Chapter 179: The First Disciple of Tianyi Comes of Age

Under the jurisdiction of the Great Tang, in the southern lands, there was a small county town named Turtle County. With only three days left in the year, the town welcomed its first snow of the season.

The snow fell fast and thick, blanketing the sky and earth, continuing from afternoon into evening. In just over an hour, the ground was covered with a heavy layer of white.

To the south of Turtle County stood a mansion, luxuriously decorated. Hanging above the entrance was a wooden plaque, lacquered in gold, bearing the words “Yin Residence.”

To the left of the Yin Residence was an unremarkable commoner’s house. At this moment, a middle-aged woman sat by its doorway, sewing clothes with a long, slender needle.

As she sewed, the main gate of the Yin Residence creaked open. A prosperous-looking middle-aged man emerged, hands clasped behind his back, followed by a young servant dressed as a houseboy, not yet twenty.

The young man carried a thick quilt and accompanied the middle-aged man directly to the woman’s door.

“Why are you still sewing clothes in this freezing weather? Chunhua and Chunling are both married now, sister, you shouldn’t tire yourself out like this.”

The middle-aged man spoke at her door, then glanced at the servant behind him. “Sister, with this heavy snow, I figured you might not have a thick quilt, so I brought you one.”

“That won’t do, Brother Yin. You’ve already helped us so much over the years—I can’t accept this quilt.”

The woman made a show of stopping the servant, but the man gently restrained her.

“No more formalities, sister. When Master asked Master Cao to bring you and your daughters here, it was so I could look after you three. If I ignored you now, how could I ever face Master in the future?”

This man was none other than Yin Mao, and the woman before him was the very one who, together with her two children, had been rescued by Zhou Qing at the foot of a war-torn mountain years ago.

A decade had passed in the blink of an eye. Yin Mao was now in his forties; the woman's hair had grown silver, and both her daughters were married.

In these ten years, relying on some of the techniques Zhou Qing had taught him, Yin Mao had become well-established in Turtle County. His name was known by all, respected by everyone in the town, who referred to him as Master Yin.

Though his skills were modest, they were more than enough to deal with minor disturbances. No significant evil had arisen in Turtle County during these years, so as his reputation grew with each incident, it became ever more illustrious.

Besides his own abilities, Yin Mao had another advantage: the most powerful rebel army in the north now rivaled the Tang in power and had established a state of its own, called Jin. Within it, a renowned national advisor by the name of Cao commanded great influence.

That advisor visited Turtle County each year to see Yin Mao, further enhancing Yin Mao’s standing in the town.

After delivering the quilt and exchanging a few words with the woman, Yin Mao returned to his residence. Stepping through the thick snow into his courtyard, he sighed, then proceeded into the main hall.

“Master, your tea,” a maid greeted him, setting a steaming cup on a wooden table by his side.

Ignoring her, Yin Mao walked into the incense hall behind the main room and knelt before a wooden altar. Upon the altar was not a local deity, but a portrait depicting a man in a vibrant red robe—his master, Zhou Qing.

“Master, today I thought of you while delivering that quilt. It’s been ten years in a flash. If not for the techniques you taught me, how could I have gained all this wealth and honor? Have you been well these ten years? Will you pass through Turtle County again? Do you still remember your disciple, Yin Mao?”

Kneeling alone before the altar, Yin Mao spoke softly to the portrait, lighting a stick of incense and placing it in the burner.

He was not an ungrateful man. Since settling in Turtle County, he had kept Zhou Qing enshrined on the altar, and though he did not worship every day, he knelt in reverence at least once every three days.

He also cared deeply for the woman and her daughters, whom Zhou Qing had arranged to be sent here, for everything he had now, he owed to Zhou Qing.

Lost in memories of those days on Wolf Howl Mountain, he did not notice the sky outside growing dark.

“Master, dinner is ready,” a servant called softly from outside. Yin Mao lingered a moment longer, then rose and left the incense hall.

Though he had settled in Turtle County for ten years, he had not taken a wife. His devotion to the path of cultivation was deep, and after years as a bandit, he had seen through many of the world’s mundane affairs.

The Yin Residence housed five servants—three young men and two maids—all around twenty years old, all orphans.

Perhaps wishing to atone for his misdeeds as a bandit, Yin Mao had taken these five in from the streets. He never treated them as mere servants; as now, they all sat at the same round table for dinner, like a real family.

“Master, the radishes in winter are especially sweet. Today I made a soup with pork bones and radish—please try it,” one of the maids offered earnestly, handing him a bowl.

He tasted the soup with his spoon, then picked up a piece of radish with his chopsticks and nodded approvingly.

“Don’t just watch me eat—everyone, enjoy. It won’t be as good once the soup cools.”

Seeing the five servants gazing at him, Yin Mao laughed and encouraged them to eat, and the six of them began their meal with joy.

As they ate, one of the servants asked, “Master, could I stop studying with Mr. Wang? I want to learn the Dao from you instead.”

“Jiu Jin, my own cultivation is shallow, hardly worth teaching. You should focus on your studies. If you earn a degree someday, I’ll make sure to find you a plump, healthy wife who’ll bear you sons.”

Similar requests had been made many times before, but Yin Mao never agreed.