Chapter 59

Before leaving, Nian Qi glanced at Ruan Qing through the car window. His calm, unruffled expression made Ruan Qing exhale softly. Nian Qi’s quick thinking and ability to adapt surpassed her expectations, especially with his unexpectedly broad knowledge. His previous disadvantage—a generational disconnect with the modern world—had now become an asset, perfectly suiting his current persona.

The car could only go as far as the spot where Ruan Qing had previously parked. Beyond that point, it was impassable by vehicle. At a particularly tricky ditch that would typically require a detour, Grandpa Qi and Ruan Xiangyun instinctively and in perfect unison gave Nian Qi a shove from behind, propelling him toward the deputy magistrate.

For a man like Nian Qi, who had lived a life on the edge, government officials didn’t exactly inspire awe. His respect for the Ruan family was purely out of affection for Ruan Qing—her elders and kin would also be his family someday.

Without hesitation, Nian Qi grasped the deputy magistrate by one arm, supported his waist with the other, and said calmly, “Watch your step.”

Ruan Xiangyun was so shocked he almost reached out in alarm. Luckily, Nian Qi handled the situation with precision and didn’t toss the deputy magistrate aside. Instead, he securely supported him, leaping gracefully over the ditch with the magistrate in tow.

The deputy magistrate landed on the other side as if floating on air, completely bewildered. Aside from the folks from Lao Mei Valley Village, everyone else was stunned.

After ferrying a few more people across, Nian Qi turned back, only to find a journalist raising a camera. Earlier, while in the village, the journalists had taken a few photos, but their focus had been entirely on the officials. Since nothing was confirmed yet, the shots were merely raw material that might not even be used. As such, the angles had been carefully chosen to highlight the leaders, with Nian Qi only appearing in the background or from the side.

Being ever vigilant, Nian Qi had already noticed this pattern. Whenever a camera was even vaguely pointed at him, he would subtly shift his angle, ensuring only his back was captured. At the time, the journalists were too focused on the officials to notice.

But now, after witnessing what they could only describe as “the miraculous return of lost ancient martial arts,” they knew they had a headline-worthy story. The moment Nian Qi returned, one journalist instinctively aimed their camera straight at his face.

Just as the camera was raised, the figure in the viewfinder disappeared. Before the journalist could react, a hand clamped around their throat, and the camera was snatched away!

The sudden turn of events left everyone dumbfounded. What just happened?

Nian Qi held the journalist’s throat with one hand and the camera with the other, his voice sharp and demanding, “What is this? What are you trying to do?”

His words were understood by the people of Lao Mei Valley and the deputy magistrate, who was also from Lingcheng. But for the others from the county, his accent rendered him incomprehensible. In some areas, even within the same county, distinct dialects could make communication challenging.

The journalist, utterly terrified, stammered, “Let—let me go! I don’t understand what you’re saying!” They had no idea that the fact they could still speak was only because Nian Qi hadn’t exerted any real force.

Only then did Ruan Xiangyun and Grandpa Qi snap out of their shock, rushing over to grab Nian Qi’s arm.

“Nian, Nian! Let go, first!”

Out of respect for the two, Nian Qi complied, releasing the journalist. However, he held up the camera for them to see. “This person was aiming a hidden weapon at me.”

Ruan Xiangyun and Grandpa Qi couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. Even the deputy magistrate, who was still standing across the ditch, burst into hearty laughter when he heard this.

The middle-aged Taoist priest chuckled and walked over to explain, “That’s not a weapon, it’s a camera.” However, his explanation stopped there, as if simply mentioning the word “camera” would be enough for someone like Nian Qi, supposedly a recluse from the deep mountains, to instantly understand its purpose.

This was where the Taoist priest fell short compared to Ruan Qing. If Ruan Qing had been the one explaining, she wouldn’t have just stopped at saying “camera”; she would have followed up with the simplest description of its function. From the beginning, she had treated Nian Qi like a blank slate—or a child completely unaware of the modern world—and patiently explained even the most basic concepts to him.

Of course, Nian Qi knew that even if he hadn’t met Ruan Qing after traveling through time, he would have survived on his own. But if given a chance to choose again, he would still choose to meet her. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: perhaps Heaven itself had allowed him to traverse a thousand years, just so he could meet Ruan Qing.

These thoughts flashed through his mind quickly as he frowned and asked, “So it’s not a weapon?”

Ruan Xiangyun was sweating bullets. “No, it’s really not! Give it back to him.”

Nian Qi continued, “Then what is this camera for?”

Ruan Xiangyun and Grandpa Qi exchanged helpless looks. Since meeting Nian Qi in the past few days, they had been entirely preoccupied with extracting information from him about his mysterious skills and background. Not a single person had seriously taken the time to introduce him to the outside world.

Ruan Xiangyun hurriedly explained the purpose of a camera.

This was exactly what Nian Qi was waiting for. His expression changed abruptly, and he bellowed, “Then it’s soul-stealing! No one is allowed to take pictures of me!” His acting skills as a “shadow realm’s king-level performer” were in full swing.

The loud shout stunned everyone into silence.

“Did anyone take a picture of me earlier? Let me see!” Nian Qi’s hand shot out, grabbing the unlucky journalist’s neck once again.

The journalist, panicked, stammered, “I’ll show you! I’ll show you! Just—just stop choking me!”

