My Years as a Menace in the Sect

Daliu Village is located in a mountain valley at the very edge of the Cangxia Mountains, where all of the hundred or so households are crammed together.

The most valuable possession in the village is probably the old, crooked locust tree at the village entrance, since the village elders say that the tree is over three hundred years old.

But the villagers usually avoid that tree. It's not that they're afraid the tree has become a spirit, but rather they're afraid of Wei Ping'an.

Wei Ping'an was a boy of sixteen or seventeen. He wore a faded blue cloth robe and had fair skin. He had big, bright eyes that looked very clever.

As for why everyone in the village avoids him, no one can say for sure.

That's just how it is. Anyone who offends him is guaranteed to be in trouble the next day. Either the courtyard wall will mysteriously collapse, or two chickens will disappear for no reason. If you're unlucky, your wife might even take the kids back to her parents' house in the middle of the night.

If you ask him, he'll widen his eyes, round and innocent-looking, spread his hands, and say he doesn't know.

Actually, everyone knows what's going on. But you just can't find any fault with him, so you have no choice but to grit your teeth and call him "Wei the Scourge" behind his back.

But early that morning, an unprecedentedly large crowd gathered under the old locust tree. The scene was so grand that it was unlike anything seen, not even on holidays or festivals, not even on the day Er Gou's old sow gave birth.

Standing in the very center of the crowd was Wei Ping'an. He had changed into a new set of clothes, made of coarse linen of inferior quality, and he had even straightened his collar.

He had a tattered cloth bundle slung across his shoulder, the rope tightly tied. You didn't even need to open it to know that it contained just a few dry biscuits and a change of clothes.

The most eye-catching thing was the pot on his back, tightly bound with thick hemp rope. It was dark and a size smaller than an ordinary frying pan. When it was strapped to his back, from a distance, it looked like he was carrying a tortoise shell.

"What kind of trouble is he up to this time?" Er Gou's father muttered on tiptoe from the back of the crowd, holding half a cornbread in his hand. "Our yard wall just collapsed the day before yesterday, and he's dressed so neatly today, is he trying to run away?"

The old man next to him nudged his arm: "Keep your voice down, don't let him hear. If he does, your sow will be thrown away tomorrow." Er Gou's father quickly covered his mouth and shrank into the crowd.

No one knew what Wei Ping'an was planning. Only he knew that he was waiting for an immortal who could grant him eternal life.

This story begins about two weeks ago.

That day he went up the mountain to gather firewood. But really, he was there to steal bird eggs. He was very careful with his life and dared not venture deep into the mountains, only daring to wander halfway up. Just as he was squatting in the bushes, digging for bird nests, a sudden gust of wind blew overhead, and a streak of blue light flashed and landed three steps in front of him.

Wei Ping'an was so startled that his hand trembled, and he almost dropped the bird egg. When he looked up, he saw a cultivator in a green robe standing in front of him, holding a whisk in his hand. He looked exactly like the deity painted in the village ancestral hall.

The cultivator glanced down at him, his eyes lighting up. He stroked his beard and nodded repeatedly, exclaiming, "What remarkable talent! Truly remarkable talent! To possess such extraordinary talent at such a young age, you are truly a once-in-a-millennium cultivation prodigy!"

Wei Ping'an was stunned. Cultivating immortality? A prodigy? He had heard countless stories of cultivating immortality from the village elders, who said that immortals could fly through the clouds and live forever, living for hundreds of years as easily as playing a game. His greatest wish in this life was to live as long as possible, to avoid death if possible, and to live as many years as possible.

Daliu Village was poor. Minor illnesses were endured, and serious illnesses were treated by bed rest. His father didn't survive a cold and was so thin that he was just skin and bones when he passed away.

"Immortal... Immortal Master?" Wei Ping'an knelt down with a thud, abandoning the bird eggs and firewood, and began kowtowing repeatedly. "Immortal Master, please accept me as your disciple! I'm willing to serve you like a slave!" He kowtowed earnestly, each kowtow counted, until his forehead turned bruised by the eighteenth time. He grimaced in pain, but dared not stop. He calculated in his mind: the more he kowtowed, the more the Immortal Master would consider accepting him; a broken head was better than a short life.

