Chapter 55

Initially, Ruan Qing had envisioned herself as a “wild cave dweller,” raised by a young Taoist who later passed away, leaving her lost in the mountains and living a feral life. This would explain why she couldn’t find the temple. She imagined her character to be dirty, ragged, and disconnected from society. But later, after Nian Qi carried her while avoiding the rain, flying swiftly from a high point, they spotted the eaves of the Taoist temple, uncovering the long-lost Wild Hermits’ Temple. Learning about Zaojiao’s life story, and considering Nian Qi’s extraordinary hands-on abilities, the two of them revised the “cave dweller” persona into that of a “reclusive master.”

Though Ruan Qing’s acting skills were lacking, she still had the abilities of a writer and director—she had, after all, completed an entire novel before. True to form, Nian Qi played his role naturally; his qualities, which felt out of place in this era, were entirely convincing.

“So, that’s how it is,” Grandpa Qi murmured.

“Everyone, follow me,” Nian Qi said. “I’ve got chicken soup on the fire; let’s hurry so it doesn’t boil dry.” As he spoke, he crouched down in front of Ruan Qing, reaching his hands back.

Ruan Qing glanced at Grandpa Qi and suggested, “How about he carries you instead, Grandpa Qi?”

But Grandpa Qi waved his hands urgently, “He should carry you! I can still walk just fine!”

In the end, it was Ruan Qing who got the ride, as her ankle was still tender and couldn’t bear much weight or speed. Sprains typically need two to four days to heal. Nian Qi carried her up front, striding with ease. The villagers were also strong, so they weren’t exhausted, but none had the effortless grace of Nian Qi. His worn robe gave him a light, ethereal air, and everyone found themselves speaking to him with particular respect.

After crossing the ravine, they were close to the temple. Free of the heavy ropes, they moved even faster. Within an hour, they could see the temple high up ahead. Built on higher ground, it avoided the flooding and water accumulation common in the mountains’ lower areas. The stone steps, though worn, had survived well with no foot traffic over the years.

They climbed the steps, following Nian Qi as he pushed open the temple door and stepped inside.

When Nian Qi and Ruan Qing had found Wild Hermits’ Temple the previous day, it was a dead, abandoned site. But today, what Grandpa Qi and the others saw was a place reborn. Beyond the brick screen wall carved with auspicious patterns, an old stone path stretched out, marked by the passage of time. Though weathered, it was swept clean, with no weeds in the cracks. Green grass lined the path, and on either side sat two burial mounds, each with a stone marker and mounds of rocks scattered across the top.

Nian Qi had used rusty nails to reattach the broken signboard above the door, securing it with vines. The plaque and doors bore signs of repair, contrasting with the meticulously clean corridors and steps.

Everyone looked up at the Sanqing Hall, but only Grandpa Qi turned to glance at the graves and asked, “Those are…?”

Ruan Qing gave Nian Qi a look, and Nian Qi pointed to the right mound. “That’s my grandfather’s grave.” He carefully read the writing on the tombstone, especially the cramped text at the bottom where they had tried to fit in a final message with repeated revisions.

Since meeting Nian Qi, Grandpa Qi had been out of sorts, and when he saw Zaojiao’s tombstone, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Overcome with emotion, he suddenly collapsed onto the ground, pounding his thighs and crying loudly. Everyone was still looking around and was startled by his outburst.

Ruan Xiangyun rushed over. “Father! What are you doing?” He tried to help Grandpa Qi up, but Grandpa Qi pushed him away, crying incoherently. It was already hard for Ruan Xiangyun to understand his rural dialect, and now it was even harder to make sense of what he was saying.

However, Nian Qi understood clearly and quietly translated for Ruan Qing. “…Master, why didn’t you wait for me… I had already reached the bridge… Why did you chop the bridge down… Our master-disciple bond in this life was missed… In the next life, don’t go chopping bridges again…”

“The rest is just curses,” Nian Qi said with a slight twitch of his lips. “Very foul language.”

Ruan Qing was confused. “Huh?”

Nian Qi explained, “He’s cursing those people who wanted to destroy the temple.” The curses were creative, filled with expressions that someone like Ruan Qing, a city dweller, would never have imagined.

Everyone gathered around to comfort Grandpa Qi, while Nian Qi and Ruan Qing continued their quiet conversation. Seeing that Grandpa Qi wouldn’t stop cursing anytime soon, Nian Qi said, “I’ll go check the stove.”

He went to the back, where he had already slaughtered three chickens and was simmering them. When he left earlier, the fire had been low, and he had added enough water to the pot. Now, he checked and found that there was still half a pot of soup, and the aroma filled the air. The mushrooms he had picked earlier were already cleaned and blanched, so he poured them all into the pot. After adding some firewood to the stove, Nian Qi pumped the bellows, and the fire flared up. He let the soup boil for a bit before heading back to the front courtyard.

By then, Grandpa Qi had calmed down and was being helped to his feet by Ruan Xiangyun. He dusted off his clothes, wiped away his tears, and turned to Nian Qi. “Young man, you must have laughed at me,” he said. “I regret it! If only I had gone to the mountain to apprentice back then, perhaps I would have been your master instead.”

They were close in age. Nian Qi called Zaojiao his grandfather. Had Grandpa Qi successfully entered the mountains to become an apprentice, the generational hierarchy would have placed him between Zaojiao and Nian Qi. As time passed, the dreams of his youth faded into occasional stories, and even his son, now grown, no longer believed in those mystical tales, relying solely on science. Grandpa Qi also believed in science, so the memories of the past had become little more than laughter.

