Exhaling Like a Dragon

Despite his attempts to stop him, the old man insisted on putting on his old padded coat and seeing him to the courtyard gate.

Standing by the fence, he watched Qing He Miao recede along the frozen-solid country path until he was a tiny, blurry speck.

Only when he was completely out of sight did the old man slowly turn around and go back inside.

After Qing He Miao returned home, his spirits remained low.

Only after he fetched a chunk of frozen meat from home, just about a fistful of what remained,

and entered The Ravages of Time instance world again to give the disaster victims something extra with their next meal,

did he feel a little better.

After the disaster victims had spent the past few days clearing the ruined temple without pause, the main building was still in a terrible state.

At least the courtyard was much more level, and most of the rubble and weeds had been cleared away.

The few rooms that remained relatively intact had received special attention and could just barely provide shelter from the wind and rain.

Naturally, these became Qing He Miao's "private quarters" and "meditation room" in this world.

While the disaster victims worked outside, he spent most of his time meditating and cultivating Qi in this side room.

When it was actually time to sleep, of course, he still chose to return to his home in The Outcast.

Even if someone occasionally noticed that Qing He Miao had disappeared, nobody paid it any mind.

Everyone knew this "Daoist master" possessed extraordinary skills, so appearing and disappearing like a ghost was perfectly normal.

Outside the courtyard cleared from the ruined temple, at the foot of the gable walls and on slopes sheltered from the wind, a makeshift "shantytown" had sprung up on its own.

They had originally been refugees, routed soldiers, and a few local mountain dwellers who could no longer get by and had hoped to seek shelter with Huang Family Fort.

All they wanted was a relatively safe refuge and enough food to stay alive.

Now that there was work and grain to be had here with "Daoist Qingmiao," along with a vague sort of "order" and protection,

many simply moved and settled directly around the ruined temple.

In any case, in ancient times, it was common for believers and farming households to cultivate temple lands or seek religious shelter.

It was also convenient for getting to work the next day.

They adjusted to the situation quickly.

Living on the mountain in the twelfth lunar month, with the cold wind cutting like a knife, was no pleasant experience.

But compared with their previous circumstances, it did not seem much worse.

So these people displayed astonishing resilience, gathering broken planks, thatch, branches, and even half-rotten mats scavenged from the ruins, who knew where else they found it all.

By cobbling everything together, they actually managed to build crooked, ramshackle shelters, just big enough to crawl into and curl up inside.

Those who really could not find anything simply dug shallow pits in the ground and covered the top and bottom with planks or weeds, making them barely habitable too.

It looked just like the "dig three, fill one" tactic in Minecraft.

See? You really could learn something useful from a game!

Only it was not funny.

And with so many people, management was naturally necessary, or all sorts of problems would follow.

The most basic was waste disposal, for example.

Fortunately, Qing He Miao had received an education in his previous life and had worked in an office handling miscellaneous tasks, so he was capable enough for this.

Under the dual restraints of absolute force and food, management went fairly smoothly.

At least it prevented the risk of an epidemic breaking out right under his nose.

Chapter 39: Exhaling Like a Dragon

Qing He Miao stood beside the ruined temple courtyard, which had been more or less cleared, and looked beyond the wall.

Soon, wisps of smoke from damp winter firewood curled upward.

"Tsk, tsk."

He sighed inwardly:

All this cooking equipment would be precious historical artifacts in a later age! And the remains of this Sui dynasty temple are being tossed out like trash. What a waste of heaven's gifts. If only I could sell them.

His gaze fell on the large iron pot resting on several stones, which he had traded grain to Huang Family Fort to obtain.

The water in the pot was bubbling, and people were already lining up beside it to claim their places before the meal, holding all manner of eating utensils.

Chipped, broken bowls of coarse porcelain, clay jars picked up who knew where, and rough earthenware basins.

Some even used washed pieces of wood with uneven edges.

Everyone stared hungrily at the pot, impatiently waiting for the thin, bland porridge to cook.

Over the past few days, they had gradually grown accustomed to some rules.

To ward off the bitter cold, besides the cooking fire, small, dim fires had also been lit in front of many shelters.

The elderly, weak, sick, and disabled huddled around them, drawing what little warmth they could.

The fist-sized piece of meat Qing He Miao had brought had long since been carefully minced by the people in charge of cooking and sprinkled into the pot of watery porridge until it was almost invisible.

Even so, at mealtime, two men still argued and came to blows over a tiny bit of extra minced meat in a bowl, until others talked them apart.

Good. They've already got enough energy to fight.

Looks like I should draw up some rules for keeping order soon.

Aside from that, this newly formed temporary camp displayed a peculiar sort of "harmony."

