Chapter 6

The young green rice seedlings stretched out, each one perfectly spaced, absolutely uniform.

No matter from which angle you looked, the seedlings formed a straight line, and even their reflections in the water were perfectly aligned.

The most skilled farmer in the mountain village could not achieve such a level of precision.

Staring at this scene, Liu Shisui's mouth remained agape for a long time.

A gentle breeze blew, and the green seedlings swayed, looking very beautiful.

The young man in white stood on the ridge, nodded slightly, somewhat satisfied with his work, and then turned to walk back, lying down on a bamboo chair and closing his eyes.

Liu Shisui looked at the sky and said, "Young Master, should we go chop wood next?"

Because the young man in white did not acknowledge himself as a celestial master, the villagers decided after a discussion to address him as "Young Master."

"That's enough for now," the young man in white said with his eyes closed.

Liu Shisui didn't understand and asked, "Or should we cook first?"

The young man in white ignored him.

Liu Shisui finally understood his meaning but was puzzled by his sudden change of mind.

"I just want to learn; I don't like it."

The young man in white said, "Even if the path of cultivation is true, it's not suitable for me."

Liu Shisui didn't understand and asked, "Why?"

The young man in white said, "Because I'm lazy and not good at it."

Liu Shisui was somewhat agitated and asked, "What are you good at, Young Master?"

In the village's legends, the celestial masters in the Great Green Mountain could summon lightning with a wave of their hand and send swords flying into the sky.

The young man in white said, "Cutting."

Everything in the world has a weak point.

His specialty was finding those weak points and severing them.

Whether it was a magical treasure, a mountain, or something else.

Liu Shisui hadn't expected such an answer and felt a bit disappointed, scratching his head and saying, "No wonder you cut vegetables so well."

A breeze blew, and a leaf fell, the cut edge very smooth, as if it had been severed by a real sword.

Cicadas began to chirp.

This was probably the first cicada chirp of the year in the small mountain village.

The young man in white opened his eyes and looked at the distant peaks hidden in the mist.

Liu Shisui picked up the fallen leaf, looked at his profile, and asked, "Young Master, what's your name?"

The young man in white was quiet for a moment and said, "Jing Jiu."

"Jing Jiu?"

"Water well, ninth."

"The 'Jing' from 'wells do not interfere with rivers, and the 'Jiu' from 'eight or nine out of ten things are unsatisfactory'?"

"Have you read books?"

"There used to be a teacher in the village, who left last year to take the child scholar exam in the county."

"I have read them too."

"Um?"

"If you don't understand something, come ask me."

"Thank you, Young Master."

"Um."

Liu Shisui looked at the young man in white, a face he had seen for nine days, and though he had developed some resistance, it still seemed dazzling, so he rubbed his eyes subconsciously.

"Are you... in a bad mood?"

The young man in white looked at the distant peaks in the mist for a long time and suddenly said, "It's hard not to be annoyed when you keep doing the same thing over and over."

Liu Shisui thought for a moment and said, "If... that thing is eating meat."

...

...

A year passed quickly, and late spring arrived again.

The villagers were divided into two camps regarding the young man in white who called himself Jing Jiu. One camp insisted he was a celestial master from the Great Green Mountain, while the other believed he was not a celestial master but rather a nobleman from the city or even the capital, Chao Ge, who had fallen on hard times. However, both camps agreed on one thing: they had never seen such a lazy person.

During this year, the villagers enjoyed loitering near the Liu family's home—regardless of Jing Jiu's identity, they always liked to watch him. But no matter when people came, they would see Jing Jiu sleeping. If it was sunny, he would lie on a bamboo chair in the courtyard; if it was overcast, he would lie on the bed inside; if it was too hot, he would move the bamboo chair under a tree by the pond; if it snowed, he would move it back but insist on keeping the window open.

After the first nine days, no one saw Jing Jiu do even the simplest household chores. Liu Shisui now took care of everything, from making the bed to dressing and eating, even moving the bamboo chair around.

However, the villagers still held Jing Jiu in genuine respect because he occasionally gave pointers to the village children when they studied. According to the children, the young master's knowledge was more than three hundred times greater than that of the previous teacher.

Most importantly, Jing Jiu was very wealthy and generous. At first, the villagers didn't dare to accept his money, but he paid for the renovation of the village temple and ancestral hall. Now, even the new road from the mountain village to the county was more than halfway completed. How could the villagers not be grateful and respectful?

"Young Master, be careful when you rest, don't fall into the pond again."

Liu Shisui, carrying branches he had picked up from the mountain, looked at Jing Jiu lying on the bamboo chair, somewhat worried.

This had happened once before, and he was severely scolded by his father for not serving the celestial master well.

Jing Jiu, lying on the bamboo chair, hummed in response, but it was unclear whether he was responding to Liu Shisui or just enjoying the comfort of the shade.

It was probably the latter, as his long fingers tapped the bamboo chair in a lazy, irregular rhythm.

Liu Shisui hesitated for a moment and put down the branches.

He sat against a big tree, hugging his knees, and stared at the bamboo chair, not daring to relax for a moment.

He was now eleven but still called "Shisui." Jing Jiu seemed to have no intention of changing his name, which Liu Shisui thought was due to the young master's laziness.

