618: Chapter 618 Imperial Tutor (8)

After Xuan Zhao fell, Qin Yun went to that small town.

He did not go to the Xuan Yang Heavenly Palace, did not accept anyone's worship, and did not erect a monument for Xuan Zhao.

He simply returned to that long-abandoned carpenter's shop.

The old tree in the courtyard was still there, but its leaves had all fallen.

Qin Yun sat in the courtyard for a long time.

He remembered how Xuan Zhao looked when he first knelt to take him as his master, and remembered the expression of the youth following behind him, asking those strange questions.

The more he walked the Mortal World, the more the Mortal World pained him.

Qin Yun took out from his bosom the wooden plaque that Xuan Zhao had carved in his youth; the characters on it were already blurred.

He threw the wooden plaque into the fire.

The flames licked at the wood, making a faint crackling sound.

Qin Yun watched the flicker of firelight, his gaze turning cold bit by bit.

The deeper the attachment, the heavier the wound.

If one wishes to truly achieve Immortal Ascension, one cannot be held back by the Mortal World any longer.

He went into seclusion once again.

This time, he would no longer ask about the human world, no longer care about the Nine Continents, and no longer walk the Mortal dust.

He had only one goal left.

Immortal Ascension.

...

Time flowed on, and no one knew how many eras had passed.

Above the Nine Continents, the Dark Turmoil erupted once again.

Imperial dynasties perished overnight, and imperial cities turned into ruins.

The gates of Holy Lands were breached, and their Legacies were severed.

Mortal cities were swallowed by calamities, and cries of grief rang through the heavens.

Amidst the ruins, some knelt on the ground, praying towards the heavens, calling out the name of the Cloud Immortal over and over.

In ancient temples, people reshaped his golden statue, worshiping his old image generation after generation, hoping he would intervene once more.

There were also those who stood before their shattered homes, pointing at the sky and cursing, berating him for being aloof and watching the world with cold eyes.

Qin Yun never appeared.

Outside the Nine Continents, in a place unknown to anyone, he continued to deduce the final step of the Mortal World Immortal.

He possessed the Nine Books and Nine Treasures.

He possessed the supreme Chaos Body.

He possessed cultivation at the peak of the Pseudo-Immortal realm.

He possessed countless memories of experiencing the Mortal World.

Yet that one step simply could not be taken.

The more he wanted to achieve Immortal Ascension, the less he resembled an immortal.

The more he wanted to transcend the Mortal World, the more the three words "Mortal World Immortal" blocked him firmly outside the door.

And the understanding of "Immortal" in the Nine Continents began to become increasingly twisted.

Later generations of academies, Sects, and Holy Lands, when preaching the Dao, all said:

"Immortals are beyond the heavens, unstained by the Mortal World."

"Immortals overlook all living things and do not enter the world."

"The joys and sorrows of all living beings are, to an immortal, nothing but passing clouds."

"The more heartless one is, the closer one is to the Dao."

"The more indifferent one is, the more like an immortal one becomes."

He was becoming the immortal of the world's imagination.

Yet he still could not become a true Mortal World Immortal.

...

On the edge of the Nine Continents, an inconspicuous little fishing village.

Rain mixed with snow; the wind was very cold.

A youth in thin clothing had just buried his only relative on the hillside outside the village.

He did not cry.

He just silently filled the earth back in and stepped on it to pack it firm, fearing the night's rain would wash the new grave open.

After finishing all this, he turned around and, dragging his exhausted body, walked towards the village.

He was hungry and cold, needing to find a place to sleep.

The youth's eyes were hard, honed by suffering, carrying a reckless stubbornness.

He loathed reading, loathed the words of sages, and even more loathed those who sat indoors preaching grand principles.

Because he could not understand, if reading was useful, why would good people still freeze to death?

If sages had spirits, why could the village bully still eat meat and drink wine?

If immortals really existed, why didn't one come down to take a look when his mother was dying of illness?

The youth passed a dilapidated temple at the entrance of the village.

The temple was very old, with half the roof leaking rain.

But there was firelight inside, and bursts of childish reading sounds coming from within.

