Chapter 69: What Does It Matter Anyway?

This is a world of immortals, where reviving the dead is not impossible, yet among mortals, such things remain utterly shocking.

When the dozen or so members of the Wang family heard Liu Ping agree, as if he truly had some confidence, and say he would “give it a try,” they were all stunned. The cries and sobs abruptly ceased, and everyone looked at Liu Ping in disbelief.

The Wang family patriarch, Wang Bin, hurried over, nearly kneeling before Liu Ping, but Liu Ping quickly supported him—he was an elder, and such a gesture was too overwhelming to accept.

Wang Bin pleaded, “If you can save my son, I am willing to do anything. Please, Master Liu, save him!”

Wang Hong’s elder brother, Wang Quan, spoke from the side. “Master Liu, I beg you to save my brother.”

This matter was inconceivable; most could not believe it. Yet these two understood the secrets of the immortal path. In this world, there were many with extraordinary powers. They had witnessed Liu Ping slay the evil demon with his sword and knew deeply that Liu Ping was no ordinary man. For him to say such words now, it was surely not idle talk.

Liu Ping nodded. “I will do my best.”

Murong Zizhu, overwhelmed with joy, wept as she spoke, “Thank you, Master Liu!”

Wang Hong, beside them, was excited and asked repeatedly, “Fengchang, can you really bring me back?”

Liu Ping replied quietly, “I do not know.”

Wang Hong was surprised. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Liu Ping said, “When did I promise I could save you?”

“But you just said…” Suddenly, Wang Hong recalled Liu Ping’s earlier words—‘I’ll try’—and his words stopped, a little helpless. “Brother Liu, you’ve really made me rejoice for nothing.”

Liu Ping said, “But there should be some chance.”

Wang Hong was instantly delighted. “That’s good! How much chance?”

“I do not know,” Liu Ping answered.

Wang Hong deflated again, speaking in despair. “You’re playing tricks!”

Liu Ping said, “Your transition is quick, isn’t it? So soon you’ve abandoned the habit of being human? Truly promising.”

Wang Hong forced a smile. “Is that what you call promising?”

Liu Ping said, “That is not certain.”

Murong Zizhu was helped to her feet. The ancestral hall was not a place for discussion, so they moved to an inner chamber.

While conversing with Wang Hong, Liu Ping was lost in thought—how could he possibly bring Wang Hong back? If only his soul were separated, a soul-restoring pill would suffice, but now his heart was gone. Even if the soul returned, death would still be inevitable.

Should he attempt a heart transplant? Though difficult, it was not impossible, but Liu Ping was no physician and hardly confident. This was truly treating a dead horse as a living one, but then again, it was indeed a dead man to be saved… The heart transplant seemed feasible, but upon reflection, it was too fantastical. Better to consider other methods first, and only if those fail, revisit this idea…

Murong Zizhu noticed Liu Ping seemed to be murmuring to someone and asked with bright eyes, “Master Liu, who are you speaking with? Is it my cousin?”

Upon hearing this, Wang Bin and Wang Quan shivered, looking around in startled delight. “Hong’er, are you here?”

“He is indeed here,” Liu Ping nodded. “To save Wang Hong is uncertain, but I have a granduncle at the Little Gravel Mountain Daoist Temple. I will visit him and see if he can help. If he is willing, he should be able to revive him.”

Murong Zizhu was overjoyed. “I’ll go with you!”

Wang Bin said, “I’ll come too.”

Liu Ping nodded, “Let’s all go together.”

Wang Hong said, “I’ll go too!”

Liu Ping was about to refuse, but then reconsidered and agreed. If Wang Hong’s soul were seized by ghost messengers, that would be disastrous. With a flip of his hand, he took out a small pearl and whispered, “Enter this, or else sunlight will destroy you.”

“Oh…wow!” Wang Hong approached and was immediately drawn inside, crying out in surprise.

Wang Bin turned to Wang Quan. “Quan’er, stay home and preside over matters today. Handle everything carefully, and let no idle gossip spread. Do you understand?”

Wang Quan’s face grew solemn, knowing the consequences of today’s events leaking out. He nodded earnestly. “Yes!”

Soon, they arrived at the Daoist temple and explained their purpose. Xuan Shen shook his head, saying, “I am no immortal; how could I revive the dead?”

Hearing this, Murong Zizhu nearly fainted, and Wang Bin staggered, almost collapsing.

But Liu Ping’s eyes brightened, and he asked, “Does granduncle have a solution?”

“You see through everything.” Xuan Shen sighed at Liu Ping’s cleverness and nodded. “There is indeed a way.”

