Starting with the creation of the Immortal Clan through the compilation of the family genealogy.

Chapter 32 Initial Integration into the Community (Part 1)

The morning sun shone warmly on the Meng family's mud-brick courtyard.

Meng Xihong stood firmly in the courtyard, his figure as imposing as a mountain, personally supervising his eldest son, Meng Yanqing, as he practiced horse stance.

The little guy stood tall with his back straight and his legs firmly planted like stakes; his tender body already showed the beginnings of a martial artist.

Little Meng Yanqing pursed her lips tightly, beads of sweat rolling down her damp forehead and down her flushed face.

His body trembled violently on the edge of his limit, and every tiny bit of perseverance felt like he was fighting against an immense pressure, but his eyes were stubborn, staring intently ahead, his teeth clenched.

"Almost there. Just a little more. Just a little longer." His lips turned pale, and he kept shouting in his heart, his legs trembling violently and almost out of his control.

This almost obsessive self-encouragement is like drawing one illusory "pie" after another for a weary body, relying on this last bit of breath to keep going.

"My lord, my beloved, dinner is ready." Bai's gentle voice came from the kitchen at just the right time.

“Okay.” Meng Xihong responded, his gaze immediately turning to his son, who was at his limit. Seeing that the small body was about to give way, he decisively stepped forward and steadily supported the swaying Meng Yanqing.

"Alright, that's enough for today." His voice was gentle yet carried an undeniable authority. He gently patted his son's sweaty head with his large hand, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

"Practicing martial arts is like water dripping on a stone; the foundation needs to be polished every day, and it cannot be rushed. Too much of a good thing is bad and will only damage one's own foundation."

The warmth from above her head and her father's affirmation filled Meng Yanqing with joy, but she stubbornly pretended not to care, pouting slightly, "Dad, I told you not to touch my head! Uncle Ji said that touching it too much will stunt my growth!" But the corners of her mouth that were secretly turning up could not be hidden.

Meng Xihong was amused by his son's little act of "rebellion".

"Hey, I'll touch it!" He laughed loudly, deliberately rubbing that stubborn little head a few more times.

"Mom! Dad touched my head again!" Meng Yanqing immediately ran to her mother to complain.

Just woken up, Meng Yanning rubbed her sleepy eyes. Seeing this scene, she immediately took off her little legs and joined in the accusation in her childish voice: "Daddy is bad! He bullies brother!" Before long, the second child, Meng Yanwei, who was holding a book, also ran over when he heard the noise. The three little heads crowded in front of Bai Shi and chattered about the "evil deeds".

Looking at the little ones who were "united against a common enemy" in front of her, Bai glanced at the "culprit" who was watching the show with amusement, rolled her eyes at him, and gently poked Meng Xihong's forehead with her fingertip.

As the aroma of breakfast dissipated, Meng Xihong stepped out of his house.

He first went next door to exchange a few pleasantries with Ji Beichuan, Zhang Xianghua, and others, then strolled into the fields. Taking root in the land and nurturing the people is the only long-term solution.

As you walk to the east end of the village, you can see two neighboring houses in the distance, looking like roosters fighting each other, ready to pounce.

Old Wang's withered fingers almost poked Old Li's nose, spittle flying everywhere. "You, Li! You've gone too far! This ridge keeps encroaching on my side every year, do you think I'm blind? This furrow is the boundary! If your hoe dares to come an inch over, I'll fight you to the death!" He gripped the wooden handle of the hoe tightly, veins bulging.

Old Li's face flushed purple, and he roared back, "Bullshit! The boundary stone has been gone for eight hundred years! You, Old Wang, have been encroaching on this land year after year just because you're close to the village! I carved this land out of the ground with my hoe, one stroke at a time! Trying to take advantage? No way!"

He brandished the shovel, about to smash it down. The villagers watching were silent with fear. The old village chief opened his mouth, his cloudy eyes filled with helplessness. This long-standing land dispute was the most difficult and confusing matter to resolve in the countryside.

Just as the shovel was about to fall, a clear and calm voice pierced through the noise: "Uncle Wang, Uncle Li, hold on."

Meng Xihong walked slowly into the center of the crowd. His slightly worn indigo shirt, though unable to conceal the dust of his long journey, was washed clean and neat, and his figure was as upright as a pine tree on a cliff.

He did not display any divine majesty, yet his demeanor naturally exuded a refined and gentle air that calmed the mind—an outward manifestation of his literary talent and character refined through the trials of life.

His gaze swept over the field ridge that had been repeatedly contested and marked with plow marks, and then looked at the fields that the two families were tending to.

Under the puzzled gazes of the crowd, he squatted down, picked up some soil with his fingertips to examine its color and moisture, and even put it to his nose to smell it.

Then, he took out a small piece of hemp rope from his pocket and, in front of everyone, used the most simple "step-measuring method" to carefully measure from the center of the field ridge to both sides.

