Chapter 90: The Old Man

In the bird market of Lu City, Master Wang lay as usual on his rocking chair basking in the sun, when suddenly the winter’s faint warmth was blocked by a shadow; he waved his hand irritably:

“Prices are marked—take what you like, no haggling!”

But after saying this, he noticed the shadow didn’t move; he opened his eyes impatiently and saw Feng Xue’s otherworldly face; he smirked and said:

“You’ve been making quite a name for yourself lately? What do you want from an old man like me? Those junk items no longer satisfy you? Want something better?”

“I dare not, Senior. I’ve come this time mainly to ask after some information.” Feng Xue bowed his hand, then reached into his robe and pulled out a small gold bar; the old man waved it off:

“I don’t need this. Just ask what you want to know—the price can be settled later.”

As he spoke, he tapped his toe, kicking a small stool beside him toward Feng Xue’s feet; Feng Xue didn’t refuse, sat down on it without ceremony:

“This matter is rather strange—it’s simply this: do you know of anything that has no lifespan?”

“That’s a strange question. Even heaven and earth have their end—what could possibly have no lifespan?”

But as he spoke, the old man felt something was off; he thought to himself: this boy’s reputation is great, and he spotted my uniqueness on his very first day in Lu City—he wouldn’t ask such a shallow question. So he shifted tone and added:

“Then again, lifespan is a human construct—it depends on how you think of it. Take a stone: if I crush it to powder, is its lifespan ended or merely transformed? What if I burn it into a vase? And then smash the vase?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Feng Xue, seeing the old man about to launch into philosophy, sighed wearily; he organized his thoughts and explained:

“My sect has a technique called Gazing at Qi—it can perceive a person’s remaining lifespan. But recently I saw someone with no lifespan at all—and yet he’s fully alive, moving, breathing. Since Lu City’s most knowledgeable person is you, I came to ask.”

“Hah!” At this, the old man let out a scoffing laugh, thinking, “That’s it?” He immediately adopted the air of an elder:

“You’re still young! Gazing at Qi is just a technique—no matter how mysterious, it has limits. It’s fine for mortals, but for any cultivator of depth, the readings are wildly off. It’s normal to fail to see a true master’s lifespan—for example, me. Can you tell how much lifespan I have left?”

Feng Xue grinned:

“Four hundred sixty-two years, two months, and three days.”

“How can there be fractions… wait, what?!”

The old man shot up from his stool like a spring, staring at Feng Xue as if he were a monster.

Feng Xue sighed, but still said:

“Four hundred sixty-two years, two…”

“Enough, enough! Accurate enough!” The old man raised his hand to stop him; even he only roughly knew he had about four hundred sixty years left.

His lifespan couldn’t be increased—not at his realm. After centuries of daily cultivation, he’d barely gained a fraction more; pushing too hard might even shorten it. Better to live as he pleased; perhaps one day, when his spirits lifted, inspiration would strike and he’d awaken.

Even if he never awakened, it didn’t matter—death was just moving to another place. His ancestors and the unworthy descendants had already built their homes below; he might even live better down there than up here.

But knowing it himself was one thing; hearing a boy he’d met twice state the exact number—that was chilling.

“I underestimated your sect’s heritage!”

He inwardly marveled: earlier, rumors about his sect’s supreme Five Thunder Orthodoxy, instant kills of mutated corpse puppets, the lost heir of the Shenshao Sect—he’d dismissed them as idle gossip. Now, seeing this Gazing at Qi skill, he found himself believing a little.

After all, the Shenshao Sect’s founder had once gazed at the Emperor’s lifespan—so a powerful Gazing at Qi technique was plausible.

But a man lives by his face; the old man had no intention of losing his elder’s dignity. He cleared his throat, rolled his eyes, and found a way to save face, speaking with solemn gravity:

“You only got lucky meeting me. Can lifespan really be stated so precisely?”

“Senior, you’re absolutely right.” Feng Xue rose immediately, though inwardly he thought:

“If I didn’t state it precisely, would you believe me?”

Seeing he’d fooled the old man into accepting his shock, the old man sighed—but recalling Feng Xue’s earlier question, his scalp prickled.

