Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Three days.

A full three days.

Su Ming did not know how he had survived.

On the first day, following Lin Yu’s intermittent guidance, he ran frantically through the dense forest.

The stabbing pain in his chest made every breath feel like a blade.

Broken ribs had even pierced into his lungs.

He could only rely on the faint life force of the Greenwood Longevity Art to barely keep a breath, mechanically forcing his legs to move.

“Left…that patch of thorns…crawl in…they’ll mask your scent…”

Lin Yu’s voice was broken and intermittent, as if it might cut off at any moment.

Without hesitation, Su Ming plunged into the bristling thicket.Sharp barbs tore his skin, shredded his clothes, left streaks of blood, yet he did not feel pain.

The agony in his chest had already drowned out everything.

That night he hid in a tree hollow excavated by a wild boar, chilled to the bone and shivering.

The Greenwood Longevity Art’s life force could only barely keep him from dying, it could not heal such grievous injuries.

He felt his life slipping away bit by bit.

“Master…Master, are you still there?” he called with a faint thread of consciousness.

“…I’m…here…”

Lin Yu’s voice was no louder than a mosquito.

“Don’t…give up…the old bastard…he’s hurt worse than you…killing intent entered his body…he won’t last long…we’re competing…to see who can endure longer…”

On the second day, the pursuit continued.

Zhao Qianshan was like a mad dog that had scented blood, hanging doggedly on his trail.

His condition was terrible, the killing intent repeatedly erupting inside him, forcing him to stop often to circulate his energy and suppress it.

That gave Su Ming chances to catch his breath.

Several times Su Ming heard, not far behind, Zhao Qianshan’s suppressed, painful heavy breathing.

He hid in a pit filled with rotting leaves, held his breath, and watched with wide eyes as Zhao Qianshan’s mud-stained boots passed a few feet above his head.

In that moment, his heart stopped beating.

Zhao Qianshan began leaving more traces, even carving marks into the cliff face with his flying sword.

“He’s showing off! He’s trying to intimidate you!” Lin Yu’s voice carried a thread of warning.

“At the same time he’s guiding you toward a trap he set!”

Su Ming stopped beside a mountain stream, warily scanning his surroundings.

He noticed Zhao Qianshan’s marks converging in one direction — toward an open marshland.

“Master, the marsh favors him more,” Su Ming assessed.

“Exactly, the marsh makes concealment impossible. Once you get stuck, he can lock onto you easily, use spiritual energy to pull you out, then…crush you,” Lin Yu said. “We go the other way! Follow the stream upstream against the current!”

“Go…into the water…the brook can…wash away your scent…”

Lin Yu gave another directive.

Su Ming forced himself up and leaped into an ice-cold mountain creek, forging upstream.

The freezing water restored a sliver of feeling to his nearly numb body and cleared his head a little.

He could not die.

If he died, what would happen to his master?

If he died, what would happen to his family thousands of miles away?

A fierce will to survive overrode his body’s collapse.

By the third day, Su Ming had reached his limit.

He had eaten not a grain and was hanging on by a single breath.

His mind blurred, his vision went black in waves, and several times he collapsed to the ground.

Zhao Qianshan behind him had also reached his end.

The repeated torment of killing intent had further destabilized his already plummeting cultivation.

His speed slowed more and more, and his tracking became duller as his spiritual energy weakened.

At dusk.

Su Ming was tripped by a protruding tree root and fell hard on a slope, unable to get up again.

He exhausted his last reserves.

He turned his head and stared at the blood-red setting sun, a hint of despair in his eyes.

Was this the end?

“Disciple…don’t move…”

Lin Yu’s voice suddenly became a little clearer.

“He…he’s almost done too…this is the last chance…”

Following Lin Yu’s guidance, Su Ming painfully lifted his head.

He saw that the slope where he’d fallen was steep and littered with loose stones.

Above the slope, a millstone-sized boulder was barely held by several thick tree roots, teetering.

A desperate idea formed in Su Ming’s mind.

Using his last strength, he felt around the ground, picked up a sharp stone, and began to strike the roots holding the giant boulder, again and again.

His movements were slow and weak.

But his eyes had reignited.

“You little bastard…where do you think you’re running now…”

A hoarse, venomous voice sounded from below the slope.

Zhao Qianshan, leaning on a tree, had finally caught up.

He was in tatters, his face as black as a pot bottom, the wound on his chest still oozing dark blood, yet when he saw the immobilized Su Ming on the slope his face twisted into a feral grin.

“Your life…and every secret on you…will be mine!”

He climbed upward step by step.

Su Ming did not look at him; he used every ounce of strength to smash the sharp stone against the last and thickest root.

“Crack—”

A crisp snapping rang out.

The millstone boulder lost its last restraint and began to slowly…slide downward.

The boulder thundered with enormous force, rolling toward the spot where Zhao Qianshan had just stood!

“Nice reflexes!”

Zhao Qianshan’s voice came from above, laced with cruel amusement.

He had clearly discovered Su Ming’s escape route and, using his advantage as a Foundation Establishment cultivator, circled to Su Ming’s front!

Su Ming looked up to see Zhao Qianshan standing on the cliff edge, looking down.

Zhao Qianshan’s face was ghastly pale, the blood on his chest crusted dry, but his eyes burned with lunatic killing intent.

“Run, then.”

His voice was as harsh as two stones grinding, his mouth pulled into a smile uglier than a cry.

“You were so good at running, weren’t you? Why stop now?”

Su Ming’s heart sank to the bottom of a ravine.

He was utterly drained, each rise and fall of his chest strained broken bones and tore agony through him.

He saw the perilous cultivator before him, dangerously unstable yet still lethal, and knew he had fallen into a true death trap.

Su Ming’s brain, deprived of oxygen and wracked by pain, began to move at an unprecedented speed.

Fight — no.

He could not win.

Run — no.

He could not escape.

Plead — laughable.

The hatred in the other’s eyes said it all.

“You little insect, your tricks are done.”

Zhao Qianshan stopped wasting words. He raised a trembling hand, and the dim green flying sword, its spiritual radiance faded, wobbled and hovered before him.

Clearly, the killing intent’s corrosion had heavily damaged even that magical weapon.