Chapter 14: Lifespan: Grandmaster Lu Is Actually Pretty Cool This Time

Lu You drew a handful of incense from the incense holder and counted it roughly. He lit it at the Everburning Lamp, bowed once more, and only then reverently planted it in the incense burner at the very center of the Altar Offering Table.

Faint smoke dispersed into the air. Lu You picked up the red cloth bundle holding the silver needles, spread it open, and drew the needles out one by one into a single fan, pressing them flat in his palm with his thumb. He held them over the smoke for three slow circles—incense offering complete—then carefully returned each needle, one at a time.

Lu You was drowsy to the point his eyes could barely stay open. He forced himself to put everything away, swept a glance over the scripture pressed on the altar, and raised a hand to summon Qin Shuheng.

Qin Shuheng answered and came over.

Lu You pointed at a spot in the scripture. “A passage is missing here.”

“What!” Qin Shuheng’s heart leapt into his throat on the spot. Never in his wildest imagining had he thought Lu You could spot an error in the single glance between lighting incense and looking things over. Leaning forward in disbelief, he looked closely.

It really was wrong.

After the line in the scripture reading “what has been realized, and what has not—all is pardoned and thus removed,” a passage was genuinely absent; a line from the Earth Official’s text had been dropped, jumping straight to “The Celestial Worthy says.”

Lu You’s lids drooped as he said, “Careless. Copy it ten more times.”

This was a genuine error caught red-handed. Qin Shuheng didn’t dare even cry innocence, only managed weakly, “Master, may I switch to a different scripture? This one’s too long.”

Lu You only said, “As you like.”

So he said—but how would Qin Shuheng dare truly do as he liked? He slouched off, head hanging.

“I need to sleep a while.” Lu You’s brow knitted involuntarily, and he looked to He Zhuchun. “Are you heading back to campus, or what?”

“I’ll wait for you here.” He Zhuchun smiled. “I can even help keep an eye on your Little Disciple copying scriptures.”

Lu You left the word “Fine” behind him and went upstairs alone to catch up on sleep.

Huang Kuaipao stepped onto the Altar Offering Table and didn’t follow. Two bead-black eyes watched He Zhuchun a moment, then turned back toward the Altar Roster.

The Patron Spirits dwelt in the Altar Roster in ordinary days. From the outside, the roster was merely a somewhat larger square of red velvet; within, it concealed whole universes. Huang Kuaipao burrowed in, hind legs landing first, one foot set down squarely on the great road at the center.

The overall layout resembled a high-end residential compound.

Flanking the great road beneath his feet rose towers that scraped the clouds, lights on in a few of the households; beyond the buildings stretched white mist, like a barrier, loosely cradling this little world with no end in sight.

This was the Altar Camp of Lu You’s Patron Spirits—the place where the spirits lived and rested when there was no work. Huang Kuaipao looked about, and beneath a building on one side stood a fox, gaze fixed, plainly waiting for him.

Huang Kuaipao’s eyes brightened; his legs pumped as he ran, shouting as he went: “Grand Hall Keeper!”

The enormous Nine-Tailed Red Fox smiled as he watched him scamper over, and only when the little Yellow Weasel reached his feet did he ask, “How did it go?”

“They’ve already met.” Huang Kuaipao answered. “The two of them took a job together today to send off a Vengeful Immortal, and the disciple took no money again.”

Little Huang grumbled, dissatisfied: “His lifespan was always limited, and now he leaves himself no safety net at all. Grand Hall Keeper, I truly worry he won’t last until these tasks are done—should we not have set the tasks so late?”

“You must have faith in our Little Disciple.” Hu Tianba watched him. “The timing cannot be moved any earlier. Any earlier, and beware the butterfly’s wings—one flutter, and everything gains variables.”

“Can’t we push it back further, then? Thirty years old—barely two years from now—and seven tasks to complete. Far too tight.” Huang Kuaipao was still uneasy. “Or else we go below and borrow some lifespan, lend the Little Disciple another hand.”

This immortal’s burden was too heavy. The eight Incense Bearers before Lu You had all died at thirty, and Lu You would be no exception. This trade leaked the secrets of Heaven by its very nature; karma hung thick upon it; and with Karmic Debt crushing the Incense Bearer down, long life for them was pure fantasy.

