The Mending Studio - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 1
“The ospreys cry on the river isle, calling to their mates. A modest, virtuous lady—such a one the noble gentleman seeks.”
“The water plants grow thick and thin, drifting left and right. A modest, virtuous lady—waking and sleeping, still he seeks her.”
A clear, youthful voice reciting the Book of Songs drifted through the thin morning mist.

The hour of Chen had come.
The red sun had risen, yet the mist that shrouded Xiaozhi Town had not yet fully lifted.
Seven or eight children sat in neat rows in a quiet courtyard on the northeast edge of the village, and whenever townsfolk passed by their work, they would glance toward the sound of that familiar recitation.
The young man standing before the children was named Ye Changqing.
Five years ago, he had arrived in Xiaozhi Town as a stranger and settled there.
Though not old in years, he possessed a refined countenance and deep learning. After taking root in this place, he had opened the village’s first schoolhouse, teaching the children letters and words.
To the youngest he taught reading and writing; to those a bit older, even Qin, Chess, Calligraphy, and Painting.
He accepted tuition scaled to each family’s means—those with ample means paid two silver taels a month, while those without could substitute eggs or other provisions instead.
For families who struggled even with that, Ye Changqing would quietly add a few coins from his own purse; after five years had passed, scarcely anyone in Xiaozhi Town did not know his name.
The people called him Master Ye.

“Master Ye, forgive me—do you have a moment?”

Ye Changqing looked up from his recitation, and in the doorway stood a sturdy middle-aged woman with a deeply sun-darkened face.

“Auntie Zhang. What brings you here?”
“They say people from the Taixuan Holy Land are coming to Xiaozhi Town today to recruit disciples.”

Auntie Zhang glanced toward the children and smiled with a hint of bashfulness.

“I thought I might have my Gouying try for it…”

For a moment, something flickered in Ye Changqing’s eyes.
But it passed quickly.

“If he can become a disciple of the Taixuan Holy Land, that would be a fine thing indeed. Who can say how far he might rise one day?”
“Isn’t that right?”

Auntie Zhang’s face brightened at once.

“Gouying, come. Let’s head home with Mother.”

A small boy, barely ten years old, who had been sitting among the children with his nose running, quickly got to his feet. Auntie Zhang took the child’s hand and started to leave, then poked her head back in.

“Oh, Master Ye—I brought some eggs. I’ve left them outside the door; pick them up when you leave later.”

With that, mother and child hurried away, and Ye Changqing turned his gaze back to his book.

“Then, let us continue…”
“Master Ye.”

Before he could read even a single verse, more voices echoed. This time it was not just one or two, and seeing the villagers gathered at the doorway, Ye Changqing grasped the situation at once.
It seemed the schoolhouse would have to close after all. His heart felt unsettled, yet Ye Changqing smiled at the gathered villagers as he always did.

“We’d like to have our Ho tested for acceptance by the Taixuan Holy Land.”
“We’re hoping to take Shitou as well.”
“Perhaps we might bring our Igou too…”

His prediction proved entirely accurate; as one child rose to leave, another followed, and soon lines of children departing hand-in-hand with their parents filled the doorway. It was not even the time it takes one stick of incense to burn.
Before long, the schoolhouse that had been alive with recitation was empty save for one.
Ye Changqing sat alone on the doorstep, looking out toward the distant mountain peaks shrouded in clouds and mist, watching as massive, nameless winged creatures occasionally swept across the sky.

“Ah…”

He closed his book and settled onto the threshold, gazing at the shrouded peaks in the distance as great creatures of the sky occasionally glided past.
Ye Changqing sighed softly but harbored no thought of holding the children back from this opportunity. If they became disciples of the Taixuan Holy Land, that was a good thing—never mind their studies.
The trouble was that whenever he heard the name Taixuan Holy Land, his own heart grew restless in tandem.
There was a secret he kept, one the people of Xiaozhi Town did not know.
Ye Changqing was not of this world. Five years ago, when he came to his senses, he found himself already here—in a place where humans, demons, and monsters lived alongside one another.
A world where mighty cultivators soared through the heavens and shook mountains and seas.
A world of Immortal Cultivation.
Those with high Cultivation Realms could do more than just walk on air and fly; they could move mountains and reverse seas. And there were rumors of even greater heights—Divine Abilities that could cleave heaven and earth asunder.
When he first heard such tales, Ye Changqing’s spirits soared. Surely, he thought then, even a latecomer like himself might find the path of Immortal Cultivation opening before him.
If he could transmigrate once, why not arrive with some hidden advantage?

‘I must have some gift of my own.’

