Martial Cultivator

As the sword cultivator couple walked into the town, another carriage arrived outside. The coachman was a strong middle-aged man, but judging from his aura, he did not appear to be a sword cultivator.

Outside the town, the man slowed the carriage.

He turned to look at the carriage and softly said, “Mother, we’ve arrived.”

Inside the carriage, an old woman with silver hair lay down. In front of her was a brazier, and opposite, a small girl with a delicate face held a small green stick, continuously stirring the charcoal in the brazier.

Outside, the wind and snow raged, but inside the carriage, it was as warm as spring.

Hearing the voice outside, the old man slowly opened her cloudy eyes, opened her mouth, and let out a soft “hm.”

The man heard the sound and nodded, feeling a bit reassured, but at the same time couldn’t help but complain, “Mother, it’s so cold today. I told you not to come out. After all these years, even if you see each other again, what difference does it make? You’re not young anymore.”

”Shut up!”

The old woman’s spirit was already weak, but hearing this, somehow she found the strength to scold her son outside the carriage.

“Cough, cough, cough...”

But as soon as the words came out, her spirit seemed to drain even faster, and she immediately began coughing, her coughs sounding frail.

The little girl saw this and quickly got up, coming to the old woman’s side, obediently massaging her back, then turned to look at the man outside the carriage, frowning, “Father, can’t you just not make grandmother angry?”

The man driving the carriage was speechless for a moment. After a long while, he sighed softly, “Mother, it’s this son’s fault. Don’t be angry. If you want to see him, then see him. If you can see him, at least you can fulfill your wish.”

The old woman ignored the man and instead stretched out her withered arm, patting the little girl’s head and forcing a rather ugly smile, “Qing’er, take the painting out for another look.”

The young girl called Qing’er nodded and obediently took a painting scroll from a wooden box in front of the old woman. She then stood carefully and unrolled it, revealing the portrait inside.

The painting showed a sword immortal in a green robe, holding a sword with one hand, his features handsome and lifelike.

Seeing the portrait, the old woman seemed to have eaten a ginseng of sufficiently old age, suddenly summoning her last remaining spirit and vitality.

The old woman reached out and gently touched the face of the person in the painting, tears streaming down her face.

“Luting, can we see each other again?”

It turned out the person in the painting was the Sword Immortal Luting from long ago.

But although it was just a painting, the person was likely no longer young.

The Sword Immortal Luting now was probably no different from her, both with hair as white as snow.

The man outside the carriage listened to the commotion inside and sighed deeply, but did not speak. He knew what his mother was thinking, but he really wanted to tell her that what happened back then was in the past. That the person she wanted to see was no longer the Sword Immortal Luting of those years, but only the memory of him.

And that memory, kept in the heart, was better left untouched; meeting now might mean even that fragment of the past would be lost.

Beautiful things are better kept in the heart, aren’t they?

The man couldn’t fully understand.

......

......

As the carriage entered the small town, it seemed that no one else would be coming tonight.

But just as that thought settled, a young man wandered unhurriedly toward the town. He didn’t go straight in, instead, he stopped by a small late-night food stall at the town’s entrance and sat down, casually saying, “Boss, one bowl of wontons.”

The stall wasn’t large, just two or three tables, but instead of picking an empty one, the young man deliberately chose to sit at a table that was already occupied.

After ordering, he finally looked up at the person across from him. An old man with silver hair and a face full of wrinkles, currently struggling with a bowl of wontons drenched in chili oil. The young man watched as the old man’s face turned completely red from the heat, yet stubbornly refused to touch the free tea sitting on the table.

Finding the sight rather amusing, the young man chuckled and said, “Old sir, at your age, why make things hard for yourself? If you can’t handle spicy food, drink some water. And if it’s still too much, just order another bowl without chili.”

The old man looked up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and glanced at the young man before replying cheerfully, “If a man doesn’t challenge himself, what’s the point of living?”

The young man said, “There’s nothing wrong with a bowl of wontons, but being stubborn about other things might not be so good.”

The old man set his chopsticks down and smiled, squinting as he asked, “Oh? And what other things might those be?”

The young man said irritably, “It’s simple. You’re this old, and you still come out for a late-night meal in weather like this, aren’t you just pushing yourself too far? Are you not worried about dying out here?”

The old man snorted. “You young people are so frail that you think everyone’s as weak as you? People’s constitutions differ. Though this old man is old, I can still keep my feet dry!”

The young man frowned. Hearing that, he completely lost his appetite. He suddenly stood up with a scrape of his chair and barked, “What, old man, you wanna compare? See who can piss farther?”

“Such an unrefined brat. This old man isn’t scared, but have you thought about this, if you win, there’s no honor in winning this old man. But if you lose to me, you’ll really make a fool of yourself.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if there were some deeper emotion behind his gaze.

The young man froze for a moment, then sat back down, still a bit uneasy. “Old senior, those words of yours are worth a few taels of silver.”

The old man smiled but did not say anything.

After that, the pitifully small bowl of wontons was brought over. The young man didn’t complain, picked one up with his chopsticks, and took a bite, only for his mouth to fill with a meaty stench. Disgusted, he spat it out onto the ground. Before he could speak, the old man pushed the jar of chili toward him with a mocking grin. “Young man, what did you think this old man was eating all this chili for?”

Chili was not a popular thing in the Great Liang, few people across its provinces liked it. But as for why people started eating it in the first place, there were only two reasons

To mask the stench, enhance the flavor, and ward off the cold.

The young man held down the jar of chili and shook his head. “The meat’s bad, so just don’t eat it. Why make things hard for yourself again?”

The old man smiled cheerfully. “But I’ve already paid for the wontons. Isn’t it a waste not to eat them?”

The young man stayed silent for a while. He had wanted to say it wasn’t worth much anyway. But then he realized that if he said that, the old fellow would definitely lecture him about not knowing thrift.

So, the young man decided not to speak.

He stared at the jar of chili before him, lost in thought.

A look of satisfaction appeared in the old man’s eyes as he smiled and said, “You’ve cultivated to this point already. You should cherish what needs cherishing. Don’t do things you can’t handle, shouldn’t you at least weigh the consequences yourself?”

The young man said nothing.

The old man went on, “Speaking of stubbornness, this old man has been stubborn my whole life. Sixty years - so many things I could have done, yet I just had to compete with that man. Now that I’m about to die, thinking back on those sixty years, all I can feel is regret.”

The young man looked at the old man before him and now finally confirmed his identity - the once world-renowned Sword Immortal Luting.

As for the young man himself, his reputation was not small either. He was the owner of the Hundred Year Sword, the foremost young sword immortal among the current generation of Sword Sect sword cultivators, Yu Xiyi.

Though both belonged to the Sword Sect, after so many years, Yu Xiyi had never met Sword Immortal Luting, nor had Sword Immortal Luting ever met Yu Xiyi.

The former disliked meeting people, while the latter, during these sixty years, had done nothing besides secluded sword cultivation and challenging the Sword Sect’s Sect Master to duels.

So, the two had never crossed paths.

However, the old man had heard of Yu Xiyi’s deeds, he knew this young man had once drawn a circle to confine himself as a prison, yet ultimately walked out of it.

That alone was enough to show that Yu Xiyi was no ordinary sword cultivator.

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