The dust of the mountain path settled behind Su Yang, the echoes of Boss Gao's screams fading into the chirping of crickets and the sigh of the wind through the pines. He stood for a long moment on the cracked asphalt of a rural road, the first true sign of the modern world he had left behind over a month ago. The encounter with the tyrant had been a sharp, necessary lesson—a first application of his new power in the realm of mortals. It had been messy, visceral, and ultimately just. The memory of the man's bones crunching under his effortless strength was not a source of pleasure, but a somber confirmation of the new reality he inhabited. He had wielded judgment, and the world had bent to his will.
But now, a far more mundane problem presented itself, one that his immense power could not simply overwhelm. Longhai City was a sprawling metropolis, a distant glitter on the horizon, a world away from this quiet mountain road. His body, forged to perfection and humming with the fourth stage of Qi Condensation, was more than capable of covering the distance. He could run, his speed a blur that would leave the fastest sports cars in his wake, his endurance limitless. He could leap from rooftop to rooftop, a shadow against the skyline, viewing the ant-like traffic below with detached amusement.
But such displays would shatter the fragile veil of normalcy he needed to maintain. He was the Yin-Yang Envoy, a hidden blade in the sheath of the modern world, not a public spectacle to be captured on smartphone cameras and splashed across the internet. Drawing the attention of the entire world—its baffled governments, its sensationalist media, its panicked and fearful masses—would only hinder his true mission. It would create chaos, invite scrutiny, and bury the subtle path of cultivation under a mountain of unwanted attention.
Walking was the only truly discreet option, but it was also deeply impractical. It would take days, perhaps a week of steady travel. He needed to reintegrate, to find shelter, to acquire new identification and resources, to plan his next move without spending a week sleeping in ditches and foraging for wild apples. The treasures in his spatial ring were useless for buying a bus ticket or renting a room without raising catastrophic questions.
As if in answer to his silent dilemma, the faint, mechanical hum of an engine reached his enhanced hearing. A moment later, a slightly dated, but meticulously maintained silver sedan crested a hill and approached, its tires humming on the worn asphalt. A soft yellow light on its roof identified it as a taxi. A beacon of mundane convenience.
This was it. A ticket back to the city, anonymous and utterly ordinary. He stepped to the edge of the road, his movement fluid and controlled, and raised a hand, the universal signal of a traveler in need.
The car slowed with a gentle sigh of its brakes and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder, the passenger window rolling down with a quiet electric whir. Su Yang opened his mouth to make his request, but the words died on his lips as his hand instinctively went to his hip. His wallet, his phone, the meager contents of his pockets—all of it had been lost to the churning, icy embrace of the mountain river during his fall. He had nothing. Not a single yuan to pay for this ride. The spatial ring on his finger contained wealth beyond measure, but it was all inaccessible in this context. He couldn't very well offer a spirit stone or a pill of eternal youth as payment.
His plans faltered for a second. Could he convince the driver? Promise payment upon arrival? Offer some kind of collateral? The situation was awkward, almost laughably beneath the concerns of a cultivator who held the legacy of an Immortal King, yet it was utterly critical for a man who needed a simple ride back into the city.
The driver leaned over to look at him through the passenger window, and Su Yang got his first clear look at her. He had expected a grizzled, perhaps impatient man smelling of cigarettes and long hours. Instead, he found a woman.
She appeared to be in her late thirties, yet time had been curiously and generously gentle with her. Her skin had a dewy, luminous freshness that belonged to someone who had just entered adolescence, smooth and unlined by worry or sun. It was the kind of complexion that spoke of good genes and a simple, hard-won peace. Her hair was dark and tied back in a practical, no-nonsense ponytail, but a few rebellious strands had escaped to frame a face that was both kind and carried a subtle, weary wisdom.
