My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 291 – Reunion with Yan Yu, The Fall of Peng Mi - Part 1

Li Yuan and Tang Nian pressed on together.

Nothing unexpected happened—no foolhardy bandits appeared. In these snow‑choked mountains people were rare to begin with; robbers rarer still.

The mountain track howled with wind, the gusts drumming in their ears. Snow raced like a white torrent; drifts rose past their knees, and every footprint vanished the instant it was made.

The path twisted between peaks, growing ever lonelier.

At last, godfather and goddaughter reached a summit where the road simply ended.

Tang Nian stopped, and the three hulking sixth rank guards behind her halted as well, radiating a fearsome pressure.

Hands on hips, the red‑clad woman produced a gourd, popped the stopper with a pop, and drank in hearty swallows. Her cheeks soon flushed, not from strong liquor alone, but from whatever else she had mixed in.

No ordinary wine could make a sixth rank martial artist blush after only a few mouthfuls.

Li Yuan no longer needed her to explain; he could see for himself.

In the basin beneath the sheer cliff lay a strange black‑and‑white market. Snowflakes drifting into that patch of ground turned grainy, like the static on an old television that has lost its signal.

Within the market he could just make out a peddler in blue pushing a cart, and a stiff, chalk‑white figure crawling with jerky, unnatural movements.

The white figure seemed to be searching for a place to belong.

It wriggled into a large chest, shut the lid, and went still. Frost the color of ghost‑blue flames crept across the wood, the corners sprouting odd, bony growths.

“So that’s how ice coffins come to be,” Li Yuan murmured, unconcerned, since this was his own ghost domain.

“Looks like some poor soul, thinly dressed, hunting for a coffin in the frozen wilderness,” Tang Nian said quietly. “When it can’t find one, it turns whatever it can squeeze into a coffin.”

“Vivid,” Li Yuan agreed.

“And because a ghost lies inside, every ice coffin carries a vicious curse.”

She shot him a languid, silky glance. “Pops, have a drink?”

Li Yuan frowned. “Why that face when you call me Pops?”

Voice low, Tang Nian answered, “I spiked the wine—with everything. Burning heart flowers, Guanyin’s disrobing herb, yearning fruit, heartbreak wood, loveless blossom...hic.

“Don’t blame me, Pops. The world of puppet making is too dull, too cold. The farther I go, the number I feel.

“I’m lost in a maze with no exit in sight. My heart’s going numb, losing direction, losing the urge to move forward.

“So I need... stimulation.”

A rose tint spread over her cheeks. Head tilted back, eyes half‑closed, red lips parted, she breathed a warm mist. Her voice thick as honey, “One swallow and I get joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure—desire itself. And the fire to keep exploring. Hehe.”

Li Yuan plucked the gourd from her hand. “Without this, does your fire go out?”

“It does.” Scarlet sleeves fluttering like a great red butterfly, Tang Nian spread her arms, smiling. “I’ve tried everything. This works best. All right, Pops. Godmother and Sheng’er are below. Go on by yourself.

“Oh, and on the far side of the mountain...the meat fields are sprouting nicely.

“As Godmother grows stronger, so will the meat fields. Then we can raise strong martial artists.”

With that she pirouetted like a mad dancer, laughter ringing like silver bells. She leapt into the air. Below, two puppets caved inward; an instant later an open palanquin with a parasol and tiger‑skin lounge unfolded as if by sleight of hand, just in time for her to spin down into it.

“Primo, Secundo, lift the palanquin! Ahahaha!” Her shrill laugh echoed.

The red‑robed enchantress crossed her long legs, nestled into the tiger skin under the parasol, and rocked lazily.

But the palanquin refused to move; Li Yuan had seized it.

Tang Nian conjured another gourd from who‑knew‑where, took several deep swallows, then said, “Pops, I’m no well‑behaved girl like Sheng'er, never was. You know me. Let me be. I like it this way.”

Li Yuan was about to reply, but for a heartbeat Tang Nian’s hazy eyes went clear and solemn. “Pops, I’m grown. Let me live by my own rules, walk my own path. Please?”

