Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Seven days later.

Deep within the Imperial Prison, the heavy iron door ground against its frame with a teeth-grinding squeal, and a cold wind threaded with snowflakes and the must of age slithered into the abyss like a poisonous snake.

Su Ming was hauled roughly upright from the cold stone slab by two yamen runners.

His shackles were removed and replaced with a longer, heavier five-person linked iron chain.

The iron links radiated bone-deep cold; at the other end were chained four gaunt prisoners.

The first had hollowed eye sockets and bloodshot eyes; the second had a face full of coarse flesh and a wolfish glare, and even restrained could not hide the murderous viciousness of a river-pirate; the remaining two had vacant eyes and numb expressions, already reduced to walking corpses.

Su Ming was the only one among the five wearing slightly decent prison clothes. Thin and slight, he stood out starkly among these desperate men, like a lamb lost in a wolf pack.

“Listen up, all of you!” A thunderous bark rang beside the prison cart.

The speaker was the lead escort officer on this convoy — Wei He, captain of a hundred men from the Northern Border Army.

He was hulking as a bear, a jagged scar running from the corner of his eyebrow down to the corner of his mouth, and when he spoke that scar seemed to writhe on his face like a living centipede.Wei He’s eyes swept across the prisoners, his tone icy: “From today on, you’re not men, you’re beasts! I tell you to move, you move; tell you to stop, you stop! Anyone trying any tricks, the blade in my hand recognizes no person, only military law!” His gaze finally landed on Su Ming and lingered for a moment, the undisguised contempt like looking at a heap of rotting trash.

By the prison cart, forty Northern Border soldiers in heavy leather armor, long knives at their waists, were already lined up in formation.

Their expressions were indifferent, their presence suffused with a ruthless aura honed only in mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, utterly unlike the hollow pomp of the capital’s Imperial Guard. This was a true, battle-tested force.

The prison cart slowly rolled forward, its heavy wooden wheels crunching through the morning’s thin snow in the capital, leaving two deep ruts.

Lin Yu’s voice carried a hint of gravity, “Disciple, forty Northern Border elite troops escorting a single exile? That level of force… could this be arranged by that Liu Wenyuan?”

Su Ming gave a slight shake of his head, his gaze tracking the turning wheels as he gathered every scrap of surrounding information.

By a steaming breakfast stall at a street corner, a familiar figure flashed past — Xu Qing.

He was dressed in coarse cloth, wearing a tattered felt hat, disguised as a porter headed for the early market.

Their eyes met like two silent threads crossing the air for a brief instant — no words, only the muted transmission of unspoken instructions and promises.

Xu Qing’s figure quickly vanished into the crowd.

The prison cart reached the city gate without stopping. After the gate guards inspected Wei He’s military order, they promptly saluted and waved them through.

When the cart finally rumbled past the gate and out beyond the tall, thick walls of the capital, Su Ming looked back.

The massive city, towering like a beast in the morning light, was receding rapidly. Everything he had planned here was being left behind by those walls, his past cast away with them.

“Disciple, pull your gaze back,” Lin Yu’s voice was unusually steady. “The capital is the past, the Northern Border is our rebirth. This isn’t exile, it’s a strategic redeployment! As long as the green hills remain, there’ll be firewood to burn. Remember, living is the greatest bargaining chip.”

Su Ming withdrew his gaze and felt a profound calm settle over him.

...

A secret chamber in the Yongchang Marquis Manor. It was colder than the Imperial Prison; the blue stone walls were frozen and airtight. Only an ever-burning lamp, its flame no larger than a bean, cast the two figures’ shadows thin and long along the wall.

The Yongchang Marquis still wore a black sable cloak. Facing him stood a man in a green Daoist robe.

The Daoist’s face was ordinary and would not draw attention in a crowd, but his temperament was aloof and noble, like a stubborn stone washed by a stream for a thousand years — unremarkable at a glance, yet emanating a detached transcendence from the mundane world.

He was Zhao Qianshan, a name that existed in the capital’s circles of power only as legend.

“Master Zhao, I trouble you again.” The Marquis’s tone carried genuine respect and caution.

Zhao Qianshan’s eyelids drooped slightly, his voice calm as water: “Marquis, speak plainly. I am leaving the capital to seek a quiet place and to settle worldly causes.”