The green-robed cultivator smiled and helped him up: "Since we are destined to meet, I will come to pick you up in three days. Go home and pack your things, take the important ones with you. The mountain sect is austere, don't bring too much burden." After saying that, he flicked his whisk, turned into a streak of green light, and disappeared in a flash. Wei Ping'an knelt on the ground for a long time, not coming back to his senses, until the bruise on his forehead throbbed with pain, and he was sure that he was not dreaming.

He scrambled home and rummaged through the house, emptying it of all the valuables. "Valuables" was a euphemism for something really—just a pile of junk: a chipped, rough porcelain bowl, a razor-thin kitchen knife, and a few old clothes left by his father. After searching high and low, he finally found a blackened pot, covered in a thick layer of dust, which had been lying under the bed.

He's the one who got this blame.

His father once said that this was a black iron pot passed down from his ancestors. It was incredibly heavy, like holding a lump of iron.

Before his father died, he held his hand and kept repeating the same sentence for three days: "Peace, I have nothing to leave you. You take the blame and keep it to save your life." When his father passed away, he was so thin that he was just skin and bones, and his hands were as cold as ice.

Wei Ping'an squatted in front of the bed and nodded, his eyes red. Even though he felt that he was useless in taking the blame, he dared not refuse to take it.

From that day on, he carried the pot on his back every day, whether he was working or going out. The villagers laughed at him, saying that the Wei family's son was carrying a pot around like a big turtle. He didn't care. He figured he might as well carry it; it wouldn't interfere with his work. And who knew, maybe it would save his life?

Now that the immortal master wants to take him on as a cultivator, he searched through all his possessions and felt that the most important thing was this pot.

"Father, you really didn't lie to me," he muttered, holding the pot. "This pot must be a treasure. Otherwise, why would the immortal choose me?" He scrubbed the pot inside and out three times, until the rust was removed. He then took out the little savings the family had and bought a piece of coarse cloth to sew this new long gown.

Three days later, he got up before dawn. He changed into a new long gown, polished the pot until it gleamed, slung his packed bundle over his shoulder, and ran to the old locust tree at the village entrance as soon as it was light. He chose the most conspicuous spot to stand, his back ramrod straight, trying his best to look as smart as possible.

From sunrise to sunset.

The sun rose over the eastern mountains, its heat making his scalp ache, his neck sore from stretching, and his eyes welling up with tears, but he didn't see a single shadow.

On the first day, he comforted himself by saying that the immortal was busy.

I waited all day the next day, but still no one came.

On the third day, as the sun began to set, the villagers started pointing and gossiping.

Er Gou's father, after drinking a bit of wine, slammed his fist on the stone table at the village entrance and shouted, "Ping An, stop waiting! That guy is probably just messing with you because you're stupid! What kind of cultivation prodigy? If Da Liu Village could produce cultivators, pigs could fly!" The people around him laughed along.

Wei Ping'an remained silent, squatting under the old locust tree, staring blankly at the bluestone slab beneath his feet. The slab was burning hot from his sitting, and his bottom was numb.

He knew the villagers were waiting to see him make a fool of himself, but he didn't want to let it go like that.

Immortality! That's true immortality! If you miss this chance, you'll never have another.

On the fourth and fifth days, he came every day, waiting from before dawn until it was completely dark. When his legs went numb, he would stand up and move around; when he was hungry, he would nibble on a couple of dry biscuits.

He had worn the bluestone slab under the old locust tree smooth and shiny from sitting on it. The villagers' initial sympathy turned into laughter, and eventually they stopped even bothering to laugh, simply believing he was possessed. On the fifth night, a light rain fell, and he walked home soaked to the bone.

He took off his new long gown, carefully folded it, and stuffed it back into the bottom of the cabinet.

He slept very soundly that night and even had a dream. He dreamt of a vast, dark expanse of water, like a giant black pot overturned between heaven and earth. Floating in the water was a ball of light, warm and gentle, like the warmth of his mother's embrace when she used to hold him and lull him to sleep when he was a child.