The only true hints of her lived experience were in her eyes and her aura. Her eyes were a warm, intelligent brown, but they held a depth of experience, a resilience forged not in fire, but in the slow, steady pressure of daily life. They were the eyes of someone who had seen disappointment and chosen kindness anyway, who had faced weariness and chosen to persevere. She carried a mature, captivating aura—a confident, nurturing femininity that was both approachable and self-possessed. It was an energy that was often called 'milf' in the crude parlance of the modern world, but Su Yang, with his new sensitivity, perceived it as a quiet, resilient strength.
She was dressed for comfort and long hours behind the wheel: a dark, form-fitting v-neck top that hinted at a well-maintained figure, and comfortable, practical pants. A small, dark mole rested just to the side of her chin, a singular, charming mark of character on her otherwise flawless canvas.
She took in his appearance—the tattered, mud-stained remains of a cheap business suit, the lack of luggage, his generally disheveled and lost look. A flicker of concern, not disgust or avarice, crossed her features. Her first instinct was not to calculate a fare, but to assess his well-being.
"Hey there," she said, her voice warm and slightly husky, a voice that suggested many long nights and early mornings. "You look like you've had a rougher day than most. Everything alright? Get lost on a hike? Some of these mountain trails can be tricky if you're not from around here."
Her assumption was a perfect, ready-made cover story. Su Yang grasped it immediately with a sense of relief. He offered a slight, weary smile, expertly playing the part of the hapless city dweller completely out of his depth in the natural world.
"Something like that," he said, his voice softer, more vulnerable than the flat tone of judgment he'd used on Boss Gao. He infused it with a believable embarrassment. "I was… doing some solo exploring. Got overconfident, took a wrong turn, had a pretty bad fall. Lost my backpack, my phone, my wallet… everything in the river." He gestured vaguely but convincingly back toward the imposing silhouette of the mountains. "I need to get back to central Longhai. I can give you a specific address, and I swear on my honor I can pay you the moment we get there. My… my apartment isn't far from the city center. I have cash there."
He expected hesitation, a moment of calculation, perhaps some bargaining, or outright refusal. This was, after all, a business. Instead, the woman gave him another thorough, sympathetic once-over—seeing the genuine fatigue he was mimicking, the ruined state of his clothes—and unlocked the doors with a decisive click.
"Get in," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't worry about it right now. You look like you need a safe ride and a break more than I need a fare upfront. We can sort it out later."
A wave of genuine respect washed over Su Yang. In his previous life, such unasked-for kindness from a stranger would have been a rare and notable event, a small light in the general gray self-interest of the city. Now, viewed through the heightened perception of his cultivation, he saw it for what it truly was: a simple, unadulterated act of pure goodness. It was a Qi of its own kind, a positive karma that resonated deeply with the righteous path he had sworn to uphold. It was a different strength, but a strength nonetheless.
"Thank you," he said, his gratitude profound and sincere as he slid into the passenger seat. The car was clean and orderly, smelling faintly of lavender air freshener and, underneath it, the subtle, clean scent of the woman's own perfume—something floral and light.
"No problem at all," she said, checking her mirror and pulling back onto the road with a smooth, competent ease. "Name's Wei Lan. And you are?"
"Su Yang."
"Su Yang," she repeated, as if testing the sound of it. A nice, simple name. "Well, Su Yang, consider this your lucky day. Not many cabs come out this far on the regular. Mostly just folks who get lost like you, or kids coming back from camping trips. You picked a good spot to break down."
The car settled into a comfortable rhythm, the lush greenery of the countryside gradually giving way to the outer industrial sprawl and then the suburban tentacles of Longhai. An easy silence filled the space, but Su Yang's cultivated senses were acutely, almost overwhelmingly aware of his driver. He could sense no Qi within her, no hidden power or latent talent. She was purely, completely mortal. Yet, there was a palpable strength to her spirit, a quiet fortitude and a core of decency that was as real as any energy he could cultivate.
