Suddenly, a middle-aged woman from the eatery to the right appeared at the threshold, carrying a steaming bowl of porridge that wafted the sharp, comforting aroma of ginger.

  "Eh, Brother Zhi? I saw you from a distance earlier when you were bargaining with Uncle Zhao," the woman said with a sincere, radiant smile. "I am Auntie Mei. You must be hungry after such a long journey. Eat this first before you start cleaning. Here, the dust can make you faint if your stomach is empty!"

  Zhi Xuan was stunned for a moment, looking at the clay bowl in the woman’s hand. "Auntie... I haven't ordered anything yet."

  "Aih, what are you talking about? A new neighbor is a blessing! Don't be shy, or I'll feel offended and won't lend you my broom!" Auntie Mei forced the bowl into Zhi Xuan’s hands, then scanned the room with a furrowed brow. "Heavenly Gods, this place is truly filthy. After you eat, use the water from the stream out back; the water is very clear."

  "Thank you, Auntie Mei. I... I truly appreciate it," Zhi Xuan said with a thin, genuine smile.

  Zhi Xuan sat on the doorstep, sipping the ginger porridge while watching the streets of Cangyun Village fade into twilight. He saw young children running home at their mothers' calls, caravan guards beginning to grow rowdy under the banyan tree, and buffaloes being herded into their pens.

  "Xuan... a good name to start anew," Ruo Xianxue’s voice whispered faintly within his soul, almost like the sigh of the wind. "Carving wood, is it? From carving souls into killer puppets, now you carve wood for the dead. Quite the regression."

  "Birth and death," Zhi Xuan murmured, brushing his hand over a dusty display table. "Wood is a dead object that once lived. By carving it, I only give it a new form so it may remain useful to those who still breathe."

  Night began to envelop Cangyun Village, bringing a cool breeze that crept from the hills of Yao Gu. Zhi Xuan placed his empty bowl by the door and stood up. He did not use his spiritual essence to clean the room; instead, he took a tattered cloth and a bucket of water from the stream behind the house.

  For hours, he scrubbed the dull wooden floors, cleared cobwebs from the ceiling, and fixed the slanted windows. His hands, which usually gripped the Heavenly Sword, were now covered in dust and soapy water. There was no magical glow, only human sweat dripping from his brow.

  "Even this sweat is not from exhaustion, but from mortality," Zhi Xuan muttered as he leaned his back against the house's main wooden pillar. "The Ancient Heavenly Blood truly leaves me without fatigue, even after sealing my cultivation."

  The next morning, before dawn had fully broken, the clanging of Da Zhu’s hammer from the left was already waking the street. Zhi Xuan opened his shop door, breathing in the scent of wet earth and coal smoke. He walked toward Da Zhu’s blacksmith shop.

  "Uncle Da Zhu," Zhi Xuan called.

  The blacksmith, holding a glowing piece of iron, turned his soot-stained face, which glistened with sweat. "Oho! The woodworker is awake! What is it, lad? Do you need tools?"

  "I need an axe head, two long saws, and strong carving tools," Zhi Xuan said, placing several silver pieces on the anvil. "Ensure the iron is tough enough to split old wood from the back forest."

  Da Zhu took the silver, bit it momentarily, and laughed loudly. "Trust me, lad! The iron I forge can split longings if you have enough strength to swing it! Come back when the sun is directly overhead."

  Zhi Xuan then walked toward the forest on the outskirts of the village. Without using any movement techniques, he climbed the hillside with steady steps. He searched for trees that had fallen naturally or those that had died standing. To him, wood that had passed through its life cycle possessed deeper memories to be carved.

  In the heart of the dense jungle, Zhi Xuan found an ancient sandalwood tree that had been toppled by lightning years ago. The trunk was parched, its bark peeling to reveal dense, reddish-colored grain. He knelt beside the massive trunk, his fingers tracing the rough surface, feeling the remnants of a life now frozen in silence.

