Chapter Fifty-Four: No Rain Yet in the Mortal World

Hua Sheng drew in a sharp breath. Oh no! The tissue was damp! If he pulled it away forcefully, wouldn’t flecks of paper stick to his face? Then he’d have to rub back and forth as if wiping a table—how embarrassing would that be? Wait, he had an idea! If he pressed a dry tissue onto the wet one, it would absorb the moisture; that way, not only would the sweat on his forehead be taken care of, but both tissues could be removed at once.

How clever I am!

The thought filled Hua Sheng with a sense of pride. He took out another tissue and brought it toward his face, just as Supreme Lord Xianjun, absorbed in his incantation, tilted his head slightly. The second tissue slipped from Hua Sheng’s grasp, landing instead on the other side of Xianjun’s face!

Not only that, but the lower half of the tissue stuck to Xianjun’s sweat-drenched nose.

At this moment, he looked exactly like one of those iconic Hong Kong vampires from the 1980s, with a talisman pasted across his face.

This is a disaster! My cleverness has backfired! Sweat began to pour down Hua Sheng’s own forehead like a waterfall. If Supreme Lord Xianjun saw him like this, would he cut him down in fury?

Hua Sheng hurriedly used the rest of his tissues to wipe the cold sweat from his brow.

“If you dare stick another tissue to my face, do you believe I won’t throw you into the alchemy furnace too?” came Xianjun’s deep voice from beneath the tissue-laden mask.

“Ah…hahaha…”

Hua Sheng forced a laugh to cover his embarrassment, but the sound was more like the gloating of a prankster whose trick had just succeeded.

“I was just worried you’d get too hot and lose focus, so I was helping you wipe away some sweat. Don’t get the wrong idea!”

Xianjun freed a hand, tore the tissue from his face, balled it up, and tossed it toward a distant waste bin—a good five meters away. The crumpled tissue sailed straight into the small, bowl-sized opening.

“Beautiful! A perfect three-pointer! Haha!” Hua Sheng applauded eagerly, seizing the chance to change the subject.

“You, Guardian Attendant! Back to your post, now!” Xianjun’s voice grew stern once more.

Hua Sheng scurried back to his station, grasped the Bagua feather fan, and resumed fanning the giant bronze cauldron with all his might.

“Fan more slowly!”

“Yes, sir! Haha!”

For a while, all was peaceful. The wall clock’s hour hand crept toward five in the morning. Though drowsiness gnawed at him, Hua Sheng dared not slack off, afraid to disrupt the important work of alchemy. At that moment, Supreme Lord Xianjun raised his hands, his fingertips weaving through the air. Suddenly, golden sparks flickered at his fingertips, coalescing into a golden talisman, which he pushed forward, sending it flying into the cauldron.

He then pressed both palms toward the furnace, his expression weary, and said, “Hua Sheng, I have spent the night performing alchemy and casting spells; my powers are somewhat depleted. In the final stage, when the Nine-Turns Rejuvenation Pill is about to be completed, we need an even stronger flame, until the fire is pure and blue-white. I need your assistance.”

“Just say the word!” Hua Sheng set the fan on his lap, flexing his fingers eagerly.

“Use your Fire Manipulation Art to bolster the Six Ding Divine Flame, but keep it as concentrated as possible. Do not let the fire spread; focus it narrowly—the smaller the heart of the fire, the better.”

“No problem!” Hua Sheng recited the incantation for Fire Manipulation, pointed two fingers at the cauldron, and shouted, “By urgent decree, fire arise!”

Immediately, the two-story-tall bronze cauldron glowed red-hot from the blaze within. Xianjun formed an encircling gesture with his arms, channeling the fire’s energy, and shouted, “Hua Sheng, focus the flames even more! Make the fire’s heart smaller!”

Hua Sheng poured all his effort into concentrating the heat to a single point. The only sounds were the roars of wind inside the furnace, as if a tornado had formed within, immortal energy swirling rapidly. The entire café was filled with an exquisite fragrance. The flowing celestial energy inside the cauldron condensed into a sphere, smaller and smaller, until it finally became a tiny, perfect orb.

“Excellent!” Xianjun traced circles in the air with his finger, each rotation shrinking further, forming a golden spiral that tightened again and again. “When I say one, withdraw the true fire.”

“Okay…wait! From where are you counting? Ten? Five?” Hua Sheng blurted out.

But Xianjun had already begun, “Three, two, one—now!”

In perfect unison, they pulled their hands back.

Hua Sheng, having put in too much force, tumbled from midair and landed hard on the floor.

“Ouch! I fell right where you pinched me earlier. The bruise isn’t healed yet—it hurts like hell!”

Xianjun calmly collected his spiritual energy, straightened up, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and leaned wearily against the nearest table.

Suddenly, a crisp clanging rang out from inside the cauldron, as if a marble were bouncing around the hollow vessel. Then, from the pipe above the cauldron, the marble’s rolling resonated—a melodious rhythm echoing through the café—until at last, a bright golden elixir rolled out from the end of the pipe. This pill resembled a tiny luminous pearl, emitting an intoxicating fragrance and filling the shop with light.

