Immortal Druid

[POV: Guo Yimu]

Guo Yimu might have shaved his head until it gleamed like polished jade, swapped his lavish young master robes for plain monkish gray, and trained his tongue to spout humble sutras, but at his core he remained the same arrogant scion of the Guo clan. He spent as little time as possible inside the monastery walls, and his performance had been convincing enough to fool even his senior brother and his father. Yet his grandfather was not so easily deceived. That was why Guo Yimu now found himself here, playing the part of a repentant disciple in the domain of the mysterious Senior Wo Li.

After Xing Ning finished giving them a tour of his workshop and pointed out the simple quarters where they would sleep, Guo Yimu could no longer hold his tongue.

“Amitabha,” he intoned with exaggerated solemnity, clasping his hands together. “This humble monk appreciates the shelter provided by the senior’s boundless compassion. However… these beds are harder than the stone heart of a heartless elder. One fears that even a night upon them will leave this disciple’s bones aching like those of an ancient tortoise.”

Xing Ning scratched the back of his head with an awkward smile. “It was a hasty job, Young Master Guo—er, Brother Guo. At least we have somewhere dry to rest our heads. The next time I head into town, I’ll look for something softer to cushion them. Or we could ask Senior Wo Li to grow some moss for padding.”

Yuck! Moss!

Guo Yimu barely suppressed the grimace that threatened to twist his freshly shaven features. After the brutal punishments his grandfather had inflicted and the even more shocking experience of his recent resurrection, he had learned, at least outwardly, the value of restraint. It was hard to admit, and he preferred to tell himself that nothing had truly changed, but the truth was inescapable: everything had changed for him.

Li Ming crossed her arms and fixed him with a sharp look. “Guo Yimu, drop the act already. I can see right through that fake monk nonsense. Save the sutras for someone who actually believes them.”

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[POV: Li Ming]

The sleeping quarters consisted of a single modest room containing three separate beds. Li Ming felt a faint flicker of discomfort at the thought of sleeping so close to two men close to her own age, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. She could handle herself just fine.

Both Guo Yimu and Xing Ning were stuck at the seventh stage of Qi Condensation, while she had recently broken through to the eighth stage. The advancement had come from raw desperation and the surprisingly willing guidance her grandmother had offered in recent days. Li Ming took quiet pride in her cultivation and her own ability.

She turned to Xing Ning with a challenging glint in her eyes. “Since we’re all staying here under Senior Wo Li’s protection, why don’t we test our skills? Spar with me, Xing Ning. I want to see exactly what kind of helper the senior has taken in.”

Secretly, she harbored a deeper ambition. It was to become the top disciple in this place, or at least something equivalent. Her grandmother had spoken of Senior Wo Li in unusually lofty terms, even calling the silver-haired man a sage.

Xing Ning blinked, looking genuinely confused for a moment. “A duel? Right now?” He shrugged lightly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

They stepped outside the workshop. Guo Yimu lounged against a corner post, watching with mild interest. Li Ming drew the sword Xing Ning had given her. She had already had it appraised in secret and knew just how valuable the blade truly was; her grandmother had strongly encouraged her to keep it if possible.

“Thank you again for the sword, Xing Ning,” Li Ming said, raising the weapon into a ready stance. “Now I will use it to spar with you. Hopefully, you won’t mind if I show no mercy.”

Xing Ning simply nodded. “I wouldn’t mind.” He reached to the side and casually picked up a sturdy wooden stick, twirling it once as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Guo Yimu burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Hah! Look at this guy! Senior Wo Li’s precious helper is going to fight with a stick! Li Ming, you might as well just beat him senseless and save us all the embarrassment. A real man would at least pick up a proper weapon instead of playing farmer!”

Li Ming noticed Senior Wo Li watching quietly from the raised platform of his treehouse, his expression one of mild disinterest. She frowned and pointed her sword at Xing Ning.

“Take this seriously, Xing Ning. I’m not here to play games.”

Xing Ning met her gaze evenly, still holding the simple stick. “I am taking this seriously.”

…

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[POV: Xing Ning]

Xing Ning took the spar seriously. Of course he did. Swinging a sword was one thing; knowing how to swing one properly was something else entirely.

In the past couple of years living in Senior Wo Li’s forest, Xing Ning had spent long hours contemplating questions he had never bothered with before. He had learned far more from his frequent sparring sessions with the silver-haired senior and from his small adventures battling beasts and spiritual beasts throughout the woods.