“Master speaks modestly.” The Marquis did not dare to be casual; he handed over a map prepared beforehand, vermilion ink clearly marking a route to the Northern Border.

“This youth is scheming and is a remnant of Zhou Wenhai. Though now exiled, he remains a hidden trouble.” The Marquis pressed his finger hard on a place on the map labeled “Black Wind Pass.”

“I have arranged it. The escort will pass through this spot in five days.”

Only then did Zhao Qianshan slowly lift his eyes, scanning the map, then looking at the Marquis with an expression still devoid of emotion.

“You mean for me to strike, to silence this escort and those forty-plus elite soldiers completely?”

“Exactly.” The Marquis’s voice was ruthless, his killing intent frigid. “Devoted death operatives are not easy to cultivate. This must be foolproof; nothing may be left that ties back to the Marquis Manor. Therefore, I can only ask Master to act, and afterward we will disguise it as a bandit ambush.”

Zhao Qianshan was silent for a moment; his tone carried a trace of displeasure: “Marquis, you should know the favor my ancestor once did for you. Twenty years ago, when your family faced a calamity, I repaid that debt in full. Our karmic accounts were settled long ago.”

The Marquis’s face stiffened briefly, but his respect remained: “Master’s words are indeed true. However… this matter is but a small thing for Master. I hope, by the face of my family’s ancestor, you will grant your aid…”

“Enough.” Zhao Qianshan waved to halt him, his voice carrying a worldly detachment. “I am leaving the capital anyway, and this falls upon my path, so consider it an incidental favor.” He paused, then added, “It will also serve as a small interest on your ancestor’s debt.”

At those words, wild joy washed over the Marquis’s face. He bowed deeply, his voice trembling: “Thank you, Master! Thank you for fulfilling this!”

Zhao Qianshan gave no further response. He shifted and vanished from the chamber like a wisp of blue smoke, leaving one cold, ethereal sentence lingering in the air: “In five days, at Black Wind Pass, I will send them on their way.”

The Marquis straightened, staring at the empty room, his respectful smile gone, his expression blank as he stared at the wall.

...

Three days after leaving the capital, the escort had already penetrated deep into the Yanshan Mountain range.

The official road was rugged and difficult; on both sides rose endless steep peaks.

The winter mountain forest was bleak, bare branches swaying in the cold like the dead claws of ghosts.

During these three days Su Ming truly felt what it meant to be a prisoner under escort.

Their daily rations were two black wheat buns as hard as stones and a bowl of thin congee that could be seen through to the bottom.

At night, they were locked in the freezing prison cart, the biting cold blowing in from all sides until it reached the bone.

A gambler among the prisoners froze through the second cold night and developed a high fever, babbling incoherently, soon near death.

At dawn the next day, Wei He, annoyed at the trouble he caused, kicked him down from the cart without mercy and left him to perish in the wilderness.

The three remaining prisoners, including Su Ming, grew quieter, fear spreading through them like frost.

The coarse-faced bandit seemed to notice something unusual beneath Su Ming’s frail appearance, and over the past two days had not picked a fight; instead he kept a measured distance.

“Disciple, how’s the free deep-experience tour? Exciting, isn’t it?” Lin Yu teased.

Su Ming was nibbling at his hard black bun; the food hurt his teeth and was hard to swallow. “Master, I’m just thinking, this Wei He doesn’t seem in a hurry to get anywhere.” Su Ming swallowed the last crumbs and wetted his throat with the icy stream water.

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Lin Yu asked.

“By military escort rules, speed comes first. Yet in these three days we’ve traveled less than sixty li each day, and they camp as soon as dusk falls.”

Lin Yu’s soul form paced within the ring, his tone laced with alertness: “You’re right. This unit’s formation and vigilance far exceed those of ordinary escort teams.”

Su Ming’s heart tightened almost imperceptibly.

Liu Wenyuan’s warning, the Yongchang Manor’s ever-watchful eyes — it all made sense now. They wanted him dead on the road, and the deliberately slow pace was buying time for that assassination to be set up.

Just then, Lin Yu’s voice detonated in Su Ming’s mind without warning!

“Su Ming! Center your spirit and stay still!”

Su Ming’s chewing froze instantly.

“Master, what’s happening?” He kept his face impassive.

“There is a spirit-scan sweeping over us!” Lin Yu’s soul paced within the Xuantian Ring.

“Is it a cultivator?” Su Ming forced calm into his voice.

