A scholar in the family, a name in the rolls.
His son entered court and became an official.
Song Zhong himself had lived a leisurely life.
If there was one regret, it was probably that he had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations.
After earning the xiucai degree, he had never gone any further.
He had achieved nothing by forty when he suddenly encountered ghosts and gods.
Since returning from the illusion, he had devoted himself to cultivation.
He had also handed many matters over to his younger son.
He had clearly discerned the path of cultivation from books and learned of spirit roots, breathing techniques, and visualization scriptures, yet he could not sense spiritual energy no matter what he did, much less draw it into his body.
He had heard that martial arts could reverse one's nature and return one to the Innate state, but he had no talent for martial arts either. For years, he had suffered from the lack of a proper master who had truly cultivated something.
He could only piece together the appearances of ghosts and gods, hoping to achieve something through visualization. Now nearing seventy, his body grew frailer by the day, but at last, a vague image had formed in his mind.
"Cough, cough." Song Zhong, his hair white as frost, slowly climbed up from his couch.
His younger son said anxiously, "Father, Doctor Gu has already taken your pulse."
Song Zhong said in a deep voice, "Bring me a knife!"
"Father."
"A carving knife."
After gulping down the medicine, Song Zhong took up his carving knife and returned to the courtyard. He began meticulously carving the enormous wooden post, saying calmly, "I have lived seventy years already. I was disheartened in my thirties, and only learned the truth of this world at forty.