From a loser to an immortal sage

Chapter 448 Encountering Difficulties Upon Entering the Immortal Sect

The light from the portal enveloped me and spun me around three times. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I smelled was the crisp scent of pine.

"Ayao?" Ziling waved her hand in front of my eyes, and I realized that I was standing on a bluestone slab with a ginkgo leaf covered in dew at my feet.

Looking up, the vermilion mountain gate was so high it seemed to touch the clouds. The copper bells on the eaves jingled softly in the wind. A disciple in a moon-white Taoist robe hurried past carrying books, the jade hairpin in his hair gleaming in the sunlight—this must be the outer gate of the Immortal Sect Academy.

Elder Qingfeng pressed his wine gourd to his waist, tilted his head back, and squinted, "Such rich spiritual energy, thirty percent more than our Little Bamboo Peak." Abbess Huixin touched the Buddhist beads on her sleeve, her gaze sweeping over the two characters "Seeking the Way" above the door, and said softly, "When this old nun came here to listen to the scriptures, this plaque was inscribed by Grandmaster Xuanzhen."

Just as I was about to speak, I suddenly heard the sound of boots rolling over the cobblestones behind me. "Xiao Yao?"

The voice was like a cold piece of iron, and when I turned my head, I was met with eyes as sharp as hawks'.

The newcomer was dressed in a black brocade Taoist robe, with a jade plaque engraved with the words "Enforcement" hanging from his waist. His brows were tightly furrowed, as if someone owed him a hundred or two spirit-gathering pills—this must be Hall Master Zhao.

"Come with me." He didn't wait for my reply, turned around and left. The corner of his black robe caught a gust of wind, making Zi Ling's skirt rustle.

Abbess Huixin nodded to me: "Go ahead, this old nun will take Ziling and Qingfeng to the guest courtyard to rest."

I adjusted my cuffs and followed Master Zhao through two moon gates.

He walked incredibly fast; I had to jog a couple of steps to keep up. "Do you know why you were transferred to the academy?" he suddenly asked, his voice like hammering on ice. "In the last round of new talent assessments, the Foundation Establishment rate for outer disciples dropped below 30%. The Elders' Council wants to replace him and establish new rules."

My throat tightened: "But I..."

"You went from a complete waste to a Golden Core cultivator, and the Foundation Establishment rate of the disciples you mentored at Little Bamboo Peak is 73%." He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the inverted scale pattern on my hair. "What the Elders' Council wants is that ruthless spirit of turning a waste into a sword."

We stopped in front of a building with a plaque that read "Martial Arts Hall".

Master Zhao pushed open the door, revealing twenty neatly arranged prayer cushions inside. Unsheathed sword tassels, still covered in freshly chopped bamboo shavings, hung on the wall. "Classes begin tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM). The disciple list is on the table." He pulled a wooden plaque engraved with the word "Instructor" from his sleeve and slammed it on the table. "The assessment is in three months. If the Foundation Establishment rate is less than 50%—" He tapped the corner of the table with his knuckles, "you'll be sweeping fallen leaves on the Miscellaneous Workers' Peak for three years."

As the door slammed shut, I stared blankly at the engravings on the wooden sign.

Sparrows flitted past the window, chirping away, which reminded me of the sound of rotten vegetable leaves being thrown at me on the street when I first traveled through time.

Back then, I always thought that cultivating immortality meant gritting your teeth and climbing upwards; now I understand that once you climb up, you have to pull even more people up with you.

The next day at Chenshi (7-9 AM), just as the bronze bell in the martial arts hall rang for the third time, I stood on the platform.

On the desk lay the "Basic Art of Controlling Objects" given to me by Elder Li, the ink still wet.

As the curtain was lifted by the wind, twenty disciples entered one after another—some clutching scrolls with their heads down, some whispering to each other, and the most eye-catching was a girl in a lotus-colored dress, sitting with her legs crossed on the windowsill of the last row, twirling a small wooden sword in her hand, and the begonia hairpin in her hair swaying.

"I am Xiao Yao, your instructor for this year." I cleared my throat. "Today, we'll begin with the Qi-guiding technique of the Object Manipulation Method..."

“Instructor Xiao,” the girl suddenly spoke, her voice as sweet as honey, “I heard you used to be a useless person without any spiritual roots?”

The whole hall was silent.

My fingertips paused on the bamboo slip, and when I looked up, I was met with her mischievous smile—this must be Junior Sister Chu.

"Yes," I answered readily, "So I know what it feels like to be called a loser."