Each step was taken with firm footing, and each section was marked with clear marks on the ground with gravel.

"Uncle Wang's land," Meng Xihong pointed to the measured boundary, his voice clear and unhurried, "has slightly poor soil, but with proper deep cultivation, the annual millet harvest was about 1.2 shi (a unit of dry measure)." He then pointed to the other side, "Uncle Li's land has slightly thicker soil, but it's close to a slope, and the water flow is unstable. The annual millet harvest was about 1.5 shi (a unit of dry measure). Is that right?"

Wang Laoshuan and Li Laohan were both stunned, and nodded subconsciously.

The villagers watching also began to whisper among themselves, never expecting that this new "Mr. Meng" would be so knowledgeable about farming.

“The dispute stems from a lack of boundaries.” Meng Xihong straightened up, his gaze calmly sweeping over the two men. “In my opinion, using this line as the boundary is roughly fair.”

Uncle Wang's land is less fertile, while Uncle Li's harvest is slightly better. How about this, this autumn harvest, Uncle Li will set aside two bushels of millet from his own land for Uncle Wang, as compensation for the unclear boundaries over the years, and also to help Uncle Wang make up for the lack of fertility in his land.

Then Meng Xihong turned to Wang Laoshuan, "And Uncle Wang, having obtained this boundary, you should no longer fight over every inch of land. Harmony among neighbors and mutual assistance are the most precious 'long-term solution' for this neighborhood. What do you two think?"

His words were sincere and his reasoning was clear. He broke down the gains and losses in detail and pointed out the vital importance of "mutual help and support" in the community.

Looking at the clear boundary markings on the ground, and then thinking about the two bushels of real millet, Wang Laoshuan's anger subsided considerably.

Although Li Laohan was somewhat unwilling, Meng Xihong pointed out the reason for his high harvest and gave him a way out, so he felt he could save face.

The two men exchanged a glance and silently nodded. A conflict that was about to escalate into bloodshed was thus quietly averted.

The old village chief, leaning on his cane, gave Meng Xihong a deep look with his cloudy eyes. His gaze held surprise, but also a subtle hint of scrutiny and approval. This scholar from out of town was no ordinary person.

This is not an isolated case.

The next day, Meng Xihong reappeared in the dusty threshing ground west of the village.

He casually picked up a few rusty sickles with chipped edges and hoes with broken tips, and, amidst the curious onlookers of the villagers, found a whetstone, a hammer, and a simple stove, and began to hammer them away.

He did not employ the techniques of immortal weapon crafting, but relied solely on mortal skill and experience to refine the blade, adjust the angle, and re-temper and sharpen it.

Those originally heavy and difficult-to-use farm tools, abandoned aside, became light, sharp, and brand new after passing through his hands.

He further "improved" the structure of several seed drills, making the sowing more even and the depth easier to control.

"Mr. Meng, you...you can do this too?" Several old farmers touched the brand-new farm tools, their faces filled with surprise and delight.

"In my early years, I wandered around and learned a little about various trades to make a living," Meng Xihong said with a faint smile. He rolled up his sleeves and, in a corner of the threshing ground, stretched his limbs and practiced a simplified version of a guiding technique that imitated the postures of animals.

The movements, though seemingly simple and ancient, deeply embody the essence of health preservation. This is a modified version of a body-strengthening method he learned from his memories before his transmigration, made more suitable for the physical constitution of the local people.

"This is the 'Five Animal Frolics,' which imitates the movements of tigers, deer, bears, monkeys, and birds. Although it is not a magic technique, practicing it morning and evening can strengthen muscles and bones, prevent disease, prolong life, and is also beneficial for working in the fields."

At first, the villagers just watched out of curiosity.

But every morning after instructing Meng Yanqing, Meng Xihong would practice under the old tree at the village entrance without fail. His movements were graceful and natural, flowing like clouds and water, full of vitality. Several mischievous children couldn't resist and started mimicking his movements with giggles and laughter.

Gradually, some men who suffered from chronic back pain and elderly people who were weak and afraid of the cold also tentatively joined in.

Over the course of several months, this set of "Five Animal Frolics," which only has the effect of strengthening the body, has become a unique sight in Yunni Township every morning.

The villagers' complexions were a little rosier, and they seemed to stand up straighter and have more energy when working in the fields.

The name "Mr. Meng," along with his fair mediation in the fields, his transformative improvement of farm tools, and his "Five Animal Frolics" that benefited both the young and the old, quietly spread throughout every corner of Yunni Township like a gentle spring rain.

When the old village chief saw Meng Xihong again, his wrinkled face was now filled with genuine respect and a smile.

He knew that the roots of the Meng family had already taken hold in this barren yet resilient soil, where the first strand of hair had been deeply buried.

(End of this chapter)