Village Gathering

The old village elder was indeed worldly: “Those immortals, riding clouds and wielding divine powers, how could they take a fancy to us country kids? Even if we’re not chosen as disciples, it’s fine. Staying by their side as a fire-tending maid or a dew-gathering servant would be good too!”

Su Qing carefully savored her white rice.

The elder’s rice was hard, tough to digest but filling.

Chewed slowly, it revealed a sweet flavor.

She could now eat three big bowls of plain rice in one go.

How had she never noticed how delicious rice was before?

Tasty, loved it, ate it slowly.

The wild greens, though initially bitter and astringent, grew fragrant with chewing, leaving a sweet aftertaste at the tongue’s root—quite flavorful.

Salted beans, eaten daily, were salty and hard like pebbles, but grinding one slowly with her teeth was oddly satisfying.

Xiu Fu asked: “Immortals have magic—why need people to tend fires or gather dew?”

The elder replied: “You don’t get it. Refining pills takes eighty-one days—can they watch the fire the whole time? Someone’s got to tend it. And immortals drink a whole Guanyin vase of dew each morning. That’s a thousand dewdrops, at least. Without a few dew-gatherers, where’s their meal coming from?”

Warming to his topic, he suggested: “Xiu Fu, practice cooking and fire-tending at home. Maybe an immortal will take a liking to your skills!”

Xiu Fu didn’t argue, smiling: “Fine. If I can tend fires for an immortal, I’ll work hard, earn a few good pills. We’d eat them and surely be healthy, living to a hundred.”

The elder laughed, tossing a salted bean into his mouth with relish.

After lunch, Xiu Fu’s mother returned with news from Xiu Fu’s father, who’d been working the fields.

That morning, he’d met a cousin from town visiting the village.

The cousin said several immortal stewards had recently arrived in town, likely meaning the disciple selection was near.

He advised preparing early, packing extra flatbreads for Xiu Fu—the journey was long, at least a month or two round trip!

Xiu Fu’s mother, upon returning, rushed into the kitchen, then dashed out to buy two jin of white flour at the village head.

The elder directed: “Old woman, tonight let’s get two chi of cloth to make good socks and shoes!”

Su Qing watched the elder’s family—old and young—spring into action, leaving her and Xiu Fu standing, exchanging bewildered glances.

The two carried leftovers to feed the dog, whispering as they went.

Su Qing asked: “Have you seen immortals? Are they real or fake? Can they really fly, ride clouds, summon rain?”

“I’ve only heard my grandma’s stories,” Xiu Fu shook her head, eyes wistful. “Immortals are so powerful—surely they have elixirs to cure my mother and grandma’s illnesses.”

Su Qing, uncertain, comforted her: “If they’re real, those pills should be no trouble.”

Their talk veered to how to win an immortal’s favor for some elixirs.

Xiu Fu said diligent work was key, but what if the immortals still overlooked them?

Su Qing said: Solutions outnumber problems—they could start their own pill-forging.

Their aimless chatter, though useless, eased some of their confusion.

Then Su Qing remembered her roadside trap. “Xiu Fu, did you pass my trap coming back? Anything in it?”

She craved meat and wanted to repay Xiu Fu’s family.

Mimicking the village hunter’s methods, she’d set a trap by the road.

Sadly, it had caught nothing.

Xiu Fu laughed: “I passed it. The bait’s gone, not a bird in sight. Give up—this skill isn’t easily mimicked. If Hunter Chen sees, he’ll scold you.”

Yet that night, unable to sleep, her heart pounding, Xiu Fu sat in the courtyard on a small stool, twisting hemp rope under the moonlight.

Seeing Su Qing squatting and working diligently, she approached, startled. “What are you grinding that for?”

Under the moonlight, Su Qing, hands wrapped in rags, ground a broken firewood knife’s fragments against a whetstone with vigor.

Her efforts gradually revealed the rusty iron’s sharp edge.

“I found it with effort,” Su Qing said.

She’d discovered the cracked, rusted knife in the woodshed, forgotten in a corner.

The elder hadn’t discarded it, and she’d salvaged it.

Not wanting to scare Xiu Fu, she said: “Next time I meet prey, I’ll strike head-on. And I feel the immortal selection, tied to fate and gain, might not be peaceful on the road…”

Xiu Fu, lost in thought, nodded after a moment. “You’re right. I’ll twist extra hemp rope to bring along.”

Though young and uneducated, she sensed the hidden risks beneath this so-called opportunity.

The elder’s family was indeed better informed than others.

The next day, town confirmed: in a week, immortal stewards would visit each village to take children aged 14-18 to Tianxia Sword Mountain for the disciple selection.

Before departure, Su Qing finally learned her destination—

Tianxia Sword Mountain, Tianxia Sword Sect.

The week passed in farm work, meals, and sleep.

Without alluring electronics, Su Qing felt her vision had grown clearer.

Perhaps because she was leaving, the old lady’s attitude softened, leaving Su Qing flattered.

These past days, the old lady even asked at the table if Su Qing was full or wanted another bowl.

Of course, if she’d acted rather than just talked, it might’ve been more convincing.

When Su Qing had sharpened the iron shard to a knife’s edge and Xiu Fu finished sturdy hemp ropes, departure day arrived.

At dawn, Xiu Fu’s mother roused them, urging them to wash thoroughly, brush their teeth, smooth their hair, and wear their best clothes to impress the immortal elders.

Su Qing, yawning, bleary-eyed, and aching, dragged herself out to fetch water for washing.

Cloth was costly here—a family’s yearly labor earned only a few bolts.