  "This wood... it died in the sky’s fury, yet its core remains steadfast," Zhi Xuan whispered. He raised his hand and used his fist—his sturdy physique was the only thing left that could not be weakened by the seal.

  CRACK!

  A raw punch landed at the base of a large branch, creating a thumping sound that vibrated down to the surrounding roots. Without the aid of sharp spiritual essence, Zhi Xuan relied purely on his physical strength, tempered by the Heavenly-Blood Body Law and the blood of the Ancient Heavens. The iron-hard sandalwood fibers cracked, then snapped with a long, groaning creak.

  Zhi Xuan repeated the action. Blow after blow, until large pieces of wood were separated from the main trunk. Zhi Xuan’s back was drenched in sweat—a sensation that felt foreign yet real. Every strike of his fist was not just breaking wood, but shattering the remnants of a cultivator’s arrogance, one accustomed to cleaving mountains with a flick of a finger. Under the lush canopy of Yao Gu, he began to feel the pulse of the earth that his sharp spiritual senses had long ignored.

  After gathering enough pieces of red sandalwood, Zhi Xuan bound them with stripped bark. He hoisted the load, weighing hundreds of catties, onto his shoulders and walked down the slope with steady breaths. The weight of the wood pressed against his bones, forcing his feet to tread deeper into the earth, merging with mud and sharp pebbles.

  Exactly as the sun reached its zenith, Zhi Xuan returned to the gates of Cangyun Village. People passing by stared with wide eyes; seeing a young man six chi tall and sturdily built carrying a giant log that should have required three buffaloes to transport.

  "Earth God! Look at that young man!" cried a vegetable merchant who nearly dropped his basket of water spinach. "Is he truly human? Or is he a demon buffalo in disguise?"

  Zhi Xuan kept walking, his eyes fixed forward, ignoring the whispers spreading like wildfire in the dry season. The red sandalwood creaked upon his shoulders, each step creating deep footprints in the dusty village street.

  Right in front of the blacksmith shop, Da Zhu, who was wiping his face with a grimy cloth, suddenly froze. His eyes bulged at the wood Zhi Xuan carried. "Young man! You... you brought that wood from the back forest alone?"

  Zhi Xuan lowered the massive load in front of his shop. BOOM! The ground shook slightly, and fine dust flew into the air. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his grey sleeve, which was now blackened by soil stains.

  "I need good wood for my wares, Uncle," Zhi Xuan answered calmly, his breath only slightly labored. "Uncle Da Zhu, are my tools ready?"

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  Da Zhu swallowed hard, stepped closer, and knocked on the sandalwood with his knuckles. "This... this is lightning sandalwood. It’s incredibly hard, lad. Usually, it takes a special steel saw and four men to split it. You carried it as if it were just a pile of straw!"

  "It was only a little heavy," Zhi Xuan said shortly.

  "A little heavy, he says!" Da Zhu laughed awkwardly, but his eyes shone with a new respect. He turned and grabbed a cloth bundle from his anvil. "Here are your tools. The best steel I’ve forged this month. Be careful, they're sharp enough to slice your own shadow."

  Zhi Xuan accepted the bundle. He opened the cloth, revealing a dark, shimmering axe head and sturdy carving tools. "Thank you, Uncle."

  Zhi Xuan brought his new tools into his now-clean shop. He placed the lightning sandalwood in the center of the room, letting the afternoon sunlight filter through the window to illuminate the blood-red wood fibers. Without wasting time, he began to work.

  The sound of the axe hitting the wood began to compete with the clanging of Da Zhu’s hammer next door. However, if the sound in Da Zhu's forge was the sound of fire and iron exploding, then in Zhi Xuan's place, it was a measured rhythm.

  TAK! TAK! TAK!

