Two months later, the autumn air was crisp and refreshing.
At dusk, in a small village at the foot of the mountain, thin wisps of smoke rose gently into the sky. A few children were running and playing around the village, while farmers were busy harvesting rice in the fields. A big yellow dog lay lazily outside a house, sniffing the delicious aroma of food coming from inside as the sun set.
The sound of hooves approached, breaking the village's tranquility. The big yellow dog jumped up, arching its back and watching the dust rising in the distance with caution.
Two horses, one black and one white, galloped into view. As they reached the village entrance, they slowed down and looked up at the mountains nearby.
The evening glow painted the mountains in shades of red, with mist swirling around them. Jagged rocks jutted into the sky, appearing almost like a fairyland amidst the red clouds.
A young shepherd rode in on a cow, playing a flute that added to the peaceful rural scene.
"Just as they say, this place really has a hint of immortality," said the boy on the white horse. He looked to be around fourteen or fifteen, with rosy lips and white teeth. His long black hair was neatly tied up with a silver ribbon, flowing down like black satin. His bright eyes gazed at the mountains, filled with hope.
The young man on the black horse looked a bit older, perhaps four or five years. They shared some resemblance, making it easy to think they were brothers. The main difference was that the young man's features were sharper, giving him a more serious and stern appearance.
Both horses carried long oilcloth bags, from which cold spear tips peeked out, glinting in the fading light.
After hearing the boy's words, the young man remained silent, staring intently at the shepherd in the distance, lost in thought for a while.
"What's wrong?" the boy asked, turning his head.
"Nothing," the young man replied, coming back to reality with a smile. "I just feel that the tune is something I've never heard before. It's fresh and distant, making one feel relaxed."
The boy nodded in agreement. If the environment had a five or six out of ten feeling of immortality, the shepherd's flute added another two or three points.
Not thinking too much, he laughed and said, "There are so many beautiful tunes in the world that we can't possibly know them all. Have you suddenly taken a liking to the sounds of strings and bamboo, brother?"
The young man chuckled and shook his head as they slowly rode into the village.
The rice fields lined the road, where farmers were sweating as they cut the rice. The young man passed by slowly, his eyes fixed on the fields, his expression growing more serious.
The boy looked around and noticed that some rice had been cut while others still stood tall, making the field look quite messy and unremarkable. Seeing his brother's serious demeanor, he asked curiously, "What are you looking at…?"
"Look further and pay attention," the young man instructed.
The boy focused carefully, and as he looked further, he realized that the cut areas of the rice formed a shape resembling the yin-yang symbol of Tai Chi. Although it wasn't perfectly shaped, it was indeed a Tai Chi!
Was it an illusion?
The young man suppressed his surprise and pulled his horse to a stop, cupping his hands in greeting. "Excuse me, sir…"
The farmer looked up and, upon seeing their noble appearance, smiled broadly. "Are you two here to seek immortals? It's getting late; why not stay at my place for the night? It's very cheap…"
The image of a high-ranking person shattered instantly. The young man’s gaze shifted, but he still politely introduced himself. "I am Li Qinglin, and this is my younger brother, Qingjun… May I ask, sir, what is the reason for the rice being cut in such a pattern…?"
"Reason?" The farmer scratched his head in confusion, dirt getting caught in his hair. "This is a shorthand for the numbers six and nine that Xiao Qin taught me. He said when combined, it forms a certain pattern? I don't understand; I just remember the numbers while cutting it like this…"
Is that so? The brothers exchanged glances and couldn’t help but chuckle. Although they had never heard of this six-nine shorthand, it was certainly easier to accept than a farmer accidentally creating a Tai Chi symbol in the field.
The farmer continued, "My place is the most comfortable for staying, with a warm bed and hot milk, just three coins…"
"No, thank you." The two smiled and rode away.
"Hey, hey, hey…" The farmer called after them, "Don't go into the mountains so late; there are poisonous mists and strange tigers in the mountains, it's dangerous!"
The young boy, Li Qingjun, patted his gun bag and turned back with a smile. "Facing difficulties shows sincerity. How about we help you deal with the tigers?"
The farmer glanced at their guns, hesitated for a moment, and simply said, "Just be careful."
