Beef Kway Teow

Besides his grandparents and parents, everyone in the room, including Fifth Uncle the village chief, was a relative from the same village.

The first lesson he had learned on this land beyond the Great Wall was how to address people.

A child raised on the black soil could never be too shy to open his mouth and greet someone.

Otherwise, before the night was out, the men young and old in the village would be talking about it for the better part of a year.

"Oh, Half-Immortal Qing is back!"

The moment the village chief saw him, he hurriedly stubbed out his half-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette of local tobacco on the edge of the kang:

"Well? Did you figure out what it was?"

At his side, it was Mother Qing who got up from the kang, concerned for her son, and poured him a bowl of boiled water.

"Just like I said before, it's nothing serious."

Qing He Miao took the scalding bowl and smiled modestly:

"It's just a wisp of Smoke Soul left behind by someone from the past. It was lost there in the chaos of wartime before she could take it with her, and somehow lasted until now. She was a pitiful person when she was alive, and she doesn't have much malice. You can't really call her dangerous."

"Oh, oh, oh..."

The men in the room, young and old, only half understood. They looked like spectators enjoying the show, as if they were listening to a fantastical storyteller's tale of the supernatural.

But most of them understood that last part: "Nothing dangerous."

Since even the "Half-Immortal" said it was fine, they figured it probably really was fine.

"Little Qing Miao, we watched you grow up running around bare-assed. Of course your uncle believes what you say."

Only the village chief smacked his lips twice, his rough fingers absently rolling his cigarette, and hesitantly spoke again.

He paused and looked up at the young man:

"But this thing... it can't just stand around in the auditorium forever. It's still one of those, after all... How about you put in a little more effort, Little Qing Miao, and think of a safe way to 'send it off'? Or 'get rid of it'?"

The village chief didn't understand.

But he spoke so casually, as though it were a trivial matter that could be taken care of with a wave of the hand.

"There is a way, but she's protected by a seal put in place by an expert senior. To do anything to her, you'd have to break through that seal first."

Hearing this, Qing He Miao deliberately put on a helpless expression and spread his hands.

"But the intricacies of that seal really aren't something someone my age, with my meager cultivation, can touch. If I force it open, I might end up letting her out instead. How about... you ask a real expert to take a look?"

What he said was half true and half false.

That master of his in the auditorium was a pitiful soul to begin with.

She was so weak that only a wisp of her remnant soul remained, sustained entirely by the formation left behind by that unnamed old Daoist years ago.

The seal was now like a candle in the wind. Even if left untouched, it probably wouldn't last more than a few years.

The cycle of life and death was the great way of the human world. With his meager cultivation, he had no ability to reverse yin and yang.

But at the very least, he shouldn't throw stones at someone who had fallen into a well.

Besides, that seal really was beyond his understanding.

After hearing him out, the village chief was immediately filled with misgivings. He savored the taste of tobacco in his mouth and said nothing for a long while.

It was only because unusual sounds had kept coming from the auditorium over the years, leaving the villagers uneasy.

So he had thought to call in a favor from a familiar face and ask the young man he had watched grow up, who now had quite a reputation as a "half-immortal" in the village, to "deal with it" for free.

But if it was going to be this much trouble...

Since it wasn't affecting anything, it didn't seem all that urgent anymore.

"Ah... all right, then."

The village chief finally sighed and rubbed his face with his big, rough hands.

"We'll do what you suggested before, kid. I'll talk it over with everyone later and see if we can scrape together some money to fix up that old auditorium. From now on, we'll hold weddings, funerals, meetings, and get-togethers there. With lots of people, the yang energy will be strong. Maybe that'll keep it suppressed."

"Sure."

Qing He Miao readily agreed.

It would also help relieve his master's boredom and keep her from letting her thoughts run wild.

In the world of The Outcast, Life and Soul Dual Cultivation was a fairly important stat.

Without sufficient cultivation, for her to think of killing people and taking their souls to cultivate, or seizing a body and being reborn, with those little tricks of hers...

She had simply read too many storybooks when she was alive.

If Qing He Miao hadn't been softhearted and soft-handed, and a somewhat inexperienced rookie himself...

He would have struck to kill long ago.

Now that everything had been explained, Qing He Miao took a tiny sip of the scalding water to moisten his lips, then put the bowl back on the edge of the kang.

Seriously, it was way too hot to drink right now.

He said goodbye to the roomful of elders, turned, lifted the door curtain, and went into the room opposite.

