Chapter 662
Fu Shaoping paused. He remembered that Widow Li's husband, the tuberculosis-ridden woodcutter, had died last winter. He had secretly checked at the time and found that his lungs were rotten, and even the elixir of the cultivation world could not save him.
"Your father went to a better place." This was all he could say in the end. Looking at the boy's disappointed back as he left, he felt like a stone was pressing on his chest.
This was the first lesson he learned in Qingxi Town: mortal life is so fragile.
"Are you daydreaming again?" Nangong Wan's voice came from behind. She had already sent the children to school and now changed into a simple green dress with only a wooden hairpin in her hair. She no longer looked like a true disciple of the Xuepo Sect.
Fu Shaoping turned around and saw her holding a lunch box: "How come you have time to come here today?"
"Mrs. Lin sent me some glutinous rice cakes to thank me for teaching her granddaughter to play the piano." Nangong Wan put the food box on the counter and opened the lid. The sweet fragrance immediately filled the air. "Want to try?"
Fu Shaoping picked up a piece of it and found it was soft and sticky, sweet but not greasy. He suddenly remembered the scene when they first came here three years ago. At that time, the townspeople were wary of these two outsiders, but now they have treated them as their own people.
"How is Blacksmith Liu's illness?" Nangong Wan asked.
Fu Shaoping frowned slightly: "Not very good. Tuberculosis has spread to the marrow, I'm afraid..." He didn't finish, but Nangong Wan already understood.
"Go see him," she whispered.
Liu the blacksmith's shop is located in the west of the town. It is a low thatched house. In front of the door hangs a blackened wooden sign with the words "Liu's Iron Shop" written crookedly on it. Before entering the door, I heard a heart-wrenching cough coming from inside.
Pushing the door open, the dim room was filled with a strong smell of medicine and blood. Liu the blacksmith was lying on a wooden bed in the corner, looking emaciated and pale. When he saw them coming in, he struggled to sit up.
"Don't move." Fu Shaoping quickly stepped forward and held him down. He placed his fingers on his pulse and his spiritual power silently penetrated into him.
The situation was worse than he had imagined. His internal organs had begun to fail, and he only had three to five days left to live.
"Mr. Fu, am I dying?" Blacksmith Liu asked, panting, with despair in his cloudy eyes.
Fu Shaoping was silent for a moment, then said frankly: "No medicine or medicine can help."
Liu the blacksmith closed his eyes, a tear fell from the corner of his eye: "How are my wife and daughter going to live in the future?"
Nangong Wan walked to the bedside and whispered, "The town will take care of them."
This was the second lesson they learned in Qingxi Town: mortal concerns are so heavy.
After leaving the blacksmith shop, the two walked in silence on the road back to the town center. The setting sun stretched their shadows very long, and Fu Shaoping suddenly stopped.
"I can save him." He whispered, "Using the 'Rejuvenation Technique' in the Qingming Sutra, I can at least extend his life by ten years."
Nangong Wan turned to look at him: "Then what? Let the whole town know that we are not ordinary people? Attract the pursuit of Xuanyin Pavilion? Let Qingxi Town be involved in the disputes of the cultivation world?"
Fu Shaoping clenched his fists, digging his nails deep into his palms. He knew Nangong Wan was right. The world of cultivation had its own rules, and interfering with the life and death of mortals without authorization was a taboo. But knowing rationally was one thing, and accepting emotionally was another.
"Three years," he said hoarsely. "I thought I was used to watching them die."
Nangong Wan looked towards the mountains in the distance: "We can never get used to it. This is why Master said that cultivators need to temper their mortal hearts."
Three days later, Liu the blacksmith passed away. On the day of the funeral, all the people in the town came. Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan stood at the end of the crowd, watching the man who once could swing a hammer with one hand being buried in the loess, leaving behind his wife and daughter who were crying their hearts out.
That night, Fu Shaoping sat alone in the backyard of Huichun Hall, drinking cup after cup of muddy wine bought in town. Nangong Wan appeared beside him at some point, holding a white jade bottle in his hand.
"I secretly hid the 'Hanmei Wine' of Xuepo Sect." She placed the bottle on the stone table. "It's much better than horse urine."
Fu Shaoping took it, tilted his head back and took a big gulp. The cold wine slid down his throat, but it couldn't extinguish the depressed mood in his chest.
"You know what?" He stared at the bottle in his hand. "When I was in the world of cultivation, I never felt that the life and death of mortals had anything to do with me. They were like weeds on the roadside, growing and withering, and it was normal."
Nangong Wan listened quietly, the moonlight casting a layer of silver on her profile.
"But now," Fu Shaoping continued, "I know that every 'weed' has a name, a story, and someone who cares about them." He smiled bitterly, "Liu the blacksmith's daughter is only eight years old. She asked me yesterday if she could use all her dolls to exchange for her father."
