CDJMM – Volume 3 – Chapter 5 Compassion of the Buddha (5)

Since Le Jing had already achieved his goal, he straightforwardly told Mei Yingliang the clue he’d seen. “The person you’re looking for—does he have six fingers on his right hand?”

Mei Yingliang jolted with excitement the moment he heard it. “Yes, that’s him! May I ask, senior, where should I go to find him?”

To be honest, the scene Le Jing had seen from Mei Yingliang was blurry and shaky, and the information he got was extremely limited. At a time like this, he could only pretend to be mysterious—speak vaguely, let the kid fill in the blanks on his own.

The boy’s gaze lifted slightly. His heterochromatic eyes shimmered, unfocused as they landed on Mei Yingliang. Within them, faint golden mists seemed to swirl, as if he were staring through Mei Yingliang at some unknown existence in silence.

A strange tension seemed to linger in the air. Mei Yingliang swallowed nervously. A weak current seemed to run over his body, leaving him tingling.

He instinctively softened his breathing, not daring to interrupt this long, profound gaze.

He was certain—the boy before him was performing some kind of mystical divination ritual.

Finally, the boy lowered his eyes, ending the long stare, and spoke in a low voice. The childish tone somehow carried an ethereal, drifting quality. “To the east of Binhai, south of Changsu, there is a valley where peach blossoms bloom year-round. Several dozen families live there. The man you seek lives beneath the big pagoda tree at the village entrance.”

Mei Yingliang was overjoyed.

He never expected senior to divine such a detailed answer just by looking! And senior had even told him so thoroughly! Mei Yingliang was practically moved to tears by the man’s sincerity.

If it had been his master standing here, he definitely wouldn’t have gotten such an answer. He could already imagine his master’s reply—“Head south. Peach blossoms flourish.”

…Is that even human language???

And if he asked his master for something more specific, his master would certainly look at him with disdain and scold, “Are you a pig? You lack even this much comprehension, and you dare talk about cultivation?”

Senior was truly an honest and good man!

Facing Mei Yingliang’s blank, dazed stare, even Le Jing felt a rare twinge of guilt.

The area he’d given was way too big. How long would it take to search?

The Ascension Gate selection was soon. What if Mei Yingliang missed it because he couldn’t find the man?

He hesitated, then cautiously added, “The road is a bit long… Don’t miss the Ascension Gate because of it.”

As for himself, Le Jing had never considered the possibility of not being chosen. He had these eyes, after all. Mei Yingliang had already built his Foundation, yet he still couldn’t see as much as Le Jing could. With a golden cheat like this, how could cultivators be blind to him? Whatever reaction Mei Yingliang had after learning the truth—that wasn’t Le Jing’s concern.

Those were all trivial details. He’d think about everything after he entered a sect. Worst case? He’d just join another one.

Mei Yingliang stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then bowed deeply, stumbling over his words. “Senior is truly a good person. I will never forget your kindness for the rest of my life! During this Ascension Gate selection, I will do my best to pick promising seedlings for senior!”

Senior had given him such detailed directions—if he still couldn’t find the man, then he really would be a pig, unworthy of cultivation!

Le Jing: “…Uh, okay. Thanks?”

When he realized Mei Yingliang wasn’t bothered by the vagueness of the information at all, and instead was deeply grateful, Le Jing simply decided to voice his own concern directly. “If the day of Ascension Gate comes and you still haven’t found him, what then?”

Mei Yingliang replied without hesitation, “Then I won’t look anymore. I’ll go attend the Ascension Gate first. I’ll also be participating in the Debate Gathering. My master said that if I perform well this time, I can become an inner disciple.”

The Debate Gathering?

Another new term.

Le Jing’s eyes flickered. He began subtly probing for more information.

To him, Mei Yingliang was like a researcher who spent all day buried in a lab—pure, honest, simple-minded. In other words, easy to pry information out of.

Sure enough, without much effort, he extracted details about the “Debate Gathering.”

The Ascension Gate was a grand talent selection held every ten years by the Daoist sects. On this day, the immortal gates opened, and ordinary people from all over the land came to compete—thousands of troops crossing a single-plank bridge, all for the chance at immortality.

Like the Olympics, the hosting location changed each time. This year, it was Linqing Sect’s turn.

But if it were only a mortal recruitment, the event wouldn’t be so celebrated in the cultivation world.

Recruiting disciples was merely the appetizer. The main event was what came after the gates closed—the competition among the elite young disciples of each sect: the Debate Gathering.

It had two sections: martial contests and philosophical debates. The former involved physical combat, like a sports tournament; the latter was verbal, more like a debate competition. Mei Yingliang was competing in the Dao arts division.

Seeing the longing in Mei Yingliang’s eyes whenever he mentioned it, Le Jing immediately understood how important the event was to young cultivators. For Mei Yingliang, it was a rare chance to exchange skills with other sects, and an excellent opportunity to shine and make a name for himself.

And although Mei Yingliang hadn’t said it outright, Le Jing vaguely sensed another purpose behind the event—establishing authority and winning loyalty.

To let newly inducted disciples witness true divine abilities firsthand, crush the arrogance they carried over from the mortal world, clarify their direction, and—most importantly—develop a sense of belonging to their sect.

