Chapter 21
Ascending Spirits Festival
Jon stepped into Qingtian's clothes, finding them neither too big nor too small, but surprisingly just right. The fabric was soft against his skin, reminiscent of high-quality cotton, lending an air of understated elegance to his ensemble. A black belt cinched the waist, and the two layers of top clothes added a touch of traditional flair that Jon hadn’t expected to appreciate as much as he did.
In the modestly sized guest room, Jon found a small mirror propped against the wall. He took a moment to tidy his hair, which had grown slightly unruly since his last haircut on Earth—only about six days ago, yet it seemed much longer given all that had transpired. Using his hands, he styled it in a manner typical of men from his world, a simple, neat arrangement that felt both familiar and oddly appropriate in this new setting.
As he stepped out of the room, feeling somewhat like a character out of korean drama, Bao came hurtling towards him at full speed. The young boy skidded to a stop in front of Jon, his eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. "You look just like Uncle Qingtian!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing down the hallway.
Qingshan, who had followed Bao at a more sedate pace, came up behind his son, a broad smile lighting up his face. "He's right, brother Jon. You do look good in it," he said, clapping Jon lightly on the shoulder in a gesture of approval.
As they walked together towards the main part of the house, Jon was greeted warmly by the rest of Qingshan's family. Lianhua smiled at him and said, "You wear it well. Qingtian would have been proud to see it used so fittingly."
Her daughters, Mei and Hua, giggled and nodded in agreement, their earlier shyness around Jon seemingly evaporated in the face of his transformed appearance.
Jon, still adjusting to the weight of compliments in a world so different from his own, managed an awkward smile. "Thank you, I’m just glad it fits," he replied, his response eliciting a round of gentle laughter from the family.
They continued their light-hearted banter as they returned to the lively village square, now transformed with vibrant lights and colors for the evening’s celebrations. Lanterns of all shapes and sizes hung from strings criss-crossed above the square.
Tables full of food stretched across the length of the space, just like in a Ghibli movie, surrounded by villagers in vibrant attire, their voices rising and falling in laughter and chatter.
Jon took a moment to survey the crowd. Qingshan and his family excused themselves to greet other villagers, leaving him at the edge of the communal table. Before they departed, he inquired about Chief Zhen Wu.
Qingshan's response was casual yet reassuring, "He'll probably come a bit later. Enjoy the night in the meantime." With a friendly nod, Qingshan then guided his family through the throng of revelers.
Left to his own devices, Jon's gaze drifted back to the food before him.
He hadn’t eaten anything substantial since Carmy’s hearty breakfast a few days ago, and surprisingly, he wasn’t as famished as he’d expected to be even after a day filled with physical labor and emotional roller coasters. Yet, the sight and smell of warm bread on the table stirred his appetite to life. The bread was buttery, promising comfort with a hint of something more adventurous stuffed inside. Intrigued, Jon approached the table and picked up a piece.
Biting into the bread, Jon was greeted by a cracking sound that rivaled a Parisian baguette, and oh, the juice of the stuffed meat—it was a revelation. The flavors exploded in his mouth: the meat was succulent and richly seasoned with exotic spices and herbs Jon couldn't name but would remember forever. The bun itself carried a subtle sweetness and a buttery texture that made Jon close his eyes in culinary ecstasy he hadn't expected in this world.
Just as he was about to take another bite, a familiar booming voice cut through his gastronomic reverie. “Jon! Brother Jon, come join us!”
Opening one eye slightly, Jon saw Li Xin across the square, waving frantically and sporting an even broader grin than usual. The sight inexplicably irked Jon more than he could rationalize. Maybe it was Li Xin’s untimely interruption of his first truly blissful moment in days, or perhaps it was Li Xin's grating, frat boy pseudo-joviality.
Jon decided to feign ignorance, turning slightly to shield his face with a strategic bite of the heavenly bread. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavors, hoping Li Xin would find another victim for his boisterous camaraderie.
But it wasn't to be.
