My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

He suddenly remembered the things he had written down before.

The Chen family summoned a clear spring, leaving behind a feather duster to slay the ghosts; on the stone steps of Tongxin Mountain, incense burned eternally before the grave of the old couple; in the cave of Wild Boar Forest, ten thousand swords flowed back to slay the Corpse King…

Each and every one of them involves eliminating demons and saving people, but it is not just about eliminating demons and saving people.

He took out his notebook and quickly jotted down a few lines.

Seeing his expression, the man didn't disturb him, but simply smiled and said, "Are you going to write a story about a celestial master? Then you'd better write it well! Who in our county doesn't know Master Qingwei these days?"

As he spoke, he suddenly remembered something and pointed in the direction of the security escort agency.

"By the way, our chief镖头 (bodyguard/escort) sealed off the room where the Immortal Master stayed. Nothing inside has been touched; the bed, table, and chairs are still exactly as they were."

The head镖师 (chief镖师) said, "This room is imbued with divine energy; ordinary people are not allowed to enter."

Pu Songlin looked up and saw the sign of Weiyuan Escort Agency at the other end of the street, black background with gold lettering, solid and steady.

He suddenly felt a strong urge to go and see that room.

I didn't want to go in; I just wanted to stand outside the door and feel the presence of the Taoist priest who had once rested here.

But he didn't make the request; he simply bowed respectfully to the man.

"Thank you for informing me, sir. May I ask your name?"

The man readily replied, "My name is Li Tie, and I work as a镖局 (bodyguard agency) escort."

If you still want to know more about the Immortal Master, our Second-in-Command Zhao in the bureau knows even more; he personally witnessed the Immortal Master slaying ghosts in the dilapidated temple!

Pu Songlin noted down the name, glanced at the soup kitchen a few more times, and then led his horse away.

He didn't go to the escort agency immediately, but instead found an inn to settle his horses and luggage first.

After a quick meal in the room, I spread out paper and pen and wrote down everything I had seen and heard that day.

He wrote about the long lines in front of the soup kitchen, the tears in the old woman's eyes when she received the steamed buns, and the pride and honor Li Tie felt when he talked about the "divine master's instructions."

He wrote about the room sealed off by the Weiyuan Escort Agency, noting that the door was unlocked, yet no one dared to enter without permission.

He wrote about the things that the people of Wen'an County had been talking about these past few days.

For example, how the immortal master could see through the fact that the magistrate's bedmate was a demon at a glance, how he could knock the magistrate's forehead three times from a distance, and how he could kill the remnant soul of the painted skin by flying ten miles with his sword.

When he wrote, his pen moved swiftly and without pause.

It wasn't that he was afraid of forgetting the details, but rather that these things seemed to be right before his eyes; he was simply bringing them down from the void and putting them on paper.

He didn't put down his pen until it was almost evening.

The paper had been stacked into a thick pile.

He carefully blew the ink dry and put the manuscript into his satchel.

After thinking for a moment, he took out a booklet he had written earlier, titled "The Biography of Master Qingwei - Volume One".

He had edited and polished these in Heishan Town a few days ago, making several copies, intending to find a bookshelf to sell them and earn some travel expenses.

He was not familiar with the streets of Wen'an County, so he asked the innkeeper and learned that there was a bookstore in the east of the city called "Yunxiang Pavilion" that specialized in collecting all kinds of miscellaneous notes and stories.

He then took the manuscript and headed east of the city.

Yunxiang Pavilion is not large, and its facade is ordinary. An old plaque hangs under the eaves, and the characters are somewhat mottled.

Pushing open the door, the room was filled with the scent of paper and ink. The bookshelves on all four walls were piled high, with a complete range of books, from the Four Books and Five Classics to geomancy and feng shui.

Behind the counter sat an elderly gentleman wearing reading glasses, his beard and hair all white, flipping through an account book under the lamp.

Pu Songlin stepped forward, explained his purpose, and handed over the scroll of "The Biography of Master Qingwei - Volume One".

The old gentleman took the book, but without reading the contents, he only glanced at the first page, then looked at Pu Songlin, and suddenly asked, "Did you write this book?"

"It is indeed my humble work."

The old man nodded, asked no further questions, and looked down to examine the document closely.

He read slowly, pausing after each page turn, and sometimes even flipping back, as if checking something. Pu Songlin was also in no hurry, waiting patiently to the side.

