Chapter 3: Returning to the County Town

Spring gave way to autumn, the sun and moon revolved, and five years slipped away without notice.

With a daily diet of hearty meat, eggs, and milk, coupled with persistent medicinal baths and the regular consumption of Bone-Strengthening Pills, Li Ji'an, now thirteen, was nearly one meter sixty tall. Thanks to his routine exercise and early mastery of the postures from the County Martial Academy's “Golden Vigor Technique,” his physique was upright and robust, his bones strong and his muscles long and lean.

Within the bathing barrel, Li Ji'an scrutinized his own body. Though he knew it intimately, every inspection stirred a thousand emotions.

In his previous life, at thirteen, he’d suffered grave harm at the hands of a beast, his body damaged, plagued by malnutrition, and even shorter than in the life before that. As an adult, he barely reached one meter fifty. (Every time he experienced rejuvenation, the timeline did not change, nor did his soul or body; it always started from age eight. Strictly speaking, it could not be considered a new life, but for the sake of clarity and narration, let us call each rebirth a ‘lifetime.’)

Looking at his reflection in the water, his features were many times more handsome and radiant than at this age in his previous lives, his whole being exuding the vitality of youth.

“All the contingencies I prepared last time ended up unused,” he chuckled softly, submerging himself beneath the water.

In town, he’d once hidden medicinal herbs and silver in his courtyard for his childhood self to use in this life.

Yet, over these five years, every need—whether for medicinal baths, supplements, or daily living—was fully provided by the temple. They even sponsored his studies at the Martial Academy, all thanks to the two prescriptions he’d entrusted to Liu Deshan.

Admittedly, those two formulas had brought the Purple Cloud Temple’s income to new heights in recent years.

Beyond improved treatment for disciples, the charitable hall was also expanded and christened the Chang’an Charitable Hall.

Now, nearly a hundred orphaned children were sheltered under its roof.

Moreover, the elder brothers at the charitable hall, knowing of Li Ji'an’s martial aspirations, often brought him nourishing wild fare from the mountains.

These five years, within the temple, he was cherished by all.

“Tomorrow I leave for the Martial Academy. I wonder if Old Huang is still alive. What of Instructor Wu—was he dismissed? And that boy who mocked me—did he make the martial examination shortlist?”

Holding his breath for at least two minutes, Li Ji'an was thoroughly satisfied with his current physical state.

Over these five years, he keenly sensed a marked increase in his mental acuity after two rounds of rejuvenation. His thoughts were sharper, his energy boundless; six hours of sleep sufficed to restore him fully.

He had also gained deeper insights into the “Golden Vigor Technique” he’d studied at the Martial Academy in a previous life. Many mysteries that once baffled him were now clear.

Whether this was an additional benefit of rejuvenation or the natural wisdom of age, he could not say. After all, though his body was renewed each life, his mind continued to accumulate.

“Brother, save me!” A cry for help rang out from the nearby large bath, where the other under-fifteen novices soaked. Xiao Qingyun was currently playing with the other boys.

Li Ji'an had not intended to seek special treatment, but the bathhouse steward—once a child he’d saved—insisted he have a private tub.

Though only thirteen in appearance, his soul had borne the weight of many lifetimes. He could joke with the children at times, but true childish innocence was beyond him.

At times, his inadvertent maturity unsettled the others, so he simply bathed alone.

Xiao Qingyun, on the other hand, was the embodiment of youthful innocence.

“Brother, everyone listens to you. Please plead with Master for me—let me stay in the temple instead of going to the Martial Academy!” After leaving the bathhouse, Qingyun tugged at Li Ji'an’s sleeve, begging.

He was the spitting image of his father as a child—if he could lie down, he would never sit; if he could be still, he would never move; and he had no interest in martial arts or cultivation.

Had it not been for Li Ji'an’s concern for his health and his suggestion that their master force him to exercise, Qingyun would have grown even plumper over these five years.

Yet, every soul has its own path; Li Ji'an never pressed him regarding martial practice or immortality.

Li Ji'an smiled and shook his head, ignoring the plea.

At dawn the next day.

Outside the main gate of Purple Cloud Temple, a group of Daoists stood in silence.

Li Ji'an and Qingyun stood by the carriage, bidding farewell.

“Master, I truly don’t want to study martial arts. There are no immortals in this world—can’t I just stay in the temple, serve and honor you? Please don’t send me away...” Qingyun’s voice cracked with tears.

Liu Deshan shot him a fierce glare. “Look at your junior brother! How did I end up with a disciple like you? Do you know how much silver it takes to enroll at the Martial Academy? How many people yearn for the chance to study martial arts and never get it? Stop crying—hold it in, you’re not a child!”

He shook his head in exasperation, then turned to Li Ji'an, his expression softening.

The more he looked at Li Ji'an, the more his heart ached.

How did his junior brother produce such a handsome son? His wife must have been a beauty beyond compare!

Tall, strong, dignified—how unlike that unfortunate child.

At this age, Li Ji'an bore only a faint resemblance to his appearance in his previous life; in every other respect, he was a different person entirely.

“Chang’an, everything at the Martial Academy has been arranged. You needn’t worry about a thing—just focus on your training. Don’t pressure yourself about being chosen as an immortal candidate. Whatever happens, this will always be your home.”

“Thank you, Master!” Li Ji'an bowed deeply to Liu Deshan, whose temples were now flecked with gray.

“Good, good, go on. Keep an eye on that boy for me—if he misbehaves, discipline him. That’s my order.”

This time, Qingyun truly wanted to cry.

The carriage rolled away, the figures before the temple growing ever more distant.

Qingyun fell asleep as soon as he boarded, undisturbed by sorrow or worry.

Upon entering the county town, it took no prompting to wake him—his nose did the job.

“Brother, look—candied hawthorns!”

“Wow, and fried dough cakes!”

“Ooh, braised pork knuckles...”

Li Ji'an gazed out the window, equally familiar with the scene, having lived in this town for ten years.

In five years, little had changed in the county.

As they rode through the streets, he recognized many familiar faces.

“Brother, could you please stop the carriage and let Qingyun buy some food?” Fearing Qingyun would drool on his clothes, Li Ji'an relented.

The middle-aged Daoist driving the carriage smiled and halted at the roadside.

“Chang’an, you spoil Qingyun too much.” Everyone at the temple knew Li Ji'an’s temperament; he was not one to indulge in gluttony.

Qingyun beamed with delight. “Thank you, brother, thank you!”

Li Ji'an affectionately patted Qingyun’s head and handed him about thirty copper coins from his purse.

After asking the Daoist to watch over Qingyun, Li Ji'an slipped away to a small courtyard behind the bustling marketplace.

This was the house he had purchased fifteen years ago—fronted by busy streets, with the county office not far behind. Most residents were merchants, reducing unnecessary interactions and trouble.

He had not returned in five years, but everything outside looked unchanged.

Li Ji'an walked around the perimeter of the courtyard, his gaze sharpening before he quietly withdrew.

When he left five years ago, he’d hidden embroidery needles in the walls. Now, he noticed several were clearly broken, and even glimpsed traces of blood in the cracks.

There was no need to investigate further—whether it was a petty thief or a notorious criminal, or whether the traps he’d set had worked—it mattered not.

This arrangement had been merely a precaution for his childhood.

Now that Purple Cloud Temple had guided him safely through that period, this place no longer held enough value to warrant any risk or entanglement.

It was only a bit of silver, after all.

When Qingyun returned, arms full and content, the carriage headed onward to the Martial Academy of Shangyi County—the very place where, in his previous life, Li Ji'an had endured scorn and ridicule.