“Brother Jon, come! Come!” Li Xin’s voice grew louder, infused with an enthusiasm that seemed to stretch the very limits of social stamina.
This guy... Jon thought, his annoyance flaring unexpectedly.
With a sigh, he realized there was no polite escape. He took one last, longing look at the feast on the table before setting his half-eaten bun down. Steeling himself for another round of boisterous conversation, he made his way through the crowd towards Li Xin.
As he approached, Li Xin clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. "There you are! I was beginning to think you'd turned into a ghost, haunting the buffet table," he joked, thrusting a cup of some steaming local brew into Jon's hands.
Jon managed a tight smile, accepting the drink. "Just trying to make sure I try everything once, you know?" he replied, his tone light but his mind still on the quiet moment he'd just lost.
Li Xin nodded sagely, as if understanding Jon's plight. "Ah, but you must pace yourself, Brother Jon! The night is young, and the best is yet to come. Wait until you try the honey cakes—your taste buds will thank you!"
As Jon sipped the brew, which was surprisingly aromatic and soothing, he allowed Li Xin's enthusiastic chatter to wash over him. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing to be pulled into the heart of the village's joy.
Li Xin then introduced Jon to another member of the festive throng. "Brother Minghan! This is Brother Jon, son of Jet Li! The one I told you about. He's a merchant, just like you! Haha." Li Xin's voice boomed with genuine excitement.
Jon turned to see the man. "Brother Jon, this is Minghan," Li Xin continued, slightly slurring his words. "He came here a few weeks prior to the fight that occurred a few days ago. He was traveling to the central plains and he got caught, it seems."
If stress were a person, Minghan would be its twisted doppelganger. The man looked like a festive, bright-colored dumpling shell stuffed completely full of frazzled anxiety. His mustache was the only part reminiscent of an actual person - meticulously groomed and keeping vigil over his upper lip like a dapper little doorman at the entrance to a frat house after Armageddon.
The rest of him appeared designed by a committee of hung-over wardrobe assistants. His hair seemed to have been styled by sticking a fork in a light socket, the electrified yellow tendrils fraying in every direction. And those eyebrows? Yeesh - two massive, unkempt caterpillars taking refuge on his face after being forcibly evicted from their natural habitat on some unlucky kid's forehead.
But the pièce de résistance were Minghan's downcast eyes themselves. Being in their vicinity felt like bearing witness to the thousand-yard stare of a Medieval siege survivor who'd seen coffers of silver Taels* turned into dragon dung. Jon could have sworn he detected the faintest whispers escaping those dead orbs, mumbling "Send help..." to any poor soul who dared make eye contact.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Man, I feel you... Jon mused internally, he felt a pang of recognition, having rocked a similar "put-through-the-wringer" aesthetic during his worst days pulling all-nighters back in his corporate job days. Though hopefully he never looked quite as certifiably frazzled as this poor bastard.
Minghan saluted Jon politely, joining his fist to his palm in a formal greeting. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice even, his gaze sharp but not unfriendly. Jon politely returned the gesture.
Their mutual greeting was the extent of their enthusiasm for conversation. Jon's thoughts were already creeping back to the heavenly stuffed bread when Li Xin, slightly wobbly and cheeks flushed a lively shade of red, decided that silence was an unacceptable condition.
"How is it being a merchant, gentlemen? I bet you have tons of money! Hahaha!" Li Xin exclaimed, the alcohol clearly loosening his perception of discretion.
Minghan chuckled, the sound deep and noncommittal. "Well, it's much like any other job, it has its ups and downs."
Li Xin, leaning in closer as if about to disclose the secrets of the universe, slurred, "Oh! What merchant group are you from already? Listen to this, Brother Jon, you're going to be stupefied!"
With a resigned grunt, Minghan replied, "Ah, I work for the Cloudseeker Merchants."
Jon couldn't help but smirk internally. Of course, it's 'Cloud' something, Jon mused. Wouldn't be a proper xianxia world without some lofty name involving celestial bodies or atmospheric phenomena.
