Chapter 92: Before New Year's Eve

Shuhua sat on a small stool and finished two bowls of plain rice. Although he was thin and weak, he had an excellent appetite. However, eating only made him stronger, not bigger.

After eating, Shuhua sat distractedly, tapping the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks. His gaze fell on the compass. He remembered the scene where the young man in white had taken money from there, and his eyes grew a little dark. He thought, *Doesn't he worry I'll take all this money and burn the house down, leaving me alone here?*

*Or is he watching me from a corner I can't see?*

Shuhua cautiously looked around, a sharp knife seemed to tremble in his heart. His ears twitched slightly, and his nose sniffed, trying to find some clues. At the same time, he shuffled towards the compass, pressed his fingers on it, and twisted it left and right, noticing it was loose. He turned it slightly in the opposite direction, and with a click, the mechanism disengaged.

With a push, Shuhua lifted the compass. His hand reached into the space below, and his palm felt several tightly tied cloth bags. His hand hovered over these heavy money pouches, the blade in his heart trembling violently, urging him to grab a pouch and turn to leave.

"Do you really think I wouldn't dare take it?!" Shuhua gritted his teeth, a fierce glint in his eyes. He snatched a bag, weighed it in his palm, and declared, "I'll spend it all later and see if you 'immortals' are truly benevolent or just feigning kindness!"

Shuhua took the bag of money and left the house. He glanced back, silhouetted against the light; the lifeless mansion was repulsive even for a fleeting look. He had initially wanted to burn the house down, but considering the dry conditions, he feared endangering his neighbors. Burning down an entire street would be a grave sin.

Shuhua stood outside the door with the money bag, contemplating the quickest way to spend it. *Should I buy gold, silver, jade, and exotic antiques? I wonder if it's enough. Or perhaps order a lavish feast at a restaurant... No, those two went to a restaurant too. What if I run into them?*

*What about going to a brothel like those scholars and listening to music? With these ragged clothes, I probably wouldn't even be allowed in...*

He thought for a moment with resentment, deciding he needed to buy a new set of clothes first. As he passed a steamed bun shop, billows of hot steam wafted out from the steamers, like enchanting white clouds. Shuhua stopped, wiped the tip of his nose, and clutched the money bag in his palm. He glanced left and right, and seeing no one was paying attention, he took out a few coins, splurging on a basket of meat buns.

The buns were hot, so he tossed them between his palms. In the cold wind, they rapidly lost their warmth. Shuhua paused outside an exquisitely decorated clothing store, hesitating for a long time. Even after the buns in his hand had cooled, he couldn't muster the courage to go inside.

He picked up a bun and took a bite. Lost in thought, he suddenly became somewhat disheartened and walked towards an old street.

"Master." Shuhua pushed open the slightly ajar wooden gate. Inside the dim room, there was a faint scent of smoke and dust. Shuhua called out, then pulled aside the smoke-darkened curtain and walked further inside.

The room was unlit. An old man with disheveled, withered white hair lay in an old-fashioned reclining chair, his aging body wrapped in coarse, linen-like clothes, resembling a large, dead piece of wood in late autumn.

"You're back?" the old man said slowly, tapping his pipe gently against the bamboo armrest of his chair. Then he pointed to a corner and added, "Later, take these white copper ornaments to Old Man Li's residence. It's the last delivery."

Shuhua quickly replied, "Understood."

The old man was a coppersmith, mostly crafting ornaments, lamps, or pictures made by dripping molten copper. His copper paintings were renowned, often depicting immortals vanquishing demons or evil spirits fighting among themselves. The mythological aura seemed to emanate from the artworks, making them incredibly lifelike.

Shuhua asked, "Master, are we closing the shop?"

"Close it," the old man said, "No one comes anymore anyway."

Shuhua acknowledged.

The old man asked, "Did you go see that old Taoist priest again?"

Shuhua was silent for a moment, then hummed in affirmation.

The old man sighed, "If you can't kill it and you end up dying, then I'll have wasted all these years raising you."

Shuhua's voice was faint as he said, "Your disciple has failed you, Master."

The old man's pipe-tapping slowed. "It's not your fault. It's good to repay kindness. If it weren't for your determination back then, I wouldn't have opened the door for you."

