Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

“Kid?” Lin Yu also caught this address from within the ring, his soul body turning half a circle in the void. “These two old geezers—one hides in the back mountain avoiding people, the other stands high above as a Peak Master. Behind the scenes, they’re definitely old buddies. Only bonds forged through life-and-death can produce this kind of dismissive nickname.”

“Have a seat.”

Master Xuanming casually pointed to an empty meditation cushion beside the stone table.

Su Ming thanked him, walked over, and sat down cross-legged.

Qingfeng and Mingyue still stood respectfully at the entrance, like two guardian statues, eyes fixed downward with utter discipline.

Master Xuanming extended his withered hand, picked up the chipped coarse ceramic teapot on the stone table, and poured himself a cup of tea.

As he poured, his gaze seemed to casually sweep over Su Ming’s right hand resting on his knee.

To be precise, it swept over the ancient ring on Su Ming’s right index finger—the Xuantian ring.

Then his pouring motion paused almost imperceptibly, just for an instant, before resuming normally.

The tea fell steadily into the cup, not a single drop splashing out.He said nothing, simply picked up the cup and gently blew on it.

But this fleeting shift in his gaze did not escape Lin Yu’s notice.

Inside the Xuantian ring, Lin Yu—who had been leisurely surveying the stone chamber’s surroundings—froze solid.

The layer of stable, flowing azure light dimmed in an instant, like a candle flame nearly snuffed out by a cold gust of wind.

Lin Yu hovered motionless in the void.

“This old bastard…” Lin Yu’s voice echoed in Su Ming’s Consciousness Sea, no longer carrying its earlier teasing tone but brimming with a dangerously taut edge.

His words came slower, each syllable squeezed out like he was gritting his teeth.

“He recognized this ring.”

Su Ming’s heart gave a violent jolt, but his expression remained utterly calm—not even an eyelash trembled.

“Are you sure?” Su Ming asked mentally, his voice rapid.

His right hand curled slightly into a fist, the Grand Teleportation Talisman already half-activated within his sleeve.

Master Xuanming took a sip of tea.

The tea seemed very bitter. He smacked his lips and set the cup down.

“Xuanheng sent you to find me.” Master Xuanming leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, staring directly into Su Ming’s eyes. “For the Ten-Thousand-Year Sky-Blue Stone Marrow?”

“Yes.” Su Ming nodded without any attempt at concealment. “Master said that to obtain that item from Tianji Pavilion on the Central Continent, I would need Senior’s guidance.”

Master Xuanming didn’t answer immediately.

He leaned back onto his meditation cushion, letting out a low “Hmm.”

Then the stone chamber fell back into dead silence.

Xuanming’s gaze drifted past Su Ming and landed on the incomplete chess game laid out on the stone table. His fingers tapped rhythmically on his knees, producing faint “tap, tap” sounds.

Qingfeng and Mingyue, standing at the entrance, had even slowed their breathing.

They knew their master too well.

This prolonged silence wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t recollection. It was calculation.

Whenever the master was scheming against someone, he always tapped his knee like this, staring elsewhere. The moment he stopped tapping, the poor soul’s fate was already neatly arranged.

Su Ming didn’t press.

He sat silently on the cushion, letting time slip by, one breath at a time.

He waited.

Whoever spoke first in this situation would be laying their cards bare for the other to see.

He waited for Master Xuanming to name his price.

Inside the stone chamber, only the sound of dripping water from the clepsydra and the “tap, tap” of Xuanming’s fingers interwove.

Shadow lay sprawled on Su Ming’s shoulder, swiveling her head to look at the silent Su Ming, then at the old man tapping his knee. Finally, seeming bored, she yawned and tucked her head under her wing.

No one knew how long passed.

The tapping stopped.

Xuanming withdrew his gaze from the chess game and fixed it back on Su Ming’s face.

That faint, almost invisible smile at the corner of his mouth fully unfurled.

“Guidance—fine.” Xuanming’s voice rasped like a saw cutting through wood. “Tianji Pavilion’s threshold is high, but this old face of mine still carries enough weight for them to show some respect.”

Su Ming didn’t show any delight. He just listened quietly.

“But…” Xuanming’s withered finger tapped lightly on the stone table. “Your master should have told you Tianji Pavilion’s rules.”

“Karmic balance. Equal exchange.” Su Ming replied.

“Right.” Xuanming nodded. “You want to take their pavilion’s supreme treasure—something capable of rebuilding a Dao foundation. So, what can you offer them?”

The air in the chamber grew still.

After a long pause, the water from the clepsydra gathered at an agonizingly slow pace, teetering at the spout’s edge for many breaths before finally falling with a “plop” into the basin below.

Amidst that crisp droplet sound, Su Ming lifted his head. His gaze crossed the unfinished chess game on the stone table and locked onto Master Xuanming’s eyes.

“Junior has nothing on his person that could catch the eyes of Tianji Pavilion’s treasures,” Su Ming said, his voice steady, with no forced composure.

The hint of a smile at Xuanming’s mouth deepened slightly.

His withered finger lifted from his knee and tapped twice on the edge of the stone table.

Tap. Tap.

“So what do you plan to do?” Xuanming leaned forward slightly, staring at Su Ming’s face. “Snatch it barehanded like a wolf stealing a chicken?”

Su Ming didn’t flinch.

Looking straight at Xuanming, he spoke: “Tianji Pavilion divines the fate of all under heaven. If the Pavilion Master is willing to give, he must have already calculated that this deal won’t be a loss.”

Xuanming’s tapping finger froze mid-air.

The stone chamber plunged back into dead silence. Qingfeng and Mingyue at the entrance even stopped breathing entirely. A Foundation Establishment disciple daring to speak to their master like this—Su Ming was definitely the first.

Xuanming paused in surprise.

Then a low, hoarse laugh rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Heh… hahahaha!”

Master Xuanming found this kid interesting. He suddenly stood up abruptly, his gray Daoist robe fluttering with the movement, looking down at Su Ming from on high.

“Fine.” Xuanming withdrew his smile, his gaze turning profound. “I’ll make the move for you. The Ten-Thousand-Year Sky-Blue Stone Marrow—I’ll help you get it.”

The boulder that had been crushing Su Ming’s heart came crashing down, but the muscles on his face remained taut, revealing not a trace of ecstasy.

Because he knew—the price was about to come.

“The condition is: you owe me a favor.” Xuanming sat back down on his cushion and picked up the cold cup of tea.

Su Ming’s pupils contracted slightly.

“What kind of favor?”

Xuanming shook his head, took a sip of the cold tea. “Don’t know. When I call it in—also uncertain.”

He set down the cup, his gaze piercing Su Ming’s face like two blades. “But when this old man speaks, you cannot refuse.”