Days flowed like a mountain stream, neither hurried nor slow.
In the blink of an eye, Arthur had lived on Tai Xu Mountain for over three months—according to this world’s time.
If converted to the flow rate of the Main World, only a few minutes had passed.
The cabbage seedlings in the Vegetable Garden had already grown a palm’s height high, with dewdrops hanging from their tender green leaves.
The radish greens spread out loosely, while the scallions stood neatly in a row, like soldiers awaiting inspection.
Arthur squatted by the furrow, carefully pulling out a sprouting weed.
His daily routine was now quite regular: rising at sunrise, first tending to the Vegetable Garden, then practicing the crude martial arts left by the original owner for an hour, followed by preparing a simple breakfast.
In the afternoon, if Fu Hua did not summon him, he would ponder matters on his own—either improving the facilities of the Bamboo House, going down the mountain to the small town for supplies, or occasionally trying to make small gadgets from mountain materials that did not exist in this era.
Life was so peaceful it felt almost luxurious.
If not for the system interface in his mind constantly reminding him with the two lines of text: “worldline Repair Progress: 1.3%” and “Identity Compatibility: 41%,” Arthur would almost think he had come here for a vacation or retirement.
“The progress is still slow,” he straightened up, rubbed his lower back, and muttered to himself.
Over three months, from 0.2% to 1.3%, averaging less than 0.01% growth per day.
At this rate, to complete the repair, he would have to stay on this mountain…
never mind, it’s better not to think about it; just thinking about it gives him a headache.
Fortunately, the “Mortal World’s Hearth” status had upgraded from “Faint” to “Acquainted.” Although the system did not explain what this status specifically did, Arthur could sense some changes.
The most obvious was the way Red Kite looked at him.
It was no longer the calm gaze of seeing “a disciple who was somewhat pleasing to the eye” as it had been initially.
Now, those deep blue eyes occasionally flickered with something akin to “contemplation.”
For example, the day before yesterday, Arthur made a simple shower device out of bamboo—essentially splitting bamboo, hollowing out the nodes, channeling mountain spring water from a higher point, and surrounding the bathing area with stones below.
He enthusiastically demonstrated this “invention” to Fu Hua and warmly invited her to try it as well.
Fu Hua stared at the bamboo pipe gushing with water for a long time, so long that Arthur thought she would scold him for “indulging in trivialities and neglecting his duties.”
Instead, she just nodded lightly and said, “Clever thinking.”
Then she turned and returned to the Quiet Chamber.
But that evening, Arthur clearly saw her standing by the shower device, reaching out to let the cold spring water flow through her fingers.
The golden glow of the sunset bathed her profile.
At that moment, she did not look like an immortal who had lived for thousands of years, but more like a young girl slightly puzzled by something new, yet with a hint of nostalgia in her eyes.
Arthur watched from behind the Bamboo House, not daring to make a sound.
He knew that some changes were happening, like seeds growing slowly but firmly beneath the soil.
There was no need to rush.
“Zhaoer.”
A clear, cold voice sounded from behind.
Arthur turned around, immediately putting on that practiced smile, a mix of reverence and familiarity.
“Master, you’ve emerged from seclusion a bit earlier today.”
Fu Hua was not wearing her iconic white Taoist robe today, but a simple blue-green gown.
Her gray-blue hair was loosely tied with a wooden hairpin, with a few strands falling by her neck.
She stood with her hands behind her back, her gaze sweeping over the lush Vegetable Garden before finally settling on Arthur’s dirt-stained hands.
“Hmm,” she responded, walking to the edge of the Vegetable Garden and squatting down—a gesture that made Arthur widen his eyes slightly.
Fu Hua reached out, her fingertips gently touching a tender leaf of a cabbage.
“They’re growing well,” she said, her tone flat, but Arthur detected a barely perceptible hint of…
approval?
“It’s all thanks to Master’s blessings; this land is rich in spiritual energy,” Arthur replied with a smile, though inwardly he was quickly analyzing: She took the initiative to look at the Vegetable Garden and even touched the leaves—this is a sign of closeness.
A good sign.
Fu Hua stood up, brushed off nonexistent dust from her hands, and turned to Arthur.
“Follow me.”
After saying this, she turned and walked deeper into the Bamboo Forest.
Arthur hurried to keep up.
The two walked one after the other through the rustling Bamboo Forest.
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the bamboo leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
The mountain air was crisp, carrying the fragrance of bamboo leaves and soil.
After walking for about a quarter of an hour, the view suddenly opened up.
This was a platform located on the mountainside, about a hundred zhang in circumference, with a flat ground that seemed as if it had been forcibly carved out by some power.
The edge of the platform was a cliff, with a sea of clouds churning below.
In the distance, the peaks were like dark ink, and the rising sun was slowly emerging from the edge of the cloud sea, dyeing the sky and earth in shades of gold and red.
“A wonderful place,” Arthur couldn’t help but exclaim.
Fu Hua stood in the center of the platform and turned to look at him.
“You’ve been on the mountain for three years,” she began, her voice particularly clear in the open mountain air.
“Yes, Master,” Arthur replied respectfully.
The original owner had come up the mountain at fourteen and was now seventeen—exactly three years.