He reached out to touch it, and the light nestled into his arms, warm and comforting, seeping into his body through his pores, making him sigh with pleasure.

He woke up just as dawn broke, and as he turned over, he heard a splash of water. He froze; the black pot that had been upside down on the stove was actually half full of clear water. The water was very clear, with a faint glow, exactly the same color as the light in his dream.

He remembered clearly that after washing the pot last night, he had placed it upside down on the stove, leaving not a drop of water. He reached out and touched the bottom of the pot; it was ice-cold. Looking at the patterns on the rim of the pot, they seemed a little darker than before, like ink seeping into the iron, a deep, shiny color.

"Am I seeing things?" He scratched the back of his head, poured out the water from the pot, and turned it over to cover it up. But the doubt in his heart had taken root like a seed.

But he didn't dwell on it for long. Because he was holding a grudge.

That cultivator tricked him. He promised to pick him up in three days, but he waited for five days, and there wasn't even a ghost in sight. Who was he messing with? Wei Ping'an was a man who didn't believe in evil spirits. From childhood to adulthood, he would always seek revenge on anyone who offended him.

Er Gou snatched his bird eggs, and the next day one of Er Gou's chickens went missing. The village chief confiscated his disaster relief grain, and the next day the village chief's chimney was blocked. He himself didn't know what was going on, but whoever he wanted to bring misfortune upon himself was sure to suffer the consequences.

He was tricked this time, and it was something as important as immortality; he couldn't swallow this insult.

"You can run away from the monk, but you can't hide from the temple."

He squatted in front of the stove, muttering to himself as he looked at the black pot, "I'll go to Cangxia Mountain to find you. I refuse to believe I can't find you. If I do find you, you'll have to give me an explanation." Immortality is something you can only miss once.

The thing Wei Ping'an feared most in his life was missing out.

He left home before dawn. He changed into a new long gown, slung his bundle over his shoulder, carried a black pot on his back, and stood under the old locust tree at the village entrance. The early-rising villagers were stunned when they saw him.

Wei Ping'an cleared his throat, his voice not loud, but everyone under the old locust tree heard him clearly: "Dear uncles and aunts, this is the last time Ping'an will stand here. If I still can't find that immortal this time, I won't come back."

A moment of silence fell over the crowd. Someone dropped a sunflower seed while their mouth was half-open, and someone else nearly tipped their water bucket over.

Er Gou's father, carrying a bowl of porridge, froze at the door upon hearing this. It was the old village elder, leaning on his cane, who reacted first, taking two shaky steps: "Ping An, where are you going again?"

"I'm going to find the immortal. Last time he said my talent was extraordinary, a once-in-a-millennium occurrence, and he can't let me be happy for nothing. I'm going to Cangxia Mountain to find him and demand an explanation."

The village chief stammered for a long time, his face looking as if he had seen a ghost: "You, a mere mortal, going up Cangxia Mountain? That mountain is teeming with monsters and ghosts, aren't you just courting death?"

"I know there are monsters and ghosts, but I'm not afraid. I'm tough."

After speaking, he bowed to the entire village. Straightening up, he gritted his teeth, turned around, and strode towards the edge of the mountain. The morning mist was so thick that it was impossible to dissipate, and his figure became blurred after walking a few dozen steps. After walking a few dozen more steps, he completely melted into the white mist, leaving only a faint outline of a black pot that slowly disappeared.

A long silence fell at the village entrance. A burly man whispered, "He's not really coming back, is he?"

The village chief remained silent for a long time, then jabbed his cane hard twice on the ground: "Go, prepare the yellow paper for the ancestral hall. Burn more of it during festivals in the future."

The young man beside him was stunned: "Village chief, he went out to find a hermit, he's not dead, why are you burning paper money for him?"

The village chief glared at him: "What do you know? If he can't find the immortal, he'll be back in a couple of days. If he does find him, that's worse than death. A scourge who can cultivate immortality, who can't he mess with?" Several people in the crowd breathed a sigh of relief at the same time.

