Cultivators were most reluctant to owe favors, fearing that too many entanglements would only burden their hearts.
Yet Daoist Pang had openly acknowledged the debt.
It showed how deeply the murder of her loved ones had wounded her. That blood debt had weighed on her heart for too long, perhaps even affecting her cultivation. She could not turn a blind eye to the destruction of Holy King Hall's Ghost King, much less brush it aside lightly.
To her, this debt was no empty courtesy, but genuine gratitude from the depths of her heart.
Jin Si said nothing more. He gathered up his books, picked up his hoe, and gave Daoist Pang a broad grin.
Then he turned and ambled away.
He wandered back along the long street, looking this way and that, when he spotted a peach-pit-sized pebble on the road. Its size and shape were just right for kicking. Unable to resist the familiar impulse, he gave it a gentle tap, sending it bouncing and clattering farther and farther away.
It finally stopped before a pair of plain cloth shoes.
The Daoist in the bamboo hat raised her head, revealing a lean face. A plum blossom deer followed behind her, its antlers enormous and its body much larger than an ordinary deer's. She paused briefly, then continued walking, studying the little boy with curiosity.
As she drew near, she cupped her hands in greeting without a word, then led the deer past Jin Si and headed unhurriedly toward the Mountain Gate.
Those who could enter the Spirit Realm and ascend to Pillowstar Mountain's grotto-heaven had all cultivated for many years and weathered countless storms. Their hearts were like the waters of a deep pool.
A quiet meeting, a nod and a clasped-hand greeting as they passed- that was the