Another three years passed.
Time on Tai Xu Mountain was like silk soaked in mountain spring water—soft, smooth, and slipping through one’s fingers inadvertently, leaving only a damp trace behind.
Arthur was now twenty-two years old—according to this world’s calculation.
If his past life were counted, his soul was nearing thirty.
But living in these mountains, the years seemed to have lost their scale.
Waking at dawn and resting at dusk, planting in spring and harvesting in autumn, the days repeated in a way that was both reassuring and dazing.
It was another ordinary afternoon.
Arthur lay on a bamboo lounge chair under an old pine tree—this was the fourth-generation improved version, with an adjustable backrest and soft Cattail Cushions.
He squinted his eyes, holding a newly acquired Supernatural Novel, reading it half-heartedly.
Sunlight filtered through the pine needles, casting dappled spots of light on his face.
The mountain breeze was slightly warm, carrying the vigorous scent unique to early summer greenery.
Not far away, the Vegetable Garden was lush and green.
Cucumber vines climbed all over the bamboo trellis, blooming with delicate yellow flowers; tomatoes began to turn red like little lanterns; a new crop of cabbages had just been transplanted, their light green leaves looking spirited.
Under the eaves, washed clothes were hanging to dry—there were his coarse cotton short-sleeved clothes, and also Fu Hua’s plain white Taoist robes, swaying gently in the wind.
Everything was so familiar, so…
natural.
Arthur turned a page, but his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the Quiet Chamber.
The door to the Quiet Chamber was half-ajar.
From here, he could see the profile of Fu Hua sitting by the window.
She wasn’t meditating today; instead, she held a needle and thread, mending something—likely the outer robe Arthur had accidentally torn while practicing swordplay yesterday.
Sunlight shone in diagonally from the window, gilding her silhouette with a fuzzy golden edge.
Her gray-blue long hair was loosely tied up, with a few stray strands hanging by her cheeks, swaying slightly with the movement of her needlework.
The scene was too peaceful, too domestic, too…
Arthur suddenly felt something in his chest stir gently.
It was like a feather had very lightly brushed past.
He abruptly withdrew his gaze and stared back at the pages in his hand.
But those words suddenly seemed to come alive, jumping around on the paper, making it impossible for him to read.
“Tsk.”
He closed the book, sat up, and scratched his hair somewhat irritably.
His golden hair had now grown past his shoulders; too lazy to cut it, he simply tied it behind his head with a strip of cloth.
Fu Hua had once said, “A practitioner should maintain a neat appearance.” He had replied with a grin, “This is much easier and saves money on haircuts,” so she stopped mentioning it.
But now, looking at his casual attire, Arthur suddenly felt…
was he perhaps a bit too slovenly?
The moment this thought popped up, he wanted to slap himself.
“What are you thinking?” he muttered under his breath, stood up, and paced back and forth on the open ground in front of the house.
The bluestone slabs beneath his feet had been worn smooth, with fuzzy green moss growing in the cracks.
This was the path he had walked countless times over the past six years.
From the Vegetable Garden to the Bamboo House, twelve steps.
From the Bamboo House to the well, twenty steps. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
From the well to the door of the Quiet Chamber, eight steps.
He could walk it with his eyes closed.
But today, the path felt a bit different.
There seemed to be something extra in the air, making him feel inexplicably…
uneasy.
Arthur stopped and looked toward the Quiet Chamber again.
Fu Hua had finished mending the clothes and was examining them in her hand.
She tilted her head slightly, and as the sunlight hit her fair neck, the faint blue veins beneath her skin were visible.
Then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up and turned her eyes toward him.
Their eyes met.
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, he almost wanted to look away—as if he had a guilty conscience.
But he forced himself to endure it, putting on his usual smile and waving his hand.
“Master, is it mended?”
Fu Hua nodded, stood up, and walked out with the mended clothes.
She walked up to Arthur and handed the clothes to him.
“Be more careful next time,” she said, her voice calm.
“Yes, yes, your disciple will certainly pay attention.” Arthur took the clothes, his fingers inadvertently brushing against her fingertips.
Warm.
It was light and fast, a touch and then a separation.
But Arthur reacted as if he had been burned, his fingers curling very slightly.
Fu Hua didn’t seem to notice; she turned to the edge of the Vegetable Garden, looking at the delicate yellow flowers on the trellis.
“The cucumbers need their trellis set up.”
“Ah, right, I’ll do it this afternoon,” Arthur replied quickly, clutching the mended clothes to his chest.
The fabric was soft, carrying the fresh scent of sunlight and soap berries, and…
a very faint, cool fragrance belonging to Fu Hua.
He suddenly felt that the clothes were a bit hot to hold.
“Um…
Master, I’ll go fix the trellis now,” he said, practically fleeing toward the tool shed.
Fu Hua stood by the Vegetable Garden, watching his somewhat hurried retreating figure, a very faint confusion flashing in her azure eyes.
She lowered her head and looked at her fingertips.
Where they had just touched, a bit of warmth seemed to linger.
It was light and brief.
But why…
did her heart feel a bit strange?
In the tool shed, Arthur leaned against the bamboo wall and let out a long breath.
He was still holding the clothes.
He held them up to his face, looking at the fine, neat stitches on the cuff—Fu Hua was very skillful; the mending was almost invisible.
As he looked, he suddenly began to smile bitterly.
“Arthur, oh Arthur,” he whispered to himself, “you’re doomed.”
Yes, he was doomed.
Five years.
On this secluded Tai Xu Mountain, he had spent every day and night with the same person.
Eating together, planting vegetables together, going down the mountain together, celebrating the New Year together.
He had watched her go from her initial cold detachment to now asking him whether to put lotus root or winter melon in the potatoes, to remembering that the osmanthus cakes from the Wangs Shop needed extra honey, and to sitting in this room on rainy days listening to him tell poorly made-up stories, occasionally frowning slightly at some absurd plot point and saying, “That’s illogical.”
Five years.
Even a stone could be warmed up, let alone a human heart.
Arthur wasn’t a fool.
He had long noticed the change in his own mindset.
At first, it was a purely task-oriented mindset—observe, treat, take the money, and leave.
Later, it became a sort of “retirement” enjoyment—this life was great, relaxed, free, no one forcing him to work overtime, no one confessing their love to him, doing whatever he wanted.
And then…
and then, he began to get used to seeing her sitting at the table drinking porridge every morning.
Used to the subtle emotions she occasionally showed, used to the light sound of the needle and thread passing through fabric when she mended clothes, used to the faint, cool fragrance on her that was like a pine forest after snow.
So used to it that…
it became a part of his life.
No, not just a part.
The center.
Everything on Tai Xu Mountain—the Vegetable Garden, the Bamboo House, the lounge chair, the shower device, even the mountain landscape and clouds—had meaning only because she was there.
Otherwise, no matter how good the scenery, it would be just another cage.
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Falling for an Immortal…” he murmured, his tone carrying a bit of self-deprecation.
What a cliché plot.
But it just so happened anyway.
Boiling a frog in warm water.
He, the frog who had worked himself to death in his past life and only wanted to make money in this one, had soaked in the warm water of Tai Xu Mountain for six years.
He had soaked until his bones were soft, until one day he suddenly realized—
He didn’t want to come out of this pot anymore.
He even greedily thought how wonderful it would be if he could just keep soaking like this forever.
“But it won’t work.” Arthur opened his eyes, his green pupils clear.
He had always been a clear-headed person.
He was in his past life, and he was in this one too.