Upon first hearing tales of immortals, one finds them hidden within ancient scriptures and venerable tomes.

“Sir, wait a moment. This man's identity is unclear, and the extent of his injuries unknown. It would be safer to report to the authorities,” the innkeeper’s voice sounded at just the right time. Though his words were tactful, he inwardly blamed Fang Zheng for his rashness. Still, his concern was genuine; he worried Fang Zheng would draw unnecessary trouble upon himself. After all, today’s events were highly unusual—possibly some feud from the underworld. Moreover, he feared being implicated himself.

“Rest assured, innkeeper. I have considered it carefully. Whatever consequences arise, I alone will bear them; you will not be dragged into this.” As Fang Zheng spoke, he had already reached the black-clad stranger. The innkeeper moved his lips as if to speak, sighed, and said nothing more.

Fang Zheng crouched down and checked the man’s breathing, feeling a measure of relief upon finding it steady and strong. As long as the man was alive, things could be managed; if he had perished, there would be no choice but to call the authorities. And once the officials were involved, they would surely investigate every detail. In a town this size, the constables had all crossed paths with them by midday and would surely recognize their party. That would open the door to endless trouble, and if it affected the children’s examinations, Fang Zheng would be to blame.

“His breathing is stable; there does not appear to be any serious harm. Innkeeper, please fetch a physician. Any expenses can go on my account. And, please, help me carry him to my room.” With that, Fang Zheng produced a piece of silver—a thumb-sized fragment that Zhang Meng had pressed into his hand that very morning. In this world, silver was precious; a fragment of that size could cover half a month’s expenses for an ordinary family. It would more than suffice to hire a doctor.

“You are too generous, sir. I’ll fetch the physician at once, but there’s no need for silver. The incident happened here, and you have already taken on the burden of dealing with it—how could I accept further payment? The costs for this brave man are mine to bear,” replied the innkeeper. Hearing the wounded man was alive, his own worries eased. Hiring a physician and paying for some herbs was a small price to pay for the goodwill of the guests. In these troubled times, reputation for justice and righteousness was still greatly valued.

Hearing the innkeeper’s words, Fang Zheng understood his intent and decided to allow him this gesture of kindness. “Thank you, innkeeper. Please have him brought to my room,” he replied.

At his command, two of the inn’s assistants lifted the black-clad man and carried him upstairs to Fang Zheng’s quarters. With the excitement over, the crowd dispersed—some returned to their wine, others to their rooms. Yet the air still buzzed with excitement as they discussed the mysterious arrival of the stranger and expressed varied opinions about Fang Zheng’s decision to help—some with praise, others with sarcasm, revealing the full spectrum of human nature.

Fang Zheng followed the assistants upstairs, where he found Zhang Meng, who had just arrived, evidently having witnessed everything from below. Zhang Meng’s face was lined with worry; he seemed to hesitate, as if wanting to speak but unsure how. Fang Zheng motioned him inside, and the two entered together. After directing the assistants to lay the black-clad man on the bed and fetch hot water, Fang Zheng finally had a moment to himself. He invited Zhang Meng to sit at the table, poured a cup of tea, and said, “Brother Zhang, is there something on your mind?”

“Little Fang, I’m just a rough man, not good with words. If I say anything amiss, don’t take it to heart.” Though Zhang Meng appeared burly and simple, his mind was anything but coarse. Fang Zheng could easily guess what troubled him; he knew Zhang Meng’s concern was about the rescue. Before broaching the matter, Zhang Meng prepared the ground, then continued, “I haven’t much learning, nor have I seen much of the world, but I’ve survived these thirty-odd years and seen a thing or two. Today, brother, you acted a bit rashly. The incident in the street earlier was one thing—we had reason on our side. But this matter now, anyone can see it’s a mess best avoided. Even the innkeeper Zhao dared not intervene. Now you’ve stepped into this quagmire; I fear it will bring you more harm than good.”

Having spoken his mind, Zhang Meng looked uneasy, worried that Fang Zheng might be angered, and even more concerned that the man on the bed might spell serious trouble. He glanced at Fang Zheng, but seeing him calm and smiling, all self-assurance, Zhang Meng felt his own tension ease.

Fang Zheng listened patiently, then smiled and said, “Have some tea, brother Zhang, and let me explain my reasoning.” He then calmly laid out his thoughts. Zhang Meng listened and understood well the potential risks and benefits. He found himself quietly impressed by Fang Zheng’s thoroughness; he had not considered so many angles himself. Now, having heard Fang Zheng’s explanation, he had little left to say. Rising to his feet, he admitted, “It seems I thought too simply. If the authorities did become involved, there would certainly be trouble. I don’t visit this county town often, but I’ve heard enough of its corrupt officials. No doubt we were able to leave earlier with little fuss because the examinations are near and too many eyes are watching, and the crowd supported us. But give them an excuse, and they won’t let it go easily.”

Fang Zheng was pleased to see Zhang Meng understand the situation. He didn’t want this honest man to feel uneasy on his account. “If anything, I’ve brought trouble upon everyone. I’m sorry for the worry, brother Zhang.”

“Little Fang, what are you saying? You’re the benefactor of Green Ox Village. These little troubles are nothing. If you treat us as outsiders, that’s the only thing that would be wrong!” Zhang Meng replied with urgency, even standing up as he spoke.

Fang Zheng was warmed by his sincerity. “No need to be upset, brother. It was poorly said on my part.”

“It’s nothing, so long as you don’t treat us as strangers.” As they spoke, a gentle voice called from outside—it was the innkeeper, announcing the arrival of the physician. Fang Zheng opened the door and welcomed them in.

