Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Chapter 86: Broken Cultivation Technique

Dusk was dim. Su Ming dragged two legs heavy as if filled with lead, chilled to the bone, as he shuffled back into the small courtyard behind the County School. The clatter of carts and horses on the official road faded away, and the courtyard wall stood like a blurred boundary, completely severing him from that eerie, ruined temple he'd been at during the day.

He pushed open the courtyard gate, then quickly shut it and set the latch. The wooden latch clicked softly, its sound startlingly clear in the silence. Only now, after taut nerves all day, did he allow himself a little loosening—like that latch could truly lock something away, lock in the temple’s piercing cold, its endless strangeness, and that damp, metallic stench of rot.

The old well in the yard steamed a faint, almost imperceptible white vapor. The surroundings were excessively quiet. This kind of quiet was different from the deathly stillness of a few hours earlier; it carried a human presence, a familiar safety—exactly the sanctuary Su Ming wanted most right now.

He walked to the well but didn't rush to draw water. He simply stood there, breathing deep, cold, clear air. He seemed intent on exhaling every bit of the nauseating smell left in his lungs, replacing it with the breath of the living.

The oil lamp was lit, banishing the darkness inside. He carefully placed the few things he had risked his life to retrieve on the table. They lay there quietly, yet weighed heavy—these were hope, or at least what he had convinced himself were.

A palm-sized cloth pouch, riddled with cracks, gray and dull without any sheen.

A similarly dull jade slip, its surface webbed with cracks.

And three dingy gray stones, ordinary enough to be picked up by the roadside.

This was the "immortal fate" he had fought to carry out of the ruined temple.

Su Ming first picked up the cloth pouch. In his hand it felt like weathered wood centuries old, coarse enough to prick; tiny fibers came away under his fingertips. He tried to draw the faint thread of energy from his dantian and slowly direct it toward the pouch’s mouth.But that strand of energy sank away like a cow into the sea; not the slightest response. The places on the pouch’s mouth that should have held rune seals were now only vague, dim carvings, utterly devoid of spiritual essence, as if time and some force had ground them smooth. He could even see a warped mark on it—something like a flame, something like drifting cloud—and it had long since lost its spark, leaving only a broken outline.

"Tsk." Lin Yu's voice sounded faintly, "Don't waste your effort, disciple. This thing is just a lowest-grade storage pouch. Its spiritual power is exhausted, the seals ruined. It would leak even copper coins now, let alone spirit elixirs or artifacts."

Su Ming's mouth twitched. He set the "leaky purse" gently at the corner of the table; whatever remaining hope he had sank along with it.

He picked up one of the gray-white stones. It was cold and rough in his palm, lacking any jade-like warmth—more like a stubborn pebble plucked from a riverbed. He channeled his qi again, focusing his intent, trying to draw any trace of spiritual energy out of it.

The stone remained just a stone: no light, no heat. His qi wandered boredly through the meridians, then sulkily returned to his dantian, yielding nothing.

"Yep, standard worthless spirit stone. All the spiritual energy's dispersed clean as a dish after a dog's lick." Lin Yu's voice dripped disdain, as if looking at something filthy. "Disciple, this is even more useless than a roadside rock. At least a plain stone doesn't lie to you. These three broken stones are utterly useless."

Silently, Su Ming pushed the three stones to the table corner to join the ruined cloth pouch.

His gaze finally settled on the jade slip, cracked everywhere. When his fingertip touched it, it felt neither metal nor jade, slightly cool. The cracks varied in depth, silently speaking of its long, damaged history.

"Careful! Don't touch it with that half-baked spiritual sense of yours!" Lin Yu's voice suddenly turned grave, steeped in an unusual tension. "This thing's as fragile as puff pastry now! If your spiritual sense grips it wrong, you could completely shatter whatever remnants of information are inside! Keep it safe, absolutely keep it safe! Wait until I recover some soul power, then we’ll nibble at this bone slowly!"