The other Incense Bearers had managed fine: collect the fees in full, periodically repay the Nether Karmic Debts, and living to a ripe eighty or ninety—even past a hundred—was commonplace enough. But Lu You’s eight predecessors: not one of them an easy lamp to keep lit. The first especially had gone chasing nothing but heaven-punished work, saddling generation after generation of descendants with karma to repay, life after life. And after so many years of repayment, only Lu You’s one lifespan remained to settle the account in full.

Hu Tianba let out a sigh. “All living things in this world rise and ebb by fixed decree. This ‘borrowing lifespan’ of yours—who may borrow and who may not, and how much can be borrowed—all of it is Heaven’s to decide. Just look at your disciple’s reckless, death-defying conduct. If you were Heaven, would you nod and lend to him?”

What’s this ‘your disciple’? Huang Kuaipao thought darkly. As if he’s got nothing to do with you.

Then he schooled his face, shook his head solemnly, and agreed: “If I were Heaven, I certainly wouldn’t lend.”

“The arrow loosed from the bow never returns. All we can do is trust him.” In a blink, the Nine-Tailed Red Fox transformed into a man in black robes and long gown, hands clasped behind his back. “We must believe in him as he believes in us—that is the only fairness.”

Huang Kuaipao’s fluffy white muzzle twitched. “I understand.”

Hu Tianba patted his head affectionately, pressing those two round ears somewhat flat, and was about to say more when a yellow blur came flying toward them from afar—and in a blink had tangled itself around Huang Kuaipao.

It was another exquisite, adorable little Weasel Immortal.

The two little yellows tumbled hugging in circles before wobbling to a stop at last, Huang Xiaole pinning Huang Kuaipao beneath him, delighted: “Brother Kuaipao, you’re back!”

Huang Kuaipao patted him. “Huang Xiaole, get off! You’re heavy!”

Huang Xiaole clambered obediently aside and stood, eyes still sparkling, and boasted, “I was meditating with Hall Leader Huang, but the moment you came in I caught your scent and immediately asked for leave to run find you and play!”

Hall Leader Huang was the sub-leader of the Altar Hall specifically charged with managing the Huang Family Immortals.

Huang Kuaipao stood and brushed nonexistent dust from himself. “Slacking on your cultivation again? Careful, or Boss Huang punishes you!”

“Hall Leader Huang would never have the heart to punish me!” Huang Xiaole was all bouncy delight, cuddling with Huang Kuaipao a good while longer before finally noticing Hu Tianba standing off to one side.

He separated a step from Huang Kuaipao and greeted him smiling: “Good afternoon, Grand Hall Keeper!”

“Good afternoon, Xiaole.” Hu Tianba waved a hand. “You two play; I’ll head back first.”

Huang Xiaole was still cheerful: “Take care, Grand Hall Keeper!”

Once Hu Tianba’s figure had vanished entirely, he was shouting Huang Kuaipao’s name and turning to pounce all over again.

“Huang Kuaipao.”

When Lu You opened his eyes, dusk had just begun to settle outside. He propped himself halfway up, rubbed his forehead, and asked, “What time is it?”

Huang Kuaipao had come up to the Second Floor half an hour early to keep watch; now he hopped to the bedside in a few steps. “Five thirty. Still early.”

Lu You said, “Not early. Time to get to work.”

“You’ve slept less than an hour.” Huang Kuaipao worried for him. “Can’t the job wait until tomorrow? You need proper rest right now.”

Lu You shook his head. “A promise is a promise. I won’t let laziness delay what must be done.”

Huang Kuaipao knew Lu You’s stubborn streak—once set, eight horses couldn’t drag him back—so he said no more, just crouched beside him, cradling his little face in his paws, waiting for him to get up.

On the way down, Qin Shuheng was still earnestly copying scripture, He Zhuchun sprawled alongside with his legs crossed, on his phone. Seeing Lu You come down, he even rose for a token welcome.

He Zhuchun asked, “Rested?”

Lu You gave an answer: “Let’s go.”

“Leaving right after waking? Great Immortal Lu, are you some model laborer?”

