Tong Zhihuan looked at the figure of the Master in the temple. He opened his mouth and whispered to Tao’er beside him, “The Master really is one of a kind.” Tao’er glared at him. “Nonsense! The name the Master chose is the best.” Tong Zhihuan nodded. “I never said the name the Master chose isn’t nice. Miss Tao’er is beautiful.” “Why do you always call me that, miss?” Tong Zhihuan sighed inwardly, unable to understand why Tao’er kept calling him a blockhead. Chen Changsheng entered the Taoist Temple. He lifted his hand, and the sword held by the Statue of True Martiality flew into his grasp. He turned the sword gently. It trembled slightly in his hand, as if expressing joy, likely delighted by the Master’s return. Chen Changsheng lightly flicked the blade two inches from its tip. The sword shivered again, emitting a clear chime. “Now that it holds a Spirit, you’ve truly become an Immortal Sword.” The Rain-Listening Sword sang once more, seeming excited by its master’s praise. Chen Changsheng put the sword away. A faint smile touched his face but faded quickly, leaving its usual calm neutrality. He headed to the Back Mountain, passing through the Main Hall to a pavilion, then followed a small path up the mountain for about forty steps. At the former solitary grave lay another, smaller mound of earth. Three peaches and three burned-out incense sticks sat in front of the headstone; likely, Tong Zhihuan had paid his respects here during recent days. Chen Changsheng took the Wine Gourd from his waist, uncorked it, and began pouring. Glistening Autumn Moon Brew spilled over the tombstone and seeped into the soil. He knew offering wine changed little. Yet he still did it… if only to soothe his own heart. Deep down, he was always human. Chen Changsheng sighed heavily. “Once you told me drinking my wine was a rare fortune. Look at you now—gone before having your fill. Really… what should I say?” He had always called Xuan Huang foolish. Yet the old Daoist Priest would just grin dumbly. This man spent a lifetime practicing Dao, yet never truly lived for himself. Tong Zhihuan and Tao’er quietly approached behind the Master. Only when half the wine was gone did Chen Changsheng stop. “Did he say anything before he passed?” Chen Changsheng asked. Tong Zhihuan paused. “The Daoist Priest said only two things. One was advice for me. The other was…” “What?” Chen Changsheng turned. Tong Zhihuan spoke softly: “He… said he wanted a peach.” Chen Changsheng froze. Then, a look of deep warmth eased across his face. “Yes. Miss Tao’er gave him one.” A faint smile appeared. “Good.” So… he did live for himself, just once. A lifetime’s burden lifted with that frail phrase. He never asked anything of others. He liked peaches his Master gave him as a boy. His Senior Brother stole them. Quiet anger burned, yet he kept silent. Half a life in poverty taught him contentment—coarse grain as feast, life without wealth an honor. Even facing the Immortal who might grant eternal life… he stayed silent. He failed at worldly detachment. How could he? Human, wholly human. For him, saying ‘I want’ felt impossible. This not-too-bright old Daoist Priest found peace with himself at the end. Tong Zhihuan, who never knew Xuan Huang’s past, asked gently: “He must have really wanted that peach?” Chen Changsheng nodded. “He must have.” Chen Changsheng turned on the mountainside and gazed toward the distant Autumn Moon Market. Perhaps he left no longer clinging to this Mortal World. Chen Changsheng wondered—was that still achieving enlightenment? To cultivate Dao was to refine body AND mind. Body rests, mind reconciles—how is that NOT enlightenment? … Chapters fırst released on 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝗇𝖾𝗍 After noon, clouds darkened the sky. A fine drizzle fell into the Mountain Stream. Mist rose, blurring the view like thin gauze. Chen Changsheng sat in the Main Hall, listening to Tong Zhihuan recount recent travels. “Near Longping Market, we met a patient. Simple eye trouble at first… After two days, red swelling spread. Blood streaked his eyes. They bulged… Three days watching showed…” “Then at Zhengmian Market—a different case! This man had…” Tong Zhihuan recited case after case, flipping through his medical log. He stopped. Chen Changsheng sat with head propped on hand… eyes closed. Tao’er touched his arm. “Shh,” she whispered. “The Master is sleeping.” Tong Zhihuan nodded and grew quiet. He thought: the long journey must have tired him. Miss Tao’er fetched a blanket from the inner room and laid it over his legs. Gentle rain pattered outside. Cool air drifted in, fresh and alive inside the temple. Hoping not to disturb him, they moved to talk elsewhere. Tao’er lowered her voice: “I’ve never… seen the Master sleep before.” “On the mountain? Evenings were always in the Library Pavilion reading. This… this is the first time.” Tong Zhihuan thought: How rare must sleep be for him? He must be exhausted. But… Could an Immortal grow weary? Tong Zhihuan breathed. “So even heavenly beings have troubled hearts…” “Exactly,” Tao’er replied. “Master said: the word Immortal needs the person radical beside it. Strongest Immortal is still part human. Humans… they tire.” “I don’t completely understand… I only know this closeness feels real for Master.” She nodded. “That much is true.” Rain fell harder. Sheets of water hid the distant peaks. Howling wind flung water against the roof—yet beyond the eaves it stayed. Not a single drop blew into the Main Hall. Tong Zhihuan closed his eyes, understanding dawning. For this reason: the Master sheltered within. 😠😠😠Golden Novel translates the best Chinese web novels for you!😠😠😠 Even sky-raised winds and rains must yield passage. Not surprise, but calm bloomed inside him. Yes. As it should always be.