Chapter 242 : The Southern Sea Town
In spring, kites soared and grass grew tall as the morning sun cast its rays across the land, warming those it touched.
This was a peaceful town beside the Southern Sea, a place of ordinary people. Legend told of immortal mountains above the sea, where immortal cultivators could move mountains and fill seas, fly through the heavens and burrow through the earth. The townspeople had grown up hearing these stories of immortals, but day after day, year after year, the children who heard these tales grew up, married, had children of their own, and gradually aged, without ever seeing a trace of these immortals.
At the town entrance, beneath a great locust tree, an old man lay in a rocking chair, lazily basking in the sun. Above him, the ancient locust was flourishing, clusters of locust flowers blooming and hanging from the branches, occasionally one or two falling when brushed by the wind.
The old man, smelling the salty dampness in the air, with eyes half-closed, spoke unhurriedly: "It happened over a hundred years ago, when my grandfather was still young. One day, a hurricane struck from the sea, a wind unprecedented in its strength, blowing the town's houses askew. At the end of the street lived a widow and her orphaned son. Their house was already damaged and couldn't withstand the hurricane's fury. Before long, the roof was blown away..."
Around the old man gathered a circle of children, the oldest eight or nine years of age, the youngest two or three. They listened, some bewildered, some expectant, and when they heard about the roof being blown away, they collectively let out a gasp of surprise.
Having an appreciative audience made for better storytelling. The old man opened his eyes to look around, and seeing the children's expectant gazes, continued: "The roof being blown away was a minor thing. What was worse was that the child, only seven or eight years old and light in weight, was unable to stand against the hurricane and was blown straight into the sky. His widowed mother, seeing this, rushed forward to grab him, but she was a step too slow, and their fingertips missed each other."
Hearing this, a child interjected: "How did the person fly into the sky? Like a kite?"
The old man paused, seeming to envision the scene, and laughed: "Yes, just like a kite." Then, composing himself, he continued with a serious tone: "The child was instantly blown ten zhang off the ground. He was so small—if the wind had stopped, he would have fallen from the sky and likely died on the spot."
The children, who had initially been excited about the idea of being lifted into the sky, now felt a touch of fear.
Two of them covered their bottoms with their hands, presumably having fallen from heights before and recalling the experience of nearly splitting their bottoms into four pieces. The others, though they hadn't fallen, had all been spanked before. For a moment, the children empathized with the situation and anxiously asked: "What happened next? What became of him? Did he fall from the sky?"
The old man shook his head, stating with certainty: "No, he was saved by a passing immortal cultivator."
Upon hearing the words "immortal cultivator," the children forgot about their bottoms and empathizing, their eyes immediately brightening as they looked expectantly at the old man: "An immortal? Was it really an immortal?!"
The old man nodded, turning to look toward the sea, his cloudy eyes showing a hint of longing: "Of course it was real. Not only was he saved by the immortal, but after examining him, the immortal said he had a spiritual root and took him away to become an immortal too."
The children let out another gasp of surprise, their clear, innocent eyes filled with aspiration as they eagerly asked: "Can we also be taken away to become immortals?"
The old man returned his gaze, shaking his head with a smile: "When I was your age, I asked my elders the same question. But I've lived for over sixty years now and have never seen those immortals who can fly through the sky and burrow through the earth." As he spoke, he stroked the head of his young grandson beside him, and sighed: "I won't live to see them, but there are truly immortals in this world. If you're lucky, perhaps you'll encounter them."
The children believed his words without doubt, nodding firmly. One even earnestly declared: "I'll definitely meet an immortal. When I become one, I'll bring back immortality pills for all of you, so we can all live forever..."
Childish words that evoked laughter, yet also full of hope.
On the wide path beside the ancient locust tree, a young man stood with a sword in his arms, having listened for who knows how long.
Until his companion caught up, patting his shoulder and smiling: "Senior Brother, why are you still here? Did you encounter an old acquaintance?"
As soon as he spoke, he realized his mistake. His Senior Brother had left his hometown over a hundred years ago—what old acquaintances could he possibly have? His former friends had likely long since turned to yellow earth; to meet them now, he could only visit their graves to pay respects.
Fortunately, the young man didn't mind, merely smiling and stepping forward: "Let's go find a place to stay in town."
The group of fellow disciples followed the young man into the small town ahead. Compared to his memories, the town seemed unchanged, though the townspeople had turned over generation after generation.
The young man had paused at the town entrance not because he'd seen familiar people or heard familiar stories, but because the scene before him seemed familiar and nostalgic—over a hundred years ago, he too had been a child listening to stories under a tree. But back then, he heard stories about others; now, he had become a character in those stories.
A hundred years of time—a lifetime for ordinary people, yet for cultivators, merely the blink of an eye.
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The small town adjacent to the Southern Sea had ever-changing weather.
One moment it was a beautiful spring day with bright sunshine; the next, the weather suddenly changed, and rain fell. But the rain didn't last long—after pouring down for a while, it quickly stopped, and the sunshine returned.
The young man and his fellow disciples stood under an eave to avoid the rain, already accustomed to the Southern Sea's changeable weather.
When the rain stopped, they emerged again, treading on the dampened ground along the not-too-spacious streets of the small town. One of them complained: "This town is too small—there's only one inn, and even that has so few rooms."