But when something inexplicable happened right before his eyes, and he realized he had turned back at the edge of a ravine, only to find that he had missed his chance, he felt regret and bitterness, wishing he could punish himself.

Nian Qi smiled faintly. “Destiny was not yet ripe. There’s no need to force it.” His expression carried an effortless calm, as if he were removed from the world, beyond mundane concerns. No one could doubt his identity as a “person from another world.”

“Let’s eat first,” he said, leading everyone to the back.

The fire quickly brought the chicken soup to a boil. Nian Qi added the wild vegetables he had gathered that day, tossing them into the pot for a quick blanching. Ruan Xiangyun and the others had planned to spend the night in the mountains, so they had brought dry rations: flatbreads, smoked meat, and green onions. They hadn’t brought steamed buns, as they took up too much space. Flatbreads were denser and more filling in the same amount of space.

Ruan Qing, however, had run out of food. She had finished the bread, chocolate, sausages, and the flower buns her aunt had given her from the village. The chips and sunflower seeds she had snacked on while watching Nian Qi work under the sun had all been eaten up.

The stove had been cleaned, and everyone took out their flatbreads and smoked meat. The smoked meat could be eaten cold, while the flatbreads were placed on the stove to warm up.

While they waited for the meal, everyone wandered around the temple, exploring every corner. Nian Qi even moved some of the collapsed structures, piling the larger debris into a corner of the yard, leaving the temple grounds looking intact. The soup had come to a boil again, and with the wild vegetables lightly blanched, it was ready. Nian Qi called everyone over to eat. The bowls were large, a size rarely seen in today’s countryside, which now had access to roads, TV, and the internet.

Grandpa Qi ate and sipped his soup, reminiscing, while everyone else enjoyed their food. The combination of wood fire, iron pot, free-range chicken, and wild mushrooms made the meal especially flavorful. They’d brought salt, which was all they needed for seasoning. Ruan Qing, munching on flatbread with smoked meat and green onions, was eyeing the soup pot, drawn by the smell. Nian Qi offered her a bowl, but she shook her head. Not pressing the issue, he set it on the table.

“Why aren’t you eating?” asked Grandpa Qi.

Ruan Qing hesitated. “It’s wild mushrooms… I’m a little worried.”

She was genuinely concerned about the possibility of poisoning. If everyone ended up sick, someone would need to call emergency services—although in reality, 911 wouldn’t make it up here.

Grandpa Qi, using a makeshift pair of chopsticks made from tree branches, poked through his bowl and reassured her, “You don’t need to worry! Every mushroom here is edible; not a single one is toxic.” The others chimed in, and even Ruan Xiangyun said, “We’ve been eating these since we were kids. It’s only city folks who pick the wrong ones and get poisoned. Isn’t that right, Nian Qi?”

After learning his name, Ruan Xiangyun had found the origin story fitting: he was named “Nian Qi” after the day his grandfather found him, on the twenty-seventh. It resonated with local customs, where children are often nicknamed after their birth date, like “Chuwu” (the fifth) or “Shiliu” (the sixteenth). Ruan Qing had once joked with Nian Qi that nobody named kids after numbers like Zhu Yuanzhang did, but that was because she was from the city; here, Nian Qi’s name fit the village tradition perfectly.

The mushrooms and wild greens Nian Qi picked were all edible, a testament to his experience in the mountains—a stark contrast to Ruan Qing’s city-bred background. In fact, despite having only met him two hours ago, everyone felt closer to Nian Qi than to Ruan Qing, and Ruan Xiangyun had even included him in their “we.”

To be fair, the flatbread was warm, and the smoked meat was tasty, but the chicken soup was simply irresistible, and Ruan Qing kept glancing at it. Nian Qi, reading her hesitation, nudged the bowl closer with a look that seemed to say, I scrubbed that pot well, and boiled water in it multiple times. Ruan Qing gulped and finally gave in.

“Come on, give it a try,” others encouraged her. “You city folk rarely get to taste food cooked in a real iron pot over a wood fire. And this is free-range chicken, not from a farm; it’s delicious!” Unable to refuse, Ruan Qing accepted the bowl—and found it truly delicious! She ate it up with gusto.

As they finished, night fell, and the temperature dropped. The group sat around the kitchen fire, chatting. Most of the conversation was between Ruan Xiangyun and Nian Qi, with the others mostly listening and Grandpa Qi occasionally adding a comment. Ruan Xiangyun, of course, wanted to know about the Wild Hermits’ Temple. In response, Nian Qi took out Zaojiao’s final letter for him to read. “My grandfather wrote this long ago, saying he feared he’d grow senile and forget things.”

Reading the letter by the fading daylight and firelight, Ruan Xiangyun’s eyes filled with tears as he read on. For the older generation, who’d grown up with a deep reverence for this history, these memories held far more meaning than they did for someone like Ruan Qing, raised in the city and shaped by modern education. Everyone’s eyes were wet.

“Dad!” choked up, Ruan Xiangyun slipped into the local dialect. “Those legends… they’re all true.”

“I’ve always said so,” Grandpa Qi snapped, aggrieved. “You just wouldn’t believe me. Your great-grandfather even visited this temple! Why would I lie about it?” He rubbed his knees, tears rolling down his face. “My master… he endured so much.”Ruan Qing was perplexed. Who? Who’s your master? We can’t just claim ties here!