Nangong Wan's fingers gently stroked the strings of the zither, and a low tremor sounded: "I have also had such confusion. When I was twelve years old, I followed my master down the mountain to eliminate demons and passed by a village. The plague was rampant and corpses were everywhere. I begged my master to save them, but my master said that life and death are determined by fate, and cultivators should not interfere too much."
"and after?"
"I secretly left a bottle of detoxification pill and dissolved it into the well water at the entrance of the village." A trace of reminiscence flashed in Nangong Wan's eyes, "I saved more than a dozen people, but was punished by my master to face the wall for three years."
Fu Shaoping turned to look at her: "Is it worth it?"
Nangong Wan raised his lips slightly: "Every time I see the rough wooden carved little zither given by the villagers as a full-month gift to their children, I know it's worth it."
The two men smiled at each other, and under the moonlight, subtle changes quietly took place in the hearts of the two cultivators.
Spring goes and autumn comes, and another year has passed in the blink of an eye. Life in Qingxi Town is as peaceful as water, and Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan have completely integrated into the place. Huichuntang's business is getting better and better, and Fu Shaoping even took in two apprentices; Nangong Wan's reputation for zither art spreads far and wide, and wealthy families from neighboring counties often come to invite him to play.
One day, Nangong Wan was teaching a new song in the school, and a thin girl caught her attention. She was about ten years old, her clothes were worn but clean, her fingers were slender, and she had an amazing talent on the strings.
"What's your name?" Nangong Wan called her after class.
"Xiaoyu." The girl answered timidly, "Mr. Ruan, I don't have money to pay for tuition."
Nangong Wan smiled: "It's okay, you can help clean the school to make up for it."
From that day on, Xiaoyu became Nangong Wan's special student. The girl was gifted and could remember most of a piece of music after listening to it once. After three months, she could play complex music such as "Three Variations on Plum Blossoms".
Fu Shaoping often saw Nangong Wan teaching Xiaoyu alone after class. Her focused expression seemed to have brought back the time when she was teaching the new sisters in the Xuepo Sect.
"You like that kid very much," he said one day.
Nangong Wan nodded: "She reminds me of myself when I was a kid." After a pause, he added, "If she can enter the world of cultivation, her achievements will not be lower than mine."
However, fate played tricks on people. That summer, a fever broke out in Qingxi Town, and Xiaoyu was unfortunately infected. When Fu Shaoping was invited to treat the girl, she had been suffering from a high fever for three days and had a terrible rash all over her body.
"It's smallpox." Fu Shaoping said in a deep voice after checking, "It's very difficult to cure."
Nangong Wan stood beside the bed, looking at the girl who was once as agile as a deer but now lying on the bed dying, her breathing so weak that it was almost unnoticeable.
"Is there any way?" she asked, her voice unusually calm. Fu Shaoping knew what she was asking. Smallpox, which was difficult to cure with mortal medicine, was not a terminal illness for cultivators. One "Qingling Pill" was enough to eliminate the disease, but doing so was extremely risky - not only would it expose one's identity, but it might also backfire for interfering with the way of heaven.
"It's too dangerous." he whispered.
Nangong Wan didn't say anything, but just gently held Xiaoyu's hot hand.
That night, Fu Shaoping was awakened by a rapid knock on the door. When he opened the door, he saw Nangong Wan, who was soaking wet, holding the unconscious Xiaoyu in his arms.
"I can't help it." She said only one sentence, with unprecedented panic in her eyes.
Fu Shaoping understood immediately. He quickly led the two into the inner room and set up a soundproof barrier: "What did you do?"
"I gave her half a Qingling Pill." Nangong Wan put Xiaoyu on the couch, "but it didn't work."
After Fu Shaoping's investigation, his face turned extremely ugly: "You are too reckless! Her physique is too weak to withstand the power of the elixir. Now her meridians are disordered, and the situation is even worse!"
Nangong Wan's face turned pale: "What should we do?"
Fu Shaoping took a deep breath: "I can only take a risk and give it a try." He took out a silver needle and began to dredge Xiaoyu's meridians with the help of spiritual power.
All night long, the two took turns to transfer spiritual energy to Xiaoyu to stabilize the drug power in her body. At dawn, the girl's fever finally subsided and her breathing became stable.
"She survived." Fu Shaoping breathed a sigh of relief, but saw that Nangong Wan looked upset. "What happened?"
Nangong Wan shook her head slowly, her eyes full of sadness: "Look at her fingers."
Only then did Fu Shaoping notice that Xiaoyu's fingers, which had been slender and flexible, were now as stiff as wood and trembling slightly - this was a sequelae of damaged meridians, meaning that she would never be able to play the piano again.
"I harmed her." Nangong Wan's voice trembled, "If I hadn't used the Qingling Pill, she might have died, but at least..."
Fu Shaoping was speechless. This was the third lesson they had learned in Qingxi Town: some things could not be solved satisfactorily even with the power of a cultivator.