Hearing this, the young man casually replied: "This town has only about two hundred households in total. It's remote, with few visitors—how many inns did you expect? Even that one probably has rooms gathering dust year-round; we just happened to arrive at a busy time."
It wasn't that they coincidentally clashed with others, but rather that the town had recently received many visitors by chance. The locals didn't know these visitors' origins, but as outsiders themselves, this group understood clearly—all the newcomers were cultivators, or "immortals" as the locals called them. However, among these "immortals," some cultivated the righteous path, others the demonic path. It was fortunate for ordinary people to encounter the former, but if they met the latter, the entire town might cease to exist.
The young man and his companions were disciples from a small sect on the Southern Sea, with only about two hundred members in total. Compared to massive entities like the three major righteous sects or the four major demonic sects, they were utterly insignificant, easily destroyed with a wave of the hand.
But with their sect rooted here for thousands of years, they couldn't ignore the sudden influx of cultivators around the Southern Sea.
The young man's group had been sent out to gather information. However, they themselves lacked strength—the highest cultivation among them, possessed by the young man, was merely Golden Core stage, and their weak sect couldn't serve as a reliable backing. Now, arriving in this small town, they didn't even dare compete for rooms at the inn—they had seen that those currently staying at the inn were all at the Golden Core stage!
Unable to confront them, they could only retreat, but having just arrived, they couldn't immediately return home.
The group sat down at a roadside tea stall, calling for the owner to serve tea while sighing: "Now that we can't stay at the inn, what should we do? Surely we can't sleep outdoors? There's been a lot of rain lately."
The young man, clearly more experienced than his junior brothers, thanked the owner who brought the tea while saying: "That won't be necessary. This town must have families with spare rooms. We can offer some money and ask to stay with them."
Hearing this, everyone relaxed and began chatting idly.
The youngest disciple proactively picked up the teapot to pour tea for everyone. Finally, he raised his own cup to take a sip, but the bitter taste immediately made him grimace. Remembering they were at a roadside tea stall where crude tea was to be expected, he couldn't blame the owner, so he put down his cup and complained: "Our Southern Sea has always been peaceful. How did so many people suddenly arrive?!"
His fellow disciples shook their heads—how would they know? But someone ventured a guess: "Could it be that some rare treasure is about to appear in our Southern Sea, so everyone has come to compete for it?"
As he spoke, he seemed eager to participate—after all, who wouldn't covet treasures?
But the young man shook his head, his expression quite serious: "It would be better if that's not the case. This wouldn't be a good thing."
The junior disciples were puzzled and questioned: "If a rare treasure is truly emerging, with us being so close, how could it not be a good thing?"
With an expression that said "you're too young," the young man looked at everyone and explained: "This truly wouldn't be good for us. You don't know, but eighty years ago in the Far West, rumors suddenly spread of a rare treasure emerging, attracting cultivators from all over. This didn't just draw righteous cultivators but also demonic cultivators who had been lying dormant. In the end, the righteous and demonic paths fought for several years at the foot of Mingzong Mountain. Setting aside the losses on both sides, Mingzong Mountain, which originally had relatively rich spiritual energy in the western region, was utterly ruined by their battle!"
Having said this, the young man scanned his audience again: "Do you think our Southern Sea would fare any better than Mingzong Mountain? If those powerful cultivators are drawn here and fight from a distance, our sect's foundation might be destroyed."
Of course, there were even more tragic examples, such as the complete extermination of Guiyi Sect and Changyin Gate at the foot of Mingzong Mountain back then.
These small sects were utterly insignificant before the major sects. Whether they had somehow offended them, or even if they had done nothing at all, the major sects could annihilate them at will, leaving no room for struggle. Rather than living in such fear, it was better to stay far away from those major sects and pursue immortality through peaceful cultivation.
After listening, the junior disciples shrank their necks, abandoning their fantasies of windfall treasures. After a brief silence, they cautiously asked: "Then Senior Brother, if it's not for a treasure, why have those people suddenly come to the Southern Sea?"
The young man helplessly tapped the table: "How would I know? Isn't that why we came here to gather information?"
"Oh, oh, oh," several disciples nodded like pecking chicks, looking somewhat foolish.
A breeze blew in from the sea, bringing a salty dampness. Perhaps it was an illusion, but the wind seemed to carry a faint laugh...
The young man raised his head as if sensing something. He saw an ancient tree beside the tea stall, its lush spring foliage already unfurled. A thick branch extended diagonally overhead, its dense leaves casting a shadow by blocking the sunlight.
As the young man looked up, several small white flowers floated down, landing on their tea table—freshly bloomed locust flowers.
"Huh, where did these locust flowers come from?" a disciple exclaimed in surprise, deliberately looking up. Yet the ancient tree by the roadside wasn't a locust tree at all, so it couldn't have dropped locust flowers.
It was still early spring, and the only locust tree blooming so profusely was the ancient one at the town entrance.
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Someone discarded the not-so-tasty locust flower they had been holding, casually popping an ice lotus seed into their mouth instead. The familiar slight sweetness and coolness enveloped their tongue, immediately making them narrow their eyes in satisfaction, their entire demeanor showing a touch of languidness.
Sunlight streamed down, falling into her eyes, reflecting a warm golden hue.