Preface Six: Upon Suddenly Hearing of Immortal Traces, Ancient Tomes Conceal Sacred Teachings (Part One)

After the minor commotion had subsided, everyone lost their enthusiasm for strolling through the streets. Their outing ended hastily, and they returned to the inn. Once more, Fang Zheng offered words of comfort to Li Zhengdao. After instructing Li Meng to see everyone to their rooms for rest, he retired to his own quarters. The hour was still early, just past noon. With nothing pressing to occupy him, Fang Zheng decided to take out the ancient tome gifted to him by the village elder of Qingniu.

He had eagerly perused the book the very night it first came into his possession. Fang Zheng had always been fond of old texts; this one seemed even more archaic than most. Many of its characters were no longer in use, bearing a resemblance to the ancient seal script of China on Earth. Fortunately, some traces of modern forms could still be discerned, and, thanks to his status as “teacher,” Fang Zheng had managed to borrow a stack of miscellaneous, age-spanning books from the village elder for comparison. In this way, he had managed to decipher the majority of its contents, though a small fraction remained elusive.

From what he could gather, the book primarily concerned itself with the lore of medicinal herbs—their properties, appearances, and methods of identification. It also included a number of prescriptions, all ascribed with marvelous effects incomprehensible to Fang Zheng. He had once consulted the village’s clinic, but even the physicians there were unfamiliar with most of the herbs and formulas contained within the text. Thus, Fang Zheng had come to regard the tome more as a reference point for the study of the world’s evolving language than for its medical content.

Reflecting on this, Fang Zheng allowed himself a self-deprecating smile. Who would have thought that, after crossing into this world, he’d first become a teacher to a group of children by chance, and was now drifting ever closer to the life of a learned scholar? Just then, the voice of the innkeeper’s young son called out from outside the door, “Honored guest, are you there? I’ve brought you some hot water.”

“Come in, the door isn’t locked,” Fang Zheng replied absently, eyes still on his book.

A lean youth of eighteen or nineteen, clad in a coarse gray tunic and with a cotton towel slung over his shoulder, entered carrying a large copper kettle. Fang Zheng set down the ancient text, rose to his feet, and removed the lid from the teapot on the table with a smile. “Thank you, brother.”

“No trouble at all, sir, it’s my duty,” the youth replied, a little flustered. He had never encountered a guest so polite—most barked orders or, worse, hurled insults and blows. Such treatment was so familiar to someone of his station that Fang Zheng’s courtesy left him at a loss, his nervousness evident in the flush of his cheeks. Besides, he regarded Fang Zheng not merely as a scholar, but as the very man who had earlier that day rebuked the county magistrate’s son in public—a tale that had quickly spread. The youth felt both vindicated and deeply respectful. Grateful for the chance to show his admiration, he had brought the hottest, freshest water first to this room, hoping the gentleman would enjoy the finest cup of tea.

Fang Zheng smiled but said nothing more, sensing the youth’s unease.

As scalding water poured from the spout, sending up clouds of steam as it filled the teapot, a loud crash sounded from downstairs, as if something heavy had struck the floor. Startled, the nervous youth’s hand jerked, and a splash of hot water spilled directly onto the ancient book Fang Zheng had left on the table. Forgetting all else, the youth hurriedly tore the towel from his shoulder and began to dab at the book, heedless of the heat, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!”

Fang Zheng, startled as well, came to his senses to find the situation before him. While he felt a pang of distress, he did not grow angry. “It’s all right, just a book. I’ll dry it out. You’d better go see what happened downstairs—that noise was no small matter.”

“I’m clumsy and I’ve ruined your book, sir. Please, tell me how I can make amends. I’ll do anything I can,” the youth stammered, still anxious and trembling.

Fang Zheng ignored the book and instead reached out to steady the bowing youth. “Go on, really, it’s nothing,” he said with a smile.

The youth’s panic lessened slightly; glancing up at Fang Zheng’s expression and seeing no trace of anger, he was touched. But concern for whatever was happening below remained. He knew full well that he needed to report to the innkeeper at once. Such disturbances among the guests were always the business of the serving boys; the proprietor would never show his face to angry customers in the first moments of a brawl. To delay meant risking the job that fed his family.

“Thank you for your generosity, sir. I’ll check on the situation and return to apologize properly,” he said, bowing once more as he backed out, closing the door behind him.

Noise and commotion were growing downstairs, but Fang Zheng paid it no mind. He turned his attention to the state of the ancient book. The water had been wiped away, but the whole volume had taken the brunt of the spill and was still steaming. Fang Zheng quickly opened it to inspect the damage, only to discover something peculiar. From the extent of the soaking, he would have expected the first twenty or thirty pages to be thoroughly drenched. Yet, apart from the cover, which was nearly destroyed, the interior of the book was entirely unharmed.

