Dao Qi Wu Zang Guan Guan: I became a Daoist Master in the 1990s

Chapter 49 Daoist Xuanqing
After practicing nine times, Qi Yun still couldn't break open the rickety door.

He wearily wiped the sweat from his face.

"It seems I won't be able to break through tonight. Oh well, haste makes waste. I'm already cultivating very quickly, so there's no rush!"

Weariness washed over me like a tide.

Qi Yun took a quick bath with lukewarm water in a basin, simply wiping away the sweat from his body.

Then he turned off the lights and lay down on the hard bed.

Almost as soon as he touched the pillow, the thick darkness swallowed him up.

……

In the darkness, a bone-chilling cold seeped into the bones of his bare back, arms, and thighs.

硌。

My back and sides were painfully poked by sharp, hard objects.

Qi Yun jolted awake, his consciousness forcibly pulled from the abyss of chaotic sleep, and he abruptly opened his eyes!

There were no mottled ceilings of tenement buildings, no hazy glow of Beijing lights outside the window. Before me was a thick, slowly flowing gray fog, cold and damp, clinging to my body.

Beneath him lay hard, cold, uneven gravel and rubble.

In the distance, the enormous, cold, and silent bronze alchemy furnace stands like an unchanging tombstone in the center of the ruins.

The Five Internal Organs!
"Holy crap! No way?!"

Qi Yun sat up abruptly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He looked down and saw only his bare chest, arms, and thighs, wearing only a thin pair of underwear, his skin churning with goosebumps in the gray, foggy ruins.

Looking around, the broken walls and ruins remained, the collapsed stone pillars and scattered tiles were exactly the same as when he last left, as if time had completely frozen here.

"This...it's back again!"

A feeling of utter absurdity gripped him.

At least last time I was wearing clothes!

He instinctively squeezed his legs together, a chill of fear creeping up his tailbone. "Damn it, thank goodness I didn't sleep naked, otherwise..."

The thought of possibly appearing naked in this godforsaken place sent a chill down Qi Yun's spine; the image was simply too gruesome to bear!
He pushed himself up from the cold, rough ground.

Looking around at this desolate ruin, only the gray mist flows silently.

There was no other choice. He rubbed his numb arms, took a few steps, and, with practiced ease, made his way down the fog-shrouded path.

"I don't know if it connects to the timeline from last time, or what! Damn it, I need to find some clothes before I go down the mountain!"

The swirling gray fog gradually swallowed his figure.

The world is in a state of utter depravity!

The people of Songjiazhuang, however, were like the most inconspicuous stones in the mountain hollow, numbly enduring it all.

The Black Wind Mountain area is too remote; it's far from the reach of the emperor.

When times are good, the government's grain rations remain unchanged; when times are bad, even the farms can't extract any more profit.

For them, whether the sky above is yellow or blue is far less worrying than the yellowing or greening of the rice seedlings in the fields.

This year should have been a good year.

With favorable weather, plenty of sunshine, and even rainfall, the wheat ears in the fields are heavy with grain, and the millet stalks bend low under the weight.

But the earthen walls and thatched huts of Songjiazhuang were shrouded in an even thicker gloom and despair than in previous years.

On the threshing floor, the newly harvested grain was piled up like a small mountain, gleaming golden in the autumn sun.

Old Song slammed the last sack of grain onto the oxcart, his rough hands rubbing the bulging sack hard a few times, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

He suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the old clan chief squatting on the sidelines, his voice hoarse and filled with barely suppressed rage: "Third Grandfather!"

We men toil from dawn till dusk, sweat pouring down our faces, to grow this crop, and all that...all that feeding to those heartless wolves in the mountains?!

The old clan chief, Song Laoshuan, squatted beside a millstone-sized stone roller, puffing on his long-extinguished pipe.

His old face, etched with deep lines, was wrinkled like a dried walnut shell.

He raised his cloudy eyes, looked at the dark, crouching shadow of Black Wind Mountain in the distance, then looked down at the several oxcarts in the field, which were loaded to the brim, and let out a long, long sigh.

The sigh was deep and slow, like a tattered cloth soaked in water, heavily striking everyone's heart.

"Third brother..." Old Shuan's voice was as dry as sandpaper scraping against stone, "If we don't give it to them, they'll come down with knives and rob us! What will be left of our village?"

At least no one will die.

These words were like a cold stone, stuck in Lao Shuan's throat, impossible to spit out or swallow.

A few days ago, a weasel-faced thug came down from the mountain. He had a shiny dagger tucked into his waistband and stood brazenly under the old locust tree at the village entrance, spitting as he said that Black Wind Village also wanted to collect "mountain taxes"!
It'll be distributed per person! Don't pay? The chieftain said, knives are more satisfying than words!
The harvest from this field is divided into several parts: the imperial grain tax is skimmed off, the landlord Liu takes a large portion, and the remaining meager rations are then scavenged by the mountain bandits!

After paying taxes to the emperor, landlords, and bandits, how many grains of grain would actually reach each household?

Is that little bit of food enough for the children in the village to survive the freezing winter?
Old Shuan felt a tightness in his chest, as if a millstone was pressing down on him.

It seems that this winter, I and those old coffin-stuffers in the village will have to "leave".

Go into the mountains, find a sheltered corner, and lie down quietly!
Save a few bites of grain for the children.

"If only... if only Daoist Xuanqing were nearby!"

Song Laoliu, who was squatting on the other side of the oxcart, suddenly uttered a muffled sentence, breaking the dead silence. A faint glimmer of hope ignited in his eyes.

The name "Xuanqing Daoist" has recently been quietly circulating in several impoverished villages around Black Wind Mountain. Everyone says he's a newly emerged, ruthless character who's always ready to fight injustice.

