Chapter 113: Xi Yi Xian Sheng Zhen Jun

After hanging up the phone, Ning Zhe continued walking forward; the wisp of smoke rising into the blue sky grew closer.

The overall layout of Yanglao Village forms a large simplified Chinese character “ Yang ” laid flat on the ground: the stone guardian at the southern village entrance lies at the bottom vertical stroke, while the Tudimiao sits precisely at the center where the two upper branches of the character diverge.

Behind the Tudimiao stands an ancient ginkgo tree, so massive it would take over a dozen people to encircle it; even before approaching, the acrid scent of burning charcoal could be smelled.

Ning Zhe transformed into a holly bird and flew above the ginkgo tree—the rolling heat nearly knocked him off course; the tree was on fire.

The ginkgo’s trunk was hollow, from which sparse plumes of blue smoke drifted upward; its thick trunk resembled a towering chimney, with long tongues of flame periodically lashing out from the hollow to lick at the tender branches and green leaves of the canopy—this tree was still alive. Indeed, it thrived.

From above, only a small ring near the burning hollow at the tree’s center had been scorched yellow; above the dry, charred trunk stretched a lush, emerald canopy. Fan-shaped ginkgo leaves rustled softly in the heat, their fresh, vibrant new growth brimming with vitality.

Beneath the blazing ginkgo stood a small temple, slightly larger than the Tudimiao by the village path; when Ning Zhe resumed his human form and drew near, he saw an elderly woman and a young girl kneeling before the temple, respectfully offering incense to the Tudimiao.

The old woman held three sticks of incense, the young girl two—five sticks total, planted into the ash before the temple; these must be Ji Taimei’s grandmother and younger sister.

“Strange…” Ning Zhe frowned slightly as he watched the backs of the two women kneeling.

The elder’s appearance matched Ji Taimei’s memory of his grandmother, though she appeared even older than when he was a child—still recognizable, yet the girl beside her…

“Ji Taimei… at least the version his grandfather knew—his memories contained no knowledge or recognition of a sister.” Ning Zhe’s nerves tightened slightly; he hesitated whether to step forward.

Forgetting what someone looks like is one thing—but would a normal person not even know the name of his own biological sister?

In that instant of hesitation, the two women kneeling before the temple seemed to sense someone’s approach; the grandmother turned, saw Ning Zhe standing a short distance behind, and her wrinkled face broke into a smile: “Oh my, A Mian, when did you get back? You didn’t even tell the family! Your mother said on the phone…”

The grandmother rose eagerly, stepped before Ning Zhe, tugged at his sleeves and hem, inspecting him up and down, muttering about how long it had been, how her good grandson had grown taller and older, yet looked pale and thin.

The girl who had been kneeling beside the grandmother turned her head timidly; between her soft strands of hair lay a face ravaged by red patches and acne—pustules, chickenpox, psoriasis, fungal infections… every conceivable skin ailment marred her features.

She croaked softly: “Brother… you’re back…”

Her voice was weak, as if her throat too was diseased.

That face… Ning Zhe glanced at the girl’s hands, hidden beneath long sleeves, and smiled faintly: “It’s been a long time. Did you miss your brother?”

Ji Taimei’s sister nodded vigorously: “Every day.”

As the identity of “the brother the sister knows” was successfully usurped by Taiyi, Ning Zhe learned her name:

【Yin Lishang】

Not a Ji surname but an Yin surname… Ning Zhe’s gaze sharpened; it seemed Lan Shiwen had been right—they’d changed their surname to evade pursuit by rogue cultivators. Literally, they’d hidden their name. But why had both Ji Taimei and his father Ji Wuxie changed theirs, while Yin Lishang had not? “Grandma, how did this tree catch fire?” Ning Zhe asked.

In Ji Taimei’s childhood memories, this ancient ginkgo had always been fine.

“Struck by lightning,” the grandmother said, taking Ning Zhe’s hand.

“Before you were born, this tree was already here. Officials from Yun City kept coming to persuade your grandfather to sign papers letting them transplant it into the city park. I always said the old man was stubborn—he refused free money, wouldn’t let them dig it up no matter what.”

“Perhaps this ginkgo had absorbed too much earth energy from the village, and even the Tudigong couldn’t bear it. On the Dragon Boat Festival three years ago, a bolt of lightning split the sky—and struck the tree’s heart dead center. Everyone rushed over and found the inside already ablaze.”

The grandmother stroked the lines of Ning Zhe’s palm, glancing repeatedly at the blazing ginkgo as she continued: “But this tree has some cultivation—it survived the heavenly lightning. The fire inside has burned for three years, yet the ginkgo still thrives; last year it even bore fruit.”

“The fire’s been burning for three years?” Ning Zhe found it hard to believe: “No one tried to put it out?”

“Child, don’t speak so carelessly—the Tudigong is listening!” The grandmother quickly covered his mouth, whispering: “This is heavenly lightning and fire granted by the Tudigong himself—who dares extinguish it?”

He’d nearly forgotten: Ji Taimei’s grandmother was devoutly Buddhist…

Ning Zhe clicked his tongue softly, his gaze shifting from the timid Yin Lishang to the ginkgo before him: its hollow trunk blazed fiercely, spewing thick blue smoke like a colossal chimney—this tree had lived for three years under such conditions.

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Recalling the elderly villagers he’d seen in the village—aged beyond recognition, yet still clinging to life—Ning Zhe arrived at a natural conclusion:

“There seems to be no ‘death’ in Yanglao Village?”

If so, then Ji Taimei, who had fled into the village last night, might not be dead at all—and if he wasn’t dead, where was he now?

“Grandma, I’ve got a question.” Ning Zhe withdrew his hand from her withered grip: “On my way into the village, I saw a Tudimiao. The Tudigong there looked… terrible.”

“You saw the Tudigong?” The grandmother’s eyes widened instantly; this matter clearly mattered greatly.

“Yes,” Ning Zhe nodded. “I saw his eyes nailed shut, his ears sealed with mud, his nose sliced off, his mouth stitched shut with thread. His wounds bled like a human’s.”

It was as if someone had dressed a corpse in the robes of a Tudigong and placed it inside the temple.

“Heavens… Xi Yi Xian Sheng Zhen Jun!” The grandmother shrieked, then fainted dead away.

(End of Chapter)