Chapter 116: The Celestial Being Descends from the Heavens
Above the sea of clouds, the sky rumbled incessantly from south to north, like thunder crashing overhead.
A streak of light tore through the heavens.
On a barren mountain in the southern part of the Eastern Ancestor Continent, a tremendous crash suddenly echoed from the cliff face, sending countless specks of earth scattering.
At the foot of the mountain, wisps of smoke rose gently, scattered among a few humble homes—an isolated village hidden from the world.
As a massive boulder tumbled down the mountain, smashing a millstone in the village, robust hunters from the slopes, several chattering women inside their homes, and children with horn-shaped braids all came running at the sound.
Within moments, beneath the locust tree at the village entrance, a heated debate unfolded.
Some argued that the village youth should investigate the mountain.
Others, the elderly with dim sight, believed it to be the mountain deity’s wrath, hastily warning everyone not to provoke the god and preventing the young from ascending.
“A pit that large was smashed on the mountain. If we don’t take a closer look, after a few days of heavy rain, the whole village could be swallowed by a mudslide.”
“Nonsense! Such a commotion might be a battle between wild beasts or mountain gods, or even a contest among immortals. Entering recklessly could bring disaster.”
“Old Luo, you’re getting on in years. Stay home and stop spouting nonsense.”
“Child, I only fear you might anger the gods and drag this village into trouble.”
As the debate raged, a clear and tender voice suddenly spoke.
“I don’t think it’s necessary to go.”
The boy had large eyes and thick brows, his features plain but brimming with boundless vitality and youthful energy.
Old Luo bent slightly, kindly asking, “Why not?”
The boy, clad in rough linen, blinked and pointed toward the mountain. “Because someone is already here.”
...
A man dressed in a blue robe appeared in the villagers’ sight.
When he reached the great locust tree, the villagers seemed stunned, as if unable to comprehend.
The boy carefully examined the stranger, feeling a strange unease.
Though the man’s robe had a few tears, it was remarkably clean, without a speck of dust. His eyes were so deep they invoked a hint of fear, yet most peculiar was his complexion—pale as white jade, devoid of any color.
“Unknown immortal, what brings you to our humble village?” Old Luo asked cautiously, bowing slightly.
The earlier explosion atop the mountain had sounded like the collapse of heaven and earth, and now this man emerged from that place. Even a fool could see the connection.
The man’s voice was hoarse. “I intend to stay here for a while… forty-nine days.”
The boy found this stranger even more enigmatic. Ordinary people seeking lodging would say a few days, weeks, or months—not such an exact number.
Old Luo was momentarily stunned. “Of course, though I fear we may not serve you well.”
The man shook his head lightly, then said, “No matter. I shall not treat you unfairly.”
He looked at the massive stone beneath the locust tree and with a gentle wave of his sleeve, the thousand-pound boulder floated away like a leaf on the wind.
Witnessing this, many villagers were shocked, their expressions turning even more reverent.
...
Shen Yu took residence at the village’s edge in a small tiled house of blue bricks. A patch of open ground in front was enclosed by a bamboo fence, forming a modest courtyard.
Mist rose amid the deep mountains, ancient trees stretching vast and solemn, the air exceptionally pure.
The arrival of such an immortal stirred both awe and curiosity among the villagers.
Every day, numerous eyes, whether intentionally or not, wandered toward that house. Yet the immortal seemed solitary and reclusive, never opening the door once after settling in.
No one dared disturb him.
Of course, there were exceptions.
One was the boy who had spoken under the locust tree.
Each morning, he would knock on the door on time. Though no reply came, he never grew angry—simply leaving obediently, only to return the next day.
Until one day, he actually succeeded in entering the house, causing the villagers great anxiety, fearing he might unwittingly anger the immortal.
Yet, within minutes, the boy emerged, bewildered.
A crowd gathered around him.
“What did the immortal say?” Old Luo asked anxiously.
The boy scratched his head. “He asked what I wanted.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said nothing, just wanted to see what an immortal looks like.”
“Then?”
“He asked my name.”
“And what did you answer?”
“I said my name is Qingshan.”
...
Inside the dimly lit room, Shen Yu sat cross-legged on a wooden bed, eyes closed, fingers weaving hand seals as if calculating something.
After a while, a faint scent of blood wafted out.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
He casually wiped it away and murmured, “So I was struck and flung thousands of miles away.”
His tone was calm, tinged with a hint of reflection.
Several days ago, Li Moran of Broken Blade Mountain had struck him with a blow that flung him from Qianliu City, soaring through the air for a long time.
Though he had spent days recovering, the lingering chill of that blade’s energy still surged wildly within him.
Had he not used his own Dao intent to suppress it, even if he blocked that earth-shattering strike, endless torment would follow in the days to come.
Creak.
...
The wooden door opened again.
Qingshan carried some rare mountain fruits inside.
Over these days, he often brought gifts, growing less shy each time.
“Immortal, did you fall from the sky?” he asked finally, breaking the long silence with a question he had long harbored.
Shen Yu showed no hint of concealment. “I was struck and fell here.”
Qingshan’s eyes widened with concern. “Then what will you do?”
Shen Yu replied calmly, “Heal first, then fight back.”
Qingshan seemed poised to speak but was cut off by a wave of Shen Yu’s hand.
“Go.”
“Okay.”
Qingshan pushed open the door and left.
Immediately afterward, Shen Yu clutched his chest and spat a mouthful of fresh blood, staining the floor crimson.
His injuries were severe. Though he suppressed the pain, his body was at its limits.
Yet despite this, his expression remained as composed as ever, his eyes faintly radiating the profound truth of the Dao.
...
The mountain days passed leisurely.
Time flowed quietly.
On the thirteenth day, Shen Yu finally stepped out of the house.
The mountain wind blew cold and sharp, awakening the senses.
Qingshan enthusiastically introduced all the corners of the village.
Shen Yu climbed the mountain and returned with a bounty of lifeless wild game.
The meat was enough to feed the little village for an entire year, bringing joy to all the villagers.
Life seemed to return to the tranquil rhythm of those carefree days at Green Bamboo Peak.
Shen Yu rose with the sun and rested at sunset.
Here, at dusk, he sat outside to enjoy the cool air.
The blue-robed boy approached, carrying a wooden stick.