Outside, the wind and snow raged, cold enough to pierce the bones.

Yet inside, there was a sense of warmth.

The youth originally did not want to enter, but he heard a character being discussed inside.

"Immortal."

In the broken temple, an old teacher wearing a gray long gown was leading seven or eight children, also in ragged clothes, in their studies.

The old teacher held a ruler in his hand, pointing at the characters written on a broken wooden board.

"An immortal is a person on a mountain."

The old teacher spoke slowly, his voice aged and calm.

"A person stands at the peak of the mountain, far from the noise of the world, unstained by worldly Karma, which is why they can consume mist and drink dew, and live for a long time."

"The immortal is a person of high status, and also someone we Mortals need to look up to."

A child raised his hand and said loudly: "Immortals can fly and can live on the clouds!"

Another child followed up: "Immortals don't grow old, and they don't get sick!"

There was also a little girl, her voice timid: "If an immortal saw a bad person, they would definitely drive them away."

These words were very innocent.

But falling into the ears of the youth outside the door, they stung his heart with pain.

He could no longer hold back.

He stepped into the broken temple, bringing in a body full of rainwater and mud.

The reading sounds came to an abrupt halt.

All the children looked at him.

The old teacher also frowned.

The youth did not bow, nor did he exchange pleasantries; he simply stared at the old teacher, his voice carrying an anger that had been suppressed for too long.

"If the immortal is truly on the mountain, did he see the dead people at the foot of the mountain?"

"If he saw them but refused to come down, then is he worthy of being called an immortal?"

"If he didn't see them at all, then what is the use of him standing so high?"

Three questions in a row left everyone present stunned.

The children were dumbfounded by the questions.

The old teacher looked at him and was silent for a moment.

The youth, however, ignored this; he pointed to the character "Immortal" on the wooden board and continued:

"There is no such thing as an immortal born to be high and mighty in this world; there are only people who walk step by step to the mountain peak."

"But if he walks to the peak only to make the people below look up at him, then he is not an immortal."

"He is just a rock standing high up."

The old teacher's eyes flickered slightly.

The youth added: "You only see the mountain, but on the left side of the character 'Immortal', there is still a person."

"Without a person, no matter how high the mountain is, it is just a dead mountain."

"If a person goes up the mountain but forgets the people below, then the person on the left side of the character 'Immortal' is gone. If the person is gone, what kind of immortal is that?"

"The person on the mountain stands high, not to make others kneel and look at him."

"It is to be able to see the fire further away, the snow further away, and the dead people further away."

"The higher he stands, the more he should see. The more he sees, the more he should carry."

The youth's voice grew louder and more agitated; he seemed to be questioning, and also seemed to be venting.

"A true immortal is not someone who stands on the mountain and refuses to come down!"

"It is someone who, despite being able to stay on the mountain, is willing to come down!"

"If there is suffering at the foot of the mountain, he should come down."

"If there is evil at the foot of the mountain, he should draw his sword."

"If someone at the foot of the mountain is about to freeze to death, he should give them a bowl of hot porridge."

"Otherwise, no matter how high he stands, he is just a dead person watching coldly from the sidelines!"

As the last sentence fell, the old teacher's heart was shaken.

The old teacher's body trembled almost imperceptibly.

He remembered many years ago, that youth in the windy and snowy night who handed him half a bowl of hot porridge.

The youth was still speaking, his reddened eyes filled with tears, and also revealing an unyielding stubbornness.

"I don't know what is called longevity, nor do I know what is called the Dao."

"I only know that if one day I can walk to the highest point, I will definitely not do it to be further away from the human world."

"I want to stand there and see the people at the foot of the mountain clearly."

"Whoever falls, I will go and help them up."

"Whoever is bullied, I will go and fight."

"Whoever is dying in the snow, I will give them a hot bite."

"If this does not count as an immortal, then I would rather there had never been any immortals in this world!"

The voice fell.

The broken temple was silent.

The children were stunned in place by what he said.

And that Qin Yun who called himself an old teacher, he stood there for a long, long time without moving.

The ruler in his hand, without him knowing when, had already fallen to the ground.