Shengui Changsheng: Start from Zhenwuwei and add some points to cultivate immortality

Two figures walked slowly forward in the wind and snow.

Fu Shaoping looked up ahead, the outline of Qingsong Ridge faintly visible through the snow. He reached out and brushed the snowflakes off Nangong Wan's shoulder, whispering, "We're almost there."

Nangong Wan followed his gaze, a slight smile playing on her lips: "Ten years have passed. I wonder what the academy looks like now."

When they left, the academy was just beginning to take shape, consisting of a few simple wooden huts and a dozen or so bewildered students. Now, ten years later, it's unknown whether those children are still around, or if they still remember those two hands-off managers.

The mountain path beneath their feet was covered in fresh snow, each step leaving a deep footprint. Fu Shaoping felt the flow of spiritual energy within his body. Compared to ten years ago when the academy was first established, he and Nangong Wan were now vastly different. Ten years of experience in the martial world had elevated their cultivation to a higher level and also brought about subtle changes in their state of mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Nangong Wan noticed his brief silence.

Fu Shaoping shook his head: "I just feel that when we established the academy, all we wanted was to give homeless children a place to live and teach them some self-defense skills. We never imagined it would last for ten years."

Nangong Wan chuckled: "Back then, we were just two inexperienced cultivators, barely understanding life ourselves, yet we dared to establish our own sect."

They smiled at each other. Looking back now, their recklessness and passion seem somewhat endearing.

Turning the corner at the foot of the mountain, a well-arranged courtyard came into view. With its blue bricks and gray tiles, it was much larger than I remembered, and newly planted plum trees outside the courtyard walls were blooming with tiny red buds in the snow. Above the academy gate, the four large characters "Qingsong Academy" were written with vigorous strokes—they were inscribed by Fu Shaoping himself before he left.

"It seems Xiao Mingyuan has managed the academy quite well." A hint of satisfaction flashed in Nangong Wan's eyes.

Xiao Mingyuan was their first disciple. He was of average talent but diligent and hardworking. Before leaving, they entrusted the academy to him, and they never expected that he would actually persevere.

In front of the academy gate, several young men dressed in blue academy uniforms were clearing snow. Seeing the two approaching, one of them looked up and asked, "Are you two here to visit? The academy is not receiving guests these days."

Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan exchanged a smile. Ten years is enough time for once-familiar faces to become strangers.

“We’re not outsiders,” Nangong Wan said gently. “Tell Xiao Mingyuan…”

Before she could finish speaking, the academy gates suddenly opened, and a tall, middle-aged man strode out. He wore a simple gray robe and had a composed expression, but his eyes widened the moment he saw the two of them.

"Master! Uncle-Master!" Xiao Mingyuan practically ran to the two of them, his voice trembling with excitement, "It really is you!"

Fu Shaoping patted him on the shoulder: "You've grown up, and you're more mature now."

Xiao Mingyuan's eyes reddened slightly: "Ten years have passed, and you've finally returned." He turned to the stunned disciples, "What are you all standing there for? These are our academy's founders, Dean Fu and Dean Nangong!"

The disciples hurriedly bowed, their eyes filled with curiosity and reverence. To them, these two legendary deans were as mysterious as immortals who had stepped out of a book.

Upon entering the academy, Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan found it to be far more complete than they had imagined. The originally simple training ground had been expanded three times its original size and paved with smooth bluestone slabs; the library had been transformed into a two-story wooden building with bright and clean windows; and the disciples' dormitories were neatly arranged, capable of accommodating at least a hundred people.

"You've worked hard all these years," Nangong Wan said softly.

Xiao Mingyuan shook his head: "If it weren't for the cultivation techniques and resources left behind by Master and Uncle, the academy wouldn't be where it is today. Now we have sixty-eight formal disciples and over a hundred outer students, making us quite well-known within a hundred miles."

Hearing these numbers, Fu Shaoping's heart stirred slightly. He and Nangong Wan had only taken in a few orphans on a whim, never expecting it to develop to this point.

“I’ve kept Master’s and Uncle’s rooms all this time, and have them cleaned every week,” Xiao Mingyuan said, leading them through the corridor. “I was thinking that you would all come back someday.”

At the end of the corridor is a secluded courtyard, where an old plum tree stands, its branches gnarled and strong. It was built by their own hands, and every brick and tile is imbued with memories.

Pushing open the door, the room was simply yet warmly furnished. The desk was spotless, the bedding on the bed was soft, and even the rattan chair that Fu Shaoping liked was still in its usual spot.

"You all go and rest first. I'll treat you to dinner." Xiao Mingyuan considerately withdrew.

Only the two of them remained inside. Nangong Wan walked to the window, opened it, and saw that the wind and snow had stopped. The afterglow of the setting sun shone on the plum trees in the courtyard, casting a faint golden-red hue.

