Cultivating Life and Nature

She had died just like that, so simply, unable even to remember her own name or how she had come to be this way.

She only vaguely remembered an audience member dressed as an old Taoist who often came to the opera troupe and loved sitting in the front row to hear her sing qingyi roles.

Whenever she reached a particularly splendid passage, he would give a slight nod.

When calamity suddenly struck her, it was that old Taoist who appeared just in time, brought her soul to this spot, and laid down a formation.

He said he pitied her, with her talents yet unspent, and that the formation could temporarily keep her soul from perishing.

The old Taoist said he would find a day to arrange a proper ritual and see her off on her final journey.

The old Taoist later left, but never returned.

Given the chaos of those days, he had probably perished in those troubled times as well.

From then on, she slept within the formation, unaware of the passing years.

Only in the past two years, as the untended formation gradually weakened, did she slowly awaken, only to find her spirit body deteriorating day by day.

For in this anime world called "The Outcast," souls could retain their senses after leaving the body, but could not escape the fate of gradually dispersing.

Ordinary ghosts merely repeated mechanical actions driven by their lingering obsessions. For one to retain her intellect as she had required a great many fortuitous coincidences.

After checking repeatedly, he found that the man was just such a wandering Taoist who had never appeared in the original work.

Even though she had been asleep most of the time, preserving a soul for so long and allowing her to retain her senses after waking was quite remarkable.

Every time Qing He Miao heard the story, he couldn't help marveling inwardly that hidden dragons and crouching tigers filled the world.

"I've enjoyed myself tonight. It's time to go back."

The young man leaped down from the table and cupped his hands toward the stage in farewell.

He seemed satisfied at last and ready to leave.

His footsteps rang especially clearly through the empty old building as he walked toward the exit, one step at a time.

When the whole old building fell quiet again,

The figure onstage remained silent for a long moment. Then two ink-black water sleeves slipped soundlessly into the darkness, spreading toward his back like shadows and drawing closer, inch by inch.

[Red Hot Chili Pepper]

"As the saying goes, the path of immortals treasures life, the path of ghosts treasures death; the path of immortals is ever auspicious, the path of ghosts ever ominous."

A clear voice suddenly rang out in recitation, and the young man stopped short.

Almost at the same instant, a golden-yellow apparition emerged behind him.

It was shaped like a pachycephalosaurus, with a long beak and a sharp tail, and the electric light radiating from its body illuminated the surroundings.

Fine arcs of electricity burst around him, and blue sparks danced and crackled at the tips of his hair.

When he turned around, lightning flickered in his eyes, thunderbolts within them and thunder hidden in mist, casting the whole room into shifting light and shadow. He spoke earnestly:

"Master, don't do anything foolish."

The two water sleeves vanished at once, retreating in panic to the depths of the stage as though they had seen their natural enemy, melting into the deeper darkness.

The dark figure onstage remained silent, then quietly dissolved into the gloom like a drop of ink in water, leaving no trace.

Qing He Miao said nothing more. With a light wave of one arm, he put the King Wen Drum he had been holding all along into the system's secondary weapon slot.

After demonstrating another trick as a warning, he lingered no longer and turned toward the exit once more.

His steps seemed calm and steady, as though everything were under control, but fine beads of sweat had long since formed on his palms.

His mind remained taut, fixed on the Stand named [Cream] in the system slot, ready to make a quick escape at the first sign of trouble.

Fortunately, even after he had stepped completely over the auditorium threshold, the deep darkness behind him remained as still as an abyss, with no further disturbance.

Only then did he let out a soft breath in the night breeze, his tense shoulders and back relaxing slightly.

Looking back, he saw only the silent outline of the old auditorium in the faint starlight, the building that had once held the clamor of village gatherings.

Qing He Miao scuffed the long-abandoned stone mill at the entrance with the toe of his shoe. Its edge had been worn smooth by the years, and he gave a quiet sigh.

"A reputation can really wear you out."

With that, he turned and plunged into the deeper night, his figure gradually swallowed by darkness.

But the darkness did not last long.

A short way ahead, scattered dim yellow lights began to glow beside the village road.

Even some years later, many villages had no streetlights at all, much less now.

The lights coming on were simple lamps hung outside the villagers' doors.

Most still used old-fashioned incandescent bulbs, their light warm and hazy. Two wires ran from each socket and were casually strung into the house, trembling slightly in the night breeze.

Qing He Miao continued along the dirt road.

The countryside was especially peaceful at night. Starlight fell like flecks of silver, and an occasional dog bark or rooster crow sounded from near and far.

The dirt road underfoot, though, was full of potholes, making for uneven steps, and nameless flying insects struck him from time to time.

Qing He Miao had already withdrawn [Red Hot Chili Pepper] into his body.

