The Dao Master of Earth Immortals in the Age of Decline
Green mountains and drifting clouds—a single thought, and all is but an immortal realm; gazing at flowers through the mist, who can truly discern the world's blurred affairs? Lin You, having wandered by mistake into this world, simply chose to recline atop the mountain peak, gazing down with care upon all of humanity. He watched the clouds gather and disperse, the wind's fickle nature; he saw ancient immortals expounding their teachings beneath pine trees, emperors raising high platforms to worship the heavens, and solitary elders treading lonely paths, all in pursuit of the elusive promise of immortality. Yet, after counting all the splendors of the mortal world, he found none who lived freely as an immortal amidst the dust of life. So, he cast down a single seed. Years later, a divine tree burst forth from the earth, its crown piercing the azure skies, its roots reaching into the underworld, its pure light illuminating all the realms. Glass-like jade leaves hung low, three thousand seeds of the Way shimmered in harmony, breathing in and out endless spiritual energy. From that moment on, the myriad realms of the mortal world were transformed into a sanctuary for immortals. Only the green mountains remained, thoughtful and serene, envying neither the white cranes nor their carefree flight. This is the tale of a cultivator in the waning age of Dharma.
The Dao Master of Earth Immortals in the Age of Decline
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At the break of dawn, the mist of pine smoke veiled the distant, layered peaks, resembling crimson gauze and golden tents that enveloped the entire Scarlet Pine Mountain. The pine forests glowed red like clouds, their shadows scattered, swaying as if stretching and dancing in the morning breeze.
On the ancient path beside the mountain, a narrow stone road paved with blue rocks wound upwards through the dark pines and verdant cypresses, soon disappearing into the swirling mist halfway up the slope. Amid towering peaks piercing the sky, monkeys swung along cliffs, birds called with melodious cries that echoed through ravines and precipices. Their voices were primitive and rugged, carrying a wild, pure undertone.
Lin You, wearing a straw raincoat and rough shoes, holding a bamboo staff, stood atop stone steps carpeted in moss. The morning dew dripped from the surrounding foliage, yet not a drop managed to dampen his clothes; even the blue cloth bundle on his back remained perfectly dry.
The bundle was small, containing only a few changes of clothing and a single black wooden memorial tablet. This was the spirit tablet of the master of his current body—a slovenly Daoist, unkempt in life yet surprisingly carefree in death.
Lin You gazed at the winding ancient path ahead, his right hand resting on his pack, his expression momentarily unreadable.
A month ago, while searching for the legendary Kunlun Divine Tree atop Mount Kunlun, he had fallen into a bottomless abyss. When he awoke, he found himself inhabiting the body of a sixteen-yea