This reminded Fang Zheng of a previous curiosity: the first three pages of the book were blank, made of what appeared to be ordinary paper but possessing extraordinary qualities. Once, he had accidentally knocked over an oil lamp, spilling burning oil onto the open first page. Yet the blank sheet had not been scorched in the slightest. He had noted it as odd at the time, but thought little of it. Now, it seemed those first three blank pages must hold some hidden secret. Still, this was not the time for study—he was simply relieved the book remained intact, and there would be ample opportunity for investigation later.

Downstairs, the commotion continued. The children were to sit for their examination that afternoon, and Fang Zheng did not want any mishap to affect them. He decided to go and see what had happened.

Having tidied his room, Fang Zheng stepped into the corridor. He saw a sizable crowd had gathered in the main hall below. Even Zhang Meng from the neighboring room stood in the corridor, peering down; the students, however, were nowhere to be seen, which eased Fang Zheng’s mind.

In the center of the main hall, a wide space had been cleared. A dining table and chairs had been smashed to pieces, their remains scattered across the floor. Beside them lay a man, dressed all in black, his face covered in a thick beard, making it impossible to guess his age. He lay motionless, his condition unclear. Aside from the curious onlookers, only the innkeeper and two serving boys were present; the lean youth from earlier among them. Yet no one had approached to check on the man—not even the innkeeper, who merely watched from a distance. The atmosphere was odd. From time to time, someone would glance up at the ceiling with a strange expression and whisper to a companion, though Fang Zheng could not make out their words amidst the noise.

After observing for a while and failing to discern anything more, Fang Zheng descended the stairs. The innkeeper, recognizing the young man who had made such a scene in the street earlier, greeted him with a slight bow.

Fang Zheng walked straight to the innkeeper’s side. The serving boy, still a little agitated, spoke up before Fang Zheng could ask, “Sir, you’ve come down as well. The man on the floor came falling from the sky! Made a tremendous racket, smashed the furniture, but the roof is untouched. It’s the strangest thing, and thank goodness no guests were hurt.”

His speech was rapid, but Fang Zheng understood. He looked up at the roof, seeing nothing more than a solid, timeworn structure of wooden beams—no gaps, no signs of damage.

“Falling from the sky?” Fang Zheng asked.

“From the sky, truly!” the boy replied, certain.

“Did anyone see it happen?” Fang Zheng pressed, finding the tale not just strange but downright bizarre. If the man had truly fallen from above, yet the roof remained intact, it would upend everything Fang Zheng knew of the world. Even the legendary feats of martial heroes were not so exaggerated—could someone really penetrate solid architecture as if it were air?

“Many guests saw it. Li Er saw it too,” the boy insisted, tugging a slightly plumper colleague forward, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

Now Fang Zheng could also hear scraps of conversation among the crowd, all corroborating the same story.

He was at a loss, glancing again at the roof. Was it somehow illusory? Some kind of three-dimensional projection? Fragments of modern science fiction fluttered through his mind. But could such realistic illusions exist, even on Earth, let alone here? And if the inn really did possess such magical properties, surely the staff would know and wouldn’t be so astonished.

With that, Fang Zheng resolved not to dwell on it. After all, having experienced the extraordinary himself, what was one more marvel? Besides, the man in question was right there—he could ask him directly if he survived. Judging by his stillness, however, the man’s condition seemed dire.

“Do you know who this man is?” Fang Zheng asked the innkeeper.

“I’ve never seen him before. The county is small, and I’ve run this inn for many years—I recognize most locals, but this one is a stranger. Judging by his attire, he’s not from around here,” the innkeeper replied.

“Has anyone checked his injuries?” Fang Zheng inquired. If the story was true and the man had fallen from the sky, he must be gravely hurt if not dead. He lay motionless, and though there were no visible wounds, Fang Zheng suspected internal injuries at the very least.

“Ah, I dared not approach,” the innkeeper admitted uneasily. “Given the mysterious circumstances, I—Zhao, a mere commoner—do not wish to be embroiled in trouble. I was considering whether to report this to the authorities.”

Fang Zheng considered for a moment. “Let me take a look. There are no visible injuries—perhaps he’s only unconscious. As for whether the authorities should be notified, let me examine him first.”

His decision was not made lightly. He recalled his own predicament upon first arriving in this world—had he not been rescued, he would surely have perished. Encountering this stranger now felt like fate; if he could help, he would not turn away. Furthermore, after his earlier altercation with the officials, involving the authorities now might only bring more complications. The children’s examination that afternoon was the most important matter, and Fang Zheng knew all too well the darkness that lurked in society.

Without waiting for a reply, Fang Zheng strode into the center of the hall…