True, if a common fortune-teller couldn’t see a cultivator’s lifespan, that was normal. But this boy saw my lifespan with perfect accuracy—could there be someone he couldn’t see? What level would that be?

After hesitation, he spoke:

“When you say ‘no lifespan,’ what do you mean? Exhausted lifespan? Infinite lifespan? Boundless lifespan? Or just unseeable?”

Master Wang listed the most common cases in the fortune-teller’s circle; Feng Xue thought and replied:

“It’s simply… nothing. In my eyes, he’s no different from a stone or a corpse—but he’s alive. You must understand: in my eyes, even flowers, birds, fish, and insects all show lifespan…”

“Oh? Not unseeable—but invisible?” The old man grew interested. Gazing at Qi had many forms—he himself knew three or four: observing aura color, fate patterns, spiritual light. Usually, encountering a great master meant you couldn’t read it—but never completely invisible…

His centuries of experience stirred. If this were his own disciple, he’d have snapped two fingers to his forehead and told him not to ask such questions. But this was another sect’s prodigy—and that made it hard to refuse.

After long thought, he finally dredged up a few possibilities, stroked his beard, and feigned profundity:

“If you’re asking this, you’ve asked the right man. I do know of a few cases like this.”

“Tell me!” Feng Xue’s eyes lit up; he leaned forward, listening intently. The old man, pleased, settled back into his rocking chair and swayed slightly:

“Since you can’t see dead things, first consider: things that became spirits—like sentient jade, ancient evil weapons, or the remains of great demons that absorbed the Imperial Dew and gained consciousness, becoming demons. Their lifespan naturally differs from humans’.”

“That’s possible…” Feng Xue nodded inwardly; the old man continued:

“Also… hmm, didn’t you encounter one before? That corpse puppet? Legend says if a zombie fuses completely with a ghost, it can be reborn as a corpse demon—essentially no different from a great demon’s remains becoming a demon. But these things are too violent, unable to suppress their killing urge; wherever they go, corpses pile up.”

“That doesn’t fit.” Feng Xue recalled the bound-soul corpse puppet and shook his head. “Anything else?”

The old man winced at the question—he’d already named two, which was already impressive, but wait—he suddenly remembered another!

A flash of insight struck him; he stroked his beard again—

“It’s said that once one cultivates the Yang Spirit, yin and yang harmonize, forming a self-contained universe. Such beings… cannot be measured by mortal standards of lifespan. But don’t even think about that—by the time you reach that level, if you want to hide your identity, your Gazing at Qi will be detected before you even begin. If you don’t want to hide it, you’ll tell them yourself.”

It is said that once one cultivates the Yang Spirit, yin and yang harmonize, forming a self-contained cosmos; such beings are likely beyond the scope of mortal lifespan estimation. But don’t even think about it—by the time you reach that realm, if you wish to conceal your identity, you’ll be discovered before you even use the Qi-Seeing Technique; if they don’t wish to conceal it from you, they’ll surely explain the situation themselves.

The editor says the book goes live at midnight next Thursday…

Maybe I’m old-fashioned—I still remember when novels went live at 200,000 words, and I planned to launch on March 1st…

Perhaps I’m old-fashioned; my memory of when a novel goes live still lingers years back, thinking twenty thousand characters were needed before going live, and I timed it precisely, planning to go live on March 1st…

That leaves only ten days, and two more recommendation cycles remain. But to warm things up, I’ll say it now.

My current writing condition is good, so I won’t play games—I still have the same demand: if first-day premium subscriptions break ten thousand, I’ll post eight thousand words daily for a full month. If we stabilize at ten thousand, I’ll keep posting eight thousand every month.

If we don’t hit it, we’ll stick to the normal four thousand daily.

Ten days left until launch—can you now say I didn’t warn you in advance?

This book’s progress is already close to “Strange Tales,” even better—and I barely missed ten thousand on my first day with “Strange Tales,” so please, give it your all!

In short, no need for tips—just please, free votes and steady reads!

Anyway, no tips needed—please just give me free votes and follow reads!



(End of Chapter)

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