The most annoying among them was undoubtedly Roo, that damn kangaroo had a habit of beating opponents senseless, then patiently waiting for them to recover just so it could beat them senseless again. Something about forcing one to create their own rivals, the beast had once implied in its own brutish way. That relentless training had taught Xing Ning the deeper philosophy of martial arts, a subject most cultivators looked down upon in favor of flashy spells and qi techniques.

The Steel Sky Sect, where he belonged, was different; it respected true martial arts. The Guo Clan of the Serenity Cliff Sect held similar views. Martial arts were not useless, since they carried an unpopular reputation. They represented the rawest, most violent side of humanity, and for that reason, martial artists were often dismissed as nothing more than barbarians who knew only bloodshed. That perception tainted how many viewed cultivators in general. They were not all raging, murder-seeking lunatics like those from the Hidden Village of Leaf, the Serenity Lake Sect, or even his own former sect.

“Hah! Look at this fool,” Guo Yimu called out from the sidelines, unable to resist. “He’s not even taking this seriously! Using a stick against a proper sword? He’s clearly making fun of you, Li Ming. Just admit it, country boy—you’re scared of a real fight!”

Xing Ning internally sighed. Well, maybe with the exception of Guo Yimu being a lunatic. He had not forgotten how this same arrogant young master had once nearly killed him in a duel, all because Xing Ning had supposedly made him look bad in front of Li Ming who they had both mistaken for a mere village girl at the time. How the tables had turned.

“You’ve slacked off on your training, Guo Yimu,” Xing Ning said calmly, his voice carrying across the clearing. “You no longer hold that same relaxed and solid stance you had during our duel a couple of years ago. As for you, Li Ming…” He shifted his gaze to her. “Your qi is finer in quality, I’ll give you that, but you’re failing miserably at hiding your intentions. I see your posture and all I see are flaws.”

Before either could retort, Xing Ning suddenly jabbed forward with his sturdy wooden stick. Li Ming swung her sword with clear intent to cut the offending weapon in half. At the last moment, Xing Ning reinforced the stick with a thin layer of qi, dropped low into an almost full split, and thrust the tip sharply into her torso, earning a pained cry from Li Ming.

“I haven’t even used my Tempest Steel Sword Art yet,” declared Xing Ning evenly.

Li Ming retaliated instantly, flicking a sharp burst of sword qi from her fingertip. Xing Ning bent one knee and leaped gracefully to the side, dodging with ease. If she could already manifest sword intent, it meant she possessed genuine talent for swordsmanship, but talent alone would not be enough here.

With light, flowing steps, Xing Ning danced around Li Ming’s increasingly frustrated swordplay. He noticed faint illusory techniques woven into her strikes, but he saw through them without difficulty by focusing on the smallest details such as the subtle shifts in footwork, the faint tremble in her grip, and the way her eyes betrayed her next target. Senior Wo Li had beaten those lessons into him countless times with his staff, and the senior’s Shedding ability had taught Xing Ning never to trust surface appearances. Look closer. Always look closer.

The one-sided beating unfolded with almost comedic precision.

Xing Ning’s stick smacked Li Ming squarely on the shoulder with a loud thwack. She yelped in surprise.

A second strike tapped her forehead, causing her to stumble back with an indignant “Ow!”

The third landed squarely on her butt as she tried to pivot, drawing a sharp, mortified cry. “Y-You—!”

Round and round he went, the simple wooden stick moving like a blur of polite instruction rather than lethal force. A smack to the side of her knee made her leg buckle with a startled squeak. Another light tap to her wrist forced her grip to loosen, accompanied by a frustrated grunt. Each precise hit elicited a different cry, some indignant, some startled, one bordering on a squeal that made Guo Yimu choke on his own laughter from the sidelines.

Li Ming’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and rising anger as she swung wildly, her elegant sword techniques devolving into desperate hacks. Xing Ning remained calm, his movements economical and almost gentle, never striking hard enough to truly injure but firm enough to drive the lesson home.

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I appreciated the view from my treehouse platform, a bunch of young cultivators smacking each other senseless down below. In this case, Xing Ning was doing most of the smacking.

My occasional sparring sessions with him had become a surprisingly pleasant exercise. Even though I was fundamentally a caster at heart, I found moving around and trading blows rather fun these days. Most often, it involved beating Xing Ning or dodging ambushes from that darn kangaroo that liked to pop out of the underbrush.

When the spar finally ended, the defeated Li Ming needed somewhere to vent her frustration, and the monk-cosplayer Guo Yimu became her unfortunate target. She beat him black and blue. Whoa… even I winced when she landed a solid hit on the groin. That had to count as a foul in any respectable match.

