Cultivating for a hundred lifetimes to ascension Chapter 1455 - 787: Rebirth in the Small Town

Zhao Sheng stirred back to consciousness but kept his eyes firmly shut at first.

A serene hush enveloped the area, carrying a subtle aroma in the atmosphere—reminiscent of sandalwood mixed with a touch of cosmetic powder.

"Am I still alive?"

Doubt flickering in his mind, Zhao Sheng cautiously parted his eyelids. Before him hung silken curtains, ornate balustrades, lavish bedcovers, and beside the bed sat a maiden with her locks tied into twin knots.

He realized he was reclining on a bed. Lifting his limb and holding it before his face, he beheld a pale, slender hand that felt entirely alien and certainly wasn't his.

"Could this be a transmigration? Or maybe... I've taken over another's form."

These ideas surging through him, Zhao Sheng abruptly propped himself upright on the bed. Sensing the frailty and helplessness in this frame, shock and uncertainty gripped him tightly.

Where had his once-unbeatable True Body vanished to?

Beyond that, not a single wisp of the Primordial Spirit could be detected.

Right now, he existed as nothing more than a plain, unremarkable mortal.

Accustomed to myriad strange occurrences, Zhao Sheng swiftly composed himself and methodically scanned the chamber's decorations.

His actions in that instant roused the maiden dozing near the bed.

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she glanced upward and, spotting the young master propped on the bed, cried out in delight: "Young Master, you've finally come to! I'll fetch the Master and Madam right away."

With those words, the maiden sprang to her feet, spun nimbly, and dashed from the room, giving Zhao Sheng no chance to halt her.

Thirty minutes passed before Zhao Sheng, clad in a fresh ornate gown, took a seat at a spacious circular table laden with tempting viands.

Two others occupied spots at the table. To his left lounged a plump, ruddy-faced middle-aged fellow. On the right perched a mild-mannered middle-aged lady exuding warmth.

These individuals served as Zhao Sheng's supposed "father" and "mother."

By now, Zhao Sheng had absorbed the lingering recollections from this vessel and grasped the basics of his current environment.

"He" went by Zhao Gongzhuo, heir to a prosperous landowning clan, the sole offspring, and had just turned eighteen this year.

The household mainly traded in rice, flour, grains, and oils, owning five stores and three hundred mu of rice paddies, which rendered them fairly affluent.

Fresh from a grave ailment, Zhao Sheng felt ravenous. Confronted by the array of gourmet treats, his hands itched eagerly; he snatched up his chopsticks at once and dove into the meats with gusto.

"Let the ancient immortal safeguard my boy in tranquility. Come morning, we shall head back to the shrine to honor our pledge—Infinite Heavenly Venerate, grant us your favor!" The middle-aged woman gazed fondly at her son devouring his food, pressed her palms in prayer, and bowed multiple times in thanks.

Next to her, the stout middle-aged merchant gently cautioned, "Zhuo'er, since you've only just mended, steer clear of those shady companions for now. Without their luring, how could you have tumbled and almost perished in the water?"

"Mmm." Zhao Sheng mumbled offhandedly to his folks as he kept feasting.

The feast stretched on for a complete hour.

Sated from the bountiful meal, Zhao Sheng conversed lightly with his parents for a bit before deftly ushering them away.

As his parents departed in turn, Zhao Sheng lingered in his seat momentarily, then rose abruptly and strode from the central hall.

No sooner had he emerged than a youth drew near warily and inquired, "Young Master, might I ask your destination?"

Zhao Sheng eyed the fellow coolly and replied flatly, "I've been stuck in bed for days on end and grown weary of it. I'm off to see a companion shortly; no need for you to tag along."

"This... That won't do! The Master ordered me to watch over the Young Master closely. How could you venture out by yourself? Should any mishap occur, I couldn't shoulder the blame." Chen San, hearing this, grew flustered and begged hastily.

This youth was called Chen San, raised within the estate, son to the chief manager of the property.

Barring any surprises, he was slated to inherit the role of head steward next.

In response, Zhao Sheng shrugged indifferently, "Fine, if you're set on trailing me, do so. But hear this: while with me, hold your tongue and keep your eyes open. Moreover, I prefer my father stays in the dark about my affairs. Report to him, and you're off the hook—no more shadowing."

At these words, Chen San's features twisted in distress, yet he acquiesced with a nod, "Chen San will heed the Young Master's instructions."

Mmm!

Zhao Sheng gave a faint nod and advanced toward the front yard.

Noticing this, Chen San hastened to keep pace behind him.

…

Mingxi Town thrived as a lively waterside settlement in Jiangnan, crisscrossed by an intricate web of channels. Countless streams wound not only through lanes and byways but also carved out vital passages.

Far off, arched stone spans crossed the waterways, constructed from solid azure bricks and pale rocks, remarkably durable—rumored to endure a century without fail.

Beneath the bridges, the waters gleamed pure and transparent, teeming with myriad darting fish, while riverside willows danced in the soft gusts.

Strolling by the water's edge, a path of blue stones extended alongside the flow, lined thickly with merchants' outlets like apothecaries, script sellers, undertakers, provisioners of grains and fats, plus eateries and lodgings.

Crowds thronged the avenues, the majority rushing about purposefully, though a handful beamed happily, ambling at ease.

Zhao Sheng numbered among the latter.

Ere long, he reached the crest of a stone bridge, resting on the parapet to peer down at the stream, where a dark-covered skiff glided leisurely from the distance, slipping beneath the arch.

Besides the elderly rower, a stately middle-aged literati occupied the craft, attired in a deep green scholar's gown, a jade ornament dangling at his belt, and he chanced to tilt his head upward.

Their eyes locked, and oddly, held steady for quite a stretch.

Zhao Sheng's eyes narrowed sharply, fixing on the man's brow, inscribed with a bold glyph "Feng."

The script glowed red as fresh-spilled blood, striking a chord of deep recognition.

In a flash, Zhao Sheng reached for his own brow, yet detected no mark.

His face shifted, and he promptly descended the bridge to the bank, where the water mirrored his visage with perfect clarity.