A Mortal’s Immortal Gourd
Chapter 1: The Yellow-Skinned Gourd

The end of the year was near. The north wind howled, and everything was blanketed in white.

Ergouzi wore an old patched-up jacket passed down from his ancestors. The layers of patches barely kept the weeds and willow fluff stuffed inside from poking out.

His upper body was barely protected thanks to that heirloom jacket, but his pants were in even worse shape—only about half a pair left.

The pants barely reached his knees, one leg longer than the other, and the butt was worn down to threads, exposing half of his backside, already purple from the cold.

One of his worn-out straw shoes had fallen off, leaving behind two uneven sets of footprints in the snow.

At the moment, Ergouzi had bundled up a small pile of firewood, around thirty pounds or so—enough to report back with.

Collecting firewood wasn’t easy these days. Every household needed it, and the trees couldn’t grow fast enough to keep up.

He had walked nearly seven or eight miles and worked all afternoon just to dig up this much wood from the snow.

Once the bundle was tied up, he plopped down on top of it, blew a few warm breaths into his hands, then tucked them into his armpits.

After catching his breath, he pulled out a clump of bran cake from inside his coat and took a big bite, chewing hard.

The cake was packed with chaff and wild herbs, with just a hint of acorns and grass seeds. It scraped his throat raw on the way down.

Calling it a cake was generous—it was something he’d stolen from the pig feed.

Even with food like that, he rarely got his fill.

After finishing the cake, he licked the crumbs off his fingers, grabbed a handful of snow from the ground, and stuffed it into his mouth to wash it down.

He sat there a bit longer until he felt his strength return, then hoisted the firewood onto his back and got ready to head home.

But he stood up too quickly while carrying the heavy load. His foot slipped, and down he went, rolling off the hillside with the firewood in tow.

Thud! Bang... Crack!

Ergouzi lay on the ground, his back aching so much he couldn’t straighten up.

When he’d fallen, something hard had smacked right into his waist.

It tore a huge hole in his jacket and left a bloody gash on his back.

Fumbling around in the snow, he quickly dug out a large object buried beneath it.

It was a plain-looking gourd with yellow skin, about a foot tall and as wide as a human head at its thickest point.

A bit of blood from his waist had smeared onto the gourd's cap.

That bloodstain was now slowly vanishing—almost as if it were being absorbed into the gourd.

He popped the lid open. Inside was a hazy void, impossible to see through.

Ergouzi thought to himself, This thing might be pretty handy for carrying water.

He was out working all the time, and more often than not, he had nothing to drink.

The only issue was—it was a bit too big. It’d be better if it were smaller.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the gourd actually shrank down a size.

Ergouzi rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Sure enough, the gourd was now only about seven or eight inches tall.

“Smaller!” he said.

This time, he kept his eyes wide open, staring straight at it.

Right before his eyes, the gourd shrank again, now down to just five inches tall.

“Smaller!”

“Smaller!”

A wave of dizziness hit him. The yellow gourd had shrunk to just about an inch tall now.

But his head was spinning, his chest tight, and his fingers trembling.

He figured the gourd must be the reason, and dared not push it any further.

If he passed out in this freezing weather, he’d be a stiff corpse by morning.

He fiddled with the now tiny gourd in his hand for a bit before stuffing it into the lining of his coat. Then, shivering all over, he picked up the firewood and headed down the mountain.

He slipped and fell a few more times along the seven or eight miles back.

The other straw shoe gave out completely, so he had to walk barefoot through the snow.

After circling around two hills, he finally saw Shexi Village at the foot of the mountain.

A small stream flowed through the village center, with clusters of mudbrick and thatched huts scattered along its banks.

A few of the houses had tiled roofs—those stood out among the huts and clearly belonged to the wealthier families in the village.

By now, the sky had turned dark. Ergouzi, carrying the firewood, arrived at one of the tiled-roof houses.

The gate was half-open, but he stopped in his tracks, hesitating, as if he lacked the courage to step through.

