Cultivation begins with the mysterious little tripod

How many years does a mortal live?

Seventy or eighty years is considered longevity.

Wang Yao is old.

He could no longer swing the hammer, his hair was white, his body was stooped, and he almost couldn't survive this winter.

The two brothers sat on their backs in front of the shop, with a blanket draped over them, facing the early spring sunshine, watching a few little children with runny noses building snowmen on the street, laughing and having a snowball fight, and listening to the blacksmithing going on next to them. Xiao Li at the shop was hammering and forging iron tools.

There is also the bustling Wutong Tavern on the corner, and the busy Wang Tong couple.

Quiet and peaceful.

"Brother, Xiao Li's wife is about to give birth. I think it's time for me." Wang shook the blanket tightly and looked at the middle-aged man in the blacksmith shop next to him as he spoke. After ten years of being together, he already regarded this child as his own.

Wang Fu looked at Wang Yao, who was already old and full of lifelessness, and then followed his gaze to look at Lao Li Tou's grandson, Li An. This child had a rough life. His mother died when he was young, and his father was frail and sick. He also passed away more than ten years ago, and he later took a daughter-in-law. Unfortunately, he never got pregnant. If Wang Yao hadn't asked him for help, Lao Li would have been married. I am afraid that the bloodline of Tou will be completely cut off.

However, this son was also filial. Not only was he respectful to him and Wang Yao, he also kept the blacksmith shop in order after taking over it completely a few years ago.

"Xiaoyao, how many years have we been in Fuyao Town?" Wang Fu picked up the fruit wine that Wang Hui had sent to him early in the morning, poured a glass of it, and tasted it carefully.

"It's been almost forty years." Wang Yao smiled.

"To be precise, it's thirty-eight years and five months." Wang Fu said slowly.

Then he sighed and continued:

"Half of a mortal's life flies by in a blink of an eye."

"Xiao Yao, over the years you have helped all the people with the surname Wang in the town, forging iron tools and repairing houses. As a mortal, you have done your best."

"And I've been with you for half my life. Indeed, it's time to go."

"What else do you wish for?" Wang Fu looked at Wang Yao, who had white hair and wrinkles on his face and was already extremely old.

"I want to go back to the village to see my parents." Wang Yao turned his head with some difficulty and looked at his brother.

"Okay, before we leave, let's have a meal with Wang Tong's family. After drinking his fruit wine for half his life, it would be inappropriate to leave without saying goodbye." Wang Fu nodded slightly.

"Okay, listen to me." Wang Yao smiled.

It's night.

It’s still the Sycamore Tavern.

Just like more than thirty years ago, the Wang Fu brothers and Wang Tong's family were sitting around the table, eating vegetables, drinking wine, and laughing. The difference is that the former youth has grown old, and the former father has grown old. .

However, Wang Hui just had a child, and Wang Tong was already a grandfather.

The night passed quickly and was very long.

Some people go to bed early, and some people stay up all night.

The next morning.

The blacksmith shop is open as usual, but the calligraphy and painting shop is closed for the first time in decades.

At first no one paid attention, even Li An and his wife were just confused. Until noon, there was still no sign of anyone. Then they had a bad feeling and hurriedly opened the door of the calligraphy and painting shop.

There are no signs of the godfather and uncle anywhere in the store, but there is only a handwritten letter from the godfather.

"Xiao Li, godfather is home..."

…

The sun is shining brightly in Wutong Town today. Two old men with white hair and stooped figures are walking on the bluestone streets. They look at the noisy and bustling streets with people coming and going. One of them is smiling, and the other is calm.

The two walked slowly and walked through the streets of the entire town. When they were tired, they sat on the street to rest for a while and asked for a bowl of water from the store.

They were naturally Wang Fu and Wang Yao who left Fuyao Town.

Wang Yao wanted to visit Wutong Town, and Wang Fu was happy to accompany him.

A few hours later, they walked to the sycamore tree in the town.

The sycamore tree that has just passed the cold winter has no leaves, and it is like a twilight old man, hanging down. However, the branches are covered with all kinds of small cloths of different colors, making it look colorful.

When the cold wind blows, it makes a rustling sound.

"Brother, I planted this sycamore tree. It's about a hundred years old now." Wang Yao stretched out his withered hand and touched the trunk of the sycamore tree, showing off to Wang Fu with pride in his eyes.

"Although the sycamore tree in the village died back then, new branches grew next to it a few years later. I transplanted it myself and took good care of it. This is how the towering tree grows today."

"Later, I left it to Yi'er to take care of it for a while. This kid, obsessed with power, actually managed to win the title of No. 1 Scholar."

"It's great... I have had many heirs in my life, and the blood of our old Wang family has been completely passed down. In this regard, brother, you can't compare to me. Speaking of which, Wang Tong's family is also my descendant. If they know that our two brothers The first one is their ancestor, their expressions must be very wonderful, haha...ahem..."

"Say less, I can't keep you alive any longer." Wang Fu patted Wang Yao on the back, with a faint smile on his face, but sadness in his eyes.

Wang Yao's deadline has arrived.

"Brother, where do you think people go after they die? Can I still see our parents?" Wang Yao shook his head slightly, as if he had endless words to say.

When Wang Fu heard this, he was slightly startled. He looked up at the sycamore tree, which seemed to have some shadow of the sycamore tree at the entrance of the village. He said slowly:

"Trees are reborn, and so are people. Our parents may have been reincarnated and lived another life."

"Live another life?" Wang Yao murmured, not quite understanding.

At this time, several little kids ran over with a few pieces of cloth in their hands, and the two older ones quickly climbed up the sycamore tree and tied the colorful cloth on the trunk and branches.

"Brother, let's leave something on this sycamore tree." Wang Yao looked at the kids with a kind face.

"Okay." Wang Fu nodded.

"Little kid, can you give us two pieces of cloth?" Wang Yao saw Wang Fu agreed, and immediately waved to the little kid closest to them.

The child was stunned at first, then trotted over and shouted crisply:

"Hello, grandpas."

"Grandpa, do you want a piece of cloth?" The little kid tilted his head and blinked.

"Yes, can you give us one each?" Wang Yao smiled amiably.

"No problem, my mother said we should respect the old and love the young." The little kid laughed, then took two pieces of cloth from a bunch of different colors in his hand and handed them to Wang Fu and Wang Yao.

Wang Fu smiled and rubbed the little kid's head, and also cast a little magic to protect him from illness.

"Xiao Niu, let's go."

At this time, the two older kids had come down from the sycamore tree. After calling out, the little kid turned back and responded, then turned around and waved to Wang Fu and the others:

"Goodbye, two old men."

Then he jumped away.

"Brother, do you have a pen? I want to write some wishes." Wang Yao sorted out the two-finger-wide white cloth in his hand.

Wang Fu nodded, then turned his hand and took out a brush, the tip of which was already dipped in ink.

Wang Yao took it and began to write.

Wang Fu laughed when he saw the wish Wang Yao wrote, then took out a pen again and wrote a few beautiful small characters.

After the two finished writing, Wang Fu blew gently, and two pieces of cloth, one white and one blue, flew up, fluttering in the wind, and soon landed on the branches at the top of the sycamore tree.

They were tied firmly there.

In the sunlight, the words on the cloth shone brightly.

"More than a hundred years of unbearable, a lifetime of mediocrity. There will be a difference between immortals and mortals, and I will be an immortal in the next life..."

"Fuyao, live forever!"