Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Qingfeng walked in with his hands clasped behind his back, taking measured, square steps. Mingyue trailed behind him, peeking around with curiosity.

The arrogant young man’s contempt froze the moment he saw them, replaced instantly by a flurry of panic and respect.

He hurriedly bowed, his voice stammering, “Di... disciple Fang Ping pays respects to Senior Uncle Qingfeng, Senior Sister Mingyue!”

Liu Jing also rose from his chair. The sharpness in his eyes softened slightly as he gave the two children a slight nod, an acknowledgement of greeting.

“Senior Uncle Qingfeng, Senior Sister Mingyue.”

His tone stayed calm, but the form of address revealed the gap in seniority between them.

Qingfeng glanced at him, nodding with an air of officiousness like a little adult. “Is there any problem with the person my junior sister and I brought back?”

“Just part of our duty, a routine inquiry.” Liu Jing was curt and to the point.

“Oh?” Qingfeng drew out the tone and walked over to Su Ming’s bedside, glancing at his pale face before turning back to Liu Jing.

“We were the ones who rescued him. The circumstances at the time have been recorded in the Hall of Meritorious Deeds’ jade slip.”“A mortal pursued by an evil cultivator until he was on the brink of death. Steward Liu, do you really think he can pull off any tricks now?”

The words sounded casual but carried a sharp edge, tinged with accusation.

The implication: you, Hall of Meritorious Deeds, don’t trust my judgment?

Liu Jing’s expression did not change. “Senior Uncle Qingfeng’s testimony will be accepted by the Hall. But this person’s origins are unclear, and the matter involves the death of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, so procedure cannot be ignored.”

As he spoke, his gaze shifted back to Su Ming, like a drawn sword pointing at him.

“Su Ming, I ask you, you claim to be a compiler of the Hanlin Academy of Great Xing. Do you have any proof?”

Here it comes.

Su Ming felt it in his chest.

He met Liu Jing’s eyes calmly and shook his head slowly. “With your clear sight, Immortal Lord, when I was exiled my official seal and documents were confiscated. I have nothing on me to prove my identity.”

“Oh? So there’s no evidence at all?” Fang Ping, standing behind Liu Jing, immediately interrupted.

Su Ming ignored him and continued looking at Liu Jing. “Although I have no proof, what I have learned is all in my head. If you doubt me, you may test my knowledge on the classics and policy essays.”

He paused, his voice turning grave.

“You may also send someone to the capital of Great Xing, or to Qingshi County, to ask Vice Director of the Imperial College Liu Wenyuan or County School head Zhou Wenhai of Qingshi County. One inquiry will show the truth.”

“I, Su Ming, have studied hard all my life, living righteously and conducting myself properly, yet I was framed by powerful ministers and narrowly escaped death. If not for the assistance of these two young immortals, I would already be bones in the wilderness. Before you today, I speak no falsehoods.”

His tone was neither servile nor arrogant, his eyes bright and honest. The picture of a wronged, principled scholar sprang vividly to life.

Liu Jing’s gaze flickered for the briefest moment.

He would not actually dispatch people into the mundane world to verify this, but Su Ming’s willingness to name specific people and places made his words more believable.

“Very well, even if your identity is true.” Liu Jing shifted his angle, his questions becoming sharper. “Then Zhao Qianshan, a peak Foundation Establishment cultivator—how did you both perish together, falling from the cliff?”

“That’s a good question.”

Before Su Ming could answer, Qingfeng suddenly spoke.

With a flip of his small hand, a grayish storage pouch appeared in his palm, which he casually tossed to Liu Jing.

“Steward Liu, this pouch was taken from Zhao Qianshan’s body. See what’s inside.”

Liu Jing accepted the pouch and probed it with his divine sense.

The next moment, the expression that had been as still as an ancient well showed the faintest hint of surprise for the first time.