…

After eating and drinking, Le Jing parted ways with Mei Yingliang. Mei Yingliang headed south to find his target; Le Jing stayed in Changsu City to wait for him for half a month, after which they’d go to the Ascension Gate together.

Stepping out of the restaurant, he looked up at the blazing sun and showed a rare, expectant smile.

It looked like he would have to continue making a living as a fortune-teller for the next half month.

Now that he’d eaten, it was time to bathe, change clothes, and get his wounds bandaged, lest they become infected.

The beggar’s clothes he wore were filthy and smelly. Fortunately, Le Jing wasn’t the type to care. And Mei Yingliang, with his good manners, had shown no distaste.

“Um… senior,” Mei Yingliang suddenly called out. Le Jing turned back and saw the young Daoist hesitate before taking out a small white porcelain bottle. His gaze lingered on Le Jing’s injuries. “I have a bottle of high-grade Reviving Pill. If senior doesn’t mind…”

Le Jing immediately took it and grinned. “Then I’ll accept it. Thank you.”

Mei Yingliang waved his hands repeatedly. “Senior is too polite. I only managed to progress thanks to senior’s guidance. It’s just a Reviving Pill—senior must have far better ones. I only hope senior doesn’t think I’m meddling.”

Le Jing almost laughed aloud.

This little Daoist was such a fool. He’d been tricked into spilling so much information, yet not only had he failed to notice, he even regarded Le Jing with reverence. It was almost ridiculous.

“Little Daoist, keep three parts of your words to yourself—don’t pour your whole heart out. You still need more experience.” The boy narrowed his eyes, hiding their unusual colors, and cupped his hands with a warm smile. “Be careful in all things. Take care.”

Mei Yingliang froze for a moment, then belatedly realized he was being warned. He shouted after the boy disappearing into the crowd, “This junior understands! Thank you for the guidance, senior!”

The boy waved without turning back, quickly vanishing at the street corner.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced in Mei Yingliang’s mind—a conversation from when he was young:

“With master’s talent, you’ll definitely become immortal soon!”

“Talent? What talent? I’m only diligent, that’s all.” His usually aloof master had given a rare bitter smile. “I’ve exhausted myself calculating heaven, earth, fate, and the lives of all beings, yet it’s nothing compared to someone else’s single glance.”

Back then, Mei Yingliang didn’t understand what “a single glance” meant, nor could he imagine anyone more powerful than his master.

Now, he suddenly understood.

Senior was the kind of person even his master would envy—someone truly gifted.

With just one glance, he could see past lives, determine the present, and discern cause and effect.

…

…

As Le Jing was passing a fabric shop, he ran into the chubby kid again. The little fat boy was anxiously spinning in circles. When he looked up and saw Le Jing, he shouted in excitement and hurried over. “I’ve been waiting forever! You finally came back!”

He carefully pulled out a cloth pouch from his chest and handed it over with a pained expression. “Here, take it. My brother’s and my New Year’s money is all in there. You’re not allowed to curse me to death anymore.”

Le Jing took the pouch and weighed it. Oho—quite heavy. Inside were four or five silver pieces.

He looked at the chubby boy’s expectant eyes and suddenly found him much more pleasing to the eye. He nodded. “I won’t curse you. You can go.”

The boy instantly broke into a grin, even forgetting the pain of his lost money. His missing front teeth were fully on display. “You said it! No take-backs!”

Le Jing nodded. “No take-backs.”

Watching the boy skip away cheerfully, a subtle hint of mischief curled at his lips.

He had already seen that this chubby kid had a life full of disasters yet would somehow live to a ripe old age—a fate that felt almost like a curse.

You reap what you sow. Every sip and every step is destined.

…

With the extorted New Year’s money, Le Jing took a nice long bath and scrubbed off all the grime the original idiot had accumulated over the years. Then he bought clean clothes for himself.

As for the Reviving Pill… Le Jing had enough caution to test one first. He fed it to an injured stray dog by the street.

Under his unwavering stare, the dog’s bleeding wounds rapidly healed and scabbed over, and even its dry, matted fur began to look glossy.

The dog stopped whimpering, opened its bright black eyes, stared at Le Jing for a moment, then licked his hand obediently.

Le Jing didn’t mind the dirt. He grinned and patted the dog’s head.

“Good boy.”

Well, wasn’t this interesting.

He thought absent-mindedly—who would’ve thought a dog could attend the Ascension Gate, and even be chosen? What was this, a demon cultivator?

He walked on, and soon discovered the dog was following him.

He glanced at it once but didn’t chase it away, silently allowing it. The stray immediately wagged its tail, scampered to his side, and circled him excitedly.

At the creek, Le Jing looked at his reflection in the clear water. The idiot’s appearance wasn’t bad at all—fine brows, deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and those cat-like eyes. At first glance, he looked like a mixed-race child.

He was just too thin, cheeks sunken from malnutrition. He definitely needed proper feeding.

And so, the next day, a curious sight appeared in Changsu City.

A little boy set up a fortune-telling stall on the most famous antique street in the city, declaring: If the reading is wrong, tenfold compensation.