  Zhi Xuan swung the axe with terrifying precision. Even without spiritual essence, his eyes and hands remained those of a master. He wasn't just splitting wood; he was searching for the gaps in the laws of the fibers. Every strike of the axe was a meditation. He began to understand that this wood possessed its own will—the will to remain steadfast despite being dead.

  The following days in Cangyun Village bore witness to the change in the young newcomer. Villagers often stopped for a moment in front of his shop, mesmerized by the way Zhi worked. He did not speak much, yet his hands seemed to dance across the surface of the wood.

  By today, Zhi Xuan had completed three fairly large wooden carts, adorned with carvings far too beautiful for mere livestock carts; the wood was light yet incredibly sturdy. Zhi Xuan did not expect people to buy them, nor did he set a fixed price in coins. He simply placed them outside his shop.

  That morning, dew still clung tightly to the thatched roofs of Cangyun Village as Uncle Wei, an old farmer whose cart had shattered last week from a heavy load of vegetables, walked limping past Zhi’s shop. His blurry eyes suddenly fixed on the three wooden objects standing gracefully under the shy dawn light.

  Uncle Wei approached, his trembling fingers tracing the edges of the cart Zhi had carved. He was astonished; the lightning sandalwood grain seemed to shimmer as if it held a pulse of life. The joints between the wood were so tight that not a single iron nail was visible—an ancient joinery technique only mastered by high-level spiritual craftsmen.

  "Incredible... this isn't just a transport tool, this is a work of the gods," Uncle Wei whispered.

  Zhi Xuan, sitting on a small wooden bench in the shadows of the shop while sharpening his chisel, stood up. His clothes were now covered in sawdust, its fragrance resembling the incense in ancient temples.

  "Take one, Uncle Wei. Use it for your work," Zhi Xuan said, his voice as deep and calm as an old well.

  Uncle Wei startled, hurriedly fumbling in his empty pockets. "But... Brother Zhi, I don't have enough silver coins for something this beautiful. I only have a few eggs and a bag of corn kernels left from the harvest."

  "That is more than enough," Zhi Xuan answered as he stepped forward. He helped Uncle Wei hitch the cart to his shoulders. "The value of an object lies not in the metal paid for it, but in the drops of sweat that flow when it is used. Go."

  Uncle Wei shed tears of gratitude, bowing repeatedly before pulling the cart away. To his amazement, the cart felt as light as a goose feather despite its large size, as if the wood itself were supporting the heavy burden upon it.

  Two small children, Auntie Mei's kids, ran out of their house after their father entrusted them with a jar of rice wine for Zhi Xuan. The older girl was Nalan Shu, and her younger brother was Nalan Yu.

  Nalan Shu, a little girl with her hair in twin pigtails, walked carefully while cradling the wine jar to her chest, while her brother, Nalan Yu, followed behind with eyes fixed on the pile of sawdust on the floor of Zhi’s shop.

  "Uncle Zhi! Mother says this is the best rice wine that has just matured. Father told us to deliver it as a thank-you for helping fix the broken chair at the eatery yesterday!" Nalan Shu chirped in her high-pitched, cheerful voice.

  Zhi Xuan set down his whetstone and received the jar with his rough but clean hands. "Give my thanks to Auntie Mei and Uncle Nalan. Come in, don't stand at the threshold, the air is still cold."

  Nalan Yu, who had been holding back his curiosity, didn't wait for a second invitation. He immediately crouched beside the pile of uncarved red sandalwood. His small hand picked up a wood shaving, smelling its strong, fragrant aroma.

  "Uncle Zhi, this wood... it smells like the incense in the great temple Grandfather once visited," Nalan Yu said, looking up with wide, sparkling eyes. "Did Uncle buy this from the Immortals who can fly in the sky?"

  Zhi Xuan knelt, bringing himself to the boy's level. "No, Little Yu. This wood comes from the forest behind our village. It was just a tree that fell by heaven's will, but it holds fragrance for those willing to wash it of its dust."