Shuhua clasped his hands behind his back, gripping the money pouch tightly. He said, "I won't go there again. From now on, I'll focus on following you, Master, and inheriting your craftsmanship."

The old man smiled. With a creaking sound, his aged body rose from the bamboo reclining chair, and he walked towards the small shed behind the backyard.

"New Year's Eve is in two days. Come with me to see the lanterns, Master," the old man said suddenly.

An ominous premonition suddenly arose in Shuhua's heart. He couldn't pinpoint its source. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly replied, "Alright..."

Ning Changjiu set his chopsticks on the table and, uncharacteristically, took a sip of wine. His gaze drifted towards the river flowing through the city below the tall building. Along both banks, pedestrians and porters, bundled in thick clothes, bustled about. Women who had washed clothes were rhythmically beating them, their hands clean and free of chilblains.

Ning Xiaoling, meanwhile, was holding the extensive menu, looking at it. She pondered what to eat next time while fiddling with the now much-deflated money bag, her face full of heartache.

"Senior Brother, our funds are limited; we can't spend money like this anymore," Ning Xiaoling said, clutching the money bag and recalling how plump it used to be. "This is our hard-earned money!"

Ning Changjiu chuckled and asked, "So, are we still going to the pleasure houses?" Ning Xiaoling covered her money bag and hesitated, "What if we don't have enough?"

Ning Changjiu smiled. "Watching the dancers at the brothel is hardly as pleasant as watching your Master Jiajia practice swordplay. If we went and you were disappointed, it wouldn't just be a waste of money, but a cause for distress. Better to keep it as a pleasant thought."

Hearing this, Ning Xiaoling thought it made perfect sense. She tucked the money bag carefully into her bosom and said, "Then I'll listen to Senior Brother!"

After their meal, Ning Changjiu and she went downstairs together. The cold winter wind blew through the hall, but the bustling street was filled with liveliness and festive cheer. Many shops had already hung red lanterns high outside their doors, and colorful ribbons adorned the necks of many tall horses as they trotted forward.

"Senior Brother, when you left earlier, did you cast a spell on that boy named Shuhua?" Ning Xiaoling suddenly asked.

Ning Changjiu was slightly surprised and chuckled. "Junior Sister, not only has your cultivation improved, but your insight has also grown considerably. You certainly haven't wasted your efforts on that little snow fox you squeezed dry."

Ning Xiaoling asked curiously, "What spell did Senior Brother cast?"

Ning Changjiu replied, "Just a minor trick, nothing significant."

Ning Xiaoling snorted, "Always speaking in riddles! Senior Brother, you'll be bald eventually!"

Ning Changjiu said, "Come, let's walk around the city with me. It's only been two months, but it feels... as if I haven't been back in years."

Ning Xiaoling hummed in agreement and stretched lazily. In fact, throughout their walk, many people cast curious glances at the brother and sister. Not for any particular reason, but simply because they were dressed too lightly.

Several snowfalls had occurred this month. Even the brightest winter sun offered no warmth, and the lingering snow in the gaps between the green tiles melted slowly. Icicles hung from the eaves, reflecting the sunlight like a jagged, intertwined curtain that would remain until spring. In such a harsh winter, most people in the prosperous parts of the city wore fur coats of fox or mink. Commoners, however, fared much worse; the wealthier wore clothes of cotton or silk, while the poor still donned robes made of rough ramie.

Ning Changjiu and Ning Xiaoling were both cultivators, so their ability to withstand the cold was naturally incomparable to ordinary people. Ning Changjiu wore a protective outer coat, while Ning Xiaoling was dressed only in a light Taoist robe. She didn't actually feel cold, but seeing how warmly others were dressed, coupled with their curious stares, made her feel a little chilled psychologically.

"Senior Brother, let's buy some thicker clothes, just to blend in," Ning Xiaoling suggested.

Ning Changjiu suddenly pointed towards the bridge. "Don't worry, Junior Sister, aren't there people dressed even more lightly?"

Ning Xiaoling stood on her tiptoes and looked in the direction he was pointing. Beside the large arched bridge spanning the river, beneath a bare willow tree, a thinly dressed girl danced barefoot on the cold ground, sweeping her long sleeves. An old man sat beside her, his eyes covered with a black cloth, playing a musical instrument. His music was drowned out by the crowd, difficult to hear clearly, but it carried a faint sense of desolation.

