251: Chapter 250: Three Broken Carts 1 251: Chapter 250: Three Broken Carts 1 This was a place that could be considered a large town in terms of area; from the map, it appeared about four or five times the size of Yinling.
Theoretically, it was an important town, but special circumstances had made it an unappetizing dish—the sort that lost its flavor when eaten, yet was still too good to discard.
Xionger, meaning this place’s terrain resembled a bear’s ear on the map.
Mengdong, named as it lay east of Meng City in Wei Country; Yun Platform, named for its high terrain that was enveloped in clouds all year round, thus given its name by the Buddhist Sect.
The origin of the names varied, yet they distinctly captured the essence of this place.
Hou Niao slowed his pace, carefully surveying this place he was visiting for the first time as an official, and he had to admit, it was a good place.
The climate was warmer and more humid than most parts of Shan Country due to its topography.
As a direct result, even though early winter had arrived, there was still a vast expanse of greenery to be seen here, starkly different from the vegetation in the rest of Shan Country.
In terms of location, it was already near the edge of the Southeast Basin, featuring a unique climate that contributed to the prosperity of this area.
Because the clouds were so low, they felt nearly within reach.
At times, crossing a not-so-high hill felt like walking in the mist, hazy and full of an Immortal’s aura, making it the preferred choice of many wandering cultivators.
This was also one of the rare places where humans and the Demon Clan could coexist harmoniously.
Throughout his journey here, he had seen members of the Demon Clan walking boldly on the main roads several times, and the ordinary humans around them seemed not to find this strange.
This wasn’t because the demons had changed their ways, nor because humans had become more generous, but rather a coexistence that evolved over hundreds of years.
Finding a place outside the control of a major Cultivation power was rare, and neither the demons wanted to be hunted by human cultivators again, nor did humans want this to become a land of war.
Thus, peace had been established.
He found himself liking this place, and because of this, his hurried steps began to slow.
Good scenery had to be slowly observed and appreciated to understand the profound stories behind these ordinary scenes.
Along the way, he also paused occasionally to chat with passing farmers and listened to the mundane topics of ordinary mortals in teahouses—these were the genuine substances of life, unfeigned and uncompromised.
This was someone else’s territory, but also his own; he did not wish to be deceived due to his ignorance.
After wandering leisurely for two days, he had roughly understood the local customs and lifestyle.
Despite its size, nothing could stay hidden in a town ; while it might not be rich, being free from want was a fact.
That was just fine; at least he didn’t need to worry about providing for the people, an area where he had no experience.
As he passed through an endless field, a song carried across the distance: “I love the wilds of Mengdong, my lord Tian Zifang.
To set a boat upon Lai Water and fly home back to Huayang.
Let us drink together for true bonds mustn’t fade.
Under the Immortal Origin Bridge, when shall we together roam?”
A song full of imagination made him smile and ask a passerby, “Who penned this song?
It sounds highly imaginative, giving a sense of transcendence and tranquility that uplifts the soul…”
The passerby laughed, “It’s been sung for so many years, who knows who created it?
But the names of people and places in the song do originate from somewhere.
Tian Zifang is a reclusive old Immortal nearby, unseen by anyone yet widely acknowledged to be a centenarian with Great Magic Power.
Lai Water is a small river flowing through Mengdong, upon which all farmlands depend for irrigation; Immortal Origin Bridge is an ancient bridge atop it, said to be a bridge for ascending to immortality, but for all the times I’ve crossed it since my childhood, I’m still just a small trader—it’s just a wishful thought.”
Hou Niao slowly yearned, “I’d like to take a walk there too, who knows, I might just bump into the source of immortality?
It’s all about luck.”
His path did not take him across Immortal Origin Bridge, nor did he need to cross Lai Water, but since he was here, opportunities were plenty, and a few extra days wouldn’t hurt.
Walking and stopping intermittently, he arrived at a basin amidst a valley—a not-so-high mountain and a not-so-large basin, the exact location of the town.
Over half of Xionger Town’s residents lived here, including the bases for three Cultivation forces.
Though not bustling, it was lively and slightly messy with the vibrancy of life.
He arrived just as dusk fell, with smoke rising from every household and a myriad of food aromas drilling into his nostrils.
Having rushed onward for a month, Hou Niao had barely eaten as his divine mechanism replenished the energy he needed, but it could not substitute the heavy satisfaction of food traveling from mouth to stomach to anus.
Suddenly, he embarrassingly realized his stomach was growling—an unbecoming physiological reaction for a cultivator.
He wanted to fill his stomach first, but as the town center was just a stone’s throw away, he was more eager to see the place where he would live and cultivate for the coming period.
In the town center, he found the symbol of his authority—a bare dirt mound with three tents arranged in a Y-shape.
Calling them tents was perhaps more apt; they resembled the felt yurts of nomadic tribes more than houses.
The reason was something he understood from scrolls about this place before arriving.
Initially, there had been majestic and tall buildings here, perfectly embodying the extraordinary nature of Cultivation, but they had been destroyed repeatedly in battles.
Eventually, they settled on the simplest, most cost-effective felt yurts, the benefit being that they were easier to reconstruct.
Strangely, once these simple felt yurts were erected, disputes ceased to occur here.
Three yurts, one for each force, were quite similar except for the symbols on their doors—a Sword, a Buddha’s head, and a Gua Banner.
This small hill in the valley basin was quite noticeable, but aside from the three yurts, there were no other buildings, a final mark of ordinary people’s respect for cultivators.
The doors of the other two yurts were tightly closed, and no light came from inside, suggesting his two neighbors were not home?
Approaching the yurt with the Sword symbol, he took out the Quanzhen Token and deactivated the simple Formation unique to the Quanzhen Sect.
This Formation had no attack or defense capabilities; its sole purpose was to verify the identity of those entering.
Of course, if he preferred not to bother with it, he could simply kick the door open—a measure also designed to save on Spirit Stone resources.
The space inside the yurt was not small, but the furnishings were incredibly sparse—or rather, there were hardly any;
cultivators did not sleep, so there was no need for bedding; they did not eat, so no kitchenware was needed; as they could see at night, no lamps were necessary; having a Treasure Gourd omitted the need for furniture…
This was the so-called treatment for the guardian of Xionger Town: no subordinates, no salary, nothing at all, just an unchewable and uneatable position.
Quanzhen Sect had always been frugal, a tradition present since its founding and the only one maintained to this day.