Chapter 35: Welcomed Along the Road

Pan Yun said nothing; though she admitted that Xuan Miao and Tao Ji were both stronger than her, she didn’t think either could be her master—mutual cultivation and exchange among fellow sect siblings was more than enough, and she knew many things she could teach them too.

Traveling east from Guangxin Prefecture, they rode their mule cart for two days, entering Yushan County; from here, they didn’t need to pass through the county town but could follow the mountain path for half a day to reach Mount Sanqing.

At the foot of Mount Sanqing lay a village; Tao Ji introduced it to her, “This is Fen Shui Village. The cart can’t go up the mountain—we’ll leave it with a villager.”

The village was sizable, built along the mountainside beside the river; Pan Yun could see the human presence stretching for miles downstream along the water.

As soon as the cart entered the village, villagers warmly greeted Tao Ji and Xuan Miao—especially Tao Ji, even children swarmed around him, calling him “Tao Daochang,” “Tao Xianshi,” and “Uncle Tao.”

Tao Ji pulled out a cloth sack from his robe and scooped out a handful of sugar wrapped in translucent rice paper.

The children cheered, bouncing and skipping around the cart as they followed.

Tao Ji walked while handing out sugar; by the time he finished one sack, they’d only crossed half the village, but the children called their friends, bringing even more kids.

Tao Ji laughed heartily, unconcerned, reached onto the cart, and pulled out another cloth sack of sugar, continuing to distribute it along the way.

Pan Yun sat quietly watching; Xuan Miao’s face also softened into a smile.

She turned to see Pan Yun staring blankly at Tao Ji’s sack, and reached out to him.

Tao Ji’s eyes lit up, and he poured a large handful into his junior sister’s palm.

Children immediately gathered around Xuan Miao.

Xuan Miao picked out three pieces and handed them to Pan Yun.

Pan Yun looked down at the sugar in her hand, paused, then took it, watching as Xuan Miao distributed the rest to the other children.

Ahead lay a bridge crossing the river; Tao Ji worried the children might fall in, so waved for them to follow behind.

After crossing the bridge, they reached the mountain’s base—houses grew sparse, and a mountain path wound through the trees; following it a short distance revealed a small house, half stone, half earth.

Beside the house stood a thatched shed, with a bamboo pole hoisting a cloth banner above it; one side bore a large character: “Tea.” When the wind blew, it flipped to reveal the character “Food” on the other side.

As if sensing guests had arrived, a gentle breeze stirred in the still mountain air, lifting the banner and making it drift slowly, occasionally bumping and shifting the bamboo pole.

A door nearby opened, and an old man stepped out; seeing the cart, he grinned, his wrinkles folding together, and called out loudly, “Ah! Tao boy and Xuan Miao are back! Wait a moment—I’ll brew tea for you.”

He dashed toward the tea shed; despite his age, his movements were swift and nimble.

As he added water and stoked the fire, he leaned out and shouted toward the children, “Xiao Jing! Xiao Jing! Come light the fire—”

From the back of the crowd, a tall, lanky boy responded, pushing through to step forward.

The old man clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re twelve already—why still playing with children? Time to start helping out.”

Wang Xiaojing wiped sweat from his face and replied offhandedly, “Yes, Grandpa.”

Tao Ji had parked the cart and heard this; he laughed. “Wang Old Man, Xiao Jing’s still a child—let him play if he wants.”

He dragged over a long bench and sat by the roadside, waiting for new children to come for candy.

Children who’d already received candy didn’t leave or reach out—they simply clustered around him, asking where he’d been this time and what was fun.

Tao Ji spoke enthusiastically, “This time I went to Beijingcheng.”

“Wow—” the children gasped, pressing him with questions: “Is Beijingcheng big? Bigger than Nanjingcheng?”

The children’s admiration delighted Tao Ji; he pulled them close and described how vast and bustling Beijingcheng was, where to go for cheap, safe inns, which streets sold what goods…

The children chimed in with “Wow!” and other exclamations, encouraging Tao Ji to speak even more excitedly and in greater detail.

Wang Old Man smiled broadly and turned to fetch tea leaves.

Pan Yun sat on the other side of the cart, glanced at the sugar in her hand, peeled it open, and put it in her mouth.

It was malt sugar—golden yellow, sweet and sticky—exactly like the taste she’d known in both lives.

The sweetness seemed to seep into her heart; Tao Ji’s endless chatter no longer felt annoying.

When the water boiled, Wang Old Man poured tea first for Tao Ji, then brought a bowl to Xuan Miao, who hurriedly got down from the cart to receive it.

Pan Yun turned her head; only then did Wang Old Man notice another child on the other side of the cart—he’d been completely hidden by the cargo.

Wang Old Man exclaimed, “Ah! There’s another little Daoist! Wait—I’ll make you a bowl of noodles.”

Xuan Miao quickly refused, “We’ll be going up the mountain after tea.”

“That’s right,” Tao Ji stood up, holding his tea with a smile, “Wang Old Man, we’ve brought too much to carry all at once—leave it here with you. We’ll come back later to fetch it.”