Lu You ignored him, went straight to the Altar Hall, tucked the red bundle into his coat, and headed for the door. He Zhuchun followed—and just as his heels cleared the shop’s entrance, Qin Shuheng suddenly called him back.

“Hey!” Qin Shuheng said. “My Master loves doling out kindness, so the trouble’s on you to keep a close eye on him. And if you can—look after him a little too.”

He Zhuchun paused a beat, nodded with his back turned, and his body was already out the door before his answer drifted back through the air:

“Okay.”

When Lu You entered, Wang Jianguo’s drunkenness hadn’t fully worn off; someone must have woken him earlier, for he sat muzzily on the living room sofa, half-propped against the backrest—his waist without strength—sipping the sobering soup Chen Lihua had boiled for him.

Chen Zhuzhuo opened the door for the two of them at the entryway and ushered them in, saying as they walked, “After dropping you at the workshop I came straight back. With this weighing on my mind I couldn’t work properly anyway, so I figured I might as well return and watch over my father.”

Wang Jianguo had just had the evening’s events recounted by wife and son, and fear gnawed at him now in earnest. Seeing Lu You approach, he strained to lift his upper body higher.

“Master, you’ve come.”

Lu You: “Mm. How are you feeling now?”

Wang Jianguo said, “Fine, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lu You asked again, “Clear-headed?”

Wang Jianguo nodded. “Clear-headed.”

The incense burner from the afternoon still sat on the table—Chen Lihua had deliberately not put it away, fearing Lu You might need it again.

And Lu You did indeed need it again.

Lu You walked to the table and said, “Let’s begin now.”

His efficiency was genuinely fearsome; everyone snapped to readiness at once—Wang Jianguo worst of all, his hands trembling: “Master, do—do I still need to drink?”

Lu You said, “No need.”

And seeing Wang Jianguo involuntarily exhale in relief, he added, “This time, needles will be enough.”

Wang Jianguo’s breath choked to a halt halfway down his throat. Bewildered, he asked, “Needles? What needles?”

Lu You produced the red bundle, untied the outermost ring of red thread, and freed of its binding the cloth unfurled in one smooth cascade—revealing a row of silver needles flashing cold light.

Chen Zhuzhuo saw it and asked out of sheer habit, “If you’re going to do acupuncture, do you have a medical license?”

Lu You gave him a faint sideways glance. Chen Zhuzhuo suddenly remembered something and grinned sheepishly instead: “No license is fine too. Master, we all trust you.”

Lu You said, “Nothing will go wrong. Rest assured.”

Lu You always carried that effortless composure about him, and those around him relaxed accordingly. With a reliable Great Shaman like Lu You underwriting everything, no hardship seemed quite like hardship anymore.

Brow faintly knitted, Lu You lifted the incense sheaf from the table, drew one sheaf out, and unbound the red paper ring the same way as before. He Zhuchun, exceptionally perceptive, produced his lighter from his pocket and handed it over. Lu You took it, lit the sheaf from the center outward, held the incense high overhead in homage to the four directions, and after three devout bows planted it neatly and squarely in the porcelain incense burner.

The fire in the burner blazed high. This time the ash did not split into two camps—it held as one whole sheaf, the fire drawing inward from the rim, converging upward into a column with a crimson core, burning tall.

That fire-core flushed red, wrapped about by a ring of Golden Radiance; the ash of the incense column fanned outward, curling and unfurling in layers around the core’s edge—and truly bloomed into a large, perfectly formed lotus.

At that very instant, Lu You’s whole bearing shifted. He pulled a chair over behind him with one hand and sat with legs crossed, ran his fingers up through his hair and smoothed it back, revealing clear, handsome brows and eyes.

His habitual weariness had vanished without a trace. Lu You’s lips tugged, and those pale red lips abruptly curved into a radiant, brilliant smile.

The shift was too sudden. He Zhuchun glanced at the ash, then fixed his gaze on Lu You, understanding in his heart: another Patron Spirit had taken the apertures.

Pure, unalloyed pride sat on Lu You’s face. Carrying an aggressiveness never seen from him before, his fingertip tapped the air above Wang Jianguo’s crown, a thread of crimson light burning in his amber pupils as he called out:

“State your name, whoever comes! Those who refuse, who lie, who falsely report—be slain at once, no pardon!”