Old Master / I Was Ready to Become an Urban War God, but Then You Told Me

They were the main weapon, secondary weapon, helmet, chest armor, belt, lower-body armor, boots, ring, and the most unusual one of all—the Stand equipment slot.

Although most of the other slots were currently empty, as their names suggested, they were used to equip corresponding items or tools.

Used well, they could also serve as a kind of spatial storage.

Only the "Stand" slot was a little different.

Normally, Qing He Miao could summon and use the Stands he obtained freely, just as in the original "JOJO."

In theory, as long as his mind could bear the strain, he could even summon several Stands at once.

But these summoned Stands also inherited their weaknesses from the original.

For example, they all shared the weakness that any damage a Stand sustained would be relayed to Qing He Miao's own body.

And Stands were physical manifestations of spiritual energy.

In the world of "The Outcast," where concepts like "Qi" and "Soul Attack" existed, there were plenty of ways to deal effective damage to them.

Moreover, even the few Stands with the greatest power among them

could not be considered exceptional in sheer destructive force in a world where Outcast techniques emerged one after another. They had to be used with caution.

Thus, Qing He Miao was extremely careful, rarely exposing a Stand's physical form directly before outsiders who might "see" or sense it.

A Stand placed in the "equipment slot," however, existed in a different state.

Without needing to summon it, Qing He Miao could use the Stand's core ability directly, as if it were a supernatural ability he had awakened himself.

But this method of use had its limitations.

The extent to which the ability could be brought into play was constrained by Qing He Miao's own "strength."

If his stats were higher than the Stand's original "panel," the ability he used might be even more powerful than the original Stand's.

Conversely, if his stats were lower, the ability's effect would be weakened accordingly, falling short of the original Stand at full power.

This method amounted to "internalizing" a Stand's ability, avoiding the risk of exposing its physical form.

But only one Stand could be equipped at a time, and none of its traits other than its core ability could be used.

Take the present moment, for example.

He needed no extra movement. At a thought, his body immediately began to turn insubstantial, and the faint crackle of tiny electrical arcs rose around him.

Chapter 9: Old Master

The next instant, Qing He Miao's figure transformed completely into a crackling current of electricity.

Like a drop of water merging into a river, he silently "slipped" inside the utility pole beside him, becoming one with the current surging through it!

At the speed electricity traveled, crossing the distance between the two villages took no more than an instant.

Beneath another equally unremarkable utility pole at the edge of his destination village,

the air warped slightly, the distortion almost imperceptible. Tiny blue sparks flashed like fireflies and gathered together.

Qing He Miao's figure shifted from insubstantial to solid, landing steadily on the ground, his clothes not even the slightest bit disheveled.

He smoothed down the hair that had been left floating slightly by the electromagnetic charge and picked up the packages of food on the ground, each tied with thin hemp twine.

Following a familiar path, he soon arrived at the entrance to a small farmhouse courtyard enclosed by a wall of cement and rough stone blocks.

Naturally, he had not brought so many things to visit the master in the old auditorium, the one who had taught him Yu Opera Bangzi and of whom only a soul remained.

He was going to visit the person who had truly guided him onto the path of "Qi cultivation,"

the teacher who had passed the Bingbing Ritual on to him and led him through the doorway of the Horse-Riding Immortal path.

The courtyard gate was ajar, and he could hear the swish of sweeping from within.

Qing He Miao pushed the gate open and entered. An elderly woman with graying hair and a somewhat stooped figure was deftly sweeping the dust from the courtyard with a large broom.

It was his master's wife.

Hearing him, she looked up. When she saw who it was, a warm smile immediately blossomed across her face, smoothing the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh! Miaozi, you're here! Come in, come in! Honestly, child, why did you bring so much again? You didn't have to bring anything!"

She scolded him, but her movements were full of delight.

"Sweeping the courtyard, ma'am?"

Qing He Miao greeted her with a smile, lifting the things in his hands slightly to show her.

"It's nothing. I went to the market today and stopped by to see Master on the way. Is he still in good health?"

"Healthy as can be! He just can't go a day without that tobacco pipe of his, and he won't listen when I tell him to stop!"

As she spoke, she quickly put down the broom, wiped her hands on her coat, and hurried over. Without taking no for an answer, she took most of the gifts from him, her warmth making it hard to refuse.

As she led Qing He Miao toward the inner room, she raised her voice and called into the house.

"Old man! Stop smoking for a minute! Look who's come to see you!"

Qing He Miao followed his master's wife through the spotless main room, around a corner, and into the bedroom on the east side.

The moment he stepped inside, a familiar smell of tobacco, heated kang, and old wooden furniture washed over him.

On the end of the kang by the window, an old man with the same gray-white hair and a thin, stooped figure sat in an old padded jacket, leaning against a stack of quilts and puffing away at a long tobacco pipe with a copper bowl.

Smoke curled around his wrinkled face, which looked like a dried walnut.

It was his master.