As they neared the village's edge at the foot of the mountain, the mist thickened, making the few houses at the village's end hard to see. A woodcutter approached, seemingly emerging from the mist, casually singing a song:
"Everyone knows immortals are good, but only fame and fortune are hard to forget. Where are the ancient and modern heroes? Just a mound of grass remains.
Everyone knows immortals are good, but only gold and silver are hard to forget. All day long, I regret not having more, but when I have plenty, my eyes will close…"
The brothers listened, captivated, as their horses slowed to a stop.
In this place, everything felt different. Even the song of a simple woodcutter had such quality. No wonder people said this mountain had immortals; it truly had some merit.
"May I ask, sir…" Li Qinglin stopped the woodcutter, "Who composed this song?"
The woodcutter smiled. "It's a song sung by a young man from the Qin family. Interesting, right?"
Interesting doesn’t even begin to cover it. Where were they? This was Immortal Trace Mountain, where seekers of immortality had come and gone through the ages. Hearing such a song in a place like this was indeed meaningful.
"May I ask where this Mr. Qin lives?"
The woodcutter pointed casually into the depths of the mist. "The last house at the end of the village where they dry herbs is it; you’ll recognize it when you get there."
The yard was indeed easy to spot, filled with racks covered in various herbs. The faint aroma of the herbs lingered in the air, quite pleasant.
In the center of the yard sat a young man, casually pounding herbs in a stone mortar with a stick, seemingly unaware of the approaching guests.
As the two watched, their initial excitement about meeting a high-ranking person faded. This young man looked too young, no more than sixteen or seventeen, not much older than Li Qingjun. It was hard to associate him with a wise immortal. Moreover, with their martial arts knowledge, they could tell this young man was just a practitioner, not even as skilled as themselves.
However, he was interesting. Dressed in simple clothes and shoes, he looked somewhat frail, his appearance delicate and quiet, not like a rural villager, but more like a scholar. As he pounded the herbs, he hummed an incomprehensible tune, the rhythmic sound of the pounding echoing in the quiet dusk, evoking a sense of relaxation and tranquility.
Looking at him, it seemed his song and numbers were likely from some miscellaneous books he had read, or perhaps family teachings? Given that the farmer and woodcutter only referred to him as "Xiao Qin" or "the young man from the Qin family," it was likely his elders were no longer around.
Interestingly, his "pestle" was a wolf-tooth club, looking thicker than his thigh, its sharp fangs glinting in the sunset, creating a stark contrast with his delicate appearance.
Was this his weapon for practicing martial arts?
"Hey!" Li Qingjun couldn’t help but laugh after watching for a while. "Can you really pound herbs with a wolf-tooth club? Isn’t the front full of sharp teeth?"
The young man paused, turned to look at them, and focused on their gun bags, answering off-topic, "It's inconvenient to enter the mountains at night; you two should be careful. There are strange tigers at the mountain top; don’t get too close. If you accidentally provoke one, just run; it won’t chase you."
Li Qinglin asked, "Are you from the Qin family, young brother?"
The young man casually replied, "Qin Yi."
Li Qinglin introduced himself again and continued, "My brother and I are going into the mountains to seek immortals. We heard the woodcutter's song, which is quite meaningful. It is said to be composed by you, Qin brother?"
"Oh, I heard it sung by a wandering Taoist many years ago; it has nothing to do with me."
Li Qingjun already felt this young man, who seemed about the same age as him, couldn’t possibly be a wise figure. Hearing this, he said "Sorry to disturb," and was about to head up the mountain.
But Li Qinglin suddenly said, "Qin brother, you seem to be a herbalist? Do you have any antidotes? We’d like to buy a few."
Li Qingjun looked at his brother in surprise; they were well-prepared and didn’t need to buy any medicine at the last minute.
"I don’t have various kinds; one pill cures all," Qin Yi casually tossed over a cloth bag. "There are two pills inside, ten taels of silver."
Li Qingjun took the bag and looked inside at the two red pill-like objects, laughing dismissively, "What kind of antidote is this? What kind of pill is it?"
His voice was bright, and with that laugh, the imposing aura he had earlier seemed to fade, giving him a somewhat naive charm.
Qin Yi stared at him for a moment and suddenly grinned, "This is called a jujube pill."
(End of Chapter)