Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

The fragrance of osmanthus.

The sweet, gentle fragrance of osmanthus, carrying the scent of autumn sunshine, unexpectedly filled my nostrils.

Xuan Gu froze, then found himself standing on the bluestone street of Youming City.

The City of the Underworld, two hundred years ago.

Street vendors were selling freshly steamed glutinous rice cakes, the steam carrying the aroma of rice.

Children ran past him carrying windmills, leaving behind a trail of silvery laughter.

Wine flags fluttered in the distance, and the faint sound of a storyteller striking his gavel could be heard.

He lowered his head.

She was carrying a bag of osmanthus cakes. The oil paper was still warm, and the warmth emanated from the paper.

You can feel the subtle pressure of the paper rope digging into your fingertips, and you can see the translucent spots on the oiled paper soaked in grease.

This is... a memory of the day I went to find Xiaodie.

Xuan Gu began to tremble.

It wasn't fear. It was something deeper—he knew exactly what was going to happen. He knew it perfectly well. But his body, uncontrollably, just like it had two hundred years ago, began to move westward into the city.

His steps were light and quick. He could even feel that same joyful feeling from back then welling up in his chest, making the corners of his mouth unconsciously turn up.

"Senior brother!"

Shouts came from behind.

Xuan Gu froze.

He could hear the creaking of his spine, and feel the stiffness in his neck muscles as he slowly turned. His vision moved slowly, then froze.

The young Yin Jiu ran towards him.

At fourteen or fifteen, he was dressed in a simple blue robe, his features as delicate as newly sprouted bamboo. His face wore a smile, a smile devoid of any gloom, a smile of wholehearted trust, so bright it was dazzling in the sunlight.

"Senior brother!" The young Yin Jiu ran up to him, panting, his eyes sparkling. "Master is looking for you! He said it's urgent!"

Xuan Gu opened his mouth.

I wanted to say, "Don't come any closer." I wanted to say, "Run!"

I want to say, "Junior brother, I'm sorry."

But it couldn't make a sound.

He could only stand there, like a puppet nailed to the spot, watching the young Yin Jiu run closer and closer, watching that smiling face become clearer and clearer, watching the young man reach out to tug at his sleeve—

then.

puff.

The sound was very soft, like cloth being pierced by a sharp object.

Xuan Gu saw a bone knife pierce through the chest of the young man Yin Jiu. The tip of the knife was gleaming, stained with bright red blood. Blood droplets slid down the blade and dripped onto the bluestone slab, blooming into a small flower.

The smile on Yin Jiu's face froze.

He looked down at the tip of the knife in his chest, then looked up at Xuan Gu. There was no anger, no hatred in his eyes, only pure, earth-shattering confusion.

"Senior brother..." His lips moved, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, "Why..."

Xuan Gu felt ice-cold all over.

He saw "himself"—the younger version of himself—step out from behind the young Yin Jiu, expressionless as he drew his bone knife. Blood splattered, a few drops landing on the young Xuan Gu's face. He raised his hand to wipe it away, the movement as practiced as wiping away a raindrop.

Young Yin Jiu collapsed softly to the ground.

His eyes were still open, staring at the sky, confusion frozen in his pupils.

Xuan Gu wanted to rush over, to hug that gradually cooling body, to argue, to say, "It wasn't me, it was an illusion."

But he couldn't move.

He could only stand there, watching the pool of blood on the bluestone slab slowly expand, watching the pedestrians on the street turn into wisps of smoke and dissipate, watching the entire Netherworld City peel away piece by piece like a faded painting.

Then he stood in a graveyard.

The smell has changed.

The fragrance of osmanthus has disappeared, replaced by the fishy smell of damp earth, mixed with the slightly acidic odor of decaying vegetation.

The rain had just stopped, and there was a crisp, cold air in the air.

In front of me is Xiaodie's tombstone.

The stone tablet gleamed from the rain, and the inscription was clearly visible: "Tomb of my beloved wife, Xiaodie." Next to it was a line of smaller characters: "Erected by her husband, Yin Jiu."

A person was kneeling in front of the monument.

It was Yin Jiu. But not the Yin Jiu of his youth. It was the Yin Jiu of today—his black robe was tattered, his hair was white, and his back was hunched over like a withered bamboo bent under a thousand-pound weight.

He hugged the tombstone, his face pressed against the cold stone, his shoulders trembling violently.

There was no crying. Only suppressed, hissing sounds, like the wails of wild beasts, squeezed from deep in the throat.

Xuan Gu approached.

He could see the wrinkles on Yin Jiu's face, the withered grass mixed in with his white hair, and the mud stains on the hem of his black robe. He could hear Yin Jiu murmuring softly, over and over again:

"Xiaodie... I was wrong... I shouldn't have left you alone..."

"I shouldn't have chased after that herb... I shouldn't have thought I could make it in time..."

"You're afraid of the dark... That night... you were alone... weren't you scared...?"

The rain started again.

Fine raindrops pattered on the stone tablet, on Yin Jiu's hunched back, and on Xuan Gu's face.

It was cold, carrying the chill of early winter.

Xuan Gu reached out, wanting to pat his junior brother's shoulder.

The finger pierced through the illusion.

Xuan Gu was stunned, then realized—this was not an illusion attacking him.

This is Yin Jiu's true memory.

For the past two hundred years, every rainy night, Yin Jiu has knelt before this grave, reliving an endless nightmare over and over again.

Xuan Gu, forcibly dragged into this nightmare by Jing Ling, became a silent bystander.

I watched Yin Jiu cry for three days and three nights.

Watching the rain mix with tears, carving deep lines into Yin Jiu's face.

Watching those eyes go from bloodshot to bleeding, watching their soul begin to dissipate due to excessive grief, watching Yin Jiu's body collapse little by little until it finally turned into a skeleton scattered in front of the tombstone.

"No--!!!"

Xuan Gu roared.

This time, the voice broke through the shackles.

Xuan Gu wasn't roaring for himself. He was roaring for his junior brother. For the junior brother he had protected for two hundred years, yet never truly understood. For the pain he had endured, for the sins he had borne—sins that should have been Xuan Gu's, but by some twist of fate, had all fallen on Yin Jiu's shoulders.

Golden light exploded from Xuan Gu's brow.

The Demon-Breaking Seal was forcibly activated, causing the graveyard to shatter.

But in the last instant before the illusion collapsed, Xuan Gu saw the scattered white bones and suddenly moved.

The skull turned to him, its empty eye sockets "looking" at him, its jaw opening and closing, uttering silent words:

"Senior brother, why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't the one who killed me that day."

The illusion was completely shattered.