“You’re really back,” she whispered.

Fu Shaoping stood behind her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders: "Do you regret it? Giving up fame and fortune in the cultivation world to return to this small academy."

Nangong Wan turned to look at him, her eyes full of tenderness: "Fame and fortune are fleeting. In these ten years, we've witnessed too much deceit and treachery; it's far more worthwhile to teach a few children."

Fu Shaoping nodded. Their cultivation had long since reached the level where they could establish their own sects, and various sects had extended offers to them. But in the end, they chose to return to this place where they first started.

At dinner time, the academy was bustling with activity. Hearing that the founder had returned, all the disciples gathered in the dining hall, and even several senior instructors came over. Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan were invited to take the seats of honor, where a simple yet sumptuous meal was laid out before them.

"These vegetables are all grown by the academy itself, and the chickens are raised by it," Xiao Mingyuan explained. "Following the rules set by our master, we are self-sufficient."

During the banquet, the first batch of disciples—now the backbone of the academy—came forward to offer toasts and recount the academy's development over the years. Some mentioned that the sword techniques taught by Nangong Wan are still required courses at the academy; some recalled Fu Shaoping's patience and meticulousness in explaining the mental cultivation methods; and others said that during festivals, everyone would reserve seats for the two deans, hoping for their return.

Hearing this, Fu Shaoping felt a surge of warmth in his heart. It turned out that their unintentional actions back then had left a mark on so many people's hearts.

As night deepened and people dispersed, Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan strolled along the back hill of the academy. The night sky after the snow was exceptionally clear, dotted with countless stars.

“How about we take over the academy again starting tomorrow?” Nangong Wan suddenly asked.

Fu Shaoping raised an eyebrow: "Xiao Mingyuan did a good job; we intervened suddenly."

“It’s not about interfering,” Nangong Wan shook his head, “it’s about helping. I can tell he carries a heavy burden, even though he doesn’t say it. We can share some of the load; for example, you can take charge of teaching the martial arts techniques, and I can handle the swordplay instruction.”

Fu Shaoping laughed: "You've arranged things quite well."

"We've learned so much in ten years of martial arts; wouldn't it be a pity not to pass it on?" Nangong Wan looked up at the starry sky. "Besides, I miss the days of teaching children swordsmanship." Under the starlight, her profile was soft, and her eyes shone with a familiar determination that Fu Shaoping recognized. He suddenly understood that for Nangong Wan, teaching others might be more meaningful than climbing the path to immortality alone.

“Okay.” Fu Shaoping nodded. “Starting tomorrow, we will be the actual deans of the academy.”

The next morning, Fu Shaoping got up early and went to the academy's library. Pushing open the door, the scent of wood mixed with the fragrance of ink wafted out. The bookshelves were neatly arranged, with various classics categorized, much more abundant than when he left.

He casually picked up a book titled "Annotations on Basic Mindset Techniques," opened it to the title page, and saw the words "Compiled by Xiao Mingyuan" written on it. Turning a few more pages, the dense annotations revealed the compiler's meticulous care.

"Master."

Fu Shaoping turned around and saw Xiao Mingyuan standing at the door, holding a stack of new books in his hands.

"These are some incomplete cultivation manuals I've collected over the years, hoping you'd appraise them when you return," Xiao Mingyuan said, placing the books on the table. "There are some parts I don't understand."

Fu Shaoping patted the stack of books: "Let's read them together."

The master and apprentice sat by the window, turning the pages of the tattered books one by one. Fu Shaoping explained the intricacies of the texts, while Xiao Mingyuan took careful notes. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

Meanwhile, on the training ground, Nangong Wan was instructing a group of teenagers in sword practice.

"Relax your wrist, let the sword move with your heart." She corrected a girl's posture. "It's not about using force, you have to feel the flow of sword energy."

The girl nodded and readjusted her stance. Nangong Wan stood behind her, gently straightening her shoulders: "Yes, that's it."

Not far away, several older disciples were secretly watching. One of them whispered, "I've heard that Dean Nangong's 'Falling Plum Blossom Sword Technique' is unparalleled in the world. I wonder if we'll have a chance to learn it."

As if hearing their discussion, Nangong Wan turned and smiled: "Want to learn the Falling Plum Blossom Sword Technique? Master the basic sword forms first."

The disciples were overjoyed and practiced even more diligently.

And so, Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan reintegrated into life at the academy. Every morning, Fu Shaoping would organize classic texts and answer questions in the library; in the afternoons, he would explain the profound mysteries of martial arts to the advanced disciples. Nangong Wan, on the other hand, was responsible for teaching swordsmanship, starting with the most basic moves and guiding the disciples step by step to grasp the true essence of the sword.