There weren’t many spirit stones or elixirs in the pouch, and the only magic tool was a damaged flying sword. But beyond those, a few items made his brow tighten.

A black porcelain bottle contained more than a dozen living souls that had been refined by secret methods, their resentment soaring.

There were also several pieces of human bone ground into spell materials.

None of these items pointed to anything but one identity—evil cultivator!

“Moreover,” Qingfeng’s voice sounded again, carrying an unquestionable certainty, “I inspected Zhao Qianshan’s corpse. There remains within him an overwhelmingly domineering, vicious murderous aura, a force no righteous cultivator should possess. I suspect he cultivated forbidden arts and deviated into madness, or his own magic tool backfired, leaving him gravely wounded, causing him to stumble off the cliff and drown.”

He looked at Su Ming, but his words were addressed to Liu Jing. “As for Su Ming, to me he’s just an unlucky mortal chased down by that evil cultivator. His survival was pure luck.”

That statement struck like a judge’s hammer!

Qingfeng cleverly reframed the most illogical point—how Su Ming could have killed someone stronger—into the sect’s internal issue of why the evil cultivator Zhao Qianshan died.

How could a third-stage Qi refiner kill a Foundation Establishment cultivator? That’s very hard to explain.

But a Foundation Establishment cultivator who practiced forbidden arts dying from a backfired technique or internal strife is perfectly plausible.

This maneuver instantly redirected the sect’s attention away from the “little shrimp” Su Ming.

Liu Jing fell silent.

Holding the storage pouch, he stole another glance at the weak, powerless “scholar” on the bed and had already made up his mind.

Qingfeng was right.

Compared to the bizarre story of a mundane scholar, an evil cultivator sneaking into Cloud Hidden Sect’s territory was what the Hall of Meritorious Deeds should focus on.

The items in the pouch were ironclad evidence.

“I see.”

Liu Jing slowly nodded and put the pouch away.

“The Hall will continue to investigate this matter.”

He stood, giving Su Ming one last look. The sharp scrutiny had faded, replaced by an official, detached indifference.

“Your suspicion is cleared for now. As for how you reached third-stage Qi refinement, that’s your private matter. We have no need to waste time inquiring.”

The huge stone of anxiety in Su Ming’s heart slowly slid down.

He knew his gamble had paid off.

However, Liu Jing’s next words sent that newly settled relief crashing back down.

“However, Cloud Hidden Sect is not an ordinary hall.”

Liu Jing’s voice grew cold and clear.

“Your mortal roots have already been damaged; your internal organs are ruined. Even if your injuries heal, you will merely be a cripple. Your affinity with immortality is shallow, and you are not destined for the Immortal Path.”

“The sect has already done its utmost in saving your life.”

“When your wounds are healed enough for you to walk out on your own, you will leave the mountain by yourself.”

Those words were nothing short of an exile decree.

Su Ming’s nails dug into his palms beneath the blanket.

An overwhelming thirst and unwillingness burned through him like wildfire.

Leave?

If he left and returned to the spirit-thin mundane world, he would never make another inch of progress in his life. His master’s soul injury would have no hope of recovery!

Impossible! Absolutely impossible!

Yet not a trace of resentment showed on his face.

On that pale, blood-drained face was instead an expression of heartfelt, impeccable gratitude and obedience.

He struggled to sit up and, facing Liu Jing’s direction, bowed deeply—so low his forehead nearly touched the edge of the bed.

“Su Ming... thanks the Immortal Lord, thanks Cloud Hidden Sect for saving my life.”

His voice was hoarse but sincere.

“I understand sect rules. When my wounds are somewhat better, I will not disturb the sect’s tranquility and will descend the mountain to live out the remainder of my life.”

This posture, this sense of propriety and acceptance, left no fault for anyone present to find.

Even the normally stern Liu Jing showed the slightest softening in his gaze.

He nodded, said nothing further, and turned to leave the bamboo hut with Fang Ping.