The conversation took a predictable turn as Minghan asked Jon, "How about you, Brother Jon? What group do you belong to?"
Caught off-guard, Jon's mind scrambled for an answer. "Uuhh," he stammered, his usual eloquence abandoned him at the worst moment.
Before he could tumble into the abyss of awkward silence, Li Xin, perhaps sensing his discomfort or just obliviously barreling through the conversation–the latter being more likely– jumped in. "Oh, Brother Jon isn't from a group; he is a second-generation merchant from Hainan!"
Jon almost breathed a "Thank you" out loud to Li Xin. It was a save worthy of a medal, especially considering Jon had about as much a merchant pedigree as Li Xin had a future as a sober philosopher.
Minghan's gaze lingered on Jon a moment longer, his eyes scanning him in that all-too-familiar manner. Is that guy judging me? Jon wondered, amused more than concerned. The silent assessment, the sizing up—it was a scene straight out of every Chinese novel where lineage and legacy were more critical than character. It never got old.
Not really interested in playing 'My Ancestor Can Beat Your Ancestor', thanks. Jon thought, a sarcastic quip ready at the tip of his tongue but held back for the sake of politeness.
The gathering crowd’s murmur swelled into cheers and claps as all eyes turned toward a newly arrived figure. Li Xin, visibly energized by the arrival, abruptly cut their conversation short. "Ah, he's here! Master Zhen Wu!" he exclaimed, his voice slicing through the lingering threads of their earlier dialogue.
Jon, more relieved than he cared to admit, seized the opportunity to extricate himself from the increasingly cumbersome exchange with Li Xin and Minghan. He followed the flow of villagers converging towards a central location, where the atmosphere was charged with a palpable sense of anticipation.
As the crowd parted, Chief Zhen Wu stepped onto an empty table, transforming it into an impromptu stage. From this vantage point, he commanded the attention of every villager.
"Thank you all for gathering here tonight," he began, his voice carrying across the square with a clarity that quieted the last of the murmurs. "Tonight, we celebrate not just the festival of the Ascending Spirits but also the enduring spirit of Zhilan itself."
He paused, allowing his gaze to sweep over the faces in the crowd, each lit by the soft glow of the lanterns above. "This village has stood for over four thousand years, an evidence of the resilience and courage of our forebears. Founded by my ancestor, Zhen Ye, in the aftermath of the great war, Zhilan was his sanctuary, a new beginning in the shelter of the Shanjing Mountains."
Jon noted the reverence with which Zhen Wu spoke of history, the weight of his words grounding everyone in their shared legacy.
"Through peace and conflict, prosperity and loss, our village has flourished," Zhen Wu continued, his tone a blend of solemnity and pride. "We've celebrated countless harvests and mourned many losses. And like those who came before us, we too shall pass on, leaving our stories etched into the fabric of Zhilan."
"But let us also remember," Zhen Wu added, his voice lifting with a renewed vigor, "that Zhilan was born from a need—a need for peace, for community, and for harmony with the nature that surrounds us. Our village was cradled by the wilderness, nurtured by the land, and built on the principle that no person in need should ever be turned away."
Jon watched as nods of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"In the spirit of our ancestors, and of the great Zhen Ye, let us continue to extend our hospitality to all who find their way to our doors. Tonight, we welcome new friends and celebrate the 4056th year of the Ascending Spirits Festival. Let's honor those who walked these paths before us, and those who will follow."
The chief’s speech culminated in a roar of applause, the villagers' cheers echoing off the surrounding hills. Jon clapped along, trying to blend in.
No sooner had the applause subsided than Zhen Wu called for the villagers to ensure the newcomers felt at home—a directive taken to heart by all.
Jon found himself surrounded by a flurry of new faces. The local blacksmith, a sturdy man with arms like the branches of an ancient tree, extended a calloused hand, his grip firm and friendly. "Welcome, Brother Jon, I heard a lot about you. Name's Baozhai." he boomed. "If you ever need anything wrought in iron or steel, you come see me."