After about an incense stick's time, the old gentleman closed his book, took off his reading glasses, and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"Is the Qingwei Daoist in this book the one who's caused quite a stir in our county lately?" he began slowly.

Pu Songlin said, "That's right."

The old gentleman was silent for a moment, then suddenly sighed: "It's a pity you arrived a few days too late. If you had arrived three or five days earlier, perhaps I could have paid my respects in person."

He paused, then said, "I'll accept this manuscript. The fee is three cents per thousand words, as per the rules. This scroll has about 23,000 words, so it'll be six qian and nine fen, making a total of seven qian. How about that?"

Pu Songlin nodded in agreement.

The old gentleman took out a wooden box from under the counter, counted out the loose silver, wrapped it in red paper, and handed it to him.

After receiving the manuscript, he did not immediately put it on the bookshelf, but placed it beside him, picked up his reading glasses, and reopened the title page.

Pu Songlin saw that he seemed to have something to say, so he waited quietly.

The old man flipped through a few pages, then suddenly paused, a strange, indescribable look appearing in his cloudy old eyes:

"That Taoist priest, you wrote that he slayed demons and monsters, enlightened mortals, and distributed porridge to help the poor."

Now everyone in Wen'an County knows about this immortal master. Your book will spread far and wide, and people in other places will also know about it.”

Pu Songlin looked down at the words he had written and remained silent for a long time.

He initially wrote these things simply to record the strange things in the world and add some topics for conversation during his leisure time.

He recalled the incense that burned eternally at the grave of the elderly couple on Tongxin Mountain, the long queue that had formed in front of the soup kitchen earlier, and the pride Li Tie had when he spoke of the "divine master's instructions."

That Taoist priest never seemed to actively publicize what he had done.

But some people recorded it for him, some people relayed it for him, and some people believed it for him.

Pu Songlin suddenly felt that his pen seemed to have acquired a certain inexplicable weight.

He thanked the old man, put away the bag of loose silver, and took his leave.

When I left Yunxiang Pavilion, it was already completely dark.

Scattered lights illuminated the streets and alleys in the east of the city, and the distant sounds of commotion from the direction of Willow Flower Alley could be faintly heard.

Although the Lan Yue Fang (Moon-Viewing Boat) has been burned to ruins, the other buildings in the alley are still open for business, with revelry every night.

Nowadays, most visitors have heard the story of the paper figures, and they feel somewhat guilty.

Pu Songlin led his horse slowly back to the inn.

The night breeze was slightly cool. He looked up and saw lanterns on the city wall in the distance, one after another, forming a pale yellow arc.

He suddenly wondered, where is that Taoist priest right now?

Is he meditating in a Taoist temple in the mountains, or is he on his way to the next village or town?

Did he know that a simple act of charity involving distributing porridge, which he casually mentioned, would allow many people in Wen'an County to have hot meals for a month?

Did he know that the room he had stayed in for one night had been sealed away by the security company as a sacred object?

Does he know that someone is writing down every word he has done and said, and spreading it out so that more and more people will know about it?

Pu Songlin didn't know.

All he knew was that after returning to the inn, he sat under the lamp for a long time.

He didn't write any new stories; he simply copied over the drafts he had taken notes on that day.

He copied very slowly, and wrote each character very neatly.

After copying the last page, he added a few lines at the end:

"West of Wen'an City, there is a branch of the Weiyuan Escort Agency. In one of the agency's small rooms, Qingweizi once stayed one night. After he left, the agency sealed it off, preventing outsiders from entering. When asked why, he replied, 'This is a legacy left by the Immortal Master; it should not be lightly disrespected.'"

Upon hearing this, I sighed deeply for a long time.

The immortal master left nothing behind, no words, and no order to seal the house. Yet the people of the escort agency did it themselves without objection.

What kind of legacy is it if not material possessions?

As I put down my pen, roosters were already crowing outside the window.

Pu Songlin blew out the oil lamp and lay down fully clothed.

The night in Wen'an County fell silent the moment he closed his eyes.

His booklet, which contained stories about Master Qingwei, was currently lying among the pile of books for sale next to the counter of Yunxiang Pavilion.

Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, different people will pass by, casually flip through the pages, buy them, or leave them behind.

But the story has already spread.

Like the wind, like the water, like the wisps of smoke rising from an incense burner.

It can't be stopped, nor can it be stopped.

......