Chapter Thirty: The Little Immortal

Casually pushing open the two doors left ajar, sunlight flooded into the room, illuminating it suddenly. At once, she was greeted by a large portrait: a woman clad in foreign attire, her long hair braided into many small plaits, gazing tenderly with a gentle smile...

The painting was so lifelike and enchanting that, were it not hung high with a neatly arranged altar and ancestral tablets before it, Lingran might have mistaken it for a living person and been startled. Besides the incense table and altar, the main hall contained only two candlesticks flanking the table, a meditation mat before it, and a large jar for discarded paper.

She set her belongings down on the sole bamboo chair against the wall and entered the inner chamber.

The arrangement inside was sparse, as though most of the original furniture had been removed, making the already large room feel even more empty. On the heated kang at the far side hung a sizable cradle, beside it an iron pot for boiling water. Lingran knew that charcoal was burned in winter for warmth, which dried out the air; this iron pot was to add moisture. There was also a large bed, but the brocade quilt and other items were gone, leaving it looking rather cold and forlorn. Beside the bed was a small door; Lingran passed through and laughed in delight.

Inside, she found a bathtub carved from a single block of agate, with a nearby rack seemingly for miscellaneous items. She hurried to the tub, leaned over, and peered inside—it was reasonably clean, covered only with a light layer of dust. She resolved to tidy it up soon; bathing would be convenient, and water could be boiled on the kang outside.

She rose and opened all the windows, letting sunlight pour in, then cheerfully went to explore the other side of the main hall.

On the other side, a small corridor awaited her. She opened every window along it, discovering three rooms.

Walking to the end, she pushed open the innermost door and saw a small bed against the wall, bedding and blankets folded neatly. She guessed this would be her own quarters, rummaged through the chest, and found bedding for every season. She took out a set, changed the sheets, patted her hands, and felt very satisfied.

Next, she checked the adjacent room, which seemed to be the original owner’s music chamber. Inside stood something resembling a harp. Lingran strummed it; the sound was melodious and moving. The wood used for the instrument appeared especially rare, smooth to the touch, shimmering with a metallic sheen. The stool was charmingly shaped from a tree root.

She had studied the flute for over two months at Xun Yun Villa, and could now play decently. Though she couldn't compare with true masters, playing a tune for herself was no problem. She thought, once she received her monthly allowance, she’d ask someone to buy her a flute.

The last room, near the main building, was arranged as a study. The rosewood desk was equipped with all the scholarly essentials: an orderly pen rack hung with wolf-hair brushes of every size, boxes beside the inkstone containing what appeared to be plant-derived pigments. The bookshelf behind the grand chair was covered with blue cloth. Lifting it, she saw books neatly packed within, and a smile blossomed from her heart.

What luck! This place was perfect for living. If only she could bring Biqing and Yuan’er here for company, how wonderful that would be.

But where was the kitchen? Wasn’t there supposed to be one?

She pondered, soon realizing there were more rooms on the right side than the left. Perhaps, for convenience in heating during winter, the kitchen was built adjacent to the master bedroom. She exited, intent on finding the kitchen.

Just as she stepped outside, she saw someone leisurely ascending the stone steps toward the hill.

This person’s hair was tied high, adorned with a beautiful jade piece, dressed in pale green casual robes with a diagonal collar, waving a silk fan clearly meant for a woman. He shook his sleeves, as if suffering from the heat. When he saw Lingran, both paused in surprise.

His skin was snow-white, brows sharply arched, eyes bright—a handsome, free-spirited air. He was none other than the young immortal Wu Wei whom she’d seen on Yanle Street, though she had no idea why he’d come alone to the Prime Minister’s hill.

Wu Wei spotted her and strode over, grinning broadly. “I thought today would be all drudgery! Turns out they’ve arranged a beauty for me here! Not bad, not bad.”

“Beauty? Me?” Lingran pointed at herself in disbelief, thinking this portrait immortal must have forgotten her.

“Of course, one of the precious princesses—the one in green from that day. I noticed you at a glance. What? Has His Highness learned of this and sent you to me today?” He waved his fan, his smile as intoxicating as spring breeze. Had anyone else spoken such words, they’d likely anger a young woman, but his manner was so natural and equal that it was impossible to take offense.

Lingran had to admire his memory. It wasn’t strange for her to remember him: that day, he stood above all like a celebrity, while she was just one among ten beauties. To be remembered at a glance was truly remarkable.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Wu Wei settled himself grandly in a nearby pavilion. “I’m parched. Is there any water for me?”

Lingran thought it seemed no one else visited this hill, so chatting with him would be a good chance to learn about the Prime Minister’s residence. And judging by his words, perhaps he was on good terms with Prince Xiang? If so, befriending him might help her rescue Yuan’er, Biqing, and Li Tangmei.

With this in mind, she intentionally sought his favor, quickly rushing into the kitchen.

Fortunately, the kettle and stove were ready. The question was, where to fetch water? She opened every jar and bottle, to no avail. Finally, she opened the back door and discovered a clear pond, with a bamboo pipe feeding fresh water, trickling in.

She found a ladle, fetched water, rinsed the kettle, and filled it. Beneath the stove, she discovered flint and firestone. A bit unskilled, she managed to strike the asbestos and kindle the fire.

Though she had learned pastry-making from Aunt Zhou, she’d never been taught to start a fire. She’d observed the kitchen boys and secretly learned from them, so to succeed on her first try was no small feat.

In this short time, Wu Wei had already wandered in, poking his head about. “Hey, what’s your name? Why are you so slow?”

Lingran, needing his goodwill, dared not disrespect him and replied with a smile, “It’s my first time lighting a fire. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Kept me waiting?” Wu Wei waved his fan dismissively. “I’m not old yet—no need for such titles. Wu Young Master, Immortal, Scholar Ying—call me whatever you wish.”

Lingran found “Immortal” the most distinctive, so she called him that sweetly, delighting him so much his brows danced with joy.

He boldly squeezed onto the long, low bench beside Lingran as she tended the fire. “What’s your name?”

“My surname is Zhang, given name Lingran—‘Ling’ as in the character with three drops of water.”

“Hmm, truly a name that suits you—so light and graceful.” Wu Wei praised her sincerely, but without any lewdness.

He seemed free-spirited yet not vulgar, maintaining a certain self-restraint.

“Why did the Immortal come up the hill today?” Lingran naturally steered the conversation.

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Another hundred bookmarks! Time for bonus chapters—might as well post them all together. Thank you all for your steadfast support. If anyone still has pink tickets, could you spare me one? I’d also love to ask for PK votes, but I feel a little guilty making you spend money. Give what you can, as you see fit.