Next came a few 'fellow' merchants, their eyes bright with the prospect of new business. "If you're ever looking for partnerships, you know where to find us," one offered, handing Jon a small token, a carved wooden piece that served as a business reminder.
Then came the old women of the village, each one clucking and fussing over Jon as if he were a long-lost grandson. "Such a handsome young man! Are you sure you’re not married yet?" one teased. Another added, "With those features and character, how come you’re still on your own, eh?"
Even some little boys approached in a cringe-worthy attempt to play wingman, shyly asking on behalf of their older sisters, who were sending waves of laughter through the crowd. Jon, caught between amusement and mild embarrassment, chuckled awkwardly at their inquiries. "I just haven’t been lucky in love," he confessed, which only seemed to increase their interest and sympathy.
The constant questioning about his marital status stirred memories of his past relationship with Daeun. She had been so controlling and hard to please, always finding fault in the smallest of things—a perfectionist in the most painful ways. Remembering those times, Jon felt a surge of relief wash over him. He was more than happy she was out of his life now.
Amid the crowd's adulations and curiosity, Jon's eyes wandered and landed on Yulian, who was seated at a table a bit further away. Their gazes met, and on impulse, he sent her a wink. Her reaction was minimal; a brief acknowledgment before she turned back to her conversation with some elders, leaving Jon with a wry smile. She totally ignored me, didn’t she? he mused, not offended but rather amused by the interaction—or lack thereof.
*****
Hundreds of kilometers away from the lively festivities of Zhilan Village...
The serene stillness of the night was broken only by the soft thudding of hooves and the rustle of leaves underfoot. Two figures, clad in white robes with hats shadowing their faces, moved under the bright moon. One was an imposing figure, towering and robust, his presence almost monstrous against the softer backdrop of the moonlit path, and a giant sword, even bigger than himself, clinging on his back. The other, more average in stature, rode calmly on a horse, his demeanor composed and reflective.
The large man broke the silence first. "Zhilan Village is about 600 li from here, Senior Brother Jianyu," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "According to our source, the thief was last seen there. Probably came out of hiding because of the whole demonic sect ruckus with Shaolin's Master Huo Zheng."
The one named Jianyu, perched atop his horse, nodded slowly. He lifted his gaze to the sky, his deep blue eyes reflecting the lunar glow while his dark blue hair fluttered slightly in the night breeze. His pale skin seemed almost ethereal under the moonlight. "Such a beautiful night," he remarked thoughtfully. "I am glad we were able to come out of the sect. I missed the fresh air after these years of seclusion. Don't look so serious, Chiaotzu," he said, addressing his larger companion.
Chiaotzu, the formidable man, let out a heavy sigh, his brows knitted together in concern. "Yes, Senior Brother, but Elder Changming said we could only stay out for a month for this mission. We're more than two days past that already. If we—"
His concerns were cut short by Jianyu, who dismounted with a fluid grace. "We'll find that thief soon enough. Anyway, isn't tonight Zhilan's annual festival? Perhaps it is time we meet Brother Zhen Wu again. It has been a while."
"Senior Brother, we must keep our mission in priority," Chiaotzu insisted, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Yes, yes, I heard you," Jianyu replied, his voice light, almost teasing. He unsheathed his sword, which glowed with a soft bluish hue. "Here’s what we’ll do: I'll take an advance on you and go through the skies. I'll wait for you in Zhilan. How about that? You can even ride my horse."
Chiaotzu looked dubiously at the horse, then back at his own substantial form. "You know this horse cannot support me and my sword," he said gruffly.
Jianyu chuckled, stepping onto his sword which hovered just above the ground. "Well, you figure it out." With those parting words, he launched into the air, the sword carrying him swiftly across the starlit sky.
"See you soon!" he called back, his figure receding into the distance.
"Senior Brother!" Chiaotzu called out, exasperation in his voice. He watched as Jianyu disappeared, leaving him alone with the horse and the haunting calls of a distant owl.