She froze for a moment, and the wooden sword fell to the ground with a "thud".

A disciple chuckled, and her ears turned bright red. As she bent down to pick up the sword, she lost control of the magic on her sleeve, creating a gust of wind that scattered the books on the table all over the floor with a "whoosh".

"Chu Qing!" A disciple in a moon-white robe in the front row frowned. "Can't you be serious?"

"Senior Sister Zhou is interfering with me again." Chu Qing stuck out her tongue, and as she bent over, the begonia hairpin in her hair fell to my feet.

I crouched down to pick it up, and she crouched down too; our foreheads almost bumped. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," she suddenly said, her voice lowering. "My mother said that learning immortal arts requires being as proper as Senior Sister Zhou, but I... I get sleepy as soon as I sit on the futon."

I handed the hairpin back to her, my fingertips brushing against the thin calluses on her palm—the result of sword practice. "Bring your wooden sword tomorrow," I said softly. "The Art of Manipulating Objects isn't just about drawing in qi; it can also make a wooden sword fly."

Her eyes suddenly lit up, like a lit lamp wick.

When class ended, Senior Brother Lin came in carrying a stack of pill bottles.

He was dressed in a blue robe, with gentle features, and his hair was held in place by a bamboo hairpin. He smiled at me and said, "Instructor Xiao, these are today's Qi-Nourishing Pills, three for each person."

When I took it, my fingertips touched the coldness of the elixir bottle.

Upon opening the bottle, I found seventeen pills lying at the bottom, their bluish-white light somewhat dim—clearly aged pills. "Wasn't it said that the new pills had just been refined?" I frowned.

Senior Brother Lin smiled wryly: "The alchemy room said the last batch of pills was transferred to the inner sect, and only this batch was given... Instructor Xiao, you can use these for now, I'll go and beg Elder Li again."

As he turned around, the corner of his sleeve brushed against the books on the table, and a piece of paper fluttered down.

I picked it up; it was last month's supply list—the magic artifact warehouse was 30% empty, and the thousand-year-old Vermilion Fruit from the Spirit Herb Garden had been allocated to inner disciples.

A breeze picked up outside the window, swirling up a few ginkgo leaves that landed on the window paper.

As I watched Chu Qing's retreating figure, her wooden sword spinning even faster in her hand, I suddenly realized that this lesson was probably more than just teaching the art of controlling objects.

I held the yellowed list of supplies in my hand, my fingertips tracing the ink of the four characters "Millennial Vermilion Fruit," when I heard light footsteps outside the martial arts hall.

“Instructor Xiao.” Elder Li’s voice was like honey-soaked cotton. When I looked up, he was leaning against the doorframe, a few strands of his silver beard fluttering in the wind. “Just now, that boy Lin said you were looking for me?”

I pushed the bottle over; the seventeen aged pills inside gleamed gray in the morning light. "Elder," I said, "this Qi-Nourishing Pill... I remember the alchemy room refined three hundred new pills last month."

Elder Li's brow twitched slightly. He reached out and touched the pill bottle, the age spots on his knuckles brushing against its surface. "The inner sect needs them for elders in the Core Formation stage to use when they break through their cultivation barriers." He sighed and sat down on the futon opposite me. The jasmine scent in the teacup mingled with the herbal aroma emanating from his body. "The academy is like an unwanted stepchild. Last year, when the Azure Netherworld Secret Realm opened, we outer sect disciples only received three Breakthrough Pills—" He suddenly paused, pulling a small celadon bottle from his sleeve and pushing it towards me. "These are five new pills I've been hoarding. Give them to the disciples who are struggling the most."

When I took it, the bottle still carried the warmth of his palm. "Thank you, Elder."

“You are the one who should thank me.” He stood up, the hem of his robe brushing against the ginkgo leaves at my feet. “Back when I was fetching water at the Miscellaneous Service Peak, it was Grandmaster Xuanzhen who said, ‘Good seedlings shouldn’t rot in the mud.’”

What you're doing now is the same thing he did back then.

When the curtain was lifted again, I saw Zhou Qingyue carrying books and walking down the corridor.

The hem of her moon-white Taoist robe was stained with mud, and the jade hairpin in her hair was askew behind her ear—I had seen that hairpin before; it was the reward she earned by sweeping fallen leaves for three years, and it used to be polished until it shone brighter than the morning dew.

"Senior Sister Zhou!" Chu Qing's voice came from the corner of the courtyard, "Wait for me!"

Zhou Qingyue paused for a moment, but did not turn around.