“Also, leave the cart and mules here—if anyone in the village needs them, let them use them. Just make sure to feed the mules.”

Wang Old Man agreed, called his great-grandson to help unload, and went to make noodles.

Tao Ji quickly stopped him. “Really, no need—we’ve already eaten on the road.”

“That’s for you adults,” Wang Old Man brushed his hand away. “You may not be hungry, but can the child go without? The mountain path ahead is long—you can endure, but don’t make the child suffer. Go unload your things—I’ll cook the noodles.” He scooped flour and began kneading.

Pan Yun silently ate her sugar and watched.

Wang Old Man said he’d make noodles only for Pan Yun, yet kneaded a whole large bowl—and ended up pulling out three bowls. Fortunately, the water kept boiling, so he could drop them in immediately.

The children helped unload while sniffing the aroma, swallowing saliva repeatedly.

The children were curious about Pan Yun and had long wanted to approach and play—but seeing her sit beside Xuan Miao, cold and distant like her, they dared not.

Now that she was helping them unload, they jostled each other until finally Wang Xiaojing was pushed forward.

He hugged a cloth sack full of herbs and grinned foolishly at Pan Yun. “Little sister, are you going up the mountain to become a Daoist too?”

Pan Yun nodded. “Yes. Are you familiar with the mountain?”

Wang Xiaojing: “Pretty familiar—I’ve climbed it a few times with my father. Your mountain… is quite cool. Oh, our apricots are ripe—I’ll pick a basket for you. Take them to Xuan Miao.”

Before Pan Yun could ask who Xuan Miao was, he shoved the cloth sack into her hands and leapt away, “I’ll go pick them now—wait for me!”

!. Read

Wang Xiaojing called his friends, grabbed two bamboo baskets, and dashed off with seven or eight older boys.

Pan Yun: …

Tao Ji passed by, sniffed, and pulled the sack from her arms. “So that’s where it went—I couldn’t find it. You’re taking this up the mountain?”

He borrowed two large bamboo baskets and one small one from Wang Old Man, packed the most urgent items into them, and stored the rest in a small room at the Wang household.

The room seemed meant for storage—stones propped up wooden planks, raising the floor about a palm’s height, keeping contents dry and cool for longer storage.

Tao Ji neatly organized everything, and seeing Pan Yun observing, explained, “This is where Wang Old Man stores tea and rice. Our Daoist temple often borrows this room to store things too. When you leave the mountain or return later, if you can’t carry everything, you can leave it here.”

Pan Yun noted it.

After everything was stored, Tao Ji handed her the small basket. “This is your load. Put your luggage in too—the mountain path is rough; carrying a basket is easier.”

Wang Old Man called them to eat noodles; just as they were about to depart, Wang Xiaojing and the others arrived, sprinting with bamboo baskets.

Tao Ji’s head spun at the sight of so many apricots mixed with fresh leaves—did he really have to carry all this up the mountain?

He wanted to refuse, but then he pictured Xuan Miao’s round, plump face and her bright eyes—and couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Xuan Miao said, “Put it with mine.”

Tao Ji replied, “No, I’ll carry it.”

He shoved a roll of fabric hard into Xuan Miao’s basket, cleared space, then found a large cloth sack and packed all the apricots inside.

Wang Xiaojing didn’t care about his family’s apricot tree—he’d picked far too many; even after filling one sack, there was still plenty left. Tao Ji lifted it, weighed it in his hand—it weighed at least twenty catties.

Tao Ji resigned himself and placed the sack into the basket.

The basket bulged noticeably; he tied it with a net of rope to secure the contents.

Tao Ji stood up, shouldering the basket, and waved. “Let’s go.”

Pan Yun gave him a sympathetic glance, then slung her small basket onto her back.

The children followed warmly for a stretch, until the path narrowed further, when Tao Ji shooed them back down the mountain.

He promised to return soon with candy to see them.

The children laughed and ran off.

Wang Xiaojing returned to his family’s tea shed and helped his great-grandfather clear the bowls—then noticed coins beside Pan Yun’s and Xuan Miao’s bowls.

He snatched them up. “Grandpa, look!”

Wang Old Man exclaimed, “Ah! Xuan Miao Daochang is still so polite!”

“And the little sister—she left coins too.”

Wang Old Man muttered, “She’s just like Xuan Miao Daochang… Ah, they paid for three bowls—we’ve taken advantage. Xiao Jing, remember: next time they come down, make them three bowls of noodles to repay them.”

Wang Xiaojing agreed.

Wang Old Man still favored Tao Ji most—he never paid for food or drink, treated the family like kin, never acted like a guest.

Wang Xiaojing: “If they refuse, I’ll just make extra noodles for Xuan Miao—two bowls cooked as one.”

Wang Old Man: “…Don’t keep overfeeding Xuan Miao—what if you ruin her stomach?”

“No way—her medical skill is excellent. How could she eat herself sick?”

Today’s lucky number remains any number ending in 1, screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)