Chapter 343: Stop Trying

The Mr. Drifting’s tongue stretched even longer.

His face was filled with embarrassment.

“My lord, don’t tease me,” Mr. Drifting said with a bitter smile, shaking his head, then floated three feet into the air, clasped his fists, and bowed respectfully to Xu Yuan: “Thank you for saving me.”

Xu Yuan stopped joking: “How did you end up in its hands?”

“It has been plotting against me for more than just a day or two,” Mr. Drifting said, slowly recounting the feud between them.

The story begins with Wangxiang Village.

Life in the mountain village was hard; they could only survive by trading mountain goods with passing merchants for daily necessities.

Bai Lao and Mr. Drifting had long sought a trustworthy person to serve as a link between the village and the outside world.

Mr. Drifting often intervened to rescue people who entered from beyond the mountains.

Once, he ruined the mother spider’s plans.

She had already captured the man, but Mr. Drifting rescued him.

Over the years, Mr. Drifting and Bai Lao secretly rescued and assessed more than a dozen people, but each one ultimately failed for various reasons.

Only Xu Yuan truly helped Wangxiang Village and succeeded in this matter.

But after that incident, the mother spider harbored a grudge against Mr. Drifting.

Yet Mr. Drifting himself was no weakling, and he and Wangxiang Village supported each other, so the mother spider could not defeat him.

But today, the mother spider grew ferocious, her power surging.

One of the female ghosts beneath Mr. Drifting was controlled by the mother spider today, causing him to slip up.

The mother spider had intended to swallow Mr. Drifting whole, but Xu Yuan happened to return to the mountains and saved his life.

The paper-made house burned completely, revealing Mr. Drifting’s crooked tree.

But the tree was also in a pitiful state.

It had been scorched by fire and struck by lightning.

Its surface was charred and withered.

Mr. Drifting rehung himself from the tree, when suddenly—CRACK—the branch broke!

Mr. Drifting stood frozen for a long while, lost in sorrow.

Xu Yuan apologized: “I didn’t notice just now…”

Mr. Drifting waved his hand: “How could I blame my lord? Sigh—I’ve been bound here for decades; it’s time I left…”

Xu Yuan said: “Come with me to Wangxiang Village first.”

Mr. Drifting waved again: “The village is full of the living; I… don’t belong there. My lord, go on ahead.”

He floated listlessly beneath the tree, which could no longer hold up—CRACK—it collapsed completely.

Mr. Drifting murmured softly: “Now I’ve truly become a wandering ghost.”

Xu Yuan wanted to comfort him, but saw Mr. Drifting had already turned away, hands behind his back, drifting slowly into the deep mountains.

Xu Yuan felt uneasy and followed, asking: “Where are you going, sir?”

Mr. Drifting said nothing, then suddenly sped up.

Xu Yuan hurried after him.

Mr. Drifting turned back helplessly: “My lord, rest assured—I have a place to go.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely true.”

Mr. Drifting bowed once more to Xu Yuan in farewell, and Xu Yuan stopped following.

From Mr. Drifting’s crooked tree to Wangxiang Village was close; Xu Yuan arrived in half the time of an incense stick.

Zhang San’s father was just about to close the village gate; seeing a malevolent spirit sprinting toward them, he let out a cry and lit his pipe: “Who dares come to our village causing trouble?”

Xu Yuan removed his clay mask and waved to Zhang San’s father: “Uncle Zhang, it’s me.”

Zhang San’s father was overjoyed—he still remembered how Xu Yuan had once gifted him matches, which had greatly boosted his standing in the village.

“Come in quickly.”

Xu Yuan entered the village and asked: “Is Bai Lao here?”

“I’ll take you to him,” Zhang San’s father said, locking the gate, smoking his pipe as he led Xu Yuan through the village.

Halfway there, they met Bai Lao.

Bai Lao was dressed as always.

The feathers on his torn cloak, broken in previous battles, had all been replaced.

After some time apart, the old mountain runner had even gained a little weight.

“Mr. Xu,” Bai Lao stood firmly, hands folded before him, bowing respectfully to Xu Yuan.

He was the “bǎozhǎng” of Wangxiang Village—that was his official title.

Xu Yuan’s rank was far higher than his.

Zhang San’s father blinked beside him, confused.

The old mountain runners had never cared about the title of “bǎozhǎng.”

How many tax collectors sent by the court had died in the mountains?

Yet this time, Xu Yuan made no show of official authority.

Why was Bai Lao so respectful?

Bai Lao never respected the government—or had once despised it.

Because the government only came to exploit them.

You’ve already made survival in the mountains hard enough—why come cut another slice?

But the Qihetai Public Office truly helped Wangxiang Village.

Even other mountain villages had improved their lives, thanks to the office’s fair, regular purchases of mountain goods.

Mountain people are like this: your wealth and power beyond the mountains mean nothing to me.

But if you truly give me benefits, then I’ll accept your rule.

Xu Yuan waved his hand: “We’ve shared hardship—no need for such formalities.”

Bai Lao said nothing, but had already resolved in his heart: from now on, this was how it must be.

“Did you return because of the dragon?”

Xu Yuan bid farewell to Zhang San’s father and followed Bai Lao.

On the way, he explained his purpose, mentioning only that the dragon had its reasons and had not fallen or betrayed.

Bai Lao’s strange eyes rolled slightly, and he asked doubtfully: “Pig Squeal Rock? I’ve heard no unusual signs there…”

Xu Yuan was even more puzzled: Had the Miao people been mistaken?

If the Miao encountered a great evil in the mountains and used a trick like “Dragon Spits Mist,” they would be deceived.

They’d think they saw something—but it wasn’t there at all.

But since he was already in the mountains, he had to go see for himself.

“Tomorrow I’ll go to Pig Squeal Rock. You’ll guide me.”

“Of course,” Bai Lao readily agreed.

Xu Yuan also told Bai Lao how he had rescued Mr. Drifting on the way, accidentally burning his crooked tree, and added: “Mr. Drifting said he has a place to go—where could he go?”

Bai Lao’s expression turned peculiar: “Tongguan Cliff.”

Xu Yuan knew the place—a sheer cliff seven hundred zhang high, with a murky great river rushing below.

The river was said to hold hundreds of drowned ghosts.

On the cliff were dozens of ancient bronze hanging coffins.

Each coffin held an ancient corpse.

It was said these ancient corpses opened their coffins every seven days to exhale.

The combined miasma from dozens of corpses created a thick, bluish-black mist covering a ten-li radius.

Anything that wandered into it unknowingly would turn into a corpse within five steps.

It was one of the most dangerous places nearby.

No one had gone there in many years.

Bai Lao continued: “The female corpse in the highest bronze coffin was moved there by Mr. Drifting seven or eight years ago.”

That old ghost refused to go.

Now he’s homeless—he can only become a son-in-law living with her.”

After saying this, Bai Lao couldn’t help himself—he let out a strange, cackling laugh.

Xu Yuan stood stunned for a long moment—I was feeling guilty for nothing!

I’ve actually helped Mr. Drifting.

Even though he’s been dead for years, that scholar’s stubbornness still clings to him—he needs someone to push him.

He’s already dead—why keep trying so hard?

(End of Chapter)