Regardless of his name, he was still honest and reliable. Since he had promised his father to take good care of the young master, he would do so.

Moreover, the sound of Jing Jiu tapping the chair was interesting, and he couldn't describe it in words, but it made his mind increasingly calm.

The mountain breeze gently rippled the water, the sunlight gradually faded, and the night grew darker.

"The last two times, you exhaled too early."

Liu Shisui was slightly startled, then came to his senses and said, "I understand."

Jing Jiu opened his eyes and looked at the pond.

The night breeze disappeared, and the water surface was calm like a mirror.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he remained silent for a long time.

This face was beautiful.

This face was perfect.

If his eyebrows and eyes were like a painting, the artist must have been the most outstanding in thousands of years.

Even in the cultivation world, where handsome men and beautiful women were numerous, he had never seen such a beautiful face.

Starry light fell on this face and the water, the light flickering, giving the face a dreamlike quality.

This was not the first time he had seen his own face.

When he first saw his reflection in the pond, he understood why the villagers had reacted that way when he first arrived in the village and why they were so convinced he was a celestial master.

No one would be dissatisfied with such a face, even if he was Jing Jiu.

He just felt something was slightly off.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he raised his hand to touch his ears.

They were a pair of prominent ears, round and interestingly, they didn't look ugly with this face but added a touch of cuteness.

He understood why but was still not used to it.

The night breeze blew again, dispersing the perfect face on the water and his thoughts.

Everything was like a dream, a bubble, a shadow, as if the nun Lian from the Water Moon Temple had said.

Jing Jiu lay back on the bamboo chair, wanting to drink water but found the water pot in front of the chair, so he glanced at Liu Shisui.

Liu Shisui was playing with a grass root to tease a green worm at the base of the tree. Feeling the gaze on him, he looked up and realized what was needed, sighed, stood up, walked to the bamboo chair, picked up the water pot, and handed it to Jing Jiu.

Jing Jiu drank a bowl of water and closed his eyes again.

Liu Shisui didn't leave but squatted next to the bamboo chair, supporting his chin with his hand, staring at Jing Jiu's face, wondering how it could be so beautiful.

He had seen it so many times that, unlike other villagers, he knew that this face had changed over the year, not in features but in... aura?

The young master was no longer as dull as before; his eyes were more lively and full of life. In fact, he talked much more than before.

Jing Jiu closed his eyes, then opened them again after three breaths.

Liu Shisui was surprised because, over the year, the young master, whether in deep sleep, light rest, or dozing, never opened his eyes so quickly.

"What are you doing?"

Jing Jiu looked at the stars in the night sky and said, "I am deducing the next three years."

Liu Shisui scratched his head, thinking, "What do you do when you sleep every day?"

Jing Jiu seemed to know what he was thinking and said, "I am deducing the next three thousand years."

Liu Shisui widened his eyes and said, "Three thousand years?"

Jing Jiu asked, "If you spent countless hours writing an excellent article, thinking it was the best you could ever write, but then accidentally dropped the manuscript into the stove and it was burned to ashes, how would you feel?"

Liu Shisui was stunned for a moment, then placed his right hand on his chest and said, "I wouldn't dare to think about it; just thinking about it would hurt."

"Not hurt, but pain," Jing Jiu said quietly, "It would be very painful."

Such pain could only be understood by those who had experienced it.

Pain so unbearable.

But after the pain subsided, what else could you do but rewrite the article?

Liu Shisui sympathetically said, "That person would have to rewrite it."

Jing Jiu said, "Yes, what else could he do but rewrite it?"

Liu Shisui thought of something and worriedly said, "But what if he can't remember the brilliant phrases and the exquisite allusions in the original article?"

"If he can't remember, they weren't important. How could those phrases and allusions be truly brilliant?"

Jing Jiu looked at the distant peaks in the night mist and said, "Rewriting it would certainly produce an even better article."

Liu Shisui thought for a moment, unsure if this made sense, and, recalling their conversation, curiously asked, "What did you deduce? How will the rain be in the next three years?"

Jing Jiu's gaze fell on a nearby forest and said, "I only deduced that the time has come."

Tonight.

A gentle night breeze blew, and a middle-aged cultivator with a transcendent air landed, a long sword on his back.

Liu Shisui was startled and hid behind the bamboo chair.

The middle-aged cultivator's gaze fell on Jing Jiu, his eyebrows slightly raised, seemingly surprised.

...

...

(While I won't reveal the plot so early, rewriting the article is indeed a very important part of the first half of this story. For us authors, this is a painful experience. Due to computer crashes, power outages, cats, spouses, and even some bizarre reasons that readers mock, we have indeed lost many manuscripts. I believe most authors have had such experiences, and those are our most painful times, with the pain proportional to the number of words lost, exponentially. During such times, the only thing we can do is comfort each other. In recent years, when my friends and I encountered such situations, we used Jing Jiu's words from the story to comfort ourselves and encourage each other. It's our sincere belief—If the plot we can't remember isn't worth keeping in our novels, and what we can remember is good, rewriting will certainly produce a better article. This is our sincere belief, but... I wish all authors never have to go through such experiences. Kisses.)

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