Xiaoshu Village

Near noon, smoke rose from the chimneys of every household in Little Shu Village.

Farmers working the fields didn’t return home at midday.

Children were tasked with delivering meals, packing rice in coarse porcelain bowls, topped with salty-spicy side dishes, and happily heading to the fields.

Along the way, they couldn’t play freely but found joy in blowing fluffy dandelions or picking tart purple-red wild berries to taste.

From the house next door, a sharp crack of breaking porcelain rang out, followed by a woman’s harsh gasp.

Su Qing, diligently working, jumped at the sound.

She guessed: the neighbor’s child must have accidentally dropped a meal bowl, shattering it.

Sure enough, a scolding voice followed: “Which ancestor of yours rose from the grave to make you this reckless?!”

The child, likely having his ear twisted, pleaded in pain: “Mama, I was wrong, I was wrong! It hurts!”

“Hurts? Mending this big bowl will take seven nails, seven coppers! My heart hurts more!”

The mother, distressed over the seven coppers, didn’t loosen her grip.

The child begged: “Mama, go easy! The immortals are coming to pick disciples soon—they won’t want an earless one!”

“Talking nonsense again! As if they’d pick a scrawny kid like you!”

The woman laughed despite her anger.

The prospect of immortal selection was too compelling.

Though their family had toiled in the dirt for three generations without even producing a half-baked fortune-teller, an inexplicable hope made her relent.

She spat: “That little strength, and you think your ear’s falling off? Stop dawdling—go borrow a bowl from the village elder’s house!”

Su Qing, squatting in the village elder’s woodshed bundling pig fodder, kept working while listening.

She was now a seasoned pig fodder bundler.

Her hands, once a student’s, used mostly for writing and solving problems, had been smooth despite pen calluses.

But since transmigrating here, they’d grown rough from bundling fodder, weaving straw shoes, and gathering firewood.

She hadn’t been one for manual labor before and had never done things like bundling pig fodder.

But after her first meal at the elder’s house, she overheard the old lady washing dishes in the courtyard: “This stray girl eats so much—who can afford to keep her? Good thing it’s not a famine year, or we’d lock her out at mealtime. Wonder if she’s got the strength to work after eating all that!”

The elder, weaving straw shoes, mumbled: “You’re too narrow-minded. We’re just sheltering her for a bit—how could we go hungry? It’s like earning some immortal fate for Xiu Fu. Let her go with Xiu Fu to the disciple selection. They can look out for each other. Isn’t that good?”

The old lady sneered: “Keep dreaming your pipe dreams! The last selection was sixty years ago! They say there’s one now, but who knows if it’s true? Even if it happens, Xiu Fu might not get picked. You old man, spreading kindness—don’t drag us into it!”

The elder, unable to argue, muttered: “It’s just an extra pair of chopsticks…”

He didn’t say the rest: in his sixty-plus years, he’d seen enough to believe this girl’s face suggested she wasn’t from an ordinary family and might carry some destiny.

Su Qing, a modern girl through and through, learned basic farm chores after hearing this.

She had to clarify: that first day, she only ate one bowl of rice, half-full at best—not exactly a lot.

But in this low-productivity place, for someone not doing heavy labor, one bowl was indeed substantial.

Su Qing stacked the bundled pig fodder neatly, sweating profusely.

The elder’s household hadn’t eaten yet, and her empty stomach left her dizzy, her tongue dry.

She’d never gone this hungry in her life before transmigrating.

Every pause to catch her breath had her silently calculating how long until mealtime.

The neighbor’s kid rushed in to borrow a bowl and dashed off.

The old lady, worried, chased after him a few steps: “Slow down! Break another bowl, and your mama won’t spare you!”

Su Qing’s thoughts wandered: When would they eat? It was about time. Why hadn’t Xiu Fu returned? Her stomach was souring—would she get an ulcer like this?

As the noise continued outside, the woodshed door swung open.

Blinding white light and midday summer heat flooded in.

Li Xiu Fu, the elder’s granddaughter, was back from cutting grass, her face flushed red, drenched in sweat.

A dark-skinned girl with bright eyes and a long black braid, she worked with brisk efficiency.

Xiu Fu walked in familiarly, squatting to unload her basket. “Su Qing, on my way back, I saw a huge patch of wild berries by the road. Let’s pick some this afternoon.”

Wiping sweat with her sleeve, she chuckled: “You’ve adapted to village life too fast! Go look in the water—you’d see your face all smudged. When I first saw you half a month ago, I thought you were some rich city family’s lost daughter. I even considered taking you to claim a reward!”

Su Qing didn’t dare admit that in this scorching heat, water was precious.

If she washed her face too often, the old lady would grumble about how hard it was to fetch water from the river, how much sweat it cost, and how much rice, flour, and wild greens that sweat equated to.

Xiu Fu knew her grandmother’s temperament. “Come to my room. I’ll give you a cloth to wipe your face and some scented balm—it’ll soften your skin. It’s from my maternal grandma, in a porcelain jar. You can only get it at the town market!”

Her smile faded when mentioning her grandma, a hint of worry in her eyes.

Su Qing hadn’t been here long but knew enough to understand why.

She was about to offer comfort when the sound of the spatula outside stopped.

Xiu Fu’s mother called softly: “Father, Mother, Xiu Fu, Miss Su Qing, come eat!”