So Su Qing still wore her transmigration outfit—long sleeves and pants—layered with Xiu Fu’s robe.

Though worn, Xiu Fu had mended it carefully, and Su Qing felt quite spirited in it.

Outwardly, she looked like a plain, sweet village girl.

But her unflinching, upright gaze lent her an air of distinction.

In the courtyard, the elder’s family bustled, none idle.

Xiu Fu’s mother rose early to bake flatbreads, filling the yard with wheat’s aroma.

Breakfast was lavish: coarse porcelain cups held golden corn porridge, soft white flatbreads stacked high.

Perhaps due to the early rise, even the salted beans tasted exceptional, and the cold cucumbers were crisp.

After half a flatbread, Su Qing declined more, sipping corn porridge.

It was scalding! Unable to wait for it to cool, she sipped from the bowl’s edge.

Uncharacteristically, the old lady wrapped a flatbread with beans and cucumber, shoving it into her hand. “Not eating now, you’ll starve on the road?”

Unable to refuse, Su Qing said: “Old lady, you eat more too!”

“You think a kid needs to tell me to eat?” The old lady scoffed, picking a salted bean to grind slowly with her teeth.

She thought: Young kids are better—half a flatbread in one bite.

At her age, she could only manage beans.

The meal was quick but filling.

Su Qing felt revived—sated, she had courage for the journey.

Tianxia Sword Mountain was at least a month and a half from Little Shu Village.

Though immortals would supervise, they’d only provide lodging and fixed rations.

Families who doted on their children packed extra food and funds for comfort.

Su Qing had no family here.

But the elder’s family was kind.

Even the sharp-tongued old lady stuffed flatbreads and pickles into her pack.

She muttered: “I know you eat a lot. Don’t let folks say our elder’s house starves people! You’re a thin-fated kid—how could your parents let you wander alone like this, so heartless?”

Su Qing’s eyes welled up.

Xiu Fu, teary too, clung to her parents’ hands, urging her mother to take care.

Her mother reassured her: “Watch over Miss Su Qing. Discuss things with her—she’s got sense.”

Su Qing vowed: “I’ll look out for Xiu Fu, and she for me.”

Time was short, no room for long goodbyes.

The elder’s family led the two girls to the village head.

They left early, but the gathering spot was already crowded.

Adults led children, older kids led younger ones, all with packs, amid scolding and instructions, a low hum of voices.

“Listen to the immortals, learn proper skills!”

“Don’t mess around like at home, or you’ll anger the immortals and get fed to wolves or tigers!”

“Don’t be scared, kid. Try your luck. If it fails, the local diviner will take you for two jin of pork. Oh, don’t cry—your crying hurts my ears!”

Country kids rarely traveled far.

Su Qing saw fear, confusion, and excitement on their young faces.

Xiu Fu was scared too.

Su Qing held her hand, chatting to ease her.

Soon, the sun rose, warming their heads.

Su Qing saw the so-called immortal stewards arrive.

At a glance: six stewards, men and women, with twenty-plus mortal guards and five ethereal, sword-bearing disciples.

The stewards wore fine cloth robes, shoulders, cuffs, and waists intricately embroidered, belts adorned with abacuses, ledgers, keys, and pill bottles.

The guards wore short tunics, wielding spears and clubs, burly and muscular, exuding strength.

The sword-bearing disciples wore white silk-like robes, tied with green headbands, garments shimmering faintly like magical artifacts.

Their upright, bamboo-and-pine-like bearing gave them an imposing cultivator aura.

Su Qing’s anxiety eased by thirty percent.

Seeing their upright demeanor—disciples and stewards alike, free of demonic air—she felt this was a legitimate selection, not a scheme to toss them into pill furnaces.

Still, she gripped the hard iron shard in her bosom—her greatest reliance.

The village clerk and elder, men of influence, hurried to meet the group, negotiating upfront.

Some villagers tried to kneel and kowtow, begging immortal blessings, but disciples frowned, using sword sheaths to keep them upright.

Seeing this, Su Qing’s heart settled another twenty percent.

No one dared speak.

She heard the clerk report to the stewards: “…Little Shu Village has 40 eligible children. Twenty-eight aged 14-16, twelve aged 16-18. The list: Wang Erni, Zhang Tieniu, Zhang Zhuzi, Li Dalang…”

Not every eligible child’s family would let them go.

Take Widow Wang at the village entrance, blind in both eyes, who raised her son Wang Wu’er to 17 through tears.

If Wu’er left their two mu of poor land for the immortal path, it’d be like forcing his widowed mother to die.

Many families were like this, especially for girls of 17 or 18, already betrothed, kept from the selection.

Villagers thought being an immortal was grand, but how could country folk achieve it?

They naturally thought: Better secure what’s at hand than chase distant dreams, lest they lose more than they gain.

Thus, of the twelve aged 16-18, only Xiu Fu and Su Qing were girls; the rest were rough, dark village boys—third, fourth, or fifth sons with no inheritance, bound to seek their own paths.

Thanks to the elder’s slightly broader perspective and decent circumstances, with only Xiu Fu as a child, he wanted her to go further than other girls.

Su Qing, by her side, was lucky to join the selection smoothly.

She felt fortunate—transmigrating straight into the elder’s care, spared much hardship.

The stewards checked each child against the list.

They had them state their name, parents, and family trade, then extend hands and open mouths to inspect teeth and bone development.

Su Qing was nervous.

Though past 18 from her sophomore year, her late birthday kept her just shy of 19, likely still qualifying as 18.

As she worried, a female steward called: “Su Qing!”