Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Qingfeng and Mingyue stood on a tree branch not far away. Mingyue watched Su Ming’s receding back with some concern, ”Senior Brother, Su Ming’s Dao foundation is damaged. Could there be a flaw in his state of mind?”

Qingfeng held the sword case, his expression calm, ”A damaged Dao foundation pertains to the body; the state of mind pertains to the soul. The path he has walked, the experiences he has undergone, are far more numerous than others’. If he cannot even pass this trial, then he isn’t worthy of Elder Ma’s regard.”

Su Ming’s toes touched the edge of the mist.

In that instant, the Xuantian ring on his left index finger suddenly transmitted a piercing, bone-chilling cold.

*Hum—*

An invisible, immense power instantly descended, like a thick curtain of lead, brutally severing the connection between his soul and the ring.

”Not good... this formation... its core rule is... absolute isolation...”

Lin Yu’s voice became fragmented, intermittent, ”It’s... stripping... me...”

Su Ming’s heart jolted violently. Instinctively, he tried to mobilize his divine sense to grasp that tenuous connection.

But that power was too vast, carrying an indisputable force of rules, thoroughly suppressing and sealing the ring’s aura.”Disciple... listen...”

Lin Yu’s voice grew faint to the extreme, as if separated by countless mountains and rivers, ”The illusion will... dig out your deepest fears... firmly guard... your true...”

*Snap.*

The last trace of connection was completely severed.

The warm, lustrous glow on the Xuantian ring instantly dimmed, turning into an ordinary, dead-silent iron band.

Su Ming’s pupils contracted sharply.

This was the first time, since obtaining the ring, that he had so utterly lost contact with Lin Yu.

The feeling was like someone walking along a cliff edge suddenly losing their walking stick; or like someone accustomed to a lamp in the darkness suddenly having the light extinguished.

A massive sense of loneliness and crisis surged over him like a tidal wave.

But he did not stop his steps.

Momentum carried his body completely into the rolling Mirage Smoke.

...

There was no expected dizzying disorientation, no demons lunging at his face.

Even the sensation of the damp mist vanished.

Su Ming only felt his vision blur slightly, as if he had dozed off on a drowsy afternoon and suddenly jolted awake.

The crisp chirping of birds reached his ears.

”Chirp chirp—”

Immediately after, a clear, resonant chorus of reading voices accompanied by a gentle breeze drifted into his ears.

”The way of great learning lies in illuminating bright virtue, in loving the people, in abiding in the highest good...”

The voices were youthful, uniform, carrying a unique rhythm.

Su Ming opened his eyes somewhat dazedly.

The sunlight was a bit glaring, filtering through mottled leaves and casting golden dapples on the ground.

The air no longer carried the damp smell of earth. Instead, there was a faint scent of ink and the dry odor of aged wood.

He looked down.

The faded gray robe of the Repair Hall was gone. In its place was a patched-up blue cloth garment. The cuffs were badly worn, revealing the yellowed inner lining.

There was no storage pouch in his hand, no Formation Flags, only a rolled-up, dog-eared copy of *The Collected Commentaries on the Four Books*.

Su Ming sharply raised his head.

Before him stood a slightly dilapidated courtyard house.

Blue bricks, gray tiles. An old locust tree in the corner of the courtyard was blooming with delicate white flowers.

Several sparrows hopped about under the eaves, squabbling over something.

The door to the main hall was open. Inside sat over twenty youths of varying ages, swaying their heads as they recited the classics.

This place was...

Su Ming’s heart felt as if gripped by an invisible giant hand, pounding violently.

The green stone-paved ground, the clutter piled in the corner, and that wooden plaque hanging under the corridor, carved with the two characters ”Ming De” (Bright Virtue).

This was the Qingshi Town County School.

The place where he had once studied day and night, trying to change his fate through the imperial examinations, only to end up with nothing.

”This is... too real.”

Su Ming murmured to himself.

He reached out and touched the nearby corridor pillar.

The rough texture of the wood, even that scratch carved by some mischievous child, were all incredibly clear.

The tactile sensation transmitted through his fingertips was so real it was horrifying.

He tried to circulate the spiritual energy within his body.

Empty. Void.

The Dantian Qihai was gone. That mutually-generating Water and Wood seedling had vanished. What flowed through his meridians was no longer surging spiritual energy, but the faint qi and blood unique to mortals.

The Like Water Art could not be activated.

Even the Xuantian ring on his finger had disappeared without a trace.

He had become a complete and utter mortal.

A seventeen-year-old poor scholar with a destitute home, bearing the hopes of his entire village, suffering cold stares and exclusion within the County School.

”Is this... illusion born from the heart?”

Su Ming stood under the corridor. The sunlight felt warm on his body, yet he felt a chill permeating his entire being.

If not for the memory of that instant severance of connection with Lin Yu still lingering, he might even suspect that the months of cultivation experience were just a grand dream he had while dozing off in class.

This sense of realism was the most terrifying weapon.

It didn’t argue with you. It directly pulled you from the clouds back into the mud, making you unable to distinguish whether Zhuang Zhou dreamed of the butterfly, or the butterfly dreamed of Zhuang Zhou.

Just then, the sound of footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.

Cloth shoes made a soft scraping sound on the green stone slabs.

Su Ming stiffly turned his neck.

A middle-aged man wearing a Confucian robe and a square scarf, holding a scroll of books, walked slowly over.

He had a thin face, sported three wisps of long beard, and his eyes held a sternness mixed with a kind of frustrated expectation, the hope that iron could become steel.

That was the person Su Ming had once most revered, and also felt most grateful towards.

Teacher Zhou.

Teacher Zhou walked up to Su Ming and stopped.

He looked at this outstanding disciple of his standing dazed under the corridor, his brow slightly furrowed, then relaxed, revealing a gentle yet pressure-filled smile.

That smile contained expectations for a scholar from a poor family, but also the heavy weight of being beyond all redemption if one did not succeed.

”Su Ming.”

Teacher Zhou gently tapped the book scroll in his hand, his voice mellow, ”Tomorrow is the day the county exam results are posted. Your policy discussion was well done, but how is your memorization of the ’Hong Fan’ chapter from the *Book of Documents*?”

”If you don’t pass this time, how will your elderly father at home, and the villagers who pin their hopes on you to rise above, face their situation?”

Su Ming gazed at this familiar yet distant face, listening to these words that had jolted him awake countless times in the depths of midnight.

He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the taste of mundane dust.

The first layer of trial had already descended.