Farm girls were fiery and straightforward.

Xiu Fu tossed aside her brief sadness, warmly pulling Su Qing along. “Let’s go eat!”

Su Qing, having squatted too long, wobbled as she stood, but her empty stomach drove her forward despite shaky legs.

She’d already smelled today’s menu.

The meal was simple: boiled salted soybeans, stir-fried greens to cool the body’s heat, a pot of rice with golden crispy crust, a small plate of cured meat from the New Year, and a wild vegetable soup with tiny fish.

This was considered quite lavish.

The elder’s meals were above average for the village.

The heat was intense.

The elder fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan, passing out chopsticks and bowls. “So hot! A wipe with well water would be nice. If we could chill a melon, that’d be perfect!”

“Chilled melon? Where’d you get that idea? Getting fussier with age!” The old lady snorted. “Don’t trip and hurt your old back.”

Su Qing quietly took the corner seat at the table.

Though dizzy with hunger, her work output in this household made her a freeloader.

She always kept her head down at meals.

But, she thought: Eating doesn’t require looking up—just eat.

Xiu Fu sat beside her, standing to serve Su Qing rice, ignoring the old lady’s murderous glare, packing the bowl tightly.

Su Qing worried she’d crack it—mending a bowl cost at least four coppers.

Xiu Fu’s mother filled a large bowl with rice and sides, grabbed a straw hat, and headed out. “I’m taking food to your father.”

“Mama!” Xiu Fu paused packing rice, worried. “It’s so hot—let me go!”

Su Qing also wanted to volunteer, but the old lady, fearing she’d sneak food en route, wouldn’t let her.

Heaven’s witness, she’d never do such a thing!

“You kids,” Xiu Fu’s mother laughed. “It’s just a short walk—won’t kill me.”

The old lady chimed in: “Stick to the shade—it’s cooler!”

“Alright!” The slight but spry woman headed out.

Xiu Fu couldn’t persuade her and sat down, her expression drooping, clearly unhappy.

Su Qing knew why: Xiu Fu’s mother wasn’t in good health.

A city doctor said it was a congenital weakness, incurable, requiring constant herbal care.

Xiu Fu’s maternal grandmother was the same, always clutching her chest, gasping for air.

Recently, her grandma’s old illness had worsened, reportedly more serious than before.

Several doctors said it was untreatable—only less strenuous work could help.

This was why, despite being the village elder’s family, their circumstances remained modest.

Illness was too costly.

Su Qing had noticed Xiu Fu’s mother’s swollen face, purple lips, and shortness of breath after exertion, clutching her chest in panic.

She grimly suspected: likely congenital heart disease.

In this era, it was utterly untreatable.

Especially since Xiu Fu’s mother couldn’t avoid work in this household.

Though her family spared her heavier tasks, in Su Qing’s eyes, grinding grain, fetching water, and cooking over a big fire weren’t light work.

For a heart patient, these were dangerous!

Realizing this, Su Qing had been anxiously trailing Xiu Fu’s mother, helping with water or fire-starting, fearing she’d overexert.

But her inexperience—failing to light flint or carry a full bucket—led to mishaps, earning the old lady’s sarcasm: “City miss, go easy!”

Farmhouse meals weren’t silent affairs.

Soon, talk turned to the immortal disciple selection—the village’s hottest topic.

Even the roadside dogs seemed to bark about it.

From bits and pieces over the past few days, Su Qing gathered that a certain Immortal Valley was soon recruiting children of suitable age.

If chosen, it was a ticket to the heavens.

The valley hadn’t recruited in nearly sixty years—this was its first reopening.

Anyone of the right age, regardless of background, could try their luck at immortal fate.

Su Qing stayed quiet, focusing on eating, earnestly praising the fresh greens, crispy rice crust, and endlessly tasty salted beans.

This made the old lady doubt the elder’s claim of her special origins: What kind of starving ghost reincarnated was this?

Her silence had a reason: though her physical transmigration was bizarre, she couldn’t help doubting these immortals’ existence.

It felt unreliable—what if it was some grand cult? She’d be doomed.

But she didn’t dare say so.

The villagers revered these immortals, loving tales of them fighting evil cultivators, crushing demonic sects, and upholding justice.

The old lady often said their better days—thanks to immortals clearing mountain beasts and bringing rain—were why they took in a freeloader like Su Qing.

This made her even more cautious, fearing she’d criticize their beliefs and get exiled to live like a savage.

Yet, deep down, she hoped the immortals were real.

It’d give her a path forward.

She knew she couldn’t stay with the elder’s family long-term.

Though kind, they couldn’t afford another mouth.

And what if the immortals were real?

What if she was destined for a transmigration-cultivation story?

Life is unpredictable.

A month ago, she was a sophomore tortured by early classes and group projects.

Who’d have thought a car accident would send her to ancient times?

Her memory of the accident was fuzzy.

She recalled sitting by the bus window, waiting at a red light, when a dump truck flipped, crashing heavily into the bus.

Before pain hit, she lost consciousness.

When she awoke, she was in the elder’s courtyard, facing Xiu Fu’s wary yet concerned gaze.

With nowhere to go, the elder’s kind family took her in, letting her eat and live for nearly a month.

But such days couldn’t last…

With this in mind, Su Qing resolved: If immortals were real, she’d try her luck.

A college girl turning to cultivation sounded promising.