"Yes, Master." Su Ming nodded respectfully, a chill running through him. He knew his master wasn’t joking about this. He found the softest scrap of fine cotton and wrapped the jade slip layer upon layer until he felt certain it was secure, then tucked it close to his chest.

Only after he finished did an overwhelming fatigue seep from every bone, as if a thousand pounds had been lifted. He sat on the bench at the table, watched the lamp flame flicker, hearing his own heavy, slow breaths, and did not move for a long time.

Disappointed?

Of course he was, to some extent. When those "immortal fortunes" he'd pinned hopes on turned into a pile of trash, the letdown was undeniable.

Gratitude that he was still alive, still sitting here feeling the lamp's warmth and his tired body.

Lin Yu's voice came again, with

Su Ming answered

"Scared?"

corpse in the temple, the eerie blue light, the ghastly grimace of a

recovered some vitality, heavy and grave. "Fear keeps you aware. Life is hard; cultivating immortality is harder. Remember the feeling today, remember that helplessness when your life wasn't under

a deep breath, like he intended to breathe the fear into himself and turn it into resolve—a silent force to push him forward. He rose and walked to the well. Tonight he would use the bone-piercing well water to wash the darkness out of his skin, to scrub away the blood and the terror, to wash away the discomfort

days that followed, everything outwardly returned to how it had

library, reading, practicing calligraphy, meditating. He became more diligent and composed than ever, like a sponge greedily soaking up books. He knew

stayed unnaturally quiet; only when Su Ming

of Lin Yu’s attention poured into that damaged jade

scrambled, illogical technique information that left him dizzy. It felt like deciphering an alien manuscript that had been ripped to bits

immortal academy wrote this gibberish? Nonsense! No beginning matches the end! Running the routine like this, if it doesn't lead to deviating and going berserk, I'd

began comparing the fragments with the Greenwood Longevity Art, trying to side-by-side the basic operational principles of both techniques in hopes of finding commonality or a way to patch things. It was a colossal task: reconstruct damaged knowledge from memory fragments and hunt for

but actually generate each other? No, no… this still doesn’t match… damn it, which acupoint does this crucial instruction refer to? 'Three cun below

He realized his greatest obstacle wasn't the technique’s fragmentation so much as his lack of precise knowledge of this

slipped away in that bitter training and bitter

tree in the courtyard had shed all its leaves, its knotted branches swaying in the chill. Winter approached, the year-end smelled faintly

been brought by his second brother, Su Yang. The letter said everything at home was fine; since the paper-making workshop put

handwriting said that when Su Ming passed as a xiucai the family was too poor to celebrate properly, and they felt they had wronged him. Now that the family was better off,

flooded Su Ming's

Rui asked the school for leave

County School together. On the road, Zhao Rui talked a lot, rattling off the New Year goods his family had prepared, what his mother had sewn for him—boasting about their wealth as if

quietly, occasionally nodding in

couplets were pasted on doors, the air smelled of fried peanuts and meatballs. Children, wearing possibly not-new but clean cotton

Ming's back! Zhao Rui's back too!" an eagle-eyed villager

school. The villagers' looks at Su

top scorer is

"The xiucai has returned!"

politely with a gentle smile. Zhao Rui puffed

before; the pile of firewood in the corner was fuller—clearly his family had prepared things for his

him first, cried out in joy, hurried out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, grabbed his arm and inspected him from head to toe; her

studying too much and not eating properly!" She felt him over with worry, her voice

Su Ming

his face still composed sternly, but his eyes paused on him and he gave a barely perceptible nod. "Hm, good you're back." Su Ming was used to that

Su Yang dropped what he was doing and strode

way, his eyes

the kitchen and called out in a loud voice: "Young master’s back? Perfect timing! We'll stew big bones tonight! Your mother’s been wanting to make you something nourishing! Give you a proper

for months