“Even if that path involves wine like this?” Li Yuan asked.

“Without it,” she whispered, “the pain would be unbearable.”

“Where are you off to now?”

“Back to that little shack you found.” Tang Nian grinned. “Looks shabby on top, but there’s a palace underneath. All the heiresses from the great clans—my pupils—live there. They’ve got real talent, not just famous surnames.

“Want me to pick out a pretty step‑mom for you, Pops? Hehehe—Ow!”

SMACK! Li Yuan bopped her on the forehead. “Show some respect!”

“Ow, that stings!” Tang Nian clutched her head, half‑pouting.

Li Yuan could tell she was drunk. A quick sniff at the gourd confirmed it. The mix was potent. Just the burning heart flower alone would knock him out after a couple of swigs.

“Sipping that stuff in front of me is becoming a habit,” he sighed. “Go back and rest, and ease up on the booze.”

“Sure, Pops” she answered sweetly, sprawling on the tiger‑skin chair.

Just as her palanquin bearers were about to set off, Li Yuan added, “If your students ask, say I’m a friend from the Flying Nimbus Group, nothing more.”

“Gotcha!” She paused, then her face turned serious. “Don’t trap yourself in any closed space down here. If you do, the ice coffin ghost will come and shove you inside one of its coffins. See? My palanquin has no roof at all. Hahaha!”

With a childish whoop she crossed her legs, swinging and drinking at the same time. “All right! Primo, Secundo, lift! Hahaha!”

The two sixth rank puppets hoisted the palanquin. Tang Qiu, her old puppet, trailed alongside like a bodyguard.

Li Yuan glanced at the figures floating beside them—

Tang Nian stood at 400~425.

Tang Qiu was at 915~920, up from the previous 600~601.

Primo hovered around 605~610.

Secundo sat at 615–625

Clearly, revenge and the Tang Family inheritance had boosted her puppetry skills by leaps and bounds. Seeing his goddaughter’s combat in a healthy range, Li Yuan relaxed, somewhat.

He looked down into the sunken black market ghost domain, scrambled down the cliff face, slid along the slope, and slipped into the eerie bazaar.

No sooner had he entered than a pale woman in blue pulled a delicate white‑robed girl around the corner.

“Yan Yu! Sheng'er!” Li Yuan drew a deep breath, smothered his excitement, and hugged them both.

“Where’s the crybaby?” Sheng'er asked.

“It’s a long story,” Li Yuan said. “I’ll tell you slowly.”

He studied the girl. She leaned on a crutch, shoulders crowded with black crows.

“Sheng'er, it’s wonderful to see you.”

“You too, Papa!. I bet no other person in the world missed you more than I do.” Sheng'er smiled, her cheeks puffing out adorably.

Li Yuan blinked; technically, she was right. Yan Yu wasn’t a person anymore. She was a ghost.

“Papa, come look at my paintings!” The girl tugged his hand, eager to show off her work, which so few people ever saw.

Li Yuan followed, keeping Yan Yu’s hand in his own.

The pale beauty drifted beside him; she had already viewed these paintings countless times.

To Li Yuan’s surprise, they weren’t childlike doodles but portraits. Some were portraits of people he actually knew—Yao Jue, Cui Huayin, Auntie Wang, Xiao Sheng, Niu Niu, Xue Ning, Ping'an, and Li Yuan himself.

Had this been his own ghost domain, the sight alone would have been nightmare fuel. The canvases filled an entire white wall inside a large warehouse, like a private gallery.

“I told Mama I was lonely,” Sheng'er said earnestly. “She said I should paint. If I hang portraits of everyone I like, I can see them every day, and I won’t feel alone.”

Li Yuan asked, “Want to join the Tang Sect and stay with your sister, Nian Nian?”

Head down, she stared at her toes. “Too many people. I don’t like lots of people.”

Li Yuan rubbed his temples—three children, three headaches. Ping'an was a textbook melodramatic hero, Tang Nian a full‑blown enchantress, and Sheng'er...social anxiety incarnate.