Looking at everything before him, Qing He Miao thought to himself:

I'll leave things like this for now.

He would help them make it through the bitter winter, then, when spring came next year, he would find a way to start developing this instance and look for more efficient ways to level up and any opportunities that might exist.

Just like that, another two or three days passed peacefully as he switched between "reality" and the "instance."

Then, one morning, the sun was already high in the sky, and the cold was at its fiercest.

Qing He Miao was brushing his teeth in the courtyard of his home in The Outcast.

When he finished, he let out a long breath.

A long stream of white vapor shot far into the icy air, like a small puff of breath from a white dragon, before slowly dissipating.

He stared absentmindedly at the vapor, his thoughts drifting inexplicably back to his previous life.

In many Guoshu novels, to emphasize the depth of a character's internal cultivation and the level to which they had tempered their internal organs, the author liked to describe their breath as long and concentrated.

The column of breath they exhaled could even remain condensed and clearly visible in broad daylight, shooting an incredible distance.

Outside Shanhai Pass, almost anyone could do that as soon as winter came.

"If only mine were real..."

Qing He Miao pulled himself out of his fantasy in which his cheat after transmigrating to The Outcast world was Guoshu, and, cultivating both Guoshu and Qi, he was unrivaled under heaven.

With a set of marvelous muscle techniques, he had beaten the Old Celestial Master into a wall so hard that he could not be pried out.

He used hot water from a thermos to temper the icy water he had drawn from the water jar, then hastily washed his face.

The warm water made him shiver, banishing all traces of sleepiness.

As he wiped his face with a towel, he considered taking some time today to wander through the mountains and woods near the "instance."

He would see if he could find any "wild monsters" worth attacking.

He had gotten to know the Huang Family, the strongest fighting force in the area around the instance, over the past few days, and they were not much of a threat.

His family's native dog, which stood as high as his calf, seemed very interested in him washing his face. It darted back and forth, rubbing against the iron stand holding the washbasin and making it clatter.

Qing He Miao steadied the stand with one hand and wiped his face with the towel in the other, letting the dog he had raised since it was little do as it pleased.

Just then, a group of indistinct figures approached the courtyard gate, which his family had left wide open for convenience while working.

Most were male, including old men, middle-aged men, and even boys in their early teens.

They gathered silently at the gate, most with white strips of coarse cloth tied around their waists, and a few with white cloth wrapped around their heads.

After arriving, they neither made a commotion nor entered. Instead, facing inward, they knelt one after another on the rather hard brick ground at the gate.

At the sight, Qing He Miao stopped wiping his face, the towel still half draped over it.

Having grown up in the countryside himself, he had naturally seen similar scenes in his previous life.

His heart sank, and the casual expression vanished from his face.

He stopped playing with the dog beside him and tossed the towel back into the basin.

Qing He Miao faced the crowd at the gate solemnly and bent his knees, preparing to kneel in return.

In keeping with the old country custom, sure enough, a middle-aged woman in the crowd who wore no white cloth strode out from among the kneeling people.

She went straight into the courtyard and called to Qing He Miao from a distance:

"Qing Miao! Don't kneel! These are special circumstances, so the thought is enough! We'll need to ask you to come help take a look in a bit. Where are your parents? Sorry for the trouble, but call them out!"

Qing He Miao did not dare delay. He quickly straightened up, turned, and ran back into the house to fetch Qing Mu, who was tidying up inside.

Qing Mu followed her son out of the house in confusion and was a little bewildered when she saw the scene.

But she quickly realized what was happening.

She hurriedly wiped her hands on her clothes and knelt where she stood, facing the crowd at the gate.

Only then did the woman who had come in and Qing He Miao help Qing Mu to her feet, one on either side.

The men kneeling at the gate also slowly rose to their feet under the lead of one or two older men at the front.

But they remained standing silently outside the gate with their arms at their sides, neither entering nor making a fuss.

The woman who had entered the courtyard took Qing Mu's hand and told her:

"Little sister, that one over in West Gully, your fourth maternal granduncle... passed away yesterday morning."

Qing Mu immediately understood, but her thoughts were still fairly clear:

"How... how did he go?"

"It's hard to say. Yesterday morning, his second aunt next door saw there was no smoke coming from his chimney and got worried. She went over and called out a couple of times. When nobody answered, she went inside to check..."

The woman sighed, a trace of regret in her voice:

"He was lying under the covers, just like he was asleep, looking very peaceful. The stove was cold, and the coal and such had all burned up, but there was still firewood in the stack... I reckon he went during the night. He didn't disturb anyone, and he didn't suffer."

"That's all right. The old man had no illness or misfortune, and he didn't suffer."

Qing Mu clicked her tongue and went along with what the woman had said: