It seems that according to Walter Redman, a young kid like myself carrying a large sum of money is just asking for trouble!

Of course, with the skills of your grandpa Henry Foster, I’m not worried about anyone targeting me. The problem is, those people don’t know how capable your grandpa Henry Foster is. If they come to mess with me, I’ll have to teach them a lesson, and going back and forth like that would just waste my time—wouldn’t that be asking for trouble for no reason?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Staring at those wealthy gentry coming in and out of the money house, I blamed them for not knowing how formidable I am, which is why I don’t dare to just go in and exchange my silver. If you delay the great matter of your grandpa Henry Foster’s cultivation, can you bear the responsibility?

Since going to exchange silver would definitely get me targeted and bring me trouble, Henry Foster decided to strike first!

Just then, a chubby middle-aged man came out of the money house, followed by a little servant. Judging by his greasy, shiny face, he must be loaded. Henry Foster stuck a blade of grass in his mouth and swaggered over. When he got close, he stumbled and fell right into the man’s arms. The chubby man recoiled in disgust and shouted, “Ugh, you little beggar, don’t you watch where you’re going?”

“Sir, spare a couple coins, will you?”

Henry Foster looked up, stretching out his hand like a proper beggar.

“Even if I had money, I wouldn’t give it to you. Get lost!”

The chubby man waved his sleeve in disgust and strode away.

Henry Foster shot him a look of equal disdain and scampered off in the opposite direction.

Fingering the purse he’d just lifted, he found it satisfyingly heavy—must be a decent haul. Henry Foster felt both happy and a bit relieved. The village’s Jack Lewis always said that when traveling the world, you have to master a few skills just in case. Back then, I only learned from him because he seemed sincere, but who’d have thought it would come in handy at a critical moment…

With money in hand, Henry Foster finally felt at ease and strode off toward Mount Taibai.

A journey of a thousand miles is naturally full of twists and turns, especially for a kid barely over ten. It felt like an endless road, but although Henry Foster was young, he was clever and skilled. He could be sweet-talking when needed, ruthless when necessary. Traveling by day and resting by night, stopping and starting, it was tough, but after a month, he actually found the place.

“So this is the Immortal Sect?”

Staring at the towering, cloud-piercing mountains, Henry Foster knocked the pebbles out of his shoes.

“Your grandpa Henry Foster is here!”

Chapter 10: Please Invite Grandpa Up the Mountain

To the south of Anzhou lies the state of Chu, where the long Changfeng mountain range stretches across the western side of Chu, winding for tens of thousands of miles.

Within are many strange peaks and steep ridges, deep mountain temples, and immortal hermits cultivating the Dao among the mountains.

What Henry Foster had been asking about all along was a cluster of unique peaks in the middle section of the Changfeng range. Here stands a spiritual mountain, soaring into the clouds, shrouded in immortal mist, its grandeur like a drunken Taibai, hence called Mount Taibai. Within this mountain lies an immortal sect, named after the mountain itself: the Taibai Sect.

This sect was founded not long ago, but its reputation is already great, known as one of the five great immortal sects of Chu.

As for the Taibai Sect’s heritage and fame, Henry Foster knew nothing. He only knew it was a proper immortal sect that could teach him immortal arts. The recommendation letter he got from that old woman in black—he didn’t know if it would be of any use. If it was, he’d use it to join the sect; if not, he’d have to think of another way. Either way, he had to get in and cultivate!

Following the mountain path, Henry Foster made his way up, picking sour dates and bird eggs along the way. Setting out from the small town at the foot of the mountain, he walked for most of the day before finally spotting a boundary marker at the end of the path, inscribed with the three characters “Taibai Sect.” Beyond that, a grand mountain gate arched high, with immortal mist swirling behind it and endless buildings faintly visible.

“Huh, it really does have that immortal aura Walter Redman talked about…”

Seeing the mountain gate, Henry Foster felt a surge of joy—over a month’s journey seemed worth it.

His steps grew lighter as he strode toward the gate, but before he could get close, a loud shout rang out from ahead: “Taibai forbidden ground! No trespassing! Where did this little beggar come from? You may not barge into the Immortal Sect—go back down the mountain at once!”

Henry Foster looked up in surprise and saw two young Daoists in green robes step out from either side of the gate.

Both were in their twenties, long swords strapped to their backs, hair tied in Daoist topknots, tall and upright. Their robes, though Daoist, were nothing like the fortune-teller Walter Redman’s baggy garb—these were well-fitted and of fine material. As they walked, the mountain wind made their robes billow, giving them a heroic air rarely seen among ordinary folk. Just one look was enough to inspire admiration.

“Ah, haha, greetings, senior brothers…”

Henry Foster wasn’t clueless—he knew these were the Taibai Sect’s gatekeepers. Though they called him a beggar, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he put on a big smile, bowed, and said, “I’ve come from far away, just to seek a master…”

“Seek a master?”

The two gatekeepers exchanged glances, both finding it rather absurd.