My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 96 - 83 Taibai Mountain Affairs (Please collect! Please vote!)
Chapter 96: Chapter 83 Taibai Mountain Affairs (Please collect! Please vote!)
Before long, two elders walked down the mountain at a leisurely pace.
One was familiar to Zhao Rong—the Six-One Layman he had seen during the day, sniffing at the mouth of a gourd, greedily drinking the liquor.
The other was completely unknown to Zhao Rong, an elder dressed in a simple Confucian robe. Despite his aged face, his hair was jet black, his spirit vibrant, and his eyes piercing.
This must be the old ancestor of the Lin family, Lin Wenruo’s great-grandfather.
Zhao Rong followed Lin Wenruo to greet them.
The Lin family ancestor glanced at Lin Wenruo and casually tossed something from his hand. Immediately, his gaze turned to the young Confucian Scholar, smiling as he said,
“You must be Zhao Ziyu. The Dog has mentioned you countless times in front of me; my ears have grown calluses from it. The Dog said you are as handsome as a jade tree, with a distinguished demeanor. I didn’t believe it before, but now that I see you, my great-grandson hasn’t lied to me!”
Zhao Rong’s eyes lit up as if he had discovered a new continent, glancing sideways at Lin Wenruo, who was rarely seen in an embarrassed state.
Dog? What a powerful nickname!
In many places, the custom of giving children nicknames is consistent, believing that the uglier and cruder the nickname, the better the child’s chances of growing up without succumbing to an early death.
Zhao Rong immediately nodded, speaking earnestly, “Teacher, please, feel free to call me Ziyu. I was saying Lin Wenruo had some doggone luck to have a face even a bit more handsome than mine. Now I see, it’s all because he inherits a tenth of your charm.”
The old Lin ancestor laughed heartily, finding the young man increasingly appealing.
Lin Wenruo’s mouth twitched.
All this flattery, and don’t drag me into it—I never said those things…
Lin Wenruo watched helplessly as his great-grandfather and his friend’s conversation became more animated, especially when the old ancestor brought up the time he was three years old and had a little accident on him.
Zhao Rong’s glances toward him made Lin Wenruo feel even more uncomfortable.
This is quite the bizarre old ancestor, and Ziyu as well—alas, a poor choice of friends.
Lin Wenruo shook his head and looked down at the Golden Core that the old ancestor had thrown to him, its surface still warm with bloodstains. He took out a silk handkerchief, gently wiping the Golden Core while listening to the conversation between the two.
“Ziyu, how old are you?”
Zhao Rong sensed trouble but answered truthfully, “I am eighteen by nominal age.”
“That’s not too young. Do you have a spouse?”
Before Zhao Rong could respond, he was interrupted.
The black-haired elder continued, “Hmm, it doesn’t matter if you do. Dog, hey, Dog, stop wiping that. Don’t you have a cousin? Last time I came out, I remember hearing something about her from you two.”
The tall Confucian Scholar, busy with his hands, unwillingly looked up and said, “Great-grandfather, when you left the seclusion eight years ago, cousin Xin’er had just been born… There really is no suitable woman of age directly related. I would have set him up with someone from a collateral branch, but I was worried it might be beneath Ziyu.”
The old Lin ancestor solemnly said, “Oh, is that so? Matters of marriage are significant in life; it doesn’t matter if it’s early, even at eight—”
“Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough.” Zhao Rong coughed wildly.
Before Zhao Rong could even speak, someone else had spoken for him.
The Six-One Layman set down his liquor gourd and smacked his lips, then scoffed, “Heh, Old Lin, quit messing around, trying to mess up the marriage arrangements. Mr. Zhao, so young yet capable of winning debates against gentlemen, has an immeasurable future. Your Lin family girls are no match for him; don’t you dare delay Mr. Zhao’s prospects.”
The old Lin ancestor was displeased upon hearing this, “You old drunkard…”
The two elders seemed to be on good terms, speaking freely in private; the Six-One Layman wasn’t as serious as he was in the daytime. Zhao Rong watched them argue with a smile, feeling a touch of childlike joy.
Just then, a blue-clothed Daoist suddenly appeared from up the mountain.
He stopped not far from the four, standing in the shadows, hands hanging by his sides, waiting.
