Time flew by in a blink, and in just a year, the reserve constable of White Horse Town, James Smith, stepped down from his post, bidding farewell to his many colleagues at the yamen as James Smith left the office.

In the distance, the faint sounds of gongs, drums, and firecrackers could be heard—probably some family celebrating a happy event. James Smith didn’t pay it any mind, humming a light tune as he walked home. But after turning a few streets, he ran into a group of people head-on. A dozen or so local ruffians and idlers were crowding around a chubby young man, making a racket with music and firecrackers as they paraded from east to west.

James Smith recognized the chubby young man in the middle: the second son of the scholarly Luo family in town, William Clark. This person was an excellent student, having passed the county-level exam at fifteen, and had been studying hard at home for the provincial exam these past two years. He had always been an honest man, so it was strange to see him showing off like this today.

When William Clark saw James Smith, he called out loudly, “Su the fool, do you know? I have been accepted as a disciple of the immortals of Qingmang Mountain! Tonight, an elder sword immortal from the sect will come to guide me to the main school. From now on, I’ll cultivate qi and pursue immortality!”

James Smith neither studied books nor practiced martial arts, but instead became a reserve constable—what else could he be but a fool?

But in the past, whenever William Clark saw James Smith, he would always greet him as “worthy brother.”

James Smith gave a noncommittal “oh,” and after walking a few steps, he finally realized what was going on. He stopped and nodded to William Clark, “Well, congratulations to you.”

Just as James Smith was about to leave, he suddenly remembered something, stepped into the middle of the road, and blocked William Clark: “The almanac says that today, the ‘Mischief Spirit’ is patrolling the west. Metal and fire are taboo… Don’t beat gongs or set off firecrackers toward the west, or you’ll offend the immortal who specializes in ruining good things for people. Why not change direction?”

William Clark was stunned for a moment, then cursed, “Nonsense! That’s from your dream almanac—what kind of immortal is that? Get out of the way!” In the past, such crude words would never have come from the polite and courteous William Clark.

William Clark was able to earn academic honors at a young age, so he was certainly clever. After thinking it over, he more or less guessed James Smith’s intention and asked with a sly smile, “The children’s exam is coming up, and Paul Wright is hanging from a beam in the middle of West Street, studying hard; at the end of West Street, the widow Song’s child is sick and can’t stand to be startled… You don’t want us to go to West Street because you’re looking out for them, right?”

James Smith sighed, “It’s fine if you don’t believe in the almanac, but we should still look out for our neighbors.”

Fat Clark let out a sharp laugh: “Paul Wright fails every year but keeps taking the exam—he’s over thirty and still shamelessly sits for the children’s test. He’s a fool! If he weren’t a fool, who could be so thick-skinned? The widow Song’s son is an even bigger fool, born with brain damage. If you ask me, it’d be better if he got scared to death—die early, reincarnate early, maybe come back smarter next time. You’re protecting them? Isn’t that just a fool protecting fools? What, are you all playing at ‘all the fools in the world are one family’?”

James Smith was confused and scratched his head: “I remember you always called Paul Wright ‘elder brother’ and addressed the widow Song as ‘auntie,’ and you used to show a lot of sympathy for her child…”

William Clark couldn’t be bothered to explain. Seeing that James Smith wouldn’t move, he interrupted with a laugh, “If you don’t get out of the way, you’ll get beaten… and after the beating, we’ll drag you along to set off firecrackers at Paul Wright’s door, then bang gongs in front of the widow Song’s house. Oh, and maybe one of the guys will ‘accidentally’ hurt your ankle. Aren’t you planning to travel? Limping down the road would look real impressive.” The group of idlers all laughed and chimed in. “Immortal fate” was a big deal for ordinary people, so these ruffians were all eager to curry favor with William Clark, hoping for some benefit in the future.

Only now did James Smith realize the seriousness of the situation. He seemed to wake up a bit, a glimmer of clarity in his sleepy eyes. He fished a few sheets of rough paper from his pocket and said to William Clark, “I need to take a dump.” With that, he dashed off, clearing the way.

James Smith rarely tried to act tough; he almost never tried to stop things he couldn’t stop.

The group of idlers burst out laughing and ignored the fleeing James Smith, crowding around William Clark, shouting and making as much noise as possible as they headed toward West Street.

Having gained immortal fate, William Clark was elated at the thought that soon he’d be able to fly through the air and command flying swords to kill from a thousand miles away. The rules and etiquette of the mortal world seemed to him as insignificant as snowflakes thrown into a furnace—gone in a sizzle.

Just as he was feeling on top of the world, William Clark suddenly heard someone shout from behind, “Immortal Luo!”

The Clark Family was pleased, thinking this person was really sensible. He turned around with a grin, only to feel a gust of wind rush at his face. Not far away, James Smith hurled something at him with all his might.

In a panic, William Clark only managed to turn his face to the side. The object, which should have hit him square in the face, struck his cheek instead with a loud “smack.” It didn’t hurt, but it was wet and uncomfortable. He reached up and wiped—a sheet of rough paper… and on the paper, sticky, smelly horse dung, the stench overwhelming.

William Clark flew into a rage, shrieking, “Get him!” The group of ruffians swarmed after him, while James Smith didn’t hesitate to take off running, muttering as he went, “Couldn’t find dog poop, but at least there’s horse dung.”

West Street fell quiet, and James Smith was in trouble.

But James Smith could run. He fled toward the yamen, and sure enough, after weaving through a few streets, just as he was about to be caught, a loud shout rang out: “Are you rebelling?!”

The chief constable appeared around the corner with several officers, glaring coldly at both sides.