“You’re already at the door, what the h**l are you dawdling for? Go fetch water and feed the pigs!”

A coarse, raspy voice came from inside.

At the doorway stood a fat woman, greasy hair tied back, wearing an equally greasy cotton coat and pants, glaring at Ergouzi with fierce eyes.

“All you know is eat! Lazy b*stard barely managed to pick this little pile of firewood in a whole damn day!”

Ergouzi forced a smile onto his frozen face, lowered his head, shook the snow off his body, and stepped through the gate with the firewood.

“Your deadbeat parents kicked the bucket early. If it weren’t for me scraping together food for you, you’d be long dead.”

“Sickly all day long—anyone who didn’t know better would think I was abusing you!”

“Yes, yes! Thank you, Auntie, for saving my life!” Ergouzi said with a grin, quickly storing the firewood in the woodshed.

He grabbed the carrying pole and water buckets from behind the door. Without even changing shoes, he went out barefoot again.

He carried three loads of water, filling the water jar to the brim.

Next, he cleaned the house, boiled water for Auntie to soak her feet, and fed the pig.

While feeding the pig, hunger gnawed at his belly, and he stole a big lump of pig slop to half-satisfy himself.

The slop was mostly wild herbs with some mixed grains—honestly, it was better than what Ergouzi usually ate.

Over the years, waking before dawn and working until night, if not for the pig feed he snuck, he probably wouldn't have survived.

After all, pig meat ends up in people’s mouths anyway—might as well cut out the middleman.

As long as he could stay alive, what was a little humiliation?

By the time he’d finished all the chores inside and out, the sky was pitch black. Auntie’s whole family had long since cozied up in their warm blankets.

Only then did Ergouzi light a pine knot and enter the dining hall.

Oil for lamps was too expensive. Unless his cousin was reading at night, Auntie didn’t allow anyone to use it.

In the center of the room was an old eight-immortal table with a few sets of used bowls and chopsticks left on it.

By the dim pine-knot firelight, he saw there was still some leftover food in the bowls—this was his dinner.

He ate twice a day: once in the morning before heading out for firewood, and once at night after finishing all his chores.

One time, he’d come in for food before finishing his work because he was too hungry—and got cussed out and beaten so bad he still had a long scar on his arm from the fire tongs.

Among the five rough pottery bowls, only one small bowl still had about half a bowl of cold porridge left.

Ergouzi picked it up and slurped it down in a few big gulps.

To his surprise, there were a few strands of pickled vegetables at the bottom.

They tasted so good he didn’t even want to chew them, just let them soak in his mouth while he slowly sucked on them.

Using that bit of flavor, he licked the bowl clean, even the cold porridge stuck to the rim.

He cleaned out the rest of the bowls too, licking off the scraps of porridge left in each.

Then, with the rice ladle, he scraped the last bits from the cooking pot and ate those too.

Even leftovers like these were tastier than pig feed—just not enough.

After eating, he washed all the dishes, then finally slipped into his room.

His room was simple: a broken old bed covered with a thick layer of straw.

On the wall hung two pairs of freshly woven straw shoes, made in his spare time at night. He could probably sell them for a few coins.

Under the bedframe were about a dozen copper coins—his entire life savings, hidden away bit by bit.

Ergouzi had been working since morning and was exhausted. Lying on that straw pile felt amazing.

He pulled out the thumb-sized yellow gourd from his coat.

He didn’t know where it had come from, but from what he’d seen so far, it was definitely a treasure.

At the very least, the gourd could hold a ton of water—he’d tried filling it at the stream and still couldn’t get it full.

He opened the cap and tilted his head back for a sip.

“Huh?”

He realized the water inside wasn’t bitter anymore.

The water around Shexi Village was all bitter and astringent. The better-off families would even steep a few tea leaves in it to cover up the taste.

He drank several more gulps—yep, it wasn’t his imagination. The water in the gourd really wasn’t bitter anymore. In fact, it had a faint sweetness to it.