Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Su Ming gently rubbed the ring’s rough surface with his thumb.

“Master, I just picked up some karmic ties,” he muttered inwardly, his tone carrying a hint of self-mockery he barely noticed himself, “If you were awake, you’d probably scold me for being a hopeless do-gooder, meddling in other people’s business again.”

There was no lazy, complaining voice to answer him.

Still, gazing at the deep night beyond the window, the corner of his mouth gradually lifted into a very faint arc.

He understood.

If Lin Yu really were awake, that old fellow would definitely roll his eyes wildly in the Consciousness Sea, then in that tone that was half exasperated and half secretly pleased say:

“Stupid apprentice, remember, we cultivate the Way of Survival, not the way of death. The Way of Survival is about staying alive, not becoming a cold, lifeless rock. As long as you haven’t exposed your hand, I’ll shoulder this bit of karma for you!”

Su Ming shut the window and returned to the wooden bed to sit cross-legged.

This time, he circulated his liquid spiritual energy more steadily and smoothly than before.

Peace of mind, steady the way.......

The next day, morning.

Dawn was just breaking, and heavy clouds still pressed over Wind Crossing Ferry, giving the town an air of suffocating gloom.

Su Ming finished a night of meditation and opened his eyes. There was no trace of fatigue in them; as long as a Foundation Establishment cultivator’s spiritual energy wasn’t exhausted, ten days or half a month without sleep was no problem.

He had just stood up and was about to smooth his slightly wrinkled teal robe.

Clang—

A gong suddenly ripped the morning silence of the town.

Immediately after came the chaotic, heavy sound of marching feet and the metallic clash of armor as they surged down the street outside the inn.

Su Ming frowned slightly, walked to the window, and eased it open a sliver.

The street, which had been a bit quiet because of the hour, was thoroughly shattered.

A unit of Great Xing armored soldiers, roughly fifty strong, were arrayed on the road with spears raised, radiating murderous intent. At their head, a burly captain’s face looked cruel; he held a brass gong and struck it with force, shaking dust from the eaves on both sides.

“Listen up, all of you!”

The captain pulled at a voice like a battered gong, the sound echoing through the qi-poor mortal town with undeniable ferocity.

“The Northern Barbarian scum broke through three of our border towns again three days ago! The frontline is desperate, and the Grand General has issued orders!”

He unfolded a notice stamped with a blood-red seal and read it aloud.

“All men of Wind Crossing Ferry and surrounding villages between the ages of fifteen and fifty, regardless of status, must report to the county camp within three days! Those who fail to present themselves will be treated as traitors in league with the enemy, executed on the spot, and their entire three generations punished!”

The captain’s words hit the street like a heavy bomb.

After a brief stunned silence, a chorus of heart-wrenching cries exploded.

Doors of houses along the street were kicked open roughly. Soldiers stormed in like wolves, dragging out men who hadn’t yet registered what was happening.

“Captain! Captain, have mercy! My son just turned fourteen, he’s not even grown yet, he can’t even lift a blade—if he goes it’s suicide!”

An ashen-haired woman clutched the thin leg of a boy and wailed with a voice that tore at the heart. Her fingers had gone pale from gripping too hard; she knelt in the mud, repeatedly banging her head on the ground.

“Get out of the way!”

A soldier kicked her mercilessly in the shoulder, throwing her to the muddy ground.

“Fourteen? The Grand General says fifteen is fifteen! If he looks tall, that counts as fifteen! Enough of this nonsense—this country feeds you, now it’s time to pay with your lives!”

The boy was seized under the arms by two soldiers and staggered toward the ranks. He looked back at his struggling mother in the mud, face wet with tears, only able to sob in despair without a single coherent word.

Nearby, a newlywed young husband was forced into a shabby cuirass. His wife, her belly beginning to swell, clung to his sleeve while a soldier cracked the wooden shaft of a spear across her hand, leaving a purple-red bruise.

The young man’s eyes went red; he tried to resist but was slammed to the ground and beaten by four or five soldiers.

“You traitor! How dare you refuse conscription!”

In less than half an hour, the once-peaceful town street had become an inferno of human suffering.

Cries, curses, and the clash of weapons wove together into a thick, almost tangible despair.

Su Ming stood before the window, watching everything through the narrow opening.

His face was shaded in his room, betraying no expression.

But beneath that calm exterior, liquid spiritual energy surged wildly within him. His right hand gripped the window frame so hard the knuckles had gone white.

He had the ability to save the fourteen-year-old. He could break that soldier’s leg. He could, by himself, silently wipe out all fifty Great Xing soldiers right here.

But he could not.

This was Great Xing’s national policy—the meat grinder of two nations at war. If he wiped out these fifty soldiers, a hundred or five hundred even more brutal troops would come tomorrow and butcher the town completely.

The power of cultivators, when faced with the tidal wave of mundane war, cannot fix the root cause by isolated intervention; any individual interference would only bring greater calamity.

“Had your fill of watching?”

A voice as plain and unmoved as still water suddenly sounded behind Su Ming.

He jolted inwardly.

He had not noticed when another person had entered the room! If not for the restriction of divine sense in the mortal world, this would have been impossible.

He spun around.

Elder Qingquan had somehow opened the door and stood behind him.

Today the elder, unusually, did not hold that red clay wine gourd. His face, usually imbued with a touch of drunken casualness, now carried an unaccountable sternness.

“Master.” Su Ming bowed slightly, concealing the emotions roiling in his eyes, and offered a respectful salute.

Elder Qingquan didn’t look at him. Instead, his gaze slid past Su Ming’s shoulder, through the slit of the window, and settled on the street below with its crying and chaos.

“Do you think mortals are pitiable?” Elder Qingquan’s voice was low, yet it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Su Ming was silent for a moment.

He lifted his head and met the elder’s deep eyes.

“Master, there is something your disciple does not understand.”

There was a rare stubbornness in Su Ming’s tone as he pointed at the young men being dragged away.

“If they are all subordinate states of the Cloud Hidden Sect, why does the sect let them slaughter one another? If Great Xing is wiped out by the Northern Barbarian, countless lives will be destroyed. Why doesn’t the sect simply issue an order to force a ceasefire?”