Murong Zizhu and Wang Bin’s eyes lit up.

Xuan Shen pondered a moment and said, “At the market, there is a madman who often lies in dung heaps. Go ask him. If he insults you, do not be angry. According to his temperament, there may be some hope.”

Upon hearing this, the group was bewildered.

Murong Zizhu, however, insisted, “I’ll go right away!”

The group prepared to leave. Xuan Shen, seeing Liu Ping’s pale face, called him back, “Wait, take this.”

Liu Ping accepted the pill with delight and bowed. “Thank you, granduncle, for your gift!” With this, his internal injuries from the earlier battle would heal quickly.

“Go now,” Xuan Shen waved dismissively.

In no time, they returned to the county town and headed to the market. After a brief inquiry, they found the madman’s whereabouts.

Walking quickly, they soon saw a mad beggar singing and staggering down the street, dragging a three-foot-long stream of mucus, so filthy no one dared approach.

Liu Ping frowned. He saw nothing extraordinary about the madman—had he mistaken someone else?

Murong Zizhu, regardless, knelt before the madman.

The madman grinned. “Little beauty, do you like me?”

Murong Zizhu explained their purpose. The madman burst into laughter. “How amusing! I am not the King of Hell; how could I revive the dead? Ridiculous, ridiculous!”

He picked up a stick and began beating Murong Zizhu.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The sound was crisp, and Murong Zizhu’s face twisted in pain.

“This madman! Scoundrel!” Wang Hong’s soul glared from inside the pearl, shouting, “Zizhu! Don’t let yourself be humiliated! Why are you so foolish?”

As if hearing Wang Hong’s words in the void, Murong Zizhu muttered, “As long as… as long as cousin can live, what does being beaten or humiliated matter?”

Liu Ping did not intervene, his brow tightly knit. In that instant, he discerned the madman’s unfathomable depth—a realm like an abyss.

Wang Hong screamed in anguish, but to no avail. Hearing Murong Zizhu’s words, his grief deepened, but no tears flowed.

For he was already dead.

People gathered, watching the beggar beat the young woman, murmuring and indignant, but seeing the madman, they stepped back, unwilling to provoke him.

How could Zizhu endure such humiliation? Wang Hong gritted his teeth and called to Liu Ping, “Brother Liu! Stop her! Don’t let her beg that madman!”

Liu Ping seemed not to hear, keeping his eyes fixed on Murong Zizhu.

The madman, exhausted from beating her, tossed aside the stick, coughed up a glob of phlegm, held it before her face. “Eat it!”

Wang Hong was thunderstruck. “Scoundrel! No! Zizhu, don’t eat it!”

Facing the filthy phlegm, Murong Zizhu felt her scalp tingle, her face flushed, hesitating.

Liu Ping was about to intervene, but Murong Zizhu, as if resolved, leaned in and ate the phlegm clean.

Wang Hong stared in stunned silence, at a loss for words.

“Little beauty, you really enjoy eating phlegm?” The madman laughed smugly.

Murong Zizhu felt a blockage in her chest, unbearably uncomfortable. She was just about to speak when she looked up—the madman had vanished.

The crowd was dumbfounded, shocked by his sudden disappearance.

Murong Zizhu was especially despondent. The madman’s departure signaled that hope for Wang Hong’s revival was gone. She burst into tears.

As Murong Zizhu wept bitterly, Wang Hong’s face twisted in pain. He whispered, “Zizhu, I am sorry.”

Wang Bin shook his head and sighed. The beggar’s sudden disappearance confirmed he was no ordinary man. Since he refused to help, their last hope was extinguished. He spoke weakly, “Let’s go back…”

Liu Ping looked around, secretly shocked. Such power was beyond even ordinary earth immortals—could it be a celestial immortal? Yet why would a celestial immortal become a beggar here?

Back at the Wang residence, Murong Zizhu stood lost before Wang Hong’s coffin.

“You have died. What meaning is left for me in life?”

She cried aloud, heartbroken.

Just as others were about to comfort her, Murong Zizhu suddenly felt nauseous, coughing violently. “Cough! Cough! Ugh!”

Opening her mouth, she spat out a heart, still warm, beating in her hand. Startled, she was about to throw it away when a shout rang out, “Wait!”

Liu Ping entered, eyeing the heart with several thoughts. “Could this be the turning point?”

He took the heart and placed it on Wang Hong’s chest. The heart, as if it had legs, crawled into his chest.

Once inside, countless flesh buds grew from the wound. The once ghastly injury gradually healed, leaving only a coin-sized scar.

Moments later, Wang Hong slowly opened his eyes.