The Unruly Immortals

Hearing Li Huowang say this, Wu Qing, whose half-swollen face had yet to recover, scoffed coldly, shifted his stool with a bowl in hand, and turned his back to the young man who had just emerged from the west wing.

"Ha, that would make me look petty, wouldn't it, Brother Li? Convincing him must have cost you quite a few silvers, right?"

Having finished speaking, he walked straight into the hall, took a beige corn bun from the bowl, and started gnawing on it.

"Hey! You brat, what kind of manner is that to speak in! Born without manners, were you?"

With the support of Li Huowang, Wu Qing was clearly more assertive than when he had been tied up the night before.

On hearing the old man dare to slander his own mother, the anger he couldn't suppress exploded in an instant. With a "clang," the longsword, sharp enough to cut through iron as if it were mud, was drawn and pointed directly at Wu Qing's goatee. "Say it again if you dare!"

"What's going on, what's going on!" Wu Qing's six sons and eight grandsons, having set down their bowls, rolled up their sleeves and encircled him with a menacing air.

"Damn, I'm not afraid of you lot! Anyone who dares, just try me! I've got hundreds of lives on my hands! I don't mind adding a few more, come another step closer if you've got the guts!"

Watching the hostile gazes from the crowd, he instinctively felt extreme irritation, and his heartbeat involuntarily quickened.

"Put down the sword and go stand outside the door!" an authoritative voice shattered the tense atmosphere.

Seeing Li Huowang's expression turn serious, he knew his elder martial brother was truly angry. Casting a disdainful glance at the Wu family members surrounding him, he sheathed his sword and turned to walk towards the door.

Behind him, Brother Li's voice continued to reach his ears. "Old man, these youngsters have yet to grow hair on their tongues, they like to brag and talk tough, but it's all for show; this kid has never killed anyone."

"Hmph, is this kid trying to act tough when he's just all bark and no bite? Do you think I cannot see through him? Ah, these young pups think too highly of their own abilities, acting as if they're something when they're just wet behind the ears. I've eaten more salt than he's eaten rice."

Hearing this, he was about to turn around in anger. So what if he was young? Wasn't he a man at fourteen? This old man knew nothing but to bully by flaunting seniority.

But when he felt Li Huowang's cold gaze on him, his heart skipped a beat, and he quickly ran out the door.

Early in the morning, a thin layer of white mist hovered along the village path, and the air was wonderfully crisp. He stretched out his arms straight and yawned deeply, then rolled up the sleeves of his patched-up garment and squatted down to watch the ants.

"Hey, Monk, what are you squatting there for?"

He stood up, straightened his yellow monastic robe, and brought his palms together respectfully in front of the young girl with white hair. "Amitabha, well said, well said, I am cultivating Zen."

"Hehe, you're a funny one, Monk, acting like a child, watching the ants move house and calling it observing Zen."

Watching the young girl's white eyelashes tremble slightly, the Monk was momentarily distracted as though recalling something.

But regaining his composure, he immediately looked down and began to recite the Buddhist scriptures, his gaze no longer daring to meet that of the young girl who had easily shaken his devotion.

"You go on with your Zen observation, goodbye."

As he watched the girl enter the Wu Family compound, he noticed there were several unfamiliar faces in the courtyard, faces he had never seen before. "Has the head of the Wu Village received guests? How come I haven't heard of it these past days?"

The Monk stood there observing the oddly dressed outsiders, then suddenly slapped his forehead with his hand.

"What's gotten into me? Why am I prying into others' affairs just like those gossipy women at the head of the village? A monk should not be concerned with worldly matters. I'd better go and read my scriptures." The monk quickly turned around, his Buddha Beads whirling in his hand as he walked towards his temple.

As he walked, he saw a pile of dung on the ground. Before he could get close, a kid carrying a bamboo basket on his back rushed over, picked up the cow dung, and threw it into the basket behind him, "This is shit from my family's cow! It's mine!"

He became anxious upon hearing this, "What do you mean it's your family's cow's shit! I was going to say it's from my family's cow! No way! This cow dung must be mine!"

The kid put his hands on his face and made a face at him, "Shame, shame, shame—such an old man like you, fighting with a kid over cow dung."

His old face turned red immediately, and he raised his cane, ready to teach this disrespectful little kid a lesson.

Seeing the other party making a face and quickly running away, he suddenly found himself laughing dumbfoundedly. "I'm so old, why am I getting angry with a child?"

Leaning on his cane, he slowly made his way into the small courtyard where he had spent his life. He sat down gently on the rocking chair and quietly watched the tree shed its leaves, recalling his own ordinary life.

At that moment, the teasing voice of an old neighbor came from the door. "Old man, you're eighty-four this year. There's an old saying, 'At seventy-three or eighty-four, King Yama won't call you himself.' When are you going?" He laughed heartily.

"Hey! This old bugger, always cursing me. I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Just as he was about to rise from the rocking chair, a feeling suddenly came over him that his time had come. He had often heard the old folks say that there were premonitions before death, and it turned out to be true.

He felt everything around him getting smaller and smaller, as if he were rising upward, his body feeling light and extremely comfortable. "So this is what dying feels like?"

But in the next moment, everything around him suddenly changed, distorting violently, including his wrinkled face.

Sometimes it turned into a teenager, sometimes into a monk with tonsure marks on his head, and it even tried hard to morph into an old woman.

After quickly changing several times, his face finally settled back into that of a young man.

Staring at the familiar yet strange white walls in front of him, he was momentarily stunned. Three ultimate questions popped into his mind.

"Who am I? Where is this? What am I supposed to do?"

Just then, conveniently, two people wearing hospital gowns passed by the window, chatting as they walked.

"I'm different from you guys. I have a neurological disorder, not a mental illness. A neurological disorder means that there's just pathological changes in the central or peripheral nervous systems. Neurological disorders have been stigmatized because of mental illnesses! Look, people like Li over there, those are the real mentally ill, constantly talking nonsense and self-harming."

"You could talk less— That kid is a pitiful case, struck with a serious illness at such a young age."

"Li Huowang gonna jump up and scold me? Hey, it would be great if he did. I'd rather be scolded."

"Li Huowang?" At that moment, Li Huowang remembered everything. After quickly reviewing in his mind what had just happened, he instantly understood everything.

A ferocious look swiftly replaced the confusion on Li Huowang's face, and he bellowed.

"I'm not any monk or old man! I'm Li Huowang! On the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, my name was stolen!"