Chapter 139: I Wish to Become Your Disciple

Withered vines clung to ancient trees crowned with yellowing leaves, a stone bridge arched over a stream near a mountain village, and a young boy in a red robe made his way along the path. The autumn wind blew desolate and chill, as dogs barked boldly at passing travelers, emboldened by their human masters.

On a dirt road that ran beside the river, a young man in a red robe paused at the edge, stopping by the old stone bridge. Across the bridge lay a small mountain village, and from within it a few unwatchful dogs barked incessantly at the young man in red from the far side of the river.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk... Come here, good dogs...” Standing beside the bridge, the young man in red beckoned to the dogs across the way. Yet the animals dared not cross to his side, only barking persistently from the safety of the opposite bank.

Seeing this, the young man flicked his sleeve, and an invisible gust of wind rose as if from nowhere, rushing across the bridge toward the dogs. Dry leaves from a tree behind the bridge were swept up and scattered across the ground.

“Woof! Woof woof!” Startled by the sudden gale, the dogs yelped and scattered, dashing away to their respective homes.

“Why am I arguing with a pack of dogs anyway?” muttered the young man in red as he lowered his hand, then cast his gaze toward the doorway of a farmhouse behind the bridge.

There, standing before the gate, was a boy of eight or nine, staring at the young man in red with a mixture of astonishment and fear.

Meeting the boy’s gaze, the young man smiled, raised his hand in greeting, and continued on along the riverside path.

“Mother! There’s an immortal out here! Come quickly and see!” the boy shouted into the house as the red-robed young man moved on. When no one emerged after a moment, the boy dashed inside.

Not long after, the boy reappeared, dragging a woman by the hand. But by then, the figure in red had vanished completely from the road across the river.

“Zhu Yidan, what have you dragged your mother out here to see?” the woman asked, glancing along the riverside path but seeing nothing of the immortal her son had described.

“The immortal was just standing across the river. Look, mother, see all those fallen leaves under the tree by the bridge? That was from the strange wind the immortal summoned just now,” Zhu Yidan explained, pointing with a puzzled expression. “How odd, how could he disappear so quickly?”

Mother and son lingered a while at the door, peering out. After a moment, the woman gently patted her son’s head and returned inside, while the boy darted off toward the stone bridge.

Reaching the top of the bridge, Zhu Yidan came to an abrupt halt. In the river below, he caught sight of the young man in red once more.

The youth had already slipped into the river, gliding swiftly through the water. His vibrant red robe was impossible to miss, its brilliant hue visible beneath the clear ripples.

“Immortal! Immortal, wait for me!” Zhu Yidan cried, his short legs carrying him over the bridge and onto the dirt path on the far side, chasing after the young man as he moved through the water.

But a child’s strength is slight, and before long, Zhu Yidan was exhausted, collapsing on the roadside, gasping for breath. The red-robed youth’s form vanished from view.

Sitting on the ground, Zhu Yidan hung his head in frustration. He had chased the red-clad youth out of the village, certain he was the legendary immortal he’d heard of and hoping to become his apprentice.

Yet Zhu Yidan did not know—the young man in red was no immortal. He was simply a wandering, unattached Taoist, named Zhou Qing, who had traveled from a distant land over the past two years, drifting into this foreign country half a year before.

As for his current whereabouts, Zhou Qing only had a vague idea. He knew this place was within the borders of the Great Tang, not Tianyue. After two years of wandering, he had reached this unfamiliar land half a year ago.

“Ah, I suppose I’m not destined to become an immortal’s disciple,” Zhu Yidan sighed, scrambling to his feet and dusting off his trousers.

“Little one, why have you been chasing after me?” Zhou Qing’s voice drifted over from nearby.

He had long noticed the boy trailing after him, and now stood on the surface of the river not far away.

“Immortal, my name is Zhu Yidan. I wish to be your disciple,” Zhu Yidan called out, his disappointment evaporating when he saw the young man standing atop the water. Smiling, he hurried a few steps closer.

“My disciple?” Zhou Qing was baffled by the request, unable to fathom why the child would say such a thing.

“Your name is Zhu Yidan, yes?” Zhou Qing asked, and the boy nodded. “I am not an immortal, just a man seeking the Way. Besides, I have no intention of taking on a disciple at present. Do you understand what I mean?”

“You’re lying. You are an immortal. Please accept me as your disciple,” the boy insisted, as persistent as a burr.

Zhou Qing was puzzled by the child’s stubbornness. Why was he so desperate to become a disciple?

“Immortal, please take me as your pupil. I may be young, but I know a great deal,” Zhu Yidan added quickly, seeing Zhou Qing scrutinize him.

“Tell me, child, why are you so determined to become my apprentice?”

“I—” Zhu Yidan hesitated, then clenched his tiny fists, a flash of anger passing over his face as if recalling something. After a moment, he lowered his head and began to speak in a low voice.

With the boy’s explanation, Zhou Qing finally understood. The village he had passed through was called Maple Leaf Village. Thirty miles to the west stood Wolf Howl Mountain, home to a band of brigands. Two years before, the outlaws from Wolf Howl Mountain had raided Maple Leaf Village, killing Zhu Yidan’s father, Zhu Gen, and abducting his young aunt, Zhu Ting.

From that day, Zhu Yidan had nursed a desire for vengeance, yearning to rescue his aunt and avenge his father. But he was a poor village child, still barely grown, with no master to teach him martial arts. How could he possibly hope to take revenge?

Yet since childhood, he had heard the elders speak of immortals—those who could conjure wind and rain, and create armies from a handful of beans. If he could only learn such arts from an immortal, he was certain he could avenge his father.

So when Zhu Yidan saw Zhou Qing summon the wind with a mere gesture, he was convinced he had finally encountered the immortal of legend.