His family had all gathered in the other room to chat, so this one was empty.

For the time being, as long as no one disturbed him, this space belonged to him alone.

Right inside the door, a wooden statue with a kindly face stood quietly on a simple altar table against the wall.

He shut the door tightly behind him, cutting off the clamor from the other room.

He went first to the altar, took out three incense sticks with practiced ease, and lit them from the oil lamp. Wisps of blue smoke rose into the air.

Holding the incense, he respectfully raised it above his head and silently recited something to himself for a moment. Only then did he plant the sticks firmly in the coarse porcelain bowl full of incense ash on the table.

Chapter 4: Beef Kway Teow

After that, Qing He Miao turned, took off his shoes, and hopped onto the warm kang.

A calico cat curled into a furry ball at the head of the kang was disturbed. It lazily opened one amber eye and swept him a disdainful glance, its gaze full of This mere mortal has disturbed my imperial slumber.

Only then did it arch its back at its own pace and stretch its front paws upward, pulling itself into one long "cat strip."

It then took a few elegant, aloof steps, hopped lightly onto the windowsill, and slipped through a gap in the window screen, off to who knew where.

Qing He Miao was already used to his feline master's attitude.

Country cats were especially wild. They ate anything, and ordinary creatures couldn't get close to them.

He settled cross-legged on the kang. With a slight movement of his thoughts, a golden screen that only he could see appeared before his eyes.

[Name: Qing He Miao]

[Race: Human]

[Level: 9]

[Reputation: Miáotáizǐ Village 335/500 (somewhat well-known)]

[Status: Forgetfulness, Dullness, Killing Intent]

[Talents: Myriad Forms Return to Origin, Hedgehog Affinity]

[Equipment: Cream, Standard King Wu Whip, Standard King Wen Drum]

[Stands: Red Hot Chili Pepper, Survivor, Metallica, Cream]

[Dungeon: None]

[Abilities: General Literature (proficient), General History (proficient), Basic Science (proficient), Spreadsheet Planning (proficient), Short Whip Handling (beginner), Single Drum Performance (proficient), Folk Tune (mastered), Bai-Style Chinese Medicine (beginner)]

[Cultivation methods: Bingbing Ritual (mastered), King Wen Drum (beginner), War King Whip (beginner)]

[Destructive power] 23

[Speed] 19

[Stamina] 25

[Range] 11

[Precision] 9

That was right. As expected, Qing He Miao was a transmigrator.

And this was the legendary system interface that only the protagonist himself could see.

Before transmigrating, he had been a child born and raised on this black soil beyond the Great Wall.

After graduating from university, he knew the prospects for future development there no better than any other local. After much hesitation, he bought a train ticket south and left his hometown behind.

He went to make a living in several cities in the south.

Before he knew it, more than ten years had passed.

His last memory was fixed on the night before his transmigration.

He remembered working late again that day. The entire office floor had been deserted, and even the cleaning lady had gone home.

Beside his desk was a shared-order meal that had just been delivered.

Preparing to take a breather while he ate dinner, he had let out a sigh of relief.

He had deftly opened a browser game he often played on his computer and flexed his finger joints, stiff from hours of typing.

For some reason, the boss had been in a better mood that day and temporarily increased the employees' meal allowance.

Instead of giving them money, he had treated everyone at lunch to a slightly more expensive local specialty: boxed beef kway teow.

As a northerner, he had tried a few bites and thought it tasted all right.

But looking at the sticky broth in the bowl, the kway teow soaking in it, and the brightly colored green vegetable leaves mixed in, the more he looked, the more it resembled fodder for cattle and horses. Most of his appetite had vanished on the spot.

This dinner was a little compensation and comfort for his stomach.

At last, he could eat something that suited his tastes.

As the saying went, a person away from home was cheap, and his case was hardly unique.

During those years away making his way, at first he hadn't been used to the food or the living conditions. He couldn't sleep at night, and whenever he crawled under the covers, everything felt damp.

There were some dialects he still only half understood after listening to them for more than a decade.

Occasionally, he also encountered regional teasing and discrimination, both overt and subtle.

To be honest, during those years, he really had missed home.

He glanced at the time in the lower-right corner of his computer screen and shook his head.

All right, enough dwelling on spring's sorrows and autumn's grief. The work still had to be done, or he'd probably be up past midnight again.

He reached for the shared-order meal beside him, which had already cooled a little, preparing to eat while he played.