After things settled, I decided to patrol the surrounding forest for a bit. I transformed to an eagle with Wild Shape and took to the skies on broad, feathered wings.

The wind felt clean and familiar as I glided over the treetops.

First, I spotted a mother deer struggling with a badly sprained leg after slipping near a rocky outcrop. I landed nearby, reverted to my elven form, and channeled a gentle Lifepulse through my staff. Soft green light wrapped around the injury, knitting bone and tendon while I coaxed nearby moss to form a temporary cushion. The doe nuzzled my hand once before bounding away with her fawn, balance restored.

A little farther on, a cluster of rabbits huddled in fear beside a collapsed burrow, their home crushed by a fallen branch during last night’s storm. I lifted the debris with a twist of Entanglement roots, then encouraged fresh vines and soft earth to rebuild the warren stronger than before. The rabbits watched with twitching noses before disappearing inside, their tiny ecosystem humming back to life.

Finally, I came across an old silver-backed bear nursing a festering wound from a territorial scrape. I approached slowly, letting my power leak just enough to bloom calming wildflowers around us. A few applications of healing pollen and a reinforced barrier of thorns to mark safer hunting grounds later, the bear gave a low, grateful rumble and lumbered off deeper into the woods. Balance maintained. The forest felt a little healthier for it.

I was feeling extra bored recently, so I continued on my patrols a little longer and did just that for the rest of the day.

When I returned to camp, a bonfire already crackled warmly in the clearing as night slowly embraced the sky. The scent of roasting meat drifted on the evening air.

Xing Ning looked up as I approached. “Senior Wo Li, you don’t mind us eating meat, do you?”

“It’s fine,” I replied with a casual wave. He offered me a skewer, but I shook my head. “I’m feeling a bit veggie today.”

We settled around the fire and ate in relative quiet at first. The crackle of flames and occasional night sounds from the forest filled the gaps. Eventually, I decided to liven things up.

“This is a bit boring,” I said, leaning back against a log. “Introductions. Yes, let’s go with that. My name’s Wally or maybe Nevle? Whatever floats your boat, I guess? My age? I’m actually unsure…”

Okay, that was an awkward start. I tried to sift through the inherited memories from Nevle Drol Diurdhcra, but they felt strangely compressed, like old game files shoved into a corner of my mind. Layered on top were fragments of my Earth life… office drudgery, late-night raids, the screech of truck tires. Faces flickered, but many refused to resolve.

“Is there a problem, Senior?” Xing Ning asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“A few of my memories are missing,” I remarked idly.

The mood around the fire turned somber. I tried to recall a few more faces, but came up blank again. That was weird. I noticed the concern etched on everyone’s expressions, except Guo Yimu, who seemed utterly absorbed in gnawing on his piece of meat.

“I enjoy games, I like good food, a good talk, and recently I’ve been enjoying my strolls through the forest,” I continued, trying to steer things lighter. “Forget about me. How about you, Xing Ning? Let’s do it clockwise.”

Xing Ning smiled and straightened a little. “My name’s Xing Ning. I’m seventeen years old—”

Guo Yimu promptly choked on his meat. “You fucker, you sure you are telling the truth? Look at your muscles, man! Also, look at me… I’m freaking twenty years old and I’m supposed to be three years older than you? Wait, wait, I don’t mind it. You have to call me Senior Brother from now on!”

Xing Ning exploded. “No shit, maybe in a thousand years!”

Okay, I had managed to enliven the atmosphere. Now they were fighting.

Li Ming spoke up calmly. “I’m nineteen years old, by the way.”

Guo Yimu smirked. “You look older than that.”

“So, a hag?” asked Xing Ning aloud.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward him.

Xing Ning immediately shrank back, raising his hands defensively. “That was at least what my mother told me!”

Li Ming fixed him with an icy gaze. “You are lucky I can’t beat you right now in front of Senior Wo Li, or that would be disrespectful.”

Guo Yimu piped in with mock solemnity, hands clasped like a proper monk. “Amitabha… most likely she couldn’t beat Xing Ning anyway.”

Li Ming turned that icy stare on him. “Oh, is someone talking? Or is that just air?”

Xing Ning warned Guo Yimu in a low voice, “Maybe don’t run your mouth? You’ll look more like a monk that way. And may I remind you who was beating the shit out of you earlier?”

Guo Yimu struck a dramatic pose, chin lifted. “True strength comes from restraint, young ones. Holding back was simply the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Li Ming asked sweetly, “So you don’t mind sparring with me again?”

“…”

Man, this was some high-quality TV. I could get behind this, huh?