The others rushed forward to calm him down, but no matter how much they pleaded, Nian Qi wouldn’t let it go. His previous calm and respectful demeanor was gone, replaced by an unyielding insistence on the matter.

Dealing with someone from the mountains, completely uneducated about modern times, was proving to be a headache for everyone.

From across the ditch, the deputy magistrate shouted, “Just explain it to him properly!”

As if no one had already tried! But Nian Qi wasn’t accepting any of it. His stubborn belief in old superstitions was proving to be a massive obstacle.

Desperate, everyone turned to the middle-aged Taoist priest from the Taoist Association.

“Master Qinghua, say something! You’re one of them, right?”

Surely, a Taoist priest could reason with another Taoist, they thought.

Qinghua, who had been enjoying the show up until now, found himself in the spotlight. Even the deputy magistrate called out, “Master Qinghua, talk to him properly.”

Realizing he couldn’t just watch any longer, Qinghua stepped forward reluctantly.

“A camera doesn’t steal souls. Soul-stealing isn’t even a real thing—it doesn’t exist. For us who follow the Dao, cultivation is a journey of self-discipline, a quest within the heart. Believing in supernatural forces or ghosts and demons was something people did in the past, when education was not widespread, to explain natural phenomena they couldn’t understand.

“When you leave the mountains, read more books and learn some modern scientific knowledge. You’ll realize that some of your thoughts and beliefs are outdated and need to be updated.”

In the vast world of Taoists, not everyone could rise to a position of authority. Those who did were often well-versed and capable of handling complex situations like this.

Even the deputy magistrate wanted to applaud Qinghua Daoist for his words of wisdom. But then Qinghua suddenly shifted the tone: “But it’s okay. If you don’t like it, just don’t let them take your picture.”

The deputy magistrate: “…”
Ruan Xiangyun: “…”
The propaganda officials and reporters: “…”

Daoist Qinghua, are you sure you’re on the right side here?

To Nian Qi’s surprise, he found himself genuinely liking this Qinghua Daoist. Nian Qi nodded solemnly. “I trust you, elder, but I don’t like it. I want to check if anyone took photos of me earlier.”

“Alright,” Qinghua nodded and called out, “Everyone, please cooperate and let him review the pictures you’ve taken.”

The reporters exchanged uneasy glances.

Nian Qi raised an eyebrow and added with a sharp edge to his voice, “Otherwise, no one is getting across.”

The ditch was right there, and the alternative route would take dozens of extra miles to traverse. While Nian Qi appeared rustic and unsophisticated, it was now clear to everyone that he was shrewd. The first people he had helped across were all the leaders. No one noticed earlier because it seemed natural at the time. But now, with the leaders on the other side watching helplessly, the group left behind couldn’t help but feel like this was a subtle form of coercion.

The group exchanged worried looks, but the deputy magistrate spoke up from across the ditch: “Let Little Nian check. Everyone has the right to their privacy, and we should respect personal wishes.”

Well, if the leader had spoken, that resolved the issue. It wasn’t about the action itself but about where responsibility lay. With the deputy magistrate taking the lead, the reporters resigned themselves to showing Nian Qi the pictures they’d taken earlier.

One photo captured a partial side profile of Nian Qi’s face. He immediately pointed at it, declaring, “This one needs to be destroyed!”

“No, no, no!” Qinghua Daoist hurriedly intervened, waving his hands. “No need to destroy it. Just delete it. Delete, delete, delete.”

The owner of the camera reluctantly deleted the photo.

Nian Qi then reviewed the rest, which mostly showed his back. Qinghua reassured him, “That’s fine. If it doesn’t show your face, it’s no issue.”

Nian Qi finally relented. “Alright.” He clearly respected Qinghua Daoist, so he decided to give him face.

Before moving on, Nian Qi gravely warned everyone, “If anyone takes pictures of me, I’ll destroy their camera.” His tone was deadly serious, and everyone could tell he wasn’t joking. Having witnessed his strength and agility firsthand, no one dared to test his resolve.

This mountain Taoist wasn’t just skilled with a calligraphy brush—his martial arts were equally formidable.

Mutual respect goes a long way, and since Nian Qi respected him, Qinghua Daoist stepped in again to mediate. “No front or side profiles. If you must take photos, stick to his back.”

With the deputy magistrate’s approval, everyone nodded in agreement, and the group finally resumed their journey.

Ruan Xiangyun, however, was deeply frustrated.

In his mind, he had already formulated extensive plans for the future. Even if the county government didn’t support this project, he was determined to rally the entire village to push it forward. Rural development didn’t always require external funding or government initiatives—he had studied successful cases nationwide where communities had banded together and achieved remarkable results on their own.

And in these plans, Nian Qi was a key figure.

Ruan Xiangyun envisioned turning Nian Qi into a celebrity representing Lao Mei Valley and the Wild Hermits’ Temple. In today’s world, the internet held immense power. A single viral personality could transform an entire region. Rustic herdsmen, handsome monks, or educated youths returning to their hometowns to promote local products—no matter the background, once they went viral, they could bring attention, opportunities, and change.

A young, strikingly handsome man, raised in an ancient mountain temple, skilled in traditional martial arts, capable of leaping across rooftops, exuding a classical charm. Ruan Xiangyun refused to believe such a person couldn’t go viral.

But the problem was—he wouldn’t go on camera!