  Nalan Shu approached as well, pointing toward a corner of the room where several small wooden statues were beginning to take shape. Unlike the sturdy carts, these statues were forms of animals unknown to mortal eyes.

  "What is that, Uncle?" Nalan Shu asked innocently. "It looks like a very large animal; is that a statue of an animal from above the clouds?"

  Zhi Xuan paused for a moment. His eyes fell on the small wooden statues—creatures he had shaped from hundreds of years of seeing divine beasts. "Yes, Little Shu. Those are statues Uncle made. Animals from above the clouds? You could say that."

  Zhi Xuan picked up one of the wooden statues that resembled a coiling dragon—a figure he had carved based on his memory of Ao Sheng. The lightning sandalwood seemed to breathe under his rough fingers. He handed it to Nalan Shu with a gentleness rarely seen on the face of a slaughterer.

  "This is called a Royal Dragon," Zhi Xuan whispered. "It does not bite good children. It only ensures that nightmares do not enter the room at night."

  Nalan Shu accepted the small statue with hands trembling in awe. The surface of the wood felt warm, a phenomenon the little girl did not realize was the remnant energy contained within the lightning sandalwood, but to Zhi Xuan, it was proof that even dead objects could provide protection if shaped with a clear Dao Heart.

  Nalan Yu would not be outdone; he tugged at the edge of Zhi Xuan’s grey robe with a pleading face. "Uncle, for me? Is there an animal that can jump as high as the stars?"

  Zhi Xuan chuckled lowly, a sound like the rubbing of precious stones. He reached for a small piece of wood shaped like a butterfly with wide wings and intricate patterns—the likeness of Xiao Die. "This is for you, Little Yu. If you place it near the window, it will call a cool breeze to keep you company while you sleep."

  The two children clutched their wooden toys as if holding the most precious treasures in the universe. Nalan Shu stroked the back of the little dragon, while Nalan Yu tried to blow on the wooden butterfly wings, hoping it would truly fly and bring a cool breeze.

  "Uncle Zhi," Nalan Shu looked up, her tiny face serious. "Why do you want to live here? Uncle Zhao said people with hands as great as yours usually go to the Emperor's palace to make golden thrones, not live in a small, muddy village like ours."

  Zhi Xuan grew silent, his gaze shifting to the village street where Uncle Wei was pulling his new cart with a lighter step. "Palaces have much gold, Little Shu, but they do not have the scent of Auntie Mei’s ginger porridge in the morning. Here, Uncle only wants to help the villagers so they may live better through what Uncle does."

  Nalan Shu was stunned for a moment; though she did not fully grasp the meaning behind the man's words, she felt a warmth that transcended a child's logic. To her, Uncle Zhi was a figure sent by heaven to bring new color to the dull, old wood of their village.

  "Uncle Zhi is right!" Nalan Yu exclaimed, jumping up and down. "Mother's ginger porridge is the best in all of Yao Gu! Even the gods in heaven must peek down every morning because they're jealous of the smell!"

  The laughter of the two children filled the woodworking shop that was once silent, bouncing between the sturdy support pillars. Zhi Xuan only nodded slowly, letting that worldly warmth seep into the pores of his skin, washing away the remnants of the cold from the Nine Solitudes that still occasionally tried to shadow the corners of his mind.

  "Now, go back. Your mother must be looking for you to help at the eatery," Zhi Xuan said, patting Nalan Yu gently on the shoulder.

  The two children bowed respectfully with a cute motion, then ran out toward the street that was beginning to bustle with traders. Zhi Xuan watched them until the tiny figures disappeared behind a crowd of vegetable carts. He then let out a long sigh, looking at the jar of wine given by Auntie Mei on the table.

  He uncorked the jar. The aroma of strong, pure rice wine surged out, carrying the honest scent of fermented yeast. Without using a fancy jade cup, he drank directly from the clay jar. A warm sensation burned his throat, spreading through his body, yet strangely, the sensation felt more real than any immortal elixir.