Chapter 109: What Is a Junyan (Bonus for Shizuru

Wei Hongqing ultimately did not return to Wulong Mountain with Liu Xiaolou; after sobering up, he made an excuse, saying there were too many tasks assigned by Tianmu Mountain and he could not leave for even a moment.

Liu Xiaolou understood perfectly—after all, Wei Hongqing still had no formal relationship with Lu Yuanlang of Tianmu Mountain’s inner sect; they had merely coexisted in silence all this time. Though he had gained many benefits, without formal status, how could he return to his wife’s family?

Before leaving, Wei Hongqing still presented his wedding gift: two jars of Tianmu Mountain’s spirit wine, Zhuyeqing.

Carrying the Zhuyeqing on a shoulder pole, Liu Xiaolou returned to Wulong Mountain after months away. As usual, he listened to the village gossip below the mountain, sat awhile at Tian Bo’s house, ate a meal of coarse rice, and left two taels of silver.

Tian Bo no longer needed Liu Xiaolou’s support—his daughter Zhen had returned from Xiushan earlier this year with fifty taels of silver, enough for two or three years of expenses, and had even built a new large brick house beside their old one. Tian Bo’s home had been completely transformed. Yet decades of official ties between Sanxuan Sect and the Tian family had made the exchange of silver a habit, a symbol of mutual affection; without it, both sides would feel uneasy.

“Zhen also went up to Gan Zhu Ridge. I told her you were away, so she paid respects at the Master’s grave and returned to Xiushan.”

“Ah, I missed her. How is Zhen?”

“She’s well. After two years in Xiushan, she’s begun cultivation and says she’s pushing toward Qi Refining second level. She started late, so she dares not slack for a moment—she only came home for half a month before leaving again.”

“Two years to master three meridians? You’re truly more gifted than I was—I took six years. Tian Bo, Zhen will surely achieve great things. You’ll have plenty to look forward to.”

“I’m just a farmer. What great fortune could I ever enjoy? My whole life will be spent on Wulong Mountain.”

Confirming the mountain was safe, Liu Xiaolou carried his pole back to Gan Zhu Ridge. He opened a jar of Zhuyeqing, poured a flask, and went into the bamboo grove to burn paper for his teacher.

After burning the paper and sharing a flask of Zhuyeqing with his teacher’s spirit, Liu Xiaolou began cleaning and repairing the courtyard. He had been gone a long time, but the small yard needed little repair—it had been fixed earlier by Zhen and Tian Bo, so now he only needed to sweep.

Somehow, the great white goose had flapped back, joining the cleanup with perfect harmony. This creature needed no care—while Liu Xiaolou was away for half a year, it had stayed faithfully, fed itself, and remained as plump, white, and lively as ever.

After finishing the yard, Liu Xiaolou sighed contentedly, stretched out full-length on the eaves’ terrace, gazing at the drifting white clouds, feeling the gentle spring breeze from afar, and luxuriating for a long while.

He hadn’t seen the great white goose in ages, so he indulged himself, pouring a small bowl of Zhuyeqing, and called: “Big White, come here!”

The goose, scenting the wine, rushed forward like a starving ghost, gulped it down in a few swallows, then immediately began slipping on its feet, crawling across the yard with its wings—Liu Xiaolou burst into laughter.

Then he carved bamboo plaques: small rectangles two fingers long and wide, inscribed with a knife: “Disciple Xiaolou has become a son-in-law of the Su family of Shenwu Mountain. Today I return to the mountain. Tomorrow, at the hour of Xu, I host a banquet at Gan Zhu Ridge. I humbly await your presence. Bowing again!”

One must be humble; there was no need for a grand feast, especially since the wine was scarce. So Liu Xiaolou wrote only four invitations: for Zuo Gaofeng, Longshan Sanren, Tan Ba, and Dai Shenggao, inviting them to gather.

The goose’s tolerance once again amazed Liu Xiaolou—over half an hour later, it no longer slurred its beak or eyes, could fold its wings properly, and walked steadily again.

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It knew Wulong Mountain well and understood human speech, so Liu Xiaolou confidently hung the four bamboo plaques around its neck, gave it a kick, and sent it off to deliver the invitations.

By nightfall, the goose returned, quacking, its neck now bearing only one bamboo plaque—the one for Dai Shenggao was missing, indicating Dai Sanren was not home and had gone somewhere unknown.

The next evening, at the hour of Xu, Liu Xiaolou prepared food and drink: bamboo shoots stewed with river fish, roasted wild rabbit, zhu yu stir-fried mountain chicken, fresh mushroom soup, cured pork, and other common mountain fare—nothing extraordinary, except the Zhuyeqing.

With spirit wine to rinse the mouth, who cared what else was eaten?

The cured pork’s origin was unknown—it had been carried off by the goose from some unknown place. Since there were no labels, Liu Xiaolou simply sliced it up.

First to arrive was Tan Ba, who laughed heartily and hugged Liu Xiaolou: “Xiaolou, Xiaolou, you’ve climbed to heaven! Don’t forget your brothers—take us with you!”

Liu Xiaolou grinned: “Climb to heaven? I’m just a son-in-law—enduring constant humiliation, only for the sake of food, forced to do it.”

Then came Zuo Gaofeng: “I too wish to become a son-in-law. In my youth, I tried inserting myself into every high family of Xiangxi—none would have me. Now I’m old, with no hope left. What’s to be done?”

The three, reunited after parting, chatted warmly. Since their parting at Miluo River, each had made great progress—after months apart, Zuo Gaofeng had broken through to Qi Refining eighth level, entering the late stage; Tan Ba had crossed the threshold of Qi Refining fifth level and now stood at sixth, matching Wei Hongqing’s progress; and Liu Xiaolou himself had reached Qi Refining fourth level. All were delighted, spirits high.

Only Longshan Sanren wore a look of sorrow—he had labored for years but still lacked the eighteen ingredients needed to brew a Foundation Establishment Pill. Just speaking of it brought tears.

Of course, tonight’s theme was still to congratulate Liu Xiaolou on becoming a son-in-law to a fine family—the Su family of Danxia Sect—who wouldn’t envy him?

As the wine flowed, Tan Ba pressed repeatedly: how had the Su family chosen Liu Xiaolou as a son-in-law?

Liu Xiaolou could barely hold his wine bowl, eyes glazed: “Sometimes, appearance matters greatly. Being handsome… burp… really can put food on the table. Take Brother Wei—he… he Wei, Hongqing, Old Wei! You say… burp… what made him manager of Tianmu Mountain’s Hongji Wine House? Isn’t it… just this face…?”

He slapped his own face loudly: “Face! Face matters!”

The three listened intently, unconsciously touching their own faces.

Liu Xiaolou’s voice rose: “When I went to Shenwu Mountain to apply, burp… you didn’t see it—every seat was filled with young elites from all over, families far stronger than mine by a hundredfold! Why didn’t the Su family pick them? Their families might be stronger, but could they surpass the Su family? The Su family seeks a son-in-law—family background means nothing! So what do they pick? You tell me… tell me, what else could they pick?”

Zuo Gaofeng sighed: “Ugly people have no luck… I see now. Xiaolou and Hongqing—called the Twin Beauties of Wulong Mountain—that’s what an elite is. Today I finally understand: what is an elite? Elite, elite—first beauty, then talent.”

Tan Ba lay sprawled on the table, wine bowl upside-down on his head, weeping: “I’m hopeless… I’m hopeless…”

Longshan Sanren roared with laughter, bent double, and slid under the table.

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