Chapter 112 City of Immortal Spirits
The afterglow of the setting sun spread across the bluestone streets, bathing the city in warm orange light.
An old man walked slowly through the gates, holding the hand of a young girl. His back was slightly bent, his hair white as frost, yet every step was steady and firm, his breathing long and smooth, not like that of an ordinary elder.
The girl was around ten years old, her large eyes bright and full of spirit as she curiously looked around.
"Master, this place is so beautiful!" she said brightly.
The old man nodded, a hint of surprise flashing in his clouded eyes. Shops lined both sides of the street, crowds came and went.
Cultivators and mortals walked together, conversing easily, without arrogance or fear. A few cultivators in uniform maintained order at the corners, their demeanor polite and gentle.
It was like a scene from another age.
Since the fall of the Great Zhou Dynasty, chaos had plagued the world for ten years. Low-ranked cultivators bullied mortals, while cultivators fought viciously among themselves for resources.
The old man had traveled widely with his disciple, long accustomed to the cruelty of the times, but had never seen such order in a city.
"Candied hawthorn—!"
A mortal vendor pushed a cart past, filled with glistening skewers. Several children in rough clothes stared eagerly. To his surprise, a cultivator of the Artifact Refining Realm stood nearby, handing over silver.
"Give each of these children one," the cultivator said with a smile.
The old man's pupils shrank. In his eyes, a cultivator of such realm stood high above the mortal world—how could one act with such humility?
What startled him more was a tall stone stele at the street's end, carved with eight bold characters:
[Immortal and Mortal Govern Together, Law Shared by All]
The words carried great power, exuding authority.
"Master, everyone here is smiling," the girl tugged his sleeve, pointing at a young cultivator helping an old woman carry her basket. "That big brother is a cultivator too, right? He's so kind to the granny."
The old man stayed silent for a long while before sighing. "Yes… this feels like the days when the Great Zhou still stood."
The sunset stretched their shadows long. From the bell tower came a clear tolling sound. The whole city shone with peace, like a pure land within a troubled world.
A long-lost hope flickered in the old man's eyes.
Perhaps some places still held the goodness of the human heart.
They soon found a tavern and chose a quiet seat by the window. The shutters half-opened toward the lively street. Rays of sunset filtered through, scattering dappled light across the table.
"Honored guest, would you like to try our signature 'Drunken Thousand Autumns'?" The waiter, towel over his shoulder, smiled warmly. "It is brewed from spirit rice of the Immortal Spirit Valley, aged ten years. Even immortals of the valley love it."
The old man stroked his beard and nodded. "Bring a pot."
Soon, a green porcelain wine pot arrived, wisps of spiritual energy curling from its spout. He poured his disciple tea and filled himself a cup of wine. The liquid was clear, glowing amber. The first sip sent warmth rushing into his dantian, even easing his meridians.
"Excellent wine!" he praised.
Outside, the streets remained bustling. Several cultivators were discussing with mortal craftsmen in calm tones. Not far away, a farmer with a medicine basket bargained with an alchemist, both smiling as they spoke.
The old man set down his cup and finally could not help but ask, "Young waiter, I have traveled across the land for many years, yet this is the first time I have seen immortals and mortals live in such harmony. This place… what kind of blessed land is it?"
At his words, the waiter unconsciously straightened his back, pride showing on his face. "This is your first time here, isn't it? This place is called Immortal Spirit City, right beside Immortal Spirit Valley."
As he served the dishes, he continued, "Ten years ago this was only a small market town dealing in spirit herbs. But then, for reasons unknown, the valley suddenly began supplying stable harvests of spirit medicine aged over a hundred years. In just two years, it nearly monopolized the entire Qingzhou market."
From outside came the clear ringing of bells. The master and disciple turned their heads, seeing a patrol of cultivators in uniform, their armbands embroidered with the words "Immortal Spirit Guard."
"With business thriving, cultivators naturally came in great numbers," the waiter said. "The city lord established rules—no private fighting is allowed within the city, and violators face heavy punishment.
At first there were still troublemakers," his voice dropped, "but later people discovered that no matter one's cultivation, those who fought were stripped bare and hung at the city gate for three days and nights. Among them were even great cultivators of the Returning Origin Realm… After that, no one dared to act rashly again."
Hearing this, the old man's hand froze upon his cup. To easily suppress a cultivator of the Returning Origin Realm—the foundation of this city might rival that of a major sect.
"And with the Great Zhou fallen and the world in chaos," the waiter said as he refilled their cups, his tone wistful, "many cultivators weary of bloodshed fled here. In less than ten years, our city has become one of the greatest in Qingzhou."
As he spoke, the distant bell tower chimed again. The waiter smiled. "It's the hour of You. Please, honored guest, have a look."
On the street below, passersby stepped aside as a procession of carriages rolled by. The wagons were drawn by four snow-white spirit deer, stacked high with spirit herbs, their fragrance filling the entire street.
"That is medicine delivered from Immortal Spirit Valley to the city market. Of course, the best of it is taken straight to the auction house," the waiter explained. "At this hour every day, you can see the same sight."
The old man watched the caravan fade into the distance, a gleam flashing in his clouded eyes.
He tilted back his cup, draining the wine in a single gulp, its rich aroma lingering between his lips and teeth.
Drunken Thousand Autumns—truly worthy of its name. In this one cup, it felt as if he had swallowed ten years of peace.
{
This new arc begins the resolution of Chen Xingcai — also known as Hong Yuechan — and her long-standing karma with the Hong family.
The story ahead dives deep into raw truths: family bonds put to the test, shadows of the past rising again, and the choices that will shape everything moving forward. It isn't only about cultivation or battles — it's about people, their pain, and how far humans can fall when weighed down by guilt, greed, or fear.
For free readers, updates will continue as usual. But if you'd like to experience the full arc without waiting, all chapters are already available on Patreon. Joining there gives you early access and helps me dedicate more time to writing and polishing the story you're enjoying here.
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