What is an immortal?

Old Man mounted the cart again and softly called out, "Giddy up..."

The gray ox beast immediately began to move, a creaking noise following suit.

"Good fortune today, gathered a chicken for free. Brother's treating, sister come eat chicken..." The Old Man, back on the road driving the cart, was evidently in high spirits and the folk song he hummed grew even more cheerful.

Just then, there was a sudden bump on the road, and from the mat-covered cart, a hand suddenly slumped down, pulling at the Old Man's Cloth Robe.

Old Man reached out to touch it and found it was the young man's hand, his facial wrinkles deepened.

"Young lad, you're already dead, stop causing trouble..." Old Man lifted his hand, stuffed the hand back under the mat, smiled broadly, revealing a mouthful of large teeth.

When he withdrew his hand, he held a White Jade Ring, weighing it in his hand as if it was made of Mutton Fat Jade, quite delicate, almost overlooked on the young man's pale, dismal hand.

...

At the end of Chidao, there was a gently rising slope, sparsely covered with some trees, atop which a large cemetery was built.

The cemetery covered a large area; besides a tall garden gate constructed at the front, there was also a side gate on each of the left and right wings.

Inside the cemetery, there were numerous mound-shaped bumps scattered around, some with Steles in front, others had a pine board stuck into them, each marked with names.

But more numerous were the nameless mounds overgrown with wild grass, and even if they collapsed into pits, no one cared.

Outside the cemetery gate, two men dressed in green Cloth Robes stood as gatekeepers, both idly chatting with occasional words.

"I say, recently the corpse collectors have dwindled a bit, making us brothers barely scrape any profit," one square-faced man, hands tucked into his sleeves, complained involuntarily.

"Exactly, it's been half a month since I've had a sip of scorpion wine; my sister-in-law has complained several times, making me dare not to return home these nights," another man with a scar on his face rubbed his shiny head and said.

"Ah, it's unavoidable. After all, Kasi Clan intends to ally with a few other tribes, making recent private fights increasingly rare. Relying only on the homeless who died inside Qingmu City, how many could there be?" the square-faced man sighed and said.

No sooner had they finished speaking than they spotted the coming cart on Chidao, and heard the Old Man's singing.

"My gosh, talk of the devil, and he is sure to appear," the square-faced man's eyes lit up, and he exclaimed with joy.

"Your mouth must be blessed, surely Grandpa Yu is looking out for us. Hehe, let's follow the old rules, I'll find more faults," the scar-faced man chuckled and advised.

Hearing this, the square-faced man also chuckled along.

It wasn't long before the beast-drawn cart had arrived nearby.

"Old Smoke Bag, how many did you transport this time?" the scar-faced man asked.

Old Smoke Bag stopped the cart, set aside his copper pipe, grinned revealing his big white teeth, and said, "This time I have eight, all complete with nothing missing, rest assured."

"Complete or not, we will be the judges of that, Ba Tu, go take a look," said the scar-faced man glancing at the square-faced man.

The latter immediately understood, nodded, pulled out his curved knife from behind, and quickly stepped forward.

"Master Ha Tu, collecting unburied corpses from the city and bringing them here for burial—all rewarded by the generosity of our clan—what's the difference now?" Old Smoke Bag asked, puzzled.

"These are the new rules set by the graveyard. Got a problem? Take it up with the higher-ups," the scar-faced man said, not bothering to explain.

Old Smoke Bag shrank his neck and didn't ask any further, having grown accustomed to it.

The square-faced man gently lifted the mat with the tip of his knife, revealing several neatly arranged corpses.

"They're intact, but these dry and thin ones won't do," the scar-faced man said, frowning immediately after a quick glance.

His criticism wasn't just for show this time; he genuinely seemed dissatisfied with the corpses that had been delivered.

"Why is there a pale one? This one clearly isn't from our Qingmu clan. Old Smoke Bag, have you also learned to fish in troubled waters?" the square-faced man said, frowning as he noticed the river corpse that Old Smoke Bag had picked up last.

"Oh, sirs, I fished this one out of the city's water ditch today. Whether he's one of our clan doesn't matter—my duty as a corpse collector is to bring over any unclaimed dead from the city," Old Smoke Bag hastily explained.

"Alright, never mind that. The previous rate for delivering corpses was thirty copper coins each. For these, I'll give no more than twenty-five each. Also, this pale fellow definitely isn't from our clan—no matter where you got him from, I can only give you ten copper coins for him. No objections, right?" the scar-faced man said, exchanging glances with the square-faced man and raising his eyebrows.

"Tch, if it weren't for this pale skin, this corpse delivery wouldn't have earned much," Old Smoke Bag mumbled under his breath, taken aback.

Although he thought this, he didn't say it aloud.

"Sure, I'll listen to you, whatever you say," Old Smoke Bag said, grinning and showing his teeth.

After all, he had already scoured around for 'benefits' and was now too lazy to fuss over such pitiful gains.

Seeing how compliant Old Smoke Bag was, both the square-faced and the scar-faced men exchanged glances and laughed, finding him easy to manage.

They immediately called a few people, unloaded all the corpses, and hauled them on a cart back into the cemetery.

Watching the old man sing as he drove the cart away, the scar-faced man weighed the skimmed copper coins and couldn't help but remark, "Old Smoke Bag is really honest. If it were someone else, there would surely be a lot of haggling and saliva wasted. Next time he comes, we could give him a little extra."

"Yes, what a good man," the square-faced man added sentimentally.

Little did they know, Old Smoke Bag, driving the cart, was already planning to buy property in the city and quit the arduous job of being a corpse collector for good.

...

In the cemetery, the cart carrying the corpses arrived at a bunker.

A middle-aged man looking like a steward walked over, a white handkerchief held over his mouth and nose by two fingers. His gaze was cold as he scrutinized the corpses on the cart.

"These withered, hunched bodies should all be burnt. The rest, barely acceptable, store them in the cellar for now. We'll wait for someone from the Black Fire Sect to pick them," the steward instructed, pointing at the cart a few times.

"Yes, sir," the men moving the corpses promptly responded.

After giving his orders, the steward walked a few steps away, then turned back and warned, "The Black Fire Sect people are very picky. Make sure you clean them well."

Once the steward left, the burly men's gaze fell on the youngest among them, a young man with thick eyebrows and much paler skin than theirs.