The physician was an elderly man of about fifty, short and slightly plump, with graying hair and a beard streaked with black and white, giving him a faintly comical appearance. In his arms he carried a small, polished wooden chest—presumably his medical kit—clutching it as if it were some precious treasure.

Fang Zheng did not judge by appearances; in his previous life in Guangzhou, he’d seen enough billionaires in shorts and flip-flops to know better. The innkeeper introduced the physician, “Mr. Fang, this is Doctor Chen from the Ten-Thousand Remedies Hall in town, a master of his art, famed for miraculous cures.”

He turned to the physician, “This is Mr. Fang from Green Ox Village, a learned scholar.”

Doctor Chen, a shrewd and charming man, responded with natural flattery. “Sir Fang, I have already witnessed your bearing with my own eyes on the street today—a true dragon among men.”

“You are too kind, sir; I am but a humble student, unworthy of such praise,” Fang Zheng replied modestly.

“Thank you for coming, Doctor Chen. Please, have some tea before attending to the patient.”

“No need, it’s only a few steps away. The patient comes first; let me take a look,” Doctor Chen replied, placing his kit on the table. Clearly the innkeeper had briefed him on the way. Doctor Chen glanced at Fang Zheng, who nodded, then moved to the bedside, observed for a moment, rolled up the man’s sleeve, and took his pulse. After a few breaths, he examined the man’s pupils and face, then stepped back and exhaled.

“This gentleman is fortunate indeed. From his pulse, there’s nothing gravely wrong. His complexion is a bit sallow, a sign of exhaustion—likely the result of days of travel and mental strain, leading to a depletion of vital energy and causing this fainting spell. Judging by his robust physique and steady pulse, he should wake naturally after a few hours’ rest. I will prepare two prescriptions to replenish his energy and blood. With a little care, he’ll recover quickly.”

He hurried back to the table, clutching his kit. Fang Zheng found the physician’s manner rather amusing.

“Thank you, Doctor Chen. Please, have some tea.”

“No need, sir. I have matters to attend to at the shop and must return to prepare the medicine so the patient may recover as soon as possible.” Seeing he was intent on leaving, Fang Zheng did not insist and escorted him out. The innkeeper called a stout assistant to accompany Doctor Chen back and to bring the medicine.

Returning, the innkeeper checked to see if Fang Zheng required anything further. Once all was arranged, he departed as well. Zhang Meng finally relaxed. As long as the black-clad man was not in serious danger, there should be no further trouble. After a few more words, he reminded Fang Zheng to call on him if needed, then returned to care for the children.

Fang Zheng went to the bedside and saw that the man’s complexion had improved. Returning to the table, he poured himself some tea. After all the turmoil, he was weary. He hadn’t finished his tea when he heard movement on the bed. Rising quickly, he saw the man frowning, murmuring incoherently as if in pain.

Fang Zheng fetched another cup of tea, raised the man’s upper body, and held the cup to his lips. The man, seemingly parched and not fully conscious, drank eagerly, and only after draining the cup did he open his eyes. At first, he seemed lost, but after a few breaths, awareness returned and he struggled to sit up.

Fang Zheng quickly poured another cup, handed it over, and said, “Drink some water first. The doctor has seen you; there’s nothing seriously wrong. You’re just exhausted. After a few doses of herbal medicine, you’ll be fine.”

“Where am I? Did you save me?”

“Heh, herbal medicine? How could herbal medicine save me? Even the Ghost Valley’s miraculous elixirs couldn’t do that,” the man replied. “I know my own condition; I won’t live more than a few days. Young man, why bother saving me? Aren’t you afraid of bringing disaster upon yourself?”

Fang Zheng was confused by this strange talk; the man seemed to be speaking to himself, his mood clearly unstable.

“The physician examined you carefully, and you look much better now. You’re awake, after all—how can you talk such nonsense about dying in a few days?” Fang Zheng’s irritation grew. He had risked much to save this man, and now the man seemed bent on dying, displaying a contempt for life that Fang Zheng found infuriating. He thought of how many promising young people in his world had ended their lives, leaving grief for their families and friends, and how many heroes had perished trying to save others.

“Heh, don’t be offended, young man. My situation is complicated, not easily explained. I know best what is wrong with my body. While I still have time, let me leave you something good—it’s no use to a dying man. Don’t interrupt, just listen. I am a cultivator, what you mortals call an immortal practitioner. I have suffered injuries to my very core; there is no hope of recovery. This is but a final flicker before the end. Once I settle my affairs, I will immediately self-dissolve. I ask only that you deliver my ashes to the Heavenly Heart Sect on Azure Cloud Mountain. Don’t refuse. Though I am down and dying, I won’t let you go unrewarded. In this ring are some pills, cultivation manuals, spirit stones, and magical items—consider them payment for your trouble. There’s also a jade pendant, a token that will ensure you are received at the Heavenly Heart Sect. Be sure to give it to Elder Zhao Yuming. The restriction on the ring is lifted and marked with your spirit; to open it, simply focus your mind and will it.”

Having said all this, the man who called himself “Yu” managed only to toss the ring before his body instantly turned to a pile of black ash. Fang Zheng was left stupefied, neither catching the ring nor sparing a thought for fear. He felt as if he were dreaming—an utterly fantastical dream.

A cultivator? Self-dissolution? Magical items, cultivation manuals, spirit pills? Azure Cloud Mountain? Heavenly Heart Sect? Elder Zhao?

What was all this? A xianxia novel? Some web fiction plot?

Fang Zheng sat there as if his soul had left his body, still holding his tea, lost in a daze...