Wei Ping'an walked up the mountain path, which became steeper and steeper. He used to only go as far as halfway up the mountain to cut firewood, and he had never gone any further. After walking for more than an hour, the path became narrower and narrower, the bushes became denser, and the ground was covered with rotting leaves, making it difficult to walk without sinking deep into the mud.

The fog was very thick, with only a sliver of sunlight occasionally peeking through overhead. He was actually quite nervous; he was terrified of death.

He walked along carrying a stone, glancing back every few steps. But what good would going back do? He'd been tricked and wouldn't dare utter a sound, slinking back to the village to be laughed at for the rest of his life. What was the point of living then?

Besides, that cultivator said he was a cultivation prodigy. What if it's true? If we don't go looking for him, we'll really miss out in this lifetime.

After walking for another half hour, I was too tired to walk any further, so I sat down to rest against a large rock by the roadside, took out a dry biscuit and took a couple of bites.

As they were gnawing, they suddenly heard a buzzing sound overhead, so loud it made the air tremble. Looking up, they saw a streak of blue light flash past from the mountainside, as fast as a shooting star, disappearing behind the valley in the blink of an eye.

A blue light! The exact same blue light that the cultivators emitted when they left that day!

Wei Ping'an jumped up, threw away his dry biscuit, and ran as fast as he could up the mountain. He didn't care that his legs were still sore or how thick the fog was; he ran while constantly looking up at the sky, afraid that the streak of blue light would disappear.

The mountain path was rugged, and I stumbled along, falling twice and scraping my knees, but I didn't care about the pain.

After running for half an hour, I finally climbed to the top of the mountain. Standing on the edge of the cliff, I was stunned when I looked down. Amidst the swirling clouds and mist, a cluster of buildings was hidden. Pavilions with upturned eaves stood one after another, and palaces with carved beams and painted rafters were hidden in the clouds and mist. The faint sound of bells drifted up from the mountain.

There really are immortal sects!

Just as I was about to rush down the mountain path, a soft cough suddenly came from behind me.

He turned around abruptly, and a few steps away stood an old man in a gray robe, his hair white and his face thin, as thin as a bamboo pole. At that moment, the old man's eyes fell on him.

"You just said that someone told you that you have extraordinary talent and that such a rare talent is one in ten thousand years?" Wei Ping'an nodded quickly and recounted the events of half a month ago from beginning to end, speaking with great emotion and even including the detail of kowtowing and making a small dent in the ground.

After listening, the old man remained silent for a while: "You've probably been deceived. That person is probably an outcast from the Cangxia Sect who was expelled from the sect. He specializes in finding mediocre people in the mortal world, promising to take them on as disciples, and then running away after swindling them out of some things. You don't have any special talent; he just picked you randomly."

Wei Ping'an opened his mouth, but felt a lump of cotton stuck in his throat. He had actually guessed it long ago, but he had lied to himself and waited. Now that he'd been exposed, he squatted down and buried his face in his knees.

After a long while, she raised her head, her eyes red but without tears. "What should I do now? Can I still become an apprentice? I don't want to go back."

The old man didn't answer, his gaze falling on the black pot on his back: "What's the origin of this pot you're carrying?"

"It's an heirloom. My dad said it's made of black iron and can be used for self-defense."

The old man took the pot, turned it over, and traced a line on the rim with his finger. He examined it several times, then brought it to his nose to smell it. After a while, he handed it back: "It's genuine black iron, but the patterns on this pot are ancient medicinal patterns, not something an ordinary blacksmith could forge. Since you've come and carried this pot, it's quite a coincidence. The Cangxia Sect's Pill Peak needs a medicine-testing handyman to taste newly refined pills for the disciples, checking for poison and their medicinal properties. It's hard work and dangerous, but you'll get spirit stones, and if you do well, you can learn some proper medicine-refining skills. Would you like to stay?"

Wei Ping'an stared into the old man's eyes, which were as still as a stagnant pool, devoid of calculation or pity. "Will I die from testing the medicine?"

"If you're unlucky..."

His heart sank, for death was his greatest fear in life. Going back to Daliu Village meant being laughed at every day, and he might die from a sudden cold. Staying here, though dangerous, offered food and lodging, and the opportunity to learn skills. He was afraid of death, but not in a mindless way. "I'll do it!" he nodded.