Ning Xiaoling pulled on his sleeve and said, "Senior Brother, let's go watch." Ning Changjiu was then pulled by her towards the bridge.

The approach of New Year's Eve was a propitious time; many well-off families enjoyed seeking good fortune and celebrating. Even for roadside beggars, people were willing to offer a few extra copper coins. However, there was little money in the basin in front of the father and daughter, perhaps because their song and dance were too bleak and their attire too plain. The mournful wail of the erhu sounded more like a funeral dirge, ruining the city's festive atmosphere. The bridge was already the busiest spot in the city, so allowing them to perform there at all was an act of kindness.

The dancing girl looked very young, perhaps similar in age to Ning Xiaoling. Her body was extremely thin, and her ill-fitting dress appeared somewhat bulky when she danced. Her exposed ankles were practically skin and bone, devoid of any beauty, only evoking pity and compassion. She seemed to be singing in the city's dialect. Ning Changjiu could understand a few lines; the lyrics appeared to be something like, "Yellow trees, birds gone, white snow quietly piles on broken tablets. Boats from the ferry years ago departed, reeds like snow for countless years. Pearls dull, jade aged, sighing 'what can be done... what can be done.'" The melody was melodious and sorrowful, clearly indicating practice, but the lyrics were mournful and certainly not well-received. On such a festive occasion, no one wished to hear such songs.

Ning Xiaoling didn't understand what she was singing either, but thinking of her own lonely days after her parents and younger brother died, she felt a surge of empathy. She pulled out her money bag, grabbed a handful of coins, and poured them with a clatter into the basin.

The old man playing the erhu remained unmoved. The dancing girl, however, paused her movements, curtsied to Ning Xiaoling in thanks, her thin face lowered slightly, and her eyes, like misty cold, gazed at her sadly, full of gratitude. Ning Xiaoling's delicate body trembled at the sight of those tearful eyes. She clattered a few more copper coins into the basin. The girl's lithe figure curtsied again, thanking her profusely, looking so fragile as if she might collapse at any moment.

After doing her good deed, Ning Xiaoling stood a little straighter, waving her hand grandly. "No need to thank me, just continue dancing."

Ning Changjiu stood aside and watched for a while. It was clear the little girl had a foundation; her posture suggested years of diligent practice. It was a pity the old man playing the instrument seemed to lack flair. For such a promising talent to perform such a depressing song and dance, sighing 'what can be done' over and over, no wonder others were unwilling to give money.

Beyond the bustling, noisy street, two rows of low eaves came into view. After walking past the prosperous district, Ning Xiaoling remarked, looking at the small, old houses, "There are still so many unfortunate people in this world."

Ning Changjiu said, "Indeed. That's why cultivators should bear greater responsibilities."

Ning Xiaoling nodded. "Actually, I know that even though I just gave her so much money, she'll probably still be treated harshly afterward, perhaps not even getting a single full meal..."

Ning Changjiu hummed in agreement. Many street performers like her were forced into it by coercion or inducements. After they packed up their act, no matter how much they earned, the little girl might only get a bowl of porridge that wouldn't fill her stomach. In the past, Ning Xiaoling might have, in a fit of rage, dragged out all the people behind the scenes and brought them to justice. But now, she simply ended up as a soft touch, giving a bit more money.

Ning Changjiu explained, "This is also why many immortals, when cultivating, are unwilling to visit the mortal world. This is just a city. The mountain villages and towns ravaged by wild beasts are far more tragic. After a demonic attack, it's very likely that nine out of ten households will be empty. Cultivators, after all, have mortal hearts. Seeing too much of this inevitably creates ties with the human world, and how then can one become an immortal?"

Ning Xiaoling sighed, "Cultivators don't farm or work, yet they are sustained by the mortal world, but they must also try to avoid it... Isn't that a waste of humanity's offerings?"

Ning Changjiu said, "But without cultivators eliminating demons during the God-forsaken Month each year, the mortal world would be far worse off. This is a duty written into the creed of cultivators, and it's considered their greatest contribution to humanity."

Ning Xiaoling softly asked, "But in my hometown, mountain spirits still frequently attack the city..."

Ning Changjiu said, "Because they can't be completely eliminated. Even the most powerful cultivators cannot eradicate even the weakest mountain spirits."

Ning Xiaoling, unconvinced, asked, "Cultivators in the Purple Palace Realm can turn their flying swords into rainbows and travel a thousand *li* in an instant. Those mountain spirits seem formidable to us, but they should be utterly insignificant before their swords."

Ning Changjiu shook his head. "But they aren't cabbages; they don't just grow in the ground unmoving. The world is too vast, and there are too many places for them to hide. It's like closing your door and trying to kill all the mosquitoes in a room. You might think you've gotten rid of them all, but then you wake up and find new itchy welts on your forearm."

Ning Xiaoling let out a soft "Oh," instinctively scratched her forearm, and looked somewhat dejected.

Further along, as they went deeper into the street, old wooden doors with peeling red paint had deep, water-stained colors. The couplets posted on them were also ancient, their characters almost illegible. Only a few young children were standing on chairs, hanging brand-new red lanterns high in front of the doors. Red lanterns hung high and low along the street, like crimson blossoms if the long street were a branch.

"At least there's still some festivity," Ning Xiaoling remarked with emotion.

Ning Changjiu said, "We also grew up through hardships. It's good to retain compassion even after gaining wealth, but it's not good to constantly dwell on sorrow."

Ning Xiaoling murmured, "But it's winter now."

Ning Changjiu said, "Yes, New Year's Day is in two days. Even a small border town will be bustling. In wealthier areas, it's even more beautiful, with golden powder and lantern shadows filling every pond. People immerse themselves in it and often forget they are in winter."

Ning Xiaoling looked up and asked, "Senior Brother, are you implying that cultivators, being accustomed to secluded practice, won't care about the injustices in the mortal world?"

Ning Changjiu smiled faintly. "Just a casual remark, Junior Sister, don't overthink it."

Ning Xiaoling insisted, "Senior Brother definitely meant that!"

Ning Changjiu sighed. "Actually, many cultivators withdrawing from the world is understandable. Because of their long seclusion, they haven't experienced human emotions or social interactions. Their daily practice is a struggle with the elusive Great Dao. Though they grow in years, their Dao heart remains immature. If they were to truly roam the human world, it could lead to many tragic rampages, with bodies scattered everywhere. Their absence from the mortal realm is also a good thing."

Ning Xiaoling nodded thoughtfully. "So, cultivation in major sects places great importance on cultivating the mind. And Sister Jiajia is very strict with us."

Ning Changjiu, with his hands tucked into his sleeves, seemed to disagree with this statement and retorted, "Your Master Jiajia only knows how to hit people with planks. What does she know about true mental cultivation?"

Ning Xiaoling scoffed, "If you're so brave, say those nasty things to Master's face."

Ning Changjiu replied, "I'm not stupid."

Beside a stone block, Ning Xiaoling stopped. She sat down, patted her legs, and said, "Forget it, I can't walk anymore. There's nothing interesting in these broken alleys anyway. Senior Brother, let's go back..."

Ning Changjiu said, "Alright. Since Junior Sister is in charge of the money now, you're naturally the one who calls the shots."

Ning Xiaoling clutched her money bag and said, "Alright, but we have to go back a different way."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid if we cross that bridge again, the last of our money will be gone."

"But there seems to be only one bridge in this city."

"Oh..."

By the time they headed back home, it was almost dusk. The setting sun in the west bathed the street in a gentle light, and even the cold wind seemed to lose its chill within the warmth of the glow. Ning Xiaoling stood at the doorway, gazing into the distance, feeling a rare sense of peace, like the reassuring touch of one's fingers on a wooden door upon returning home weary from a long journey. *How wonderful it would be if every day were like this, even if it meant not returning to the sect for cultivation.*

However, this peace was quickly shattered.

"Senior Brother! Why is there a bag of money missing?! I told you that kid couldn't be trusted! Why are you such a soft touch, Senior Brother? Good deeds bring good rewards, but being overly kind doesn't!" Ning Xiaoling opened the secret compartment under the compass, crouched down, and looked at the empty space, heartbroken and furious. Since the money thief wasn't there, she naturally directed her anger towards her senior brother.

Ning Changjiu walked over to her, followed her gaze into the compartment, and softly said, "It's gone, isn't it..."