Perhaps an opportunity would come—one others could never seize.
A mystical treasure might find him of its own accord, or some singular power meant only for him could awaken without warning one day.
Back then, he truly believed he would soon stand at the apex of the Immortal Path.
And indeed, five years ago the Taixuan Holy Land had come to Xiaozhi Town to recruit disciples.
Ye Changqing had presented himself for testing, brimming with hope—but he was stopped before he even began.
No Spiritual Root.
A Spiritual Root was the most fundamental qualification for stepping onto the path of Immortal Cultivation. There were many types, graded from high to low—or so he’d heard. But none of it applied to him.
Before anyone could speak of superior roots or inferior roots,
his simply did not exist.

……

It meant he would live out his life as a mortal.
Still, he waited at first.
Even without a Spiritual Root, he was someone from another world. Surely something different would manifest in him, however late. That hope did not fade easily.
One day became one month; before he knew it, a year had passed.
No special power awakened. No mysterious voice echoed in his mind. And that patient waiting stretched on until five years had gone.
Nothing changed.
There was nothing at all.

‘Did they forget to give me my gift?’

Sometimes he really did think such things.
But humans adapt. Five years spent shut away in Xiaozhi Town had worn down much of the ambition he’d once harbored. Besides, this was a world where demons and monsters roamed freely, and even Xiaozhi Town—lying close to the Immortal Sects—had been visited by calamity now and then. There was a reason the townspeople always invoked the name of Taixuan Holy Land when such disasters struck.
A body incapable of cultivation had no business wandering the wilds. Life would only grow shorter for it.

‘If I can’t cultivate, then I simply can’t.’

Once he reframed his thinking, his present life seemed not so bad. No glittering lanterns, no clamorous streets. In the mornings, he taught the children their characters.
When leisure allowed, he painted a landscape scroll or brushed some calligraphy. He enjoyed sipping tea while playing the guqin, or sitting for a game of go.
A life devoted to refining body and spirit.
It pleased him more than he’d expected.
Of course, refining the spirit alone did not fill the belly, so he’d opened a general store called Changqing Sundries.
He hadn’t set out to sell sundries from the start.
Originally, he’d planned to sell the calligraphy and paintings he created. In his past life, Ye Changqing had grown up in a household steeped in the arts.
Moreover, since arriving in this world, his insights into Qin, Chess, Calligraphy, and Painting had developed with unusual speed.
Whether brushing characters or painting, his skill grew the moment he took up the brush. The same held true for guqin and go. By that measure, it would have been strange not to feel confident.
And yet.
No one bought anything.
By Ye Changqing’s own judgment, his paintings were accomplished works.
But such things apparently held little importance for the people of Xiaozhi Town. When he thought about it, that made perfect sense.
What use had a scroll painting to those who spent their days climbing mountains and tilling fields?
Few could even appreciate fine art.
In the end, it was Ye Changqing who compromised with reality.
He began accepting mountain goods and reselling them, stocked the shop with everyday necessities. At festival times, he painted door gods and wrote couplets for the townspeople.
And remarkably, business flourished. After passing through the four seasons a few times, though he was hardly wealthy, his worries about putting food on the table had vanished entirely.
Mornings found him teaching children at the school; afternoons, he kept watch over the shop. When the sun set, he would close the door, brew tea, or play the guqin.

Though distant from Immortal Cultivation, his mind remained at ease.
With all his students gone for the day, Ye Changqing closed the academy early and returned to his Changqing Miscellany shop. Around mid-afternoon, he opened the shop door, tidied the interior perfunctorily, and stepped into the back quarters.
Moments later, he emerged carrying two landscape paintings, carefully mounted and framed.
Today was the day the Taixuan Holy Land disciples would visit.
Not all disciples of the Taixuan Holy Land had grown up in the same household, surely. Among them, there might be at least one person who, like himself, came from a family with generations of literary tradition, someone who had been exposed to calligraphy and painting since childhood and could appreciate fine art.
Usually, the people of Xiaozhi Town would merely tilt their heads in bewilderment when looking at paintings.
But if there were a cultivator with a discerning eye, that would be different. If so, then today might be worth a little anticipation.
Ye Changqing hung the two paintings in the most prominent spot inside the shop.
One of them was the Taixuan Changqing Painting.
He stepped back a few paces and examined the work from different angles.

“Mm.”

Not that he was being biased because it was his own work, but the more he looked at it, the more even he found it quite satisfying.
If he could only take it with him to his next life, it wouldn’t be strange for such a work to fetch a price in the millions. The balance of ink wash and mountain contours seemed sufficiently satisfying to his eye.
As these thoughts crossed Ye Changqing’s mind, his gaze suddenly stilled.
He had no talent whatsoever for Immortal Cultivation.
Yet in Qin, Chess, Calligraphy, and Painting, he was oddly proficient.
Calligraphy, painting, guqin, chess—all of it.
Ye Changqing sank into a rattan chair, staring at the Taixuan Changqing Painting.
Then, suddenly, he smacked his forehead.