The old man turned and walked away, saying, "Then follow me."

Wei Ping'an quickly retied the pot and followed behind. The mountain path wound its way for about half an hour, and the muddy path underfoot turned into bluestone slabs, while the weeds on both sides became neatly trimmed medicinal herb gardens. A faint, bitter smell of herbs filled the air.

"The drug testing center is located on the back mountain of Danfeng. It's a remote but quiet place. Go to the pharmacy at Chenshi (7-9 AM) every day to pick up your drug testing form, try the drugs according to the prescription, and record your drug reactions. Don't be lazy, and don't try to be clever."

"Yes."

"And what is your name?"

"You can just call me Old Man Zheng."

After walking for about half an incense stick's time, Old Man Zheng led him to the entrance of a secluded courtyard. The walls of the brick and tile house were covered with moss, and rows of earthenware jars were piled in the corner. The air smelled of bitter and astringent medicine. "This is where you'll live. There's a bed, table, and stove. You can bring your own pots and pans. Come to the pharmacy to find me at Chenshi (7-9 AM) tomorrow. Don't be late." With that, he turned and left.

Wei Ping'an stood in the courtyard for a while, lost in thought. The surroundings were as quiet as a graveyard, with only the sound of dripping water. Pushing open the door, a musty smell wafted out; the room was very simple. He put his bundle on the table and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Half-asleep, I heard a click in the courtyard. I opened my eyes abruptly and saw Old Man Zheng already standing at the door, holding a bowl of dark, murky medicinal soup. "You're awake, good. Drink this bowl of medicine, and start recording its properties from today." He handed me the bowl and left.

Wei Ping'an held the bowl, staring at the thick, ink-like medicinal soup, the bitter taste shooting straight to his head. He thought, "Trial medicine on the very first day? Shouldn't they give me a break first?" But they had no reason to poison him. He took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and gulped it down.

The moment the medicine entered his throat, a surge of heat exploded from his stomach, rushing straight to his limbs and bones. Every blood vessel felt hot, and the things in front of him began to spin. He staggered two steps, tried to grab the edge of the table but found nothing, and fell to the ground with a thud.

I vaguely saw Old Man Zheng peek half his head in from outside the door: "I forgot to tell you, this is Fire Toad Pill. It's very potent, you'll feel dizzy for a while on the first day, but it'll pass." Then the world went black.

After an unknown amount of time, Wei Ping'an woke up to find it was completely dark.

He slowly got up, expecting to be sore all over, but to his surprise, his whole body felt warm and comfortable, as if he were soaking in warm water. The back pain he had developed from chopping wood was gone, and the knee pain that would ache on cloudy days was also gone. His body felt as if it had been cleansed by something.

He stared blankly for a long time, then looked down at his palms. His palms had a faint tinge of blood on them; they used to be dry and white, like withered wood.

He quickly took the pot off the window and held it up to the moonlight to examine it. The crooked lines along the rim seemed even darker than during the day, a glossy black. This wasn't an illusion. The pot was truly changing.

My heart was pounding, but I didn't dare to say a word.

He couldn't sleep after lying back on the bed, so he sat up and took out the book that Old Man Zheng had given him earlier from his bundle. The three words "Qi-Inducing Technique" were crookedly engraved on the cover.

He read it word by word, the terms "dantian," "qixi," and "opening the meridians" both unfamiliar and new. He tried sitting cross-legged and adjusting his breathing according to the method in the book, but after trying for a long time, he didn't feel anything; instead, his stomach felt a little bloated.

He closed the book; there was no rush, after all, he was already here, and there was still a long way to go.

He closed his eyes and vaguely thought: Father, Mother, I'm staying in the Immortal Sect now. I'll definitely be able to cultivate immortality, achieve longevity, and bring glory to our family!

Unbeknownst to him, after he fell asleep, a faint black light quietly shone from the crooked, ancient patterns of the medicine melting on the rim of the black pot.

It was as if something that had been dormant for a long time stirred slightly under the nourishment of the medicine.