Cultivating Immortality Through a Hundred Lifetimes: I Possess the Heavenly Book of Merit

Beside the rugged mountain road, there is a small shop.

The shop was small, with only two slightly worn wooden tables, a few long benches, and a cloth banner held up by a bamboo pole. The banner had two large characters written on it: Wonton.

The writing had faded, and the corners of the cloth were frayed, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

There were no customers in the shop.

In fact, there are no guests at this time.

There are no houses in the mountains, and even if there were, it's already late at night, and those people would have turned off their lights and gone to bed early.

There was only one old man.

He lay in the small, dimly lit room behind the shop, on a thin mattress with a hard wooden board underneath.

Zhang Boyuan lay on his side with his legs curled up and his brows furrowed.

Once people get old, all sorts of ailments come knocking, and they just won't go away, making life miserable every day.

This rheumatism is a chronic condition he developed when he was young, and it has become more and more severe as he has gotten older.

On rainy days, and in the dead of night, his legs felt like they were being torn apart by something, the pain keeping him awake at night.

I finally managed to get a short nap, but I was woken up by a muffled sound coming from the mountains, and then I couldn't fall back asleep.

"Thunder? Or did something collapse?"

As the old man pondered this, he turned over in bed.

He turned over again.

He tossed and turned on the mattress, making rustling noises, but couldn't find a comfortable position.

In the end, Zhang Boyuan gave up.

He propped himself up on the bed frame, slowly moved to the edge of the bed, let his two legs, which ached as if they were filled with lead, hang down, and then stood up while holding onto the wall.

Step by step, I moved to the window.

The windows were made of wood, and the paper windowpanes had turned yellow and had several holes. A breeze drifted in through the holes, carrying the unique coolness of the night.

The old man looked out through a hole in the window paper.

There are mountains outside.

The mountains were pitch black, the roads were pitch black, and the night was pitch black.

There was nothing there.

The old man looked away, stood by the window for a while, then slowly moved back to the bedside and sat down.

The mountains are always very quiet.

Or rather, silence.

After their son and daughter-in-law passed away in the plague, the family fell silent.

At that time, my grandson was still a baby, just learning to walk, and he would babble and call out "Grandpa".

Later, when his grandson grew up, he could run and jump, and he would follow him around asking questions. The voice was louder than before, but it was also noisier. The old man complained, but he was secretly delighted.

And then—

Zhang Boyuan sighed.

Later, I don't know where I heard it from, but it was said that there were immortals on Qianmen Mountain, and that if you went there you could cultivate immortality, live forever, and see your deceased parents.

The grandson went crazy.

Zhang Boyuan tried to stop him, persuade him, scold him, and even locked him in the house, forbidding him from leaving.

But that child was stubborn.

He'd climb out the window when locked inside. They'd catch him, and he'd run away again. Once, twice, three times…

Until the very last time.

That morning, Zhang Boyuan got up as usual and went to wake his grandson to help tidy up the shop.

The door was open, no one was inside, and the bed was cold.

I stood at the door for a long time.

He didn't go looking for it.

He knew he couldn't get it back.

In those years, he saw countless people go to Qianmen Mountain. There were young people, middle-aged people, even families. They carried bundles and provisions, excitedly heading up the mountain, and then—

That was the end of it.

No one has come back.

not a single one.

Later, Zhang Boyuan moved to the mountains, hoping that one day he could meet his grandson who was practicing Buddhism there.

Unfortunately, I have never met him in all these years.

The old man sat on the edge of the bed, his cloudy eyes gazing at the night outside the window.

After all these years, he's come to terms with it. The younger generation always has their own ideas, and he shouldn't always try to stop them; that would only backfire.

That child missed his parents terribly. When he was little, he would wake up crying in the middle of the night, calling for his mother. He stopped crying when he grew up, but whenever he saw other people with parents, the light in his eyes was something the old folks could see.

That child had heard that immortals could resurrect their loved ones, which is why he went up the mountain to seek their help.

"I wonder how Si Lin is doing now? Has that young Master Yu Yan found Si Lin?"

Is Silin thinner or fatter now? Is he taller or stronger? Is he doing well or not?

He doesn't expect his grandson to forgive him for his obstruction back then.

He doesn't expect his grandson to come back to take care of him in his old age and see him off in his final days.

I just want to see it once.

Just one glance.

Look, the child is still alive, look, he's alright, then he can close his eyes in peace.

Then you can happily go to see your son and daughter-in-law in the afterlife and tell them: I raised your child for you, and he is doing well.

As Zhang Boyuan thought this, his vision slowly blurred.

Just then—

pat!

A soft sound came from outside.

It felt like something bumped against the door frame.

Zhang Boyuan was startled and looked warily towards the door.

There are many wild animals in the mountains, so traps have been set up around the house to ensure safety. The only fear is that there will be too many of them and all the traps will be used up in no time.

He stood up, supporting himself on the edge of the bed, the excruciating pain in his legs seemingly vanishing in that instant. He groped his way to the door and picked up the broom leaning against it.

Most of the bamboo strips on the broom had fallen off, leaving only a few bare ones. But holding one in my hand was better than holding it empty-handed.

He took a deep breath and gently opened the door a crack.

nobody.

Outside the door, there was only night, only the mountain wind, and only the mountain path he had walked countless times.

Just as Zhang Boyuan was about to close the door, his gaze suddenly sharpened.

A longevity lock hangs on the door.

Its edges were somewhat worn, but they were wiped clean and gleamed softly in the moonlight.

The old man froze, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

He slowly reached out and took the longevity lock off the door, holding it in his palm.

"This is... complete..."

Zhang Boyuan's voice was a little hoarse as he felt the slight warmth emanating from the longevity lock.

He turned the longevity lock over.

Three small characters are engraved on the back—

Zhang Silin.

The old man's hands trembled even more violently.

He hurriedly turned around, staggered outside, and, no longer caring about wild animals, shouted:

"Silin, it's you, isn't it?"

"Please come out and see Grandpa, let me see him for a moment, okay?"

Even just one glance...

No one responded. Zhang Boyuan, dejected, held the longevity lock and stood motionless in the darkness.

A gentle breeze made his gray hair tremble slightly, and moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Looking at Zhang Boyuan again, it was unclear when, but he was already in tears.

Tears streamed down his face, falling onto the longevity lock and onto the calloused back of his hands.

He pressed the longevity lock tightly to his chest, bent over, and his hunched body trembled slightly.

For a long, long time.

Zhang Boyuan raised his head and looked at the dark mountain road outside the door.

There was nothing on the road.

The absence of his grandson indicated that the other party had not forgiven him and did not want to come out to see him.

Only this longevity lock, which he longed for day and night but never saw its owner again.

Is he satisfied? It's hard to say. At least Zhang Boyuan still hopes that his grandson will come out and meet him.

But since that's the case, there's no need to try anymore.

The old man's lips moved, and a hoarse sound came from his throat:

"Alright."

"That's fine too..."