Notes on Longevity

Chapter 59 Life is unpredictable, and fate is fickle.

On the cliff platform, Ping An was enveloped in a thin mist. The mist rose from Ping An's lower abdomen, like smoke rising from a house.

Ping An's lips appeared closed, but there was actually a tiny gap between them. That gap moved rhythmically with her breathing through her nose.

After a long while, as noon approached, Ping An slowly opened his eyes. The towering mountains and green trees, the distant capital city, the hustle and bustle of the world, and the everyday life of ordinary people—all seemed to enter his eyes at this moment.

His gaze traveled down from the green hills of Zoumaguan, across the river, through the city gate, and onto the bustling streets, the crowds of people, and the inns, shops, and stalls lining the roads—all of which were reflected in his eyes.

Whether his thoughts were wandering or he was blinded by a leaf, he saw himself passing through the crowd, crossing the moat, and walking into a forest, arriving at a place where he had been separated from his master.

He looked at the dilapidated little temple in front of him and walked straight into the wooden door that was missing a door.

Fallen leaves scattered, piles of ash accumulated, clay statues crumbled, and the Taoist temple was in ruins. This was his first impression after entering the dilapidated temple with his master. Although he had traveled with his master in search of immortals and seen many dilapidated Taoist temples, none had ever been as desolate as this.

The dilapidated temple was now empty except for him. So he went to the clay statue, knelt down, and bowed repeatedly. Before he could rise, a voice sounded behind him. The sound was like a door slamming against a wall, and then he heard another voice—a familiar voice, like…his master's.
"Slow down, no rush."

He turned around, and in the world of swirling snowflakes, that familiar, aged face came into view.

The master, dressed in thick clothes, walked with difficulty, half-dragging his body, with the frail Ping An in his arms. His face looked somewhat ferocious, as he struggled to support half of the master's body, one hand supporting the last remaining door of the Taoist gate.

"It's alright, Master, I can handle it."

The master's face was pale and lifeless, his eyes filled with helplessness as he looked at the thin and frail Ping An, his heart aching with pain. He had originally wanted to get to Zoumaguan as soon as possible while he was still in good health, but life is unpredictable. The more eager he was, the more uneasy he became. Finally, while traveling on a mountain road, he slipped and fell, resulting in him being left with a broken body.

It took Ping An a month to walk from there to here. And during that month, he managed to get a wheelbarrow from a family. He pushed it all the way with his frail body.

The distance from the entrance to the main hall wasn't far, but Ping An, supporting his master, managed to walk for half an hour.

Ping An led his master to the offering hall and had him slowly sit down against the wall. Then, Ping An rushed out and pushed the wheelbarrow that was parked outside the door in, pressing it against the threshold, and parked it to the side.

He rummaged through the cart covered with dry grass, eventually pulling out a water bottle and a piece of oil paper wrapped with dry food.

He took out the dry rations and fed them to his master little by little, not forgetting to give his master water after eating a couple more bites.

He stood there under the clay statue, watching the scene before him, when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone flashing past the temple entrance.

He suddenly frowned, glancing at the scene with a hint of doubt, only to see a head peeking out. But the person seemed to notice Ping An and immediately pulled their head back. Ping An remembered that afternoon when the incident happened, he had also seen someone lurking suspiciously at the door.

So he went to his master and himself, wanting to tell them there was someone outside, but no matter how he called out to his master, he received no response; it was as if they couldn't hear him. He reached out to touch them, but his hand slipped inside their bodies.

All I heard my master say was, "We should be there soon."

Ping An replied, "Just walk out of this forest and cross a river, and you'll arrive."

The master glanced at Ping An, his expression not very good: "I don't know if I can still accompany you to Zoumaguan now."

Upon hearing this, Ping An burst into tears, and said in a sob, "Master, it will definitely happen."

Seeing Ping An crying, the master smiled wearily: "Silly child, why are you crying? Birth, aging, sickness and death are the inevitable processes of life, and separation and death are also the norm in this world. There is nothing to be sad about." Ping An only cried and did not speak.

The master struggled to raise a hand and patted his head. Although he spoke calmly, he was heartbroken. From the moment he saved Ping An, he once again took up the concept of life and death, which he had previously taken for granted. But in the end, he told Ping An, "If I die on the road, just bury me anywhere."

"Master." He cried, and he cried too.

He remembered those words, he always remembered them, and he had said them in the dilapidated house of Grandpa Medicine and the others. But hearing his master say those words again made him feel as if his soul had left his body, each part of him running away and disappearing without a trace.

"Safety?"

Someone was calling him, and he heard it, but he couldn't turn around. He just knelt beside them and wept silently.

"Safety."

"Master, why is he crying?"

He heard Senior Brother Yu Yan's voice. The voice sounded very anxious.

"Sigh. How could this happen?" That was the voice of Uncle-Master Shimizu. He sighed deeply.

"This child actually misdirected his Qi during his breathing exercises." On the edge of the cliff, Qingshui looked at Ping An, who was in Yu Yan's arms with his eyes closed and breathing rapidly.

"Then wouldn't he be..." Yu Yan looked at Qing Shui, hesitant to speak.

Knowing what Yu Yan was about to say, Qing Shui sighed, shook his head helplessly, and said, "This child is probably out of luck. When you took his pulse just now, did you notice anything else besides his heart pulse?"

Yu Yan looked down at Ping An, her expression somewhat wistful. "They're both injured."

Upon hearing this, Shimizu was immediately terrified. "Let's go, take him to see the patriarch."

"This is the only life I can save now," said the Old Ancestor Yuyang, standing in the center of the stone platform, looking at Ping An lying at his feet.

He put away the sixty-four hexagram symbols surrounding him, and they all returned to the cracks on the stone platform following Yu Yang's gesture.

"Although the meridians have been protected, they will also suffer from chronic illnesses. I'm afraid they won't live much longer." Old Ancestor Yuyang sighed. Just at noon, he was telling the two people in front of him that they were safe and there might be a chance for good fortune. Who would have thought that such a mishap would happen so soon?

The master and apprentice looked at each other, at a loss for words. Should they say that life is unpredictable and full of suffering? Or that heaven is jealous of talent and will not allow it to succeed? They didn't know either.

"This child can no longer learn Taoist magic, so you should take good care of him and let him join the other disciples." After saying this, Ancestor Yuyang slumped down again, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

"Master?" Yu Yan looked at Ping An on the stone platform with heartache.

"Let's listen to the ancestor." Shimizu shook his head helplessly.

It's a pity that life is unpredictable and fate is full of twists and turns.
(End of this chapter)