Days passed peacefully like flowing water. Occasionally, villagers from the neighborhood would come seeking help, and the two would lend a hand, exorcising evil spirits or healing injuries. Gradually, the saying that "there are two living gods at Qingsong Academy" spread throughout the countryside.

One spring evening, Fu Shaoping discovered a wild tea grove on the hill behind the academy. He picked some tender buds and roasted them himself back in the courtyard. When Nangong Wan arrived, the aroma of tea had already filled the entire courtyard.

"Try it." Fu Shaoping poured her a glass.

Nangong Wan took a sip, savoring the delicate fragrance: "Excellent tea. I didn't know you had this skill."

"After ten years in the martial world, you've bound to learn something," Fu Shaoping said with a smile. "Besides fighting and magical duels, you also need to know some ways to survive."

Nangong Wan held his teacup, gazing at the distant mountains: "Life like this is much more comfortable than fighting and killing."

Fu Shaoping nodded. They had witnessed the prosperity and cruelty of the cultivation world, and had stood at the pinnacle of power, looking down upon all living beings. But what ultimately satisfied them was this simple cup of tea, this lesson, and this group of eager disciples.

In the stillness of the night, Fu Shaoping often spent his time alone in the library organizing ancient books until late. That night, as he was engrossed in a tattered book on formations, he suddenly heard soft footsteps.

"Still not asleep?" Nangong Wan pushed open the door and entered, carrying a bowl of steaming sweet soup.

"It'll be ready soon." Fu Shaoping took the sweet soup, the warmth spreading from his fingertips.

Nangong Wan sat down opposite him and casually flipped open a notebook: "Xiao Mingyuan's cultivation insights recorded over the years? Very detailed."

"He's a good dean." Fu Shaoping took a sip of sweet soup, a warmth spreading through him. "Much more competent than us."

“Yes,” Nangong Wan smiled, “but now that we’re helping him, the academy will be even better.”

Outside the window, a bright moon hung high, its gentle light spilling onto the roof tiles of the academy like a layer of silver frost. In the distance, the soft footsteps of the night watchmen could be heard; all was quiet and peaceful.

Fu Shaoping suddenly felt that the meaning of life might lie in this—not in endless climbing, but in creating something that can be left to the world in the process of climbing, such as this academy, such as these disciples, such as this "home" that he and Nangong Wan jointly established.

"Tomorrow I plan to cultivate a medicinal herb garden on the back mountain," Nangong Wan suddenly said. "I want to teach my disciples to identify herbs and refine elixirs; after all, cultivating immortality isn't just about fighting and killing."

Fu Shaoping nodded: "Good idea. I can plant some fruit trees nearby, so that when the disciples get tired from practicing in the summer, they'll have a place to cool off."

They smiled at each other, their understanding as tacit as ever. Ten years in the martial world had changed their skills and knowledge, but their mutual trust and shared initial aspirations remained unchanged.

Under the moonlight, the academy's silhouette stood quiet and solid. It was not merely a place to impart cultivation techniques, but also a haven that Fu Shaoping and Nangong Wan built for themselves and others on this vast path of immortality. Here, cultivating immortality was no longer an ethereal pursuit, but rather an integral part of daily practice; the bond between Daoist partners was no longer a dramatic legend, but a quiet companionship in jointly protecting a pure land.

As dawn broke, more than a dozen disciples had already gathered in the square of Qingsong Academy, each one full of energy, carrying bows and arrows on their backs and short swords at their waists. Fu Shaoping was checking their equipment one by one, his fingers lightly plucking the bowstring, producing a crisp, resonant sound.

“Zhang He’s bowstring was too loose, and Li Yan’s arrow fletching was damaged,” Fu Shaoping said, turning to Nangong Wan who was standing to the side. “These kids have forgotten everything we taught them.”

Nangong Wan's lips curled into a slight smile: "It's understandable to be a little too excited on your first hunting trip." She walked towards the group of whispering disciples, her voice soft but clear enough to reach everyone's ears: "Remember, hunting is not a game. There are wild animals, steep slopes, and unpredictable dangers in the mountains and forests. Today you will learn not only how to shoot arrows, but also how to protect yourselves and look after your companions in the wild."

The disciples immediately quieted down, their excited eyes now tinged with seriousness. The youngest, Lin Xiaohu, nervously touched the dagger at his waist. Nangong Wan walked over, knelt down, and tightened his belt for him: "The dagger needs to be secured in this position so it can be drawn quickly in an emergency."

Watching this scene, Fu Shaoping felt a warmth in his heart. Ten years ago, Nangong Wan was ruthless with his sword; now, he was so tenderly caring for a child. He clapped his hands: "Everyone, split into two groups. One group with me, and the other with Dean Nangong. You must be back at the academy before sunset." (End of Chapter)