She quickened her pace toward the library, and I noticed her shoulders trembled slightly, as if she were wiping her eyes.

After class, I found her in the bamboo shadows behind the library.

She curled up on the stone bench, books scattered on the floor, the pages of "The Essentials of the Art of Manipulating Objects" wrinkled with tears. "They say I'm trying to curry favor with the instructor," she sniffed, her fingertips digging into the cracks in the stone bench, "that I deliberately practiced the techniques better than everyone else to make others look stupid."

"And what about you?" I knelt down and tidied her messy hair. "Who are you practicing magic to please?"

When she looked up, tears still clung to her eyelashes: "My...my mother fell seriously ill in the mortal village, and the doctor said that only a hundred-year-old ginseng could save her."

I want to reach Foundation Establishment quickly so I can bring her to the Immortal Sect for treatment.

A breeze swept through the bamboo tips, and a leaf landed on her knee.

I picked up the leaf and gently placed it in her palm: "Look at this leaf. When the wind blows south, it goes south; when the wind blows north, it goes north—but it has never changed its heart, always wanting to return to the roots."

She gripped the leaf tightly, her knuckles turning white: "Teacher Xiao, I...can I still come to class tomorrow?"

“Of course.” I straightened the jade hairpin for her. “And you need to practice even more diligently—not to spite them, but for your mother.”

As dusk settled into the martial arts hall, Senior Brother Lin's knocking sounded like raindrops falling on the bluestone slabs.

He was carrying a wicker box, his hair still tinged with the gold of the sunset, a bamboo hairpin askew behind his ear: "I spent half a day in the alchemy room haggling, and then dug up twenty spirit herbs from the herb garden. I can barely refine some Qi-replenishing powder."

A faint medicinal fragrance wafted from the box. I opened it and saw neatly stacked ceramic bottles, their necks still glistening with fresh herbal juice. "Senior Brother Lin, what is this...?"

“I used to be an instructor at the academy.” He pulled over a prayer mat and sat down, no more than half a foot away from me. “Back then, I always felt that as long as I worked hard enough, my disciples would reach the heavens.”

Later I realized that what they needed wasn't just the sky, but someone to step on for them.

As he spoke, I smelled the fragrance of bamboo on him, mixed with the bitterness of herbs.

The candlelight danced in his eyes, and I saw my own shadow shrink in his pupils, like a ginkgo leaf carried by the wind.

"Chu Qing brought the wooden sword today." My fingertips unconsciously traced the elixir bottle on the table. "She used a magic technique to send the sword flying three feet high, and she smiled like a little sun."

"And what about Zhou Qingyue?" He suddenly reached out and smoothed my wind-blown hair. When his fingertips brushed against my earlobe, I flinched as if burned. "I saw her in the corridor just now; her eyes were so bright they could light a lamp."

"You have a sharp eye." I turned my face away, my ears burning. "I want her to demonstrate tomorrow and lead everyone in practicing Qi cultivation."

“Good idea.” He smiled and stood up, the box swaying in his arms. “I’ll go to the herb garden to oversee the refining of the Qi-tonifying powder; it should be delivered by Chenshi (7-9 AM) the day after tomorrow.”

He walked to the door and then turned back, the bamboo hairpin gleaming warmly in the twilight: "Instructor Xiao, you always say you want to turn trash into a sword—but for a sword to be sharpened quickly, someone needs to be there to hand it a whetstone."

As the door closed, I touched the earlobe he had just touched, my heart pounding louder than the brass bells on the eaves.

The candlelight on the desk flickered, casting the names on the disciple list indistinctly: Chu Qing's mischievousness, Zhou Qingyue's stubbornness, and a few other children always huddled in the corner...

I took out my pen and ink and drew small circles next to the list: Chu Qing – Wooden Sword; Zhou Qingyue – Saving Mother; Wang Erniu – Strong but Unable to Control His Spiritual Energy...

The moonlight streamed in through the window and fell on the two characters "Xiao Yao".

The "axe that splits the road" that Wen Chen mentioned may never have been some kind of divine weapon. It was these crooked little circles, the rattan box that Senior Brother Lin handed over, and the light that had rekindled in Zhou Qingyue's eyes.

I picked up my pen and wrote at the bottom of the list: Tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM), I will inquire about each person's difficulties in cultivation.

The ink was still wet when the night wind lifted a page of paper, revealing the words "Assessment in three months".

But as I gaze at the medicine box on my desk and the rising stars outside the window, I suddenly feel that those words are no longer so intense—because I know that there will always be someone with me, walking this path slowly and wide.