Some say he single-handedly defeated the "Black Fiend Gang" that had been entrenched on the official road for over a decade, while others say he broke into a mass grave at night and burned the "old ghost" that had been lurking in the ancient tomb and sucking away human life energy to ashes.

It's amazing.

Old Man Shuan just shook his head with a wry smile, his pipe tapping unconsciously on the stone mill, making a hollow sound.

He was about to refute Lao Liu's absurd and delusional idea.

Black Wind Stronghold is a real hideout of over a hundred ruthless bandits who have been around for years, each one a desperate man who has lived on the edge of a knife!

Xuanqing Daoist? Even if he really has the abilities rumored, he's all alone. What good would that do?

When gods fight, it's always the ants on earth who suffer!
Just as his parched lips parted, and the word "no" was about to escape his lips...

"Ring... Ring ring..."

The bell rang crisply and melodiously, even carrying a hint of ethereal beauty, like jade washed by a mountain spring, all without warning.

It pierced through the stagnant despair of the threshing floor, carried clearly by the cool autumn breeze from the depths of the misty fields.

Like a drop of boiling oil splashed into ice water!
The blank faces in the room instantly came to life!

Song Laosan suddenly straightened his hunched back, Wang Laoliu sprang up from the ground as if his buttocks had been burned, and even the few hunched-back old men with cloudy and numb eyes widened in surprise!

Several pairs of eyes, like drowning people suddenly spotting driftwood, with an almost burning, desperate longing, all pierced the direction from which the bell was coming!

Even the air seemed to tighten from this sudden surge of anticipation.

Old Song's heart, which had been dormant in his chest for countless years, suddenly began to beat wildly like a drum!

His withered lips trembled, and a series of incoherent hoarse sounds came from his throat.

His cloudy old eyes stared intently at the thin mist, within which surged a humble yet fervent prayer that even he dared not delve into:
"God... God, please open your eyes!"

I, Song Laoshuan, am an old man with a neck buried in the earth. I've never had any good luck in my life, but I've had a whole basketful of bad luck!

Please, have some mercy... have pity on the hundred or so people in my Songjiazhuang village!
"Let that Daoist Xuanqing... truly... show his power!"

The morning mist, like a veil, was gently stirred by the wind.

At the edge of the field, in the hazy grayness, a clear outline gradually emerged.

A donkey!

A donkey with a well-proportioned frame and glossy coat was strolling along at a leisurely pace.

A gleaming brass bell swayed gently with each step, emitting a captivating, clear "ding-a-ling" sound!
"A donkey! It's a donkey!"

Wang Laoliu's voice cracked with excitement, and his trembling finger pointed into the fog, "Rumors...rumors!"

That Daoist Xuanqing... he's the one riding a donkey! He's definitely riding a donkey! There's no mistake!

The Taoist priest has appeared! The Taoist priest has come to save us!

The flame of hope suddenly ignited in everyone's heart!
Song Laosan clenched his fists tightly, and his face glowed with an almost manic ecstasy.

Several young men were so excited that they pushed forward, wishing they could rush over and kneel down in worship.

Old Song felt a rush of hot blood to his head, and his vision blurred. His hunched back involuntarily straightened a little.

Good heavens, this is truly an eye-opener! This is truly an eye-opener!

The clatter of the donkey's hooves, "clatter," echoed clearer as it trod the damp mud of the paddy field ridges. The tinkling of the copper bells sounded like celestial music.

On the donkey's back, the silhouette of the seated figure, under the fervent gazes of the crowd that were almost burning with anticipation, finally broke through the last thin veil of mist, revealing itself completely and clearly under the rising, cool autumn sun.

Time seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand at this moment!

On the threshing floor, all the expressions of ecstasy, anticipation, excitement, and even tears were as if they had been instantly doused with scalding hot wax.

Solidified! Stiff! Twisted!

The donkey was that blue donkey, glossy and smooth, with a steady gait.

The bell was a bright, shiny copper bell that jingled and tinkled.

But the person on the donkey's back...

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of indigo-blue underwear that tightly hugged his hips.
Naked man!

The chill of the autumn morning seeped into his bones. His bare chest, arms, and thighs were covered in goosebumps from the cold wind, and his skin took on an awkward and comical pale red color, as if it had been frozen to the bone!

The muscle lines are indeed well-defined, but in this situation, they only appear more abrupt and incongruous!
His wet black hair was haphazardly plastered to his forehead and temples, and his face still had a somewhat sleepy look on his face!
He even subconsciously wrapped his arms around his bare upper body in vain, trying to resist the intense gaze that was so grandly welcoming him!
This action only added to his utter disarray!

The wind swirled and blew across the threshing floor, carrying with it the bits of grass that had fallen there.

The copper bell rang out with a sharp, piercing sound.

The donkey snorted, stopped, tilted its head, and looked innocently at the petrified crowd in front of it with its big, dark eyes.

The color drained from Song Laoshuan's face in an instant, leaving it whiter than frost on the ground!

His straightened back suddenly hunched over as if his spine had been removed, and he swayed. He almost fell over if he hadn't grabbed the stone roller next to him in time.

In his cloudy old eyes, the faint spark that had just ignited was completely extinguished, leaving only boundless bewilderment, absurdity, and a deep-seated weariness and despair, as if he had been cruelly mocked by God.

"What a... what a terrible thing to do..."

He forced out a few broken breaths, like a dying bellows.

Old Wang Liu's mouth was agape, his eyes wide open, looking like a fish thrown ashore. After a long while, he finally managed to squeeze out a wailing sound, distorted and choked with sobs:
"My goodness... what... what is this thing?!"

(End of this chapter)