When the radiance faded, Xianjun gently picked up the Nine-Turns Rejuvenation Pill. It was as if he held a masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship. After examining it carefully, he smiled. “Nine-Turns Rejuvenation Pill, but not the original flavor—it’s coffee-flavored.”

He conjured a small wooden box from his hand and placed the elixir inside.

“An actual celestial elixir—truly a priceless treasure in the mortal world!”

“It’s passable, nothing more.” Xianjun yawned. “The equipment is a bit crude, and your skills as Guardian are average. The color isn’t as pure as it should be. If I had to rate it, I’d give it a seven out of ten. Still, in the next few days, those who buy coffee here will be fortunate. The first batch of beans roasted in the alchemy furnace will yield coffee that cures all ailments and prolongs life.”

“Such an amazing elixir only gets a seven? I’d say it’s at least a nine!” Hua Sheng objected, dissatisfied with the score.

“Fine, call it a nine. But when I’m at my best, I can usually craft elixirs that score eighty-five or higher.”

“What? Seven out of a hundred?” Hua Sheng’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “That’s far too harsh a standard!”

“Regardless of the score, it’s still a Nine-Turns Rejuvenation Pill—more than enough to subdue that ferocious Chaos Beast,” Xianjun said. “We’ve been busy all night, and I’m feeling weary. Hua Sheng, brew me a cup of coffee. And this time, remember: no sugar, no milk.”

The city sky was paling with the first light of dawn. Street sweepers had already begun their labor. The early morning passersby trudged along, fatigue etched in their steps—sleep-deprived students, so-called white-collar types just off their shifts with their ‘white-collar’ salaries, and young people heading home after all-night revelry, their loneliness and emptiness trailing behind.

Hua Sheng and Xianjun, coffee cups in hand, found a long wooden bench in a downtown park and sat down.

“On these streets, everyone is driven by fate,” Hua Sheng observed, watching the crowds as he stretched and raised his cup.

From the mortal world to Saint Pingning, and now back again, he suddenly saw things differently. What drove people to toil their whole lives? He had once believed life needed a goal, a sense of purpose to be realized. But now, as he watched the hurrying crowds, they seemed to him no more than mayflies, born at dawn and gone by dusk.

“This time your coffee is pure—nothing extra. Satisfied?” Hua Sheng leaned back, gazing up at the city sky.

But Xianjun didn’t reply. Hua Sheng turned to look.

Xianjun had already fallen asleep, slumped against the bench. His coffee cup had tipped, and pure black Americano was spilling from the little hole in the lid. Hua Sheng set the cup upright and wiped the bench dry.

He took a sip himself. He never mentioned to Xianjun that he liked his coffee the same way.

Among countless billions of mayflies, what does it matter if you are the one remembered? After you’re gone, those who remember you will soon vanish too; generations later, who will recall your name? You, who seemed to have changed the world—could the world not be better off without you? Who’s seen that other world?

Ambition—the sense of achievement that urges you ever upward—is it, like wealth and beauty, just another shallow desire of ordinary men?

Then what is the meaning of life?

Perhaps, life’s meaning is life itself. Driven by desire, mortals busy themselves, but what they do hardly matters. Life has no other meaning, because life itself is its meaning; the question is the answer.

If you are alive, then strive to live with all your might.

Suddenly, Hua Sheng looked up, sensing something, his gaze fixed on a nearby building. Seeing no one around, he faded from view and flew to a window.

On the other side was a white hospital bed. Only then did Hua Sheng realize this was a hospital. Beside the bed, a middle-aged woman lay slumped, while on the bed was a little girl, no more than seven or eight, connected to a tangle of tubes.

The moment he saw the girl’s face, Hua Sheng nearly cried out.

Weiyu!

No, no! Hua Sheng immediately corrected himself. This girl only closely resembled Weiyu; she was just a child. Not only that, her hair was black, not the silvery shade that shimmered on Weiyu’s head.

Shock and hesitation flickered in Hua Sheng’s eyes.

He was astonished not only by the striking resemblance, but also because he felt he’d seen this girl before.

In his mind’s eye, a single image remained: the child in a black dress, drenched, standing in a thunderstorm.

He vaguely remembered the scene, as if from a dream. No, not a dream—suddenly, fragments flashed through Hua Sheng’s mind. Yes, it was before he fell into the sea! Just before he went to Saint Pingning!

He was certain—he had indeed seen this little girl before! For some reason, before he journeyed to Saint Pingning, he had met her—a girl who looked so very much like Weiyu.

The girl was breathing faintly, as if each breath took all her strength, any one of them possibly her last. Her vital energy was desperately weak—she hovered on the edge of death.

He stood by her bedside, powerless to understand.

One thing Hua Sheng knew for certain: this was an utterly ordinary mortal child.

She could never be Weiyu.