He had once tried using the Stand as an electric mosquito swatter, and it had indeed worked to some extent.

The problem was that one of the ways an electric mosquito swatter worked was by exploiting insects' attraction to light to lure them in.

On a summer night in the fields, those brilliant, crackling arcs would only send the little bugs swarming in from every direction with even greater excitement.

And the one thing the countryside never lacked was all kinds of moths, mosquitoes, and midges.

Just imagining himself surrounded by a swarm of insects, with electric light and winged shadows dancing wildly, made Qing He Miao shudder.

So he would rather put up with the occasional bug like an ordinary person than release his Stand now.

Besides, electricity was quite an expense these days.

It wasn't easy for his Stand to scrounge enough free power to build up a reserve, so he had better use it sparingly.

"Well, isn't that the boy from the eldest son of the north house? Where've you been roaming off to in the middle of the night?"

A rough, hearty voice suddenly boomed from the street corner, breaking the stillness of the night.

Several village elders in vests and shorts washed pale had gathered beneath a door lamp at a house on the corner, playing cards around a low stool.

The warm yellow light outlined the deep wrinkles on their dark faces.

"Good evening, Fifth Grandpa."

A cheerful smile immediately spread across Qing He Miao's face, and he called back:

"The village chief said we might need to use the old village auditorium again, so he sent me to take a look."

"Heh, good lad."

The old man called Fifth Grandpa sat cross-legged on a large rock, a dry tobacco pipe between his lips, squinting at him.

"That's our village's 'Qing the Half-Immortal' for you. Did you spot anything?"

"Nothing at all. You can rest easy."

Qing He Miao smiled and waved a hand.

"Once Fifth Uncle, the village chief, has made the arrangements, you'll hear about it."

Without stopping, he nodded to the elders and continued into the sparsely lit lanes ahead.

Behind him, he could still faintly hear cards snapping against the stool and the old men's rambling conversation.

"Worrying over nothing, weren't we?"

"I heard my boy say that Qing Miao's been fond of going into that old wreck after school ever since two years ago."

"If you ask me, even if there was anything spooky, Qing the Half-Immortal goes there every day. He'd have taken care of it long ago."

Chapter 3: Cultivating Life and Nature

When country folk built houses, there was rarely any orderly planning. They squeezed them in wherever there was room, feeling cheated if they claimed too little space.

Only when they weren't that close to their neighbors would they usually leave a gap, however narrow.

That was also a way to preserve good relations.

Because if they shared a wall, there were bound to be scrapes and bumps in the days ahead, and disagreements would flare up every few days.

If you were the one who came later,

And shared a wall without permission when you weren't even related, you were plainly taking advantage of them,

Getting ready to bully them.

So over the years, the village had acquired many crooked, crisscrossing lanes, only wide enough for one or two people to pass through.

Like wrinkles carved into the land by time.

Watching his footing carefully, Qing He Miao passed through one such deep, winding lane.

The moonlight was almost completely blocked here, with only a little dim yellow light showing from his own courtyard gate at the far end.

He pushed open the heavy iron gate, which stood half-closed, and its hinges gave a long, creaking groan.

The sound stirred the courtyard.

Three village dogs that had been lying in the shadows immediately pricked up their ears and raised their heads warily, low growls rumbling in their throats.

Faint voices could also be heard talking in the house at the far end of the courtyard.

Only when the starlight outlined Qing He Miao's familiar figure did they relax again. Their tails gave a couple of perfunctory wags, and they lazily rested their chins back on their front paws.

He crossed the moonlit courtyard, pushed open the main house door, then turned and opened the door to the west room beside the cooking stove.

A strong, choking smell of smoke immediately poured out as though it were solid, rushing into his face.

It was the mingled smell of cheap dry tobacco, firewood burning in the kang's firebox, and the warmth of human bodies: pungent and warm, full of a coarse, earthy air. It spread unchecked through the cramped space, almost condensing into a grayish-white haze.

The room had a typical old-fashioned layout for the lands beyond the Great Wall.

A heated kang with two fireboxes ran along the wall, radiating warmth. Below its edge sat an old sofa that was still considered fashionable in the village in those days, along with several stools of different heights.

Seven or eight people were packed into the room, their faces indistinct through the smoke and beneath the fifteen-watt light bulb.

"Third Grandpa, Second Grandpa, Second Grandma... good evening."

Qing He Miao quickly swept his gaze over them, taking the initiative to greet each one before looking toward the inner side of the kang.

"Dad, Mom, I'm back."

There wasn't much entertainment in the village these days.

So when evening came, most villagers with relatives would gather at the home of someone who had a television to watch TV, play mahjong, and chat about anything and everything.

Just like the other group of people at the entrance to the village lane a little while ago.