"Look at you, young Daoist, what's there to be so polite about..."
The old woman chided Qin Sang, turning her head to call out, "Old man, old man! We have another mouth to feed, dish out another bowl of rice..."
"Who else could there be?"
From the woodshed, an old man poked his head out. He glanced at Qin Sang, his eyes lighting up slightly.
Yet after looking Qin Sang over, his gaze fell upon the mud splatters on the young Daoist's gaiters. A faint, barely perceptible flicker of disappointment crossed the old man's eyes. Uttering a low "Oh," he turned back inside.
The small courtyard was exceedingly cramped and run-down.
In Xianyuan City, such dilapidated courtyards were already rare. With his keen sense of smell, Qin Sang caught the aroma wafting from the woodshed—it was nothing more than coarse grains and chaff vegetables, the kind he had once eaten back at Qingyang Temple.
The elderly couple likely lacked the money for repairs.
Following the old woman toward a low stone cottage of only two rooms, Qin Sang saw a thick layer of thatch stretched across its wooden door. As soon as she pushed it open, a pungent scent of herbal medicine assailed his nostrils, instantly overpowering the aroma of food.
"Qiuxian, greet the Daoist master."
The old woman led out a young child. The boy was frail and gaunt, his complexion sallow and thin. One glance told Qin Sang that his vital energy was deficient and that he was plagued by chronic illness.
The room was dim. An Eight Immortals table with a broken leg propped up by a stone stood in the center, bearing a bowl of dark, steaming medicinal brew—clearly boiled for the child.
Shy and timid, the young boy hid behind the old woman, peeking out at Qin Sang. Meeting Qin Sang's gaze, he shrank back at once, not daring to utter a sound.
"This child..."
The old woman fondly stroked the boy's head without reproach, then welcomed Qin Sang. "This is my eldest grandson. His parents passed away early, and he's been sickly since he was little. He can't catch a chill, so we dare not let him outside. He's timid and afraid of strangers... Sigh, sit down, young Daoist. Don't mind the meager spread, just fill your stomach."
"This poor Daoist is not picky," Qin Sang said earnestly, taking a seat at the table without ceremony.
Only with his grandmother beside him did Qiuxian muster the courage to return to the table and drink his medicine.
The black brew would have been hard for such a young child to swallow, yet Qiuxian picked up the bowl and drank it down in great gulps, as if oblivious to the bitterness.
The old man brought over food even coarser than what Qin Sang had eaten at Qingyang Temple years ago, yet Qin Sang ate with relish, wolfing it down.
"No rush, eat slowly, there's still plenty in the pot..."
The old woman stopped eating herself, watching Qin Sang eat with a gentle smile. She suddenly remarked, "Old man, if Qiuxian's parents hadn't fallen ill, they'd be about his age now."
The old man set down his bowl, reached for his tobacco pouch, took a puff, and grumbled, "They insisted on imitating immortals and sleeping out in the wind and dew—they brought it upon themselves!"
Qin Sang paused mid-bite, then quickened his pace to finish the meal.
The old woman offered to dish him another bowl, but Qin Sang shook his head in refusal. "It's getting late. This poor Daoist still has a journey ahead..."
With that, Qin Sang glanced at Qiuxian and walked over to him.
Qiuxian was no longer as frightened. Though he flinched slightly, he gathered his courage and looked at Qin Sang with bright, shining eyes.
Qin Sang crouched down, patted Qiuxian's head, retrieved a dull yellow jade pendant from his robe, and hung it around the boy's neck. "Many thanks to the three benefactors for the meal. A crude piece of jade, a modest token of appreciation, as a gift for Qiuxian..."
Qiuxian possessed no spiritual root.
The pendant had been carved from an unremarkable yellow stone and could hardly even be called jade. Qin Sang had merely placed a simple restriction upon it—not enough to draw the greed of other cultivators, yet capable of nourishing Qiuxian's body.
Mortal physicians were powerless against the child's illness, but Qin Sang could cure it with a casual gesture.
Sharing the room with Qiuxian, the elderly couple would also reap many benefits over time.
"How could we accept this..."
The old man hurriedly set down his pipe.
Only when the couple came closer and saw that it was not an expensive piece of jade did they stop declining.
Qiuxian toyed with the pendant, clearly adoring it. He suddenly threw his arms around Qin Sang's leg before darting back to hide.
After another round of polite entreaties to stay, the grandparents and grandson were about to see Qin Sang out the door when hurried footsteps sounded outside, followed by frantic shouts laced with weeping.
"Physician Wu! Physician Wu..."
"It's the eldest Liu son!"
The old woman recognized the voice immediately. Remembering something, she gasped, "Could it be Old Master Liu...?"
The old man pondered for a moment and gave a low grunt. "Most likely. He's ninety-two, isn't he? I doubt he'll make it through this hurdle."
The old woman lamented, "Eldest Liu's wife is due to give birth in just a few days, yet he couldn't hold on..."
"Five generations under one roof—what's there to pity?" The old man turned back and threw on his padded cotton jacket. "I'll head over and see if they need a hand. Stay here and watch Qiuxian. If you hear a commotion, don't wait for me to eat."
Walking out of the courtyard, Qin Sang watched the old man's hurried retreat and suddenly realized what he wanted to see.
***
At the Liu residence.
Five generations under one roof—truly a grand family.
Outside the old master's quarters stood dozens of people, young and old alike, forming a stark contrast to the desolate quiet of the elderly couple's home.
Gathered outside the room, they wore somber expressions, scarcely daring to breathe aloud. Even the young children sensed the gravity of the occasion, standing obediently beside the adults without making a fuss.
Inside the room, all was silent.
Physician Wu had not yet arrived.
Everyone waited anxiously.
Just then, repeated shouts came from within the room.
"Eldest's wife!"
"Eldest's wife! Quick, come in!"
...
The women hurriedly helped a heavily pregnant young woman inside.
On the bed lay a withered old man. His breath was exceedingly faint, breathing out more than in. Yet he stubbornly kept his head turned toward the door, his lips trembling as if trying to say something.
As the young woman stepped inside, she was visibly frightened.
No one cared for decorum now. Those beside the bed quickly parted and guided her forward.
The old man's cloudy eyes suddenly flared with light. His fingers twitched, and understanding his intent, those nearby quickly took his hand and guided it toward the young woman's belly.
Yet halfway there, his fingers suddenly went limp and drooped down.
"Ah!"
A chorus of heavy sighs broke from the people in the room.
In a corner of the room, invisible to all the mortals present, stood a Daoist priest.
Qin Sang watched in silence. His gaze rested on the face of the old man who had died with open eyes, looking at those eyes filled with lingering unwillingness, lost in thought.
*Ninety-two years of age, five generations under one roof—a rarity in the mortal world. And yet he still dies with unclosed eyes?*
***
The old master had passed away.
Amidst wailing and mourning, the Liu household bustled with funeral preparations.
By then, Qin Sang had already left the residence. He extended his spiritual sense across Xianyuan City. Finding nothing of interest, he hastened his pace, left the city, and headed straight for the capital of Guyuan Country.
Traveling on foot, he arrived at the capital around noon.
The capital was guarded, but that posed no obstacle to Qin Sang.
Upon entering the city, he was surprised to find that the steamed bun shop he used to frequent still stood, now run by descendants of the original shopkeeper.
He ordered a few steamer baskets of meat buns and devoured them hungrily.
After paying for the buns, Qin Sang pointed toward the snow piled high against the wall beside the shop and said, "There is a person inside."
Chapter 502