Mr. Chen returned to the Flowing Cloud Temple. After going back, he began closed-door cultivation.
Chenghuang and Moyuan saw this state and dared not disturb him much. But at dusk one day, when the sun set, Moyuan ca to the backyard again and found Mr. Chen gone.
Chenghuang glanced at Moyuan.
Moyuan sighed: “Mr. Chen is missing again…”
Chenghuang blinked: “Then… should we look for him?”
Moyuan shrugged: “If you can find him, you get to be the boss.”
He patted Chenghuang’s shoulder: “Just go do whatever. I doubt Mr. Chen will be back anyti soon.”
Chen Changsheng had died once more. Luckily, this ti he left no unresolved matters.
That External Incarnation could just be crafted after his next awakening.
Ti slipped by like Huai Xu vanishing. A bleak autumn wind swirled into the courtyard.
The Taoist Temple was as peaceful as always.
Ever since Chenghuang joined, Moyuan often went wandering in the mortal world. Each ti he returned, he’d bring back treasures for Chenghuang — sotis little mortal trinkets, sotis rit, other tis Magical Artifacts.
Chenghuang always suspected Moyuan earned these through rascal deeds, like a bandit.
Still, with Moyuan’s help, Chenghuang’s cultivation gradually improved. At least his lifespan running out was no longer a fear.
Days beca years, yet he’d stand perched on the temple’s Drooping Ridge, guarding this place… and himself.
These quiet years passed without disturbance, yet remained unforgettable. He cherished this place deeply. For a beast who’d wandered a thousand years, here was rest. If possible, Chenghuang would stay forever. As just a beast on the drooping ridge.
…
anwhile, elsewhere in Jianghu, a young man and woman settled down in a District-Town.
This place bordered Great Jing’s old Frontier Pass. Years ago, Emperor Jing had drafted all strong young n from this district. Later, the frontier fell in war; townsfolk were robbed. Trapped, they hid children in cellars to survive. Thus lived thirty-one orphans. After a night of weeping, they rebuilt their broken village to face a barren winter.
A horse drawn by a pair carried a dicine chest. Seated atop it, a man wearing a cone hat surveyed the orphan village.
“Let’s help them,” said Tong Zhihuan.
Miss Tao’er nodded: “But our travel funds run thin.”
“Help doesn’t an money.”
Tong Zhihuan smiled warmly: “We’ve traveled nonstop. Why not stay? Teach so dicine? Learning gives them better survival.”
Miss Tao’er considered this, then bead: “That works.”
They put down roots. At first, the orphans distrusted these outsiders — hardship stole their faith in strangers. Yet their hearts stayed pure. Gradually, connections ford.
Since losing parents, these orphans leaned on each other. They’d given themselves numbers replacing nas: Eldest Brother, Seventeenth Brother, Eighteenth Sister…
Once familiar, Tong Zhihuan asked:
“Want to learn dicine?”
“What can dicine do?”
“Heal sickness.”
“Learning ans we could heal brothers and sisters?” asked one girl. “So no one sick-dies again?”
Struck by her words, Tong Zhihuan patted her head: “Yes. Want to learn?”
“Want!”
“ too! too!”
Watching them, Miss Tao’er’s face glowed.
“Books call children innocent,” she murmured. “‘Pure’ is truthful indeed.”
Tong Zhihuan taught basic redies and herb knowledge. His ti was short, so he shared all he could. Though it couldn’t cure severe illnesses, small sicknesses were manageable.
As Miss Tao’er swept fallen leaves at their makeshift School she heard shouts:
“Shiniang!”
“Shiniang! Shiniang!” (term for master’s wife)
“Who taught you that na?”
“Seventeenth Brother did. Shifu is Shifu so you’re Shiniang!”
“You rascals…”
Miss Tao’er’s face flushed. She hurried away.
“Why Shiniang went red?”
“Don’t know…”
Children exchanged blank stares. What could kids fathom?
Glancing outside, Miss Tao’er saw them. The blush faded from her cheeks. Her gaze drifted distantly, growing unfocused. A soft smile touched her lips when awareness returned.
They stayed two months. Leaving, Tong Zhihuan gifted children his dical journal.
“Shifu… Shiniang…”
The orphans’ eyes brimd reluctance. But all Tong Zhihuan could offer was this.
“Go back now,” he told them. “We’ll et again.”
That day, thirty-one orphans knelt silently at the District-Town’s entrance.
Tong Zhihuan only peered once before turning away. If he looked longer, he feared staying.
The thirty-one just kept kneeling until the silhouettes vanished down the road’s far end.
“Get up,” said Eldest Brother softly. “Succeed in life, and we’ll see Shifu and Shiniang once more.”
He clutched the journal — Tong Zhihuan’s life-work notes — tucking it protectively inside his clothes.
Fate forever changed the day Tong Zhihuan arrived. Whether they soared or sank? That prowess lay in these orphans’ hands.
Miss Tao’er gazed back along the road. “I’ll miss them,” she whispered.
“Destiny belongs to each soul. That’s Lesson One from Mr. Chen,” said Tong Zhihuan.
He added, softly determined: “The journey ahead is very, very long.”
Miss Tao’er raised her eyes: “Where next?”
“How about Western Xiao?”
She smiled: “Anywhere. Where you go, I go.”
Beneath fading sunset rays, the horse plodded west. Man and woman faded from view near Green Mountain’s foot.
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