After Xiaoyu recovered from her illness, she could no longer play the piano. Nangong Wan felt guilty and visited her every day to teach her how to read and write. The girl was very strong and never complained, but Nangong Wan knew how glaring the sadness in Xiaoyu's eyes was whenever the piano sounded in the school.
In autumn, Xiaoyu's family moved to a neighboring county to live with relatives. On the day of her departure, the girl gave Nangong Wan a rough wooden pendant.
"Mr. Ruan, when I grow up, I will come back to see you." She said this without a trace of resentment in her eyes.
Nangong Wan accepted the gift and hung a warm jade pendant around the girl's neck: "Wear it to keep you safe."
Fu Shaoping knew that it was the protective jade that Nangong Wan had worn since she was a child, which could ward off evil and avoid disasters. Watching the carriage go away, Nangong Wan stood by the roadside for a long time without moving, the autumn wind blowing up her clothes, making her look particularly lonely.
"We don't belong here after all," she whispered.
Fu Shaoping did not answer, but just held her hand. At that moment, the two cultivators' hearts were closer to the joys and sorrows of mortals than ever before.
Before winter came, Qingxi Town suffered a flood disaster that had not been seen in a century. Heavy rains lasted for seven consecutive days, and the stream water surged, breaking the dam and submerging half of the town.
Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan stood on the roof of Huichun Hall, watching the muddy flood raging. In the distance, there were cries and shouts. A thatched house was washed away, and several villagers were struggling in the water.
"Help!" Before Nangong Wan finished speaking, he jumped out.
Fu Shaoping followed closely behind. Taking advantage of the rain, the two used their Qinggong skills to fly over the water and rescued the villagers who fell into the water one by one. When the last child was safely sent to the high ground, Fu Shaoping found that Nangong Wan was pale and his spiritual power was over-consumed.
"That's enough," he pulled her back, "If you continue like this you'll be exposed."
Nangong Wan shook off his hand: "There are still people in the water!"
Fu Shaoping looked in the direction she pointed, and sure enough, there was an old man holding a piece of driftwood, who could be washed away at any time. He gritted his teeth, took out a talisman from his arms, chanted a spell and threw it into the air.
The talisman turned into a golden light, forming a barrier above the flood, temporarily blocking the surging water. Taking this opportunity, Nangong Wan flew out and rescued the old man.
After the flood receded, Qingxi Town was devastated. Huichuntang was spared because of its high terrain and became a temporary resettlement site. Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan worked day and night to treat the wounded and distribute medicinal materials.
"Mr. Fu, Mr. Ruan," the old mayor shook their hands tremblingly, "thanks to you, dozens of people in the town have been saved from death."
Fu Shaoping said modestly: "We just help each other."
In the dead of night, Nangong Wan leaned tiredly on Fu Shaoping's shoulder: "We have done too much. That golden talisman..."
"It's okay," Fu Shaoping said, "mortals should just think it's the gods' miracle."
This was the last lesson they learned in Qingxi Town: helping mortals within one’s ability will not shake one’s determination to cultivate the Tao, but will make the path to cultivation clearer.
The reconstruction work after the flood lasted for three full months. During this period, Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan witnessed too many separations and deaths, and also witnessed the amazing resilience of ordinary people in the face of disasters.
That spring when the three-year term was up, the two stood on the hillside outside the town, looking at Qingxi Town where they had lived for three years. Smoke from cooking fires rose, the sounds of chickens and dogs could be heard, and it was a peaceful scene.
"Are you leaving?" Fu Shaoping asked.
Nangong Wan nodded: "It's time."
The three years of experience in the secular world had brought about subtle changes in their Dao hearts. From their initial indifference to the life and death of mortals, to their later empathy, to their current detachment and compassion - this change could not be expressed in words, but it was real.
"I have an idea," Fu Shaoping suddenly said, "How about leaving a gift for Qingxi Town before leaving?"
Nangong Wan's eyes lit up: "A protective formation?"
Fu Shaoping smiled and nodded. That night, the two quietly set up a simple protective formation around Qingxi Town. Although it could not resist the attacks of cultivators, it was enough to protect the town from ordinary natural disasters and man-made disasters.
At dawn, two figures quietly left Qingxi Town without disturbing anyone. Only a small, exquisitely crafted violin appeared on the windowsill of the school, and a few bottles of elixirs that would never go bad appeared in the medicine cabinet of Huichun Hall.
On the mountain road, Fu Shaoping looked back at the town in the morning mist and whispered, "Will you miss it?"
Nangong Wan stroked the wooden harp pendant on his waist, a parting gift from Xiaoyu, and smiled slightly: "Yes. But the road to cultivation is still long."
The two smiled at each other, turned around and walked away. Behind them, the first ray of morning light in Qingxi Town penetrated the clouds and sprinkled on the bluestone road. A new day began.
-
(End of this chapter)