Liu Jing and Fang Ping’s figures vanished beyond the bamboo gate, and the oppressive spiritual pressure dissipated with them.

Inside the bamboo hut, for a moment nothing remained but the soft rustle of wind through bamboo leaves outside the window.

Su Ming’s chest heaved violently as he drew a long, deep breath, like a fish thrown ashore finally returned to the water.

He did not speak at once.

Instead, he struggled and rolled off the bed.

The motion tugged at every wound across his body; waves of searing pain surged through him, blurring his vision. Cold sweat soaked his thin undergarment in an instant.

He clenched his teeth, his legs trembling, yet stubbornly steadied himself.

Then, facing Qingfeng and Mingyue, he smoothed his robe and performed a solemn, deep bow.

It was the proper courtesy a scholar pays to those who have saved his life.

“Su Ming offers thanks to the two immortal elders for saving his life.”

His voice was hoarse, but each word was clear and struck like a hammer.

“This favor is heavier than Mount Tai.”

Mingyue was startled by his sudden formal salute and hurried forward to help him.

“Get up quickly! You’re so badly injured, you can’t leave the bed!”

Qingfeng, however, did not move. He folded his arms, tilted his head, and studied Su Ming with curious interest.

He was used to the flattery of cultivators both inside and outside the sect, and he was used to how ordinary people looked at them with a mixture of reverence and fear.

Someone like Su Ming, neither servile nor arrogant, thanking them with plain mortal manners—this was a first.

“All right, don’t tear the wound open. That Hundred-Herb Revival Pill I gave you wasn’t cheap.” Qingfeng sniffed, his tone still carrying a touch of bratty pride.

Su Ming straightened and offered a bitter smile, then sat back on the edge of the bed.

“The immortal elders’ kindness with medicine, the grace of giving life again, Su Ming will not dare forget in this lifetime.”

He looked at the two children before him, fully aware that Liu Jing’s departure did not mean the matter was over.

On the contrary, it marked the true beginning of his fight to survive.

“However,” his voice shifted, showing the right measure of gloom and loneliness, “from what Steward Liu said just now, once I recover, I will be expelled from the mountain.”

Mingyue’s face filled with worry at his words.

“Yes, the sect has rules. Outsiders cannot remain in the sect for long.”

Su Ming let out a soft sigh, a sorrowful sound full of the bleak dignity of a scholar at the end of his road.

“Downstairs is the Yongchang Marquis Manor’s iron net. For a cripple like me to return there is no different from walking to my death.”

He did not state it bluntly at first, but he laid his desperate situation bare for them to see.

Mingyue’s heart tightened. She looked to Qingfeng as if asking for help.

“Senior brother…”

Qingfeng frowned slightly, his fingers tapping unconsciously against his arm.

Of course he understood what Su Ming was thinking.

But this was not easy.

An outsider hoping to stay in the Cloud Hidden Sect? It was pure fantasy.

Su Ming saw Qingfeng’s hesitation and his mind raced.

He knew that straightforward self-pity would not move this sharp, somewhat precocious boy.

He had to make the boy see his value.

Even if that value was negligible.

He suddenly smiled, the smile lightening the sadness on his face and adding a scholar’s casual grace.

“Never mind. Life and death are decreed, fortune is in heaven. To live another day in this blessed immortal place is already Su Ming’s greatest fortune.”

He turned to Mingyue and spoke sincerely, “These past fifteen days, I’m grateful for the medicinal porridge you brought each day. The rice’s fragrance is heavenly, and it melts into warmth on the tongue. Could it be the fabled spiritual rice?”

Mingyue relaxed when he dropped talk of being expelled and chirped brightly, “Yes, it’s cooked with spring water from Guiding Peak and Qinggu rice. It helps your healing.”

“I see.” Su Ming adopted the curious expression of a scholar probing a subject. “Back in the mortal world I read the Classic of Herbs, yet I never knew how immortal herbs differ from ordinary medicinal plants.”

He deftly steered the conversation from his life-and-death plight to an area the two were familiar with and interested in.

The tactic felt natural and left no trace of begging.

Sure enough, Mingyue’s interest was piqued at once.

“The difference is huge!” She brightened, taking on the air of a little teacher as she counted on her fingers to explain.

“Mortal herbs absorb the essence of sun and moon. Our so-called spiritual herbs can actively draw in the world’s spiritual energy. The older the herb, the purer the refined spiritual energy it contains, and the stronger its medicinal effect.”

“Take that Hundred-Herb Revival Pill that healed you. It used thirty-six kinds of herbs over a hundred years old!”

Qingfeng, who had been listening with some impatience, couldn’t help but chime in as he listened.

“Not only the spiritual herbs. The alchemist’s techniques, the timing of the fire, the Alchemy Formulas—if you stray by a hair, you come out a thousand miles off. The mortal methods of grinding herbs into paste are just a waste of treasures.”

Su Ming nodded repeatedly, eyes shining with the light of curiosity as if a door to a new world had swung open.

“To think cultivation and seeking the Dao hold such profound learning.”

He posed a few simple but aptly timed questions, like “How do spiritual herbs absorb spiritual energy?” and “Do different spiritual herbs follow a sovereign-minister-assistant-servant pairing in prescriptions?” These questions showed his intelligence without probing sect secrets.

Mingyue grew animated answering, and Qingfeng would occasionally correct and add deeper principles.

Before they knew it, the atmosphere in the bamboo hut had become relaxed and harmonious.

Sensing the right moment, Su Ming shifted tone and smiled, “Listening to your words is worth ten years of study. It’s a pity I have no fate with the immortal path, or I would study these teachings diligently. By the way, when I was mortal I heard some strange tales. Would the two immortal elders be interested?”

“Strange tales?” Mingyue’s eyes sparkled.

Qingfeng raised an eyebrow. Life in the sect was peaceful but monotonous; mortal stories could be entertaining.

Su Ming cleared his throat and did not speak of deities or ghosts.

He told of a headless case he had seen among the old documents at the Hanlin Academy.

A tangled scandal involving grain transport, illegal salt, and officials framing each other.

He recounted the web of relationships and step-by-step conspiracies in the tone of a storyteller.

There were no sky-leaping miracles in the story, only human treachery and guile.

The thrill rivaled any cultivator’s duel.

Mingyue listened with parted lips, nervously clutching at her robe.

Qingfeng’s brow drew tight; he nodded and shook his head in turns, completely absorbed, even beginning to analyze the case’s flaws and key points.

By the time the story ended, the sun was already leaning west.

Qingfeng, reluctant to stop, couldn’t help asking, “And then? Where did they hide that illegal salt? Was that magistrate surnamed Li really innocent?”

Su Ming smiled slightly and took a sip of water to moisten his throat.

“This matter is long. If the two immortal elders have time tomorrow, Su Ming will explain it to you in detail.”

He was creating an opportunity for further contact tomorrow.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep