Chapter Forty-Seven: This Is the True—The Great Immortal Who Has Perfected Cultivation in the Mortal World!

“…And then, the old woman turned around. On her head… there was actually a cat’s face!”

“Ahhh!”

A shrill and terrified scream echoed from within the junkyard.

Yesterday, that burly man among the group of vagrants—so fierce and intimidating—was now curled up like a frightened cat, trembling behind a companion, his teeth chattering so hard it sounded like a machine gun. Li Shixin couldn’t help but raise his snowy brows and laugh heartily.

Serves you right for bullying me yesterday.

Let’s see you scared out of your wits!

Clearly, the group had been thoroughly spooked by this horror story they’d never heard before, huddling together for comfort. It took a while before the big man, realizing he’d lost face in front of his underlings, shouted, “You old geezer, you’re too much! Telling such creepy stuff at night. You… tell us something nicer!”

Even Li Erchun, who had nearly ended up hugging his nemesis, the big man, muttered nervously, “Yeah, old man, tell us something meaningful. How are we supposed to sleep after that?”

Li Shixin chuckled. Now they were shaking in their boots, and suddenly eager to learn.

“Alright.”

He nodded, glanced around at the surroundings, and let his gaze sweep over the vagrants before finally settling on Li Erchun. Seeing the pent-up resentment, the mind full of material desires, and the face of a young man worn out by his ambitions, Li Shixin gave a slight smile.

“Then let me tell you about a book.”

“A book? What book?” Li Erchun, who fancied himself well-read, perked up.

Before he could interrupt further, the big man protested, “Oh, don’t be so annoying! Stop interrupting. I like hearing about educated folks. Go on, old man.”

Li Shixin smiled and began, “About a hundred years ago in America, there was a young man named Thoreau. He couldn’t afford a house, so he went to a remote place called Walden Pond, chopped down trees, and built a little cabin by the lake. He survived by hunting, growing beans, and foraging for wild fruits…”

“Hey!”

At the start of Li Shixin’s story, several vagrants perked up. “So, this Thoreau guy is just like us?”

Hearing about someone too poor to buy a house, who had to chop down his own trees to build one, the vagrants instantly felt a kinship.

Li Shixin laughed, “In essence, there’s not much difference. He just thought a bit more than most. Thoreau lived by Walden Pond for over two years. During that time, he took the earth as his bed and the sky as his roof, farming under the vast heavens far from the city, crossing desolate wilds alone after the rain, gazing at the beautiful lake at dusk…”

…

Shenzhen.

On a crowded intercity train, Zhang Quandan was squeezed between several hefty “tanks,” swaying involuntarily with the movement of the carriage.

It was already 9:40 p.m. As a programmer for whom 9-to-9, six days a week was the norm—sometimes even 9-to-11, seven days a week—the packed evening subway was a routine part of his life.

Staring at the murky night sky outside the window, moonless and indistinct, and the scattered lights of thousands of homes, Zhang Quandan, for a fleeting moment, felt the urge to escape the city.

But where could he go?

His parents, who had spent half their lives farming, worked hard to see him through college, believing that a college graduate was almost on par with a village chief—a rare success and a source of pride in their rural community.

But how could they know that in this city, there were millions just like him? After three years of work, with a receding hairline and life draining away, even his hard-earned salary couldn’t buy a place the size of a restroom here.

Lost in thought, his phone buzzed with a new notification.

“Quick! Let’s gather around the campfire and listen to the wise man’s words!”

The title didn’t interest Zhang Quandan at first, but with more than ten stops before home, he put on his earphones, opened his phone, and saw a new video with over two thousand likes. He frowned.

What is this?

Just some old junkman, isn’t it?

But as he was about to close the video, he saw, beneath the starry sky beside a pile of trash, the old man illuminated by firelight lifting a bamboo flute…

That melody, “The Original Scenery of My Hometown,” made Zhang Quandan, tightly wrapped by the city’s concrete forest, suddenly recall the woods and rivers of his childhood home.

His finger, poised to close the video, hesitated and moved away.

“…He befriended groundhogs, partridges, and red-banded snakes, spending much of his time studying the lives of animals…”

“…Not far from his cabin, Walden Pond always shimmered with clarity. The beech trees in the forest swayed their leafy skirts, pines and poplars soared into the clouds, tender bean shoots joyfully grew after spring rains, distant ridges glimmered blue; whether in sunshine or storms, Thoreau could always be seen walking alone through the lush wilderness…”

“When Thoreau went alone to the forest to build his cabin, plant beans, fish, and fetch water, people laughed at his foolishness. Why give up city life for such a primitive existence? But Thoreau wrote in his journal: I wish to leave room for my soul; idling? I don’t care.”

“But is seclusion the only true way to live? I don’t think Thoreau saw it that way. He sought the answer to life by living apart. Life can take many forms, but above all, you must honor your heart. Each person should find their own way of living, not simply follow their father, mother, or just anyone else.”

“In fact, the joy Thoreau found in seclusion proves another point in my view.” In the video, the old man pointed to a young man in a red hoodie sitting by the fire, about Zhang Quandan’s age. “You young people, you squeeze into crowded trains in the morning, eat takeout at noon, and come home late only to stare at your phones into the night. Now and then you sigh at your bank balance and paycheck. You live, but don’t know why; you pass each day without knowing how you spent it. What is life? Ten years of anxiety without an answer.”

“Take you, Li Erchun. You want gourmet food, supermodels, luxury cars, big houses, designer watches. You’ve worked for those things. But have you considered that all this is a bottomless pit? By the time you’ve filled it with your youth and years, it looks like you possess these things, but really, they possess you!”

“I say this not to tell you to stop striving, but to find your true heart. You said you wanted to write novels because you loved words and wanted recognition for your writing. But how long has it been since you thought of that? Without your true heart, everything you write is just for money, for those unreachable desires. Are you happy?”

In just a few minutes, Zhang Quandan’s worldview was upended.

Meanwhile, the video’s comment feed had exploded:

“My mom asked why I’m kneeling while watching my phone. I told her I found truth on Bilibili!”

“The old man speaks wisdom.”

“In tears! What kind of life am I living?”

“Sorry, old man. At first I thought you were just a junkman. Now I realize, I’m the real junk!”

“Old man, please come pick me up!”

“A master! This is a true master!”

“A true sage, perfected in the ways of the world!”

“Moved to tears, truly inspired!”

“Let’s watch this a million times!”

“Coin, favorite, like—done! If you just watch for free, are you even human?”

“Confucius praised Yan Hui for his humble meals and simple life in a shabby lane. This old man, with his bamboo flute under the moon, at peace in humble surroundings, shows such wisdom and grace—he is a sage as well!”

“UP, please, where is this old man? I want to make a pilgrimage!”

…