“Could it be… that painting and calligraphy are my unique gift?”

Wait.
Was that really it?
Ye Changqing pondered quite seriously.
Within moments, his expression darkened.

“No, can something like that even count as a gift?”

It made no sense.
This was a world of Immortal Cultivation where demons and monsters ran rampant.
What good was being skilled at painting?
You couldn’t wield a brush when a demon came charging at you.
Fine calligraphy wouldn’t stop a blade falling from the sky.
Guqin and chess were hardly worth mentioning at all.

“It’s useless, all of it.”

Shrieeee!
At that very moment, a sharp whistle of parting air cleaved the sky above Xiaozhi Town.
Shrieeee!
Shrieeee!
It was not just one.
Ye Changqing leapt from his rattan chair and bolted outside.
Beneath the brilliant sunlight, cultivators treading longswords carved multiple streaks of blade-light across the sky above Xiaozhi Town.

“Oh…”
The face that had been complaining just moments before about his gift being useless transformed in an instant. His eyes were filled with unconcealed longing.
A longsword splitting the heavens.
Robes fluttering in the wind.
No matter how many times he saw it, he never tired of that sight.
Sword Flight.
The realm where one treads a single blade and freely traverses the boundless sky.
Ye Changqing’s eyes followed the streaks of blade-light.

“If only someday I could ride a sword like that and fly…”

Just picturing it in his mind made his spirits soar.
Himself standing upon a longsword.
Robes billowing in the wind.
Add this face to that scene.

“…Now that would make quite a painting.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.

“I’d wake up laughing at the thought of it.”

But the smile did not linger.
For someone without a Spiritual Root, such things were never meant to be.
The sword-light retreated, vanishing one by one beyond the distant mountains.
Ye Changqing watched the final ray until it slipped from sight, his gaze lingering with undisguised longing.

“What a waste. Such a waste.”

He shook his head ruefully and turned back toward the shop.

“Since heaven has not made Ye Changqing worthy of the sword, the long night of the Sword Path must be as endless as winter itself….”

Meanwhile, the broad plaza at the heart of Xiaozhi Town was packed with people from early morning, and scarcely a family with children had stayed away.
The children who usually ran about covered in dust had been scrubbed clean, their hair combed neatly and dressed in fresh clothes, while some parents still dabbed water from their offspring’s faces and adjusted their collars one final time.
Entry onto the path of Immortal Cultivation was a chance that came perhaps once in a mortal’s lifetime, if at all—and so everyone treated the selection this day as momentous, with spectators vastly outnumbering the children who would actually take the test.
As the saying went, when one person attains the Dao, even the chickens and dogs of his household ascend to heaven.
Should even one of Xiaozhi Town’s children be accepted as a disciple of the Taixuan Holy Land and later become a renowned Cultivator, the fortune would extend far beyond a single family to bless the entire village.
Merely standing under the protection of the Taixuan Holy Land would ward off most calamities—none would dare to threaten Xiaozhi Town—but first, a child worthy of catching the Holy Land’s eye had to emerge from this humble settlement.

“Think we’ll see someone make it this time?”
“No one passed five years ago either.”
“Still doesn’t cost anything to put the children forward and see what happens.”

People murmured in low voices, hopeful yet guarded against disappointment, when the moment came.
A piercing shriek of parted air split the sky overhead.
One.
Two.
Then several streaks of sword-light poured down through the clouds, and everyone in the plaza looked upward as though responding to an unspoken command.
Six figures—men and women alike—descended astride longswords, their robes fluttering as the sword-light faded, and they alighted lightly in the center of the plaza.
Disciples of the Taixuan Holy Land.

“We bow before the Immortals!”

The townspeople bowed deeply en masse, children following their parents’ lead without understanding, and at the forefront of the six stood a young woman.
Her robes of purple silk were embroidered with intricate patterns, and her hair, falling to her waist, was black as spilled ink. Her eyes were clear yet cold, and her pale face betrayed little emotion.
Lu Wushuang.
Among the disciples of Lingjian Peak, she was counted among the finest.

“Lu, Senior Sister.”

One of the other disciples called to her carefully.
Lu Wushuang swept her gaze across the waiting children.

“Begin.”

The moment her brief command fell, the disciples moved into action.
One of them waved his hand, and a faint gleam of light shimmered before a table and chair appeared in the empty plaza. Another disciple withdrew a Spirit Crystal Sphere from his robes, no larger than a closed fist.
The orb was perfectly transparent, unmarred by any impurity, and within it, a single faint Rune drifted as soft light bloomed and faded in a rhythm like breathing.
The children, who had been chattering moments before, fell utterly silent.

​
“All children taking the assessment, line up. Come forward one at a time.”
​
The parents pushed their children forward, and the boy at the front of the line was the runny-nosed child who had been sitting in the study hall since morning.
​
“What is your name?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————