"Let's go, Big Brother Qi! We're going home!"
It seemed his cultivation coursework was finally complete.
Mo Fan also set down his book, ready to gather his thoughts and head down the mountain to visit Old Lü.
A-Song leaped down excitedly from his seat and grabbed Mo Fan's hand.
The two of them performed a respectful disciple's salute toward the tightly shut doors of the Evergreen Hall...
Then packed up their simple traveling bundles, ready to head down the mountain to visit family.
Stepping out of the main hall, A-Song, showing off shamelessly, summoned the iridescent cyan flying sword the Sect Master had newly bestowed upon him...
Thumped his chest, and swore up and down that he'd carry Big Brother Qi home on it.
"Give it a rest."
Mo Fan looked at that flying sword, still wobbling unsteadily in mid-air and even drifting a little, and the corners of his eyes twitched violently twice.
He hadn't forgotten his own miserable experience the last time he'd hitched a ride with Ziwei.
Left with no choice, A-Song could only put away the flying sword and accompany Mo Fan on a slow, leisurely walk down the mountain.
Along the way, inevitably, they once again drew the frequent sidelong glances of many passing disciples.
Everyone whispered among themselves in private, debating just what sort of hidden big shot this utterly ordinary-looking "Lu Xiaoqi" really was.
How come every time he comes to the Main Peak, the people accompanying him are all prominent figures?
Mo Fan had long since grown immune to these stares. The two of them chatted and laughed, quite content with themselves.
Once down the mountain, they naturally had no intention of returning directly to the menial-labor district empty-handed.
Their first stop was the Resource Exchange Hall.
Neither of them had any other immediate use for the Sect Contribution Points in their hands, so without any stinginess, they exchanged them for a massive batch of spiritual medicines.
The main efficacy was specifically for a mortal like Old Lü to cleanse the marrow and forge the bones, prolong life, and extend his years.
Old Lü's path of cultivation had already been severed decades ago.
His best possible destination now was to safely live out the rest of his days, free of illness and calamity.
Afterward, the two of them took a detour to Qingmu Market.
This time, with over a hundred Mid-Grade Spirit Stones tucked in his pocket, Mo Fan thoroughly transformed into a spendthrift tycoon throwing money around like dirt.
He led A-Song on a sweeping raid through the market's general-goods district.
Fine nanmu furniture, silk bedding, exceedingly precious mortal teas and pastries... anything that caught his eye, he bought it all!
The sheer momentum of it—it was as if he wanted nothing less than to cart the entire shop away empty.
"Big Brother Qi, isn't this a bit much...?"
A-Song watched Mo Fan still shopping frantically and tugged at his sleeve, a little pained by the expense.
"What's there to be afraid of! Your Big Brother Qi is so poor right now that all I've got left is money."
Mo Fan slapped the largest-capacity Storage Pouch at his waist with tremendous swagger.
"As the saying goes, wealth and honor without returning to one's hometown is like walking in the night wearing brocade garments."
"We ate so much bitterness up on that mountain—now that we've made something of ourselves, we've got to let the folks at home enjoy some of the good life too, don't we?"
Only after that most massive Storage Pouch had been crammed absolutely bulging—until it couldn't fit so much as a single needle more...
Did the two of them finally stop, still not entirely sated, and embark on their journey home.
The setting sun sank in the west, the evening glow staining the winding dirt road a fiery orange.
When the two of them once again returned to that familiar menial-labor district, that familiar scent still hung in the air.
The little courtyard was still the same ramshackle little courtyard, and Old Lü was still that same hunched old man who liked to crouch on the threshold smoking his dry pipe.
But the changes in A-Song and Mo Fan were so great as to be almost unrecognizable.
From cultivating year-round on the Main Peak, where spiritual energy was densest, A-Song's every gesture now carried an ethereal, immortal grace, untouched by worldly affairs.
And Mo Fan, having shed his former sallow-faced gauntness, carried an introverted aura—even dressed in the most ordinary clothes, he exuded a sense of oppression.
Even those childhood playmates who used to chase after their butts all day long playing mud fights...
When they saw A-Song at the village entrance, they appeared somewhat stiff and timid, no longer daring to come pouncing up and hollering the way they used to.
The chasm between immortal and mortal revealed itself, wordlessly, in that moment.
But this stiffness was quickly shattered under Mo Fan's extremely lavish "gift offensive."
When fragrant sugar cakes and brand-new sets of clothing were distributed into the children's hands, the little courtyard once again returned to that chirping, joyful, chattering atmosphere of days past.
That evening, utilizing the precious ingredients Mo Fan had brought back, Old Lü just so happened to cook up a whole big table of sumptuous dishes.
Host and guests all thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
The night deepened, the stars twinkling. The children had all fallen sweetly asleep, hugging their newly bought toys.
Old Lü sat beneath that old locust tree in the courtyard, pinching the fine smoking pipe Mo Fan had bought for him. He took a deep drag and puffed out a ring of grayish-white smoke.
He looked at Mo Fan and A-Song, who were helping to clean up, and an expression of the deepest gratification broke out across that old, gully-lined face.
"Sigh..."
Old Lü let out a long sigh, his tone carrying a note of emotion and relief:
"You two brothers—you came back at just the right time this trip. If you'd come back a week or half a month later..."
Old Lü tapped out the pipe ash against the sole of his shoe, his voice sounding somewhat muffled in the quiet of the night:
"I'm afraid I might not even be here anymore."
Pfft—!
Mo Fan and A-Song, who were just then holding their teabowls and drinking, nearly sprayed the tea straight out of their mouths at these words.
Both their faces changed drastically. They hurriedly put down their chores and strode quickly over to Old Lü.
"What?! Old Lü, what's wrong with you?"
Mo Fan sized the old man up and down with a tense face—he'd even secretly activated [ Death Vision ] already, preparing to examine his body.
"Are you feeling unwell somewhere? Don't tell me you've contracted some terminal illness?"
"Don't go thinking crazy thoughts—we brought spiritual medicine back with us this time!"
Looking at these two tightly wound brothers, Old Lü rolled his eyes hugely, thoroughly annoyed, and swatted their hands away with utter disdain.
"Get off, get off! What nonsense are you spouting?!"
"What I meant by that just now was..."
Old Lü knocked his pipe against his shoe and lifted his head.
His gaze swept a full circle around this ramshackle little menial-labor courtyard he'd lived in his whole life, his tone turning somewhat complicated and helpless:
"This plot of land, along with this whole menial-labor village..."
"Might be gone. Very soon."