the spring plowing, the County Magistrate would lead all the citizens to the Earth Temple outside the city to offer sacrifices, praying for the Immortals of the Zifu Immortal Dynasty to bless them with favorable weather and national peace. The ceremony was simple: burning incense, kowtowing, and reciting a sacrificial text. The text was written by the County Magistrate in a refined, scholarly style that the commoners didn't quite understand, but they all knelt properly, not daring to show the slightest negligence. They didn't understand the conflicts of the cultivation world, nor did they know of Xuanming Hall, the Shanhai Society, or the Extra-territorial Yao Race. They only knew that their stable lives were thanks to the Immortals watching over them. That was enough.

Yun Ming stood on a hill outside the city, gazing at this lazy, unremarkable little town for a long time. The wind blew, carrying the scent of soil and crops. Ah Yuan stood beside him, also watching.

"Master, this city is so quiet," Ah Yuan said.

Yun Ming nodded. "Mhm. Let's stay here."

He started walking toward the city gate. Ah Yuan followed behind him. The morning light spilled over them, stretching their shadows long. In the gate's tunnel, an old farmer slowly emerged with an ox cart full of greens, their leaves swaying gently in the morning breeze. Seeing Yun Ming and Ah Yuan, the old farmer gave a simple, honest smile and drove his cart away.