Lin Yu responded: “This… should be a Foundation Establishment cultivator! And not an ordinary one — at least late Foundation Establishment! Possibly… Foundation Grand Perfection! The aura is solid; not comparable to a common Foundation! Hopefully they’re just passing through and not looking for trouble with us!”

Foundation Grand Perfection! Those four words struck Su Ming’s heart like a physical weight, hammering down on him.

He was only at Qi Refinement second layer. In front of such a powerful being he was not even dust; one thought from that person could obliterate his soul completely.

“How far is he? What does he intend?” Su Ming’s voice remained eerily calm.

“He’s about five li behind us, trailing at a distance not too close, not too far. His spiritual pressure is heavy as a mountain; he’s not hiding it! He’s clearly bullying the weak, assuming control over us! For the Yongchang Manor to use such power!” Lin Yu’s voice carried barely suppressed fury and vigilance.

Su Ming’s mind reached razor-sharp clarity in that instant. The pursuer’s brazen tracking and unhidden aura meant absolute confidence — he assumed complete dominance over this mortal escort. That he hasn’t struck yet suggested he was waiting for the optimal moment to act, or rather… the perfect place to kill.

Su Ming’s gaze swept the terrain without showing it. They were deep in the Yanshan interior, cliffs towered on both sides, the official road narrow and constrained. He immediately sent a thought: “Master, check the map. Are there any named spots within three to five li ahead?”

Lin Yu quickly sank his spirit into the map copy Su Ming carried. “Yes! Four li ahead, there’s a marked place called ‘Black Wind Pass’! It’s the narrowest defile between two mountains; winds are dangerous there year-round. It’s a military taboo and a perfect spot for bandit ambushes!”

Black Wind Pass! Su Ming’s heart fell as if struck by a great stone, sinking into an endless abyss.

He understood completely.

The pursuer would strike at Black Wind Pass, using the Foundation Grand Perfection’s power to instantly erase the entire escort, then pin the blame on “bandits robbing the road.”

A Foundation Grand Perfection cultivator against forty trained mortal soldiers was pure domination.

Once action was taken, there would be no witnesses left, and the Marquis’s manor could wipe away all traces.

“Master, I need your help.” Su Ming’s voice was as cold as ice.

“Right now, we must win by guile. What’s your plan?” Lin Yu snatched back his panic and asked in a low voice. “There’s no time to flee! We must create a perfect false scene before they strike!”

“I’ll use that jar of disguise ointment.” Su Ming said.

“I’ll disguise myself as the gambler who was kicked from the cart.” Su Ming explained.

Lin Yu’s soul shuddered with sudden comprehension.

It was an insanely daring plan: at the exact moment the Foundation cultivator slaughtered everyone, Su Ming would pose as a discarded, unnoticed “corpse,” lying amid the blood, relying on the attacker’s assumption that “Su Ming is dead” to survive the lethal spirit-scan!

“Good! Disciple, you are ruthless enough!” Lin Yu’s tone shifted from horror to excitement.

Half an hour later, the convoy reached a mountain stream.

Wei He ordered a rest, and the soldiers began refilling water.

Su Ming and two other prisoners were permitted to drink under the guard of the soldiers.

The moment had arrived!

Su Ming knelt by the stream, cupped the icy water in his hands and drank, then buried his face in the water as if rinsing it.

The instant his cheek touched the surface, his hand hidden in his sleeve moved like lightning and smeared the dark-green disguise ointment across his face.

The ointment felt icy at first, but once it contacted the skin it turned into a warm current that quickly seeped in.

Su Ming felt the muscles and bones of his face undergoing minute, numb writhing and reshaping.

He did not hesitate; he smeared a few hasty strokes, then rose and returned to the prison cart. The whole process flowed like water and took only a few breaths, attracting no attention from the soldiers.

He sat down again, head bowed, letting the shadow fully conceal his altered features.

“Master, is it done?”

“Perfect!” Lin Yu’s voice brimmed with contained excitement. “I compared your new visage with the last image of that gambler left behind, and the similarity is ninety-nine percent! Now, you are that unlucky bastard tossed aside in the wasteland — an unimportant corpse that should have died!”

Su Ming exhaled slowly, tamping down the turmoil in his chest.

The first step was complete.

Now, they had to wait — wait for the death sentence to come from that Foundation cultivator.