His curiosity, a trait now sharpened and refined alongside his physical senses, prompted him to speak, to learn more about this person who had offered him kindness without question. "If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Wei... you don't quite seem like the typical taxi driver I usually encounter in the city."
Wei Lan let out a soft, humorless laugh. It wasn't bitter, just tired, a sound that acknowledged a question she'd been asked before. "What, because I'm a woman? There are a few of us these days. Safer for some passengers, they say."
"No," Su Yang said quickly, honestly. "It's not that at all. It's just... an feeling. You have a different air about you. Like this isn't what you were always meant to be doing."
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeming to reassess his perceptiveness. He was more observant than his bedraggled appearance suggested. She sighed, a long exhalation that carried the weight of a familiar, long-lived story.
"Life has a funny way of rerouting you, kid," she said, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, watching the landscape become more urban. "I had a different plan once. A nice little house, a happy family... a husband who came home at night." The word 'husband' was laced with a faint, old ache, a scar that had healed but still tingled now and then. "Turns out, his plan involved the bottom of a bottle more than it involved us. A lot more. I held on for too long, making excuses. Finally divorced the drunkard six months ago. Left with nothing but the clothes on our backs, a mountain of debts he'd hidden, and a daughter who deserves a future far better than that."
She spoke plainly, without self-pity or a desire for sympathy. It was a straightforward statement of fact, an assessment of damage and a declaration of survival.
"So now," she continued, a note of steely determination entering her voice, banishing the weariness, "I drive this cab twelve hours a day, sometimes fourteen. Because my daughter, Meiling, is smart. So brilliantly smart. She worked her tail off and got into a really good university. And that... that costs money. A lot of money. Tuition, books, a decent dorm room that isn't a dump... it all costs money. Every single yuan."
Su Yang listened, utterly silent. He was getting a crash course in a different kind of struggle than his own—the relentless, grinding, everyday struggle of mortal life, of a mother's love fueling impossible endurance. Her youthful skin and strong spirit belied the immense burdens she carried on her shoulders every single day.
"It's hard," she admitted, a crack of vulnerability showing for just a moment. "Some days are really hard. But it's honest work. And every single yuan I earn in this cab is a yuan that goes to her future, not to some liquor store till. That knowledge... that makes it all worth it. It makes the long hours okay."
Her words painted a vivid picture of profound resilience. She was forging her own body and spirit, not with Qi and ancient techniques, but with sheer willpower, sacrifice, and love. In its own way, it was a form of cultivation. A path of unwavering devotion and silent strength that he found deeply admirable.
"You are a remarkable woman, Ms. Wei," Su Yang said, his voice filled with a respect that went far beyond common courtesy. It was the respect of one warrior of life recognizing another.
Wei Lan seemed genuinely taken aback by the earnest, profound depth in his tone. She offered him a small, genuine smile reflected in the rearview mirror, a smile that reached her warm eyes. "I'm just a mom doing what she has to do. Nothing remarkable about that. There are thousands of us. But thank you for saying that. It's... nice to hear."
They lapsed back into a comfortable silence, but it was a different silence now, filled with a newfound mutual understanding and respect. Su Yang looked out at the rapidly approaching skyline of Longhai, a city he had left as a broken, humiliated intern. He was returning as something else entirely, a power hidden in plain sight. And his first true lesson upon return hadn't been about cosmic power or immortal techniques; it had been a lesson in perseverance, in love, and in the quiet strength of the human spirit. It had been given to him by a tired taxi driver with a heart of gold and a will of tempered steel.
He knew, without a doubt, that he would pay her far more than the fare. A handful of spirit stones, converted carefully into untraceable wealth, could secure her daughter's entire education and lift that burden from her shoulders forever. It was the least the Yin-Yang Envoy could do to honor such a spirit. It was an act of balance, of giving back the kindness he had received.
But for now, in the soft lavender scent of her cab, he was just Su Yang, a man accepting a simple kindness on the long, mortal road back home.