Hearing the noise, his master raised his eyelids and looked toward the door with cloudy eyes that still held a sharp glint. His face showed no particular expression, save perhaps a trace of his usual impatience, as he muttered,

"What're you hollering for? I heard you. Who is it? They're here, so they're here."

"Just look at you, old man. Is your backside made of lead? Miaozi's brought gifts to see you."

His master's wife tossed the fruit and melons she was carrying onto the kang.

"I heard you. Why's he putting on such airs? He comes here and I have to go meet him? I'm still his master!"

That was what his master said, but he still grinned and shuffled toward the edge of the kang.

His wife glared at him, then turned to Qing He Miao with a smile.

"Don't mind him. That's just how he is. When you're not here, he talks about you to everyone he meets, but once you show up, he starts pretending he's some big shot. Miaozi, get up on the kang. You two have a chat; I'll get you some water."

"Master, there's no need for the two of us to stand on ceremony. Please stay where you are."

Seeing his master still looking for his shoes, Qing He Miao called out with a smile.

He walked over to the old square table in the room and set down the wine and smoked meat he was still carrying.

On a long altar table against the wall stood a porcelain shrine statue of a kindly looking old woman. A thick layer of ash had accumulated in the incense burner before it.

Qing He Miao walked over to the shrine with practiced ease, took three incense sticks from the container beside it, and lit them from the oil lamp on the table. He respectfully raised them above his head and silently recited something in his heart for a moment. Then he smoothly placed the sticks in the burner and bowed three times.

"All right, all right, enough of those empty formalities. You really are a born Outcast seed. I couldn't learn that attitude of yours in eight lifetimes.

I've known Granny Bai for most of my life, but lately she's started finding fault with me. Where am I supposed to put this old face of mine?"

His master tapped the bowl of his pipe against the kang, sounding somewhat rueful.

"Come sit on the kang. What's that you brought? Wasting money again."

"For people like us who practice as Horse-Riding Immortals, our hall is the foundation of our lives and livelihoods. She gave you that foundation, and she doesn't go looking for trouble when there's none to be found. It's only right to respect her from the heart."

Qing He Miao, who had toiled like an ox and a horse under countless bosses in his previous life, spoke as he took off his shoes and climbed onto the kang, sitting cross-legged opposite his master.

"I picked them up at the market. Just some peanuts and sunflower seeds, and a bottle of wine. Considering your health, I wasn't going to buy the wine for you at first.

But then I thought, at your age, you're not likely to take up any new hobbies, so I bought it to give you a little enjoyment, Master."

Only then did his master lean back and reach over to push the small wooden window beside him open a crack, letting in some fresh air and sunlight.

"Bullshit. Our Bai lineage is best at looking after our health. My body's just fine. The old woman worries over nothing."

Without ceremony, he grabbed the packet of sunflower seeds, tore it open, and scooped a large handful onto the mat covering the kang. He picked up a few himself and asked as he cracked them open,

"How's your Bingbing Ritual practice been going lately? Haven't run into any problems, have you? And don't neglect your studies. That's what really matters."

Master and disciple sat cross-legged facing each other, chatting over sunflower seeds and peanuts.

His master mostly talked about his own stale old exploits, many of which he had already recounted countless times.

Qing He Miao, meanwhile, did his best to explain things that were relatively novel in this period.

Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow over the kang mat. The scent of sunflower seeds and a faint smell of smoke drifted through the air.

Whenever Qing He Miao came, his master talked more and seemed more spirited than usual. Most of what he said was the same old boasting over and over, yet he couldn't bear to stop talking.

Because this was perhaps the most presentable thing in his ordinary life, the thing most worth boasting about.

Taking on such a "gifted" disciple had indeed brought honor to him as a master.

Still, Qing He Miao didn't much like listening when it got dull.

They had some common ground, but not much. He felt the topics and interests were about on par with entertaining children at school.

So even though he was now at an age when time was the one thing he had in abundance, he still only came to visit his master once in a while.

As they talked, his master seemed to grow more and more eager, his spirits rising. He smacked his lips a few times, then suddenly reached for the bottle of wine on the table.

"Just chatting's no fun. Let's have a drink, the two of us!"

"Hey! It's broad daylight, and you're drinking again!"

His master's wife, sorting vegetables nearby, couldn't help speaking up to stop him.

"What do you know? My disciple's come to see me. What's wrong with having a couple of drinks? Go on, get the cups!"

His master glared and started grumbling again.

His wife sighed helplessly. Knowing she couldn't win against him, she had no choice but to get up and take two clean little glass cups from the cupboard.

They were the old-fashioned kind commonly seen beyond the Pass, with very thick walls.

Chapter 10: I Was Ready to Become an Urban War God, but Then You Told Me

His master cheerfully tore the paper seal off the bottle and filled both his own cup and Qing He Miao's.

It was a local grain liquor, strong and pungent.

His master didn't bother with much urging. He raised his cup and knocked back nearly half of it with a slurp, smacking his lips and saying "good stuff" several times.

After two or three cups, his eyes, marked by years of weathering, began to wander, and he grew talkative again.

But the tone of what he said gradually changed.