Lin Wenruo, who was lightly laughing while wiping the Golden Core in his hand, slowly let his smile fade to a flat expression.
He blinked, the motion of wiping the Golden Core became more meticulous as he intently stared at the numerous Heavenly Traces on it, seemingly trying to discern what was exactly inside.
Zhao Rong glanced at the motionless Daoist, curious.
Meanwhile, the old Lin ancestor suddenly stopped talking, turned to Zhao Rong apologetically and said, “Ziyu, I have to go first. If the Dog neglects any hospitality, come find me, and I’ll give him a thrashing for you.”
Having spoken, he gave a few more instructions to Lin Wenruo and then descended the mountain together with the sixty-first lay brother.
The overall situation was already determined, and this place no longer required their intervention—leaving it to the younger generation would suffice.
After the two elders left, a shadowy figure that had been waiting nearby quickly approached Lin Wenruo, bowed with clasped fists and said, “Master, she is in the Osmanthus Forest.”
“You’ve worked hard, you may go now,” the man wiping his head lowly whispered.
Zhao Rong narrowed his eyes for a closer look and his eyebrows lifted—this blue-clothed Daoist was none other than the chubby Daoist Chen Hongyuan whom he had first seen at Zuiweng Pavilion with Lin Wenruo.
Zhao Rong pursed his lips—he knew some of these matters: Lin Wenruo had roughly explained during that evening’s banquet how to “directly tell” Chongxu Temple that he was a top-notch horse…
Chen Hongyuan responded with a sound, sighed in relief, then wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, flashed Zhao Rong a smile, and turned to head down the mountain.
Yet, before leaving, the chubby Daoist paused, looked back at the Chongxu Temple now lit with fire and thick smoke, and not long after turned his head and strode away.
Lin Wenruo’s shoulders slumped slightly; he had finally completed all the tasks at hand for tonight, and could now attend to his own matters.
The tall Confucian Scholar passed the Golden Core he held to his friend, who caught the freshly extracted warm Golden Core and, without much glance, tucked it into his bosom.
Zhao Rong glanced at the thousand-year-old Daoist Temple burning on the mountain—the dancing flames resembled an orange giant walking through its palace, casting its glow upon the black curtain and into every pair of eyes mesmerized by it.
Lin Wenruo moved.
He turned and walked toward a certain area of the mountainside.
Zhao Rong paused for a moment and then slowly followed.
Zhao Rong followed him, taking lefts and rights; in places where Zhao Rong initially thought there would be no path, Lin Wenruo always managed to find the cleverest shortcuts.
He seemed to be very familiar with this enemy territory, as if he had been there thousands of times.
Zhao Rong followed him stepping on stones across creeks, leaping through thickets, and heading deeper into the secluded back mountains.
At one moment, Zhao Rong even felt as if the two of them were like two mischievous children, because he thought that some of the whimsically impossible paths might only be conceived by children filled with curiosity and creativity.
After growing up, everyone was accustomed to rigorously following the rules as if driving a carriage on the main road.
Finally, the two crossed the last mountain spring and stepped onto the stone slabs.
The sound of footsteps echoed.
This was a mountain path Zhao Rong knew well, twisting and turning from the mountain base up to that red lacquered gate where Zhao Rong had once paused.
Zhao Rong caught up with his pace and stepped up the mountain.
The mountain path at night was even more secluded, and the firelight at the distant mountain top seemed to have not reached this tranquil realm at all; this front mountain appeared to be a world of its own, disconnected from all stories taking place on the other side of Taibai Mountain.
But it too had its ongoing stories, like the story of two children, a boy and a girl, who had come back here again tonight.
A burst of fragrant osmanthus aroma rushed to the nostrils.
Zhao Rong paused in front of the osmanthus forest he had once visited, watching the tall Confucian Scholar’s silhouette gradually disappear into it.
Afterward, Gui Lin remained silently serene, no sound emerging from it.
It seemed as if this deep forest wished to quietly keep all the stories hidden.
Finally, after an uncertain amount of time, he emerged.
Still alone, now carrying a jug of osmanthus brew.
His hands were covered with moist soil.
The night hid its color.
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PS: Tomorrow, two more updates in the evening.
