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

He opened his eyes, panting heavily.

The clan elder stood beside him, watching him without saying a word, just looking at him.

Yun Songzi looked down at the scroll in his hand. The person in the painting was still there, just like before, with a smile on his lips.

He suddenly understood.

This is not some magical artifact or treasure.

What did that senior leave him?

That was a door, a path, a door that could be pushed open, a path that could be walked up.

He no longer needs to search for rare treasures, nor does he need to undergo corpse liberation and reincarnation; he needs nothing at all.

He only needs to contemplate this painting every day, visualizing the image of that senior standing in his mind, and his spirit will grow, increasing the harmony between his physical body and his spirit.

His physical body is no longer a burden; he can live longer.

That senior gave him an opportunity, an opportunity for him to keep going; the path was under his own feet.

Yun Songzi stood at the entrance of the village, holding the scroll in his hands, his mind filled with only one thought—thank goodness he came.

He recalled that a few days ago, he rode a leopard all the way from the Misty Hidden Sect to the Ginseng Gathering Village.

At that time, his mind was still on the Mountain God Seal.

At that time, the elders in the church advised him, saying that the leader was too old and could not withstand the strain.

His disciples also tried to persuade him, saying, "Master, we are worried about you traveling alone in the Hundred Thousand Mountains."

Let them handle this.

But he didn't listen to anyone and rode away on his leopard.

Looking back now, it was the best decision he ever made.

If he hadn't come, the painting wouldn't be in his hands.

Without this painting, his spirit would have weakened day by day, and his body would have decayed day by day.

One day when he's in his sixties or seventies, he'll be lying in bed, thin as a skeleton, his eyes still open, his mouth still agape, trying to say something, but unable to utter a single word, and then he'll die.

Without a leader, the elders fought amongst themselves, and the disciples went their separate ways. The legacy of several generations ended in his hands.

He dared not think about it anymore.

He looked down at the scroll in his hand, the red string tied tightly, but the painting was clear in his mind.

The senior stood under the jujube tree, dressed in a blue robe and a Taoist robe, with his hands behind his back and a slight smile on his lips.

He closed his eyes and visualized the painting; the senior figure stood in his mind's eye.

His soul was growing, and the harmony between his body and soul was increasing. He could feel it; it was like someone who had walked in the desert for a long time suddenly seeing a river.

It's not a mirage, it's a real river.

The water was cool and sweet; one sip and I felt completely revitalized.

He opened his eyes and let out a long breath.

The clan elder stood beside him, leaning on his cane, watching him without saying a word.

Yun Songzi turned around and looked at the clan elder, at that wrinkled face, at that pair of cloudy old eyes that held an indescribable light.

He was waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to finish speaking, so he could go back.

Yun Songzi suddenly laughed; he hadn't laughed like that in a long time.

"Old man, I have a favor to ask."

At this point, Yun Songzi paused, her lips trembling slightly.

It wasn't a big deal, but once it was said, it couldn't be taken back.

He switched the scroll to his left hand, wiped his right hand on his robe, and his palms were sweaty.

The clan elder looked at him, without urging him, and simply waited quietly.

Yun Songzi glanced at the scroll in his hand, then looked up at the clan elder.

"This old man wishes to move the Misty Hidden Sect to Ginseng Gathering Village. What is your opinion, sir?"

The clan elder was stunned.

His hand gripped the cane tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

He waited a long time, letting those words circulate in his mind several times, until he was sure he hadn't misheard.

The Hidden Mist Cult.

The Misty Hidden Sect hidden in the Ten Thousand Mountains.

That sect that established itself through spiritual cultivation, that sect that gained a foothold in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, that sect with a leader, elders, and disciples.

They are going to the ginseng-gathering village.

It should be noted that any force capable of existing independently on the outskirts of the Ten Thousand Mountains must possess strength comparable to that of a Martial Saint.

The elder's eyes reddened.

He recalled the bear demon crashing into the gate, Zhao Tieshan and the others lying at the village entrance covered in blood, and the Black Wind Village leader standing in the center of the village, his martial saintly aura so oppressive that no one could lift their heads.

The Ginseng Gathering Village no longer has a Martial Saint. Martial Saint Lin is dead. He kept it a secret for a year, but he couldn't keep it a secret forever.

Sooner or later, those people outside will find out. Sooner or later, they will pounce on us, tear the ginseng-gathering village to shreds, steal the ginseng, kill everyone, and burn down the houses.

He was afraid, but he couldn't say it.

He was the clan elder, and when he was afraid, everyone in the village became afraid.

But now, the Hidden Mist Cult is coming.

He raised his head and looked at Yun Songzi, at those eyes that were no longer cloudy, at that wrinkled but smiling face.

His lips trembled several times before he finally managed to speak.

"Okay, okay, okay!"

Yun Songzi looked at him and smiled.

The smile was faint, but very genuine.

The elder wiped his eyes, leaned on his cane, walked up to Yun Songzi, and reached out his withered hands to grasp Yun Songzi's hands.

Yun Songzi's hands were not young anymore; the veins were bulging and the skin was wrinkled, but those hands were very steady and warm.

Two hands clasped together, both old, yet still strong. The strength lies in the heart, not in the hands.

"Leader Yun, the Ginseng Gathering Village welcomes you." The elder's voice was a little hoarse, but every word was clear.

Yun Songzi nodded, tucked the scroll into his sleeve, and patted his cuff as if afraid it would fall out.

Then he turned around, ready to leave, but after taking two steps, he stopped and looked back at the clan elder.

"I'll go back first and make arrangements for things within the sect. The elders, disciples, and some belongings all need to be moved here."

It may take some time. Sir, you should also prepare your place; it needs to be a bit bigger.

The clan elder nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes, that open space behind the village has been empty for a long time, it's perfect for building a house."

Yun Songzi nodded, turned around, and started walking down the mountain.

The morning light shone on his back, warm and comforting, while his shadow fell in front of him, moving step by step, as if guiding him.

He walked for a while, then stopped under an old pine tree and looked back.

At the village entrance, the elder still stood there, his hunched back stretched long by the rising sun. Leaning on his cane, he remained motionless, like an old tree.

Looking at him, Yun Songzi suddenly understood something.

That senior artist didn't leave that painting casually.

He instructed the clan elder to deliver the painting to him at sunrise on the fifth day.

It wasn't because he arrived early, nor because he arrived late; it was because of the time, the place, and the person.

That senior had it all planned out.

He knew he would reach the village gate at sunrise on the fifth day, knew he would meet the old man, knew he would accept the painting, knew he would open it, knew he would see it, and knew he would understand.

He knows everything.