The Amusing Adventures of a Directionally Challenged Dad and Daughter Chapter 144

(Author’s note: Hey lovelies, I suddenly rembered the outline I wrote before starting this story. Originally, I planned to write a simple slice-of-life farming novel where Old Gu Six wouldn’t regain his mories until after overcoming his trials. But as I wrote, the plot derailed completely, and now it’s beyond salvaging. What do you think, lovelies? Should I just go with the flow?)

Old Gu Six carried his wife and father to the abandoned valley near the small fishing village.

Muttering to himself, he paced around, inspecting the area before stopping under a callia tree on the left slope of the mountain stream.

He set down the bundle and started digging a pit. Chang’an stepped forward to help but quickly realized the soil here was unusually hard—she couldn’t make a dent.

Tsk, should’ve brought the old ox.

"Sweetheart, go play over there. This won’t take long."

Chang’an didn’t just wait idly. She began chopping firewood. Large logs were needed for heating the kang bed, while smaller branches were only good for cooking.

However, they rarely cooked outdoors—only for hotpot or barbecue. Most als were prepared by Chang’an in her space and brought out, so they didn’t need much firewood.

Now, she was cutting down trees but made sure not to overharvest one spot. Deforestation could lead to landslides during spring rains or heavy storms.

She selectively thinned dense groves, removing one tree to give others more room to grow.

One was busy digging graves for his wife and father, while the other was nearby, hacking away at firewood with loud thuds.

Old Gu Six finished digging two pits. He unwrapped his adoptive father’s bundle first. Without a coffin—sothing he couldn’t craft—it didn’t matter. The spot he’d chosen was auspicious; no ants would disturb the remains.

He placed the bundle into the pit, then carefully arranged the bones into a complete human shape before filling the grave. His wife was buried the sa way.

Once both graves were filled, he gathered stones to encircle them. Then, with great effort, he hauled two large rocks over.

The dragon-patterned longsword appeared in his hand, and he channeled his inner energy to carve the rocks into tombstones.

The inscriptions read simply:

"Tomb of Ji Xiaosheng"

"Tomb of Zhang Muqing"

Nothing more.

The karmic ties of this life were settled. Their nas couldn’t include his or his daughter’s—no need to entangle further.

He’d endured this tribulation to the point of numbness. Another round might just finish him off.

With the tombstones erected, he called Chang’an over to kowtow three tis before each grave.

Chang’an lit candles and even set out two fried chicken drumsticks—originally ant for Old Gu Six—one on each grave.

She considered offering incense but rembered the stash in her space had expired. No point risking poisoning the deceased.

Just as she turned, she caught her father sneaking a hand toward the drumstick on his wife’s grave.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Old Gu Six jerked his hand back. "Just… straightening it." He nodded emphatically.

Chang’an: Oh, really?

She sighed. How did she end up with a father like this?

What a curse!

She ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍pulled out another drumstick from her space—originally part of his five-piece stash, now reduced to three after the grave offerings.

Best not tell him, or he’d definitely reclaim those two.

With the departed laid to rest, father and daughter turned their attention to gathering firewood across the mountains.

Chang’an felled whole trees while Old Gu Six chopped them into segnts. She then stored the logs in her space to split later at ho.

Old Gu Six worked swiftly, felling trees in a few strokes before moving on to the next.

They didn’t overharvest any single area. After cutting a dozen large trees, they relocated.

The tombstones on the hillside watched the pair depart. Perhaps they’d et again next year—if they remained here, an annual grave visit seed fitting.

The duo moved to another mountain, collecting dead branches and stuffing sacks with dry leaves for kindling.

They aid to stockpile enough firewood for winter and spring before descending.

They weren’t the only ones preparing for winter. Villagers in the mountains were also busy chopping wood.

An unexpected encounter forced them to slow their work—no convenient space storage now.

They dawdled until the villagers carried their loads ho, then Chang’an swiftly stashed their haul.

To avoid further run-ins, they began storing whole trees to process later. Efficiency skyrocketed thanks to Old Gu Six’s brute strength—three or four hacks felled even the thickest trunks.

Chang’an trailed behind, collecting the spoils.

After four days of logging, the pair—plus their silver wolf—ventured deeper into the wilderness to the wild buffalo grounds for at.

But they didn’t stop at buffalo. The hunt yielded pheasants, rabbits, and two lucky deer kills.

The buffalo grounds now teed with wild goats—pri at for stockpiling.

They slaughtered five buffalo and ten goats before leaving satisfied.

Unbeknownst to Chang’an, her father secretly stashed live buffalo and goats in his companion space.

The dry weather ant no mushrooms, disappointing Chang’an.

Braised chicken with mushrooms was delicious.

Wait—her fridge held shiitakes. That’d do.

Old Gu Six shouldered an entire tree downhill as proof of their firewood expedition.

While others carried slender saplings, this pair stood out—the man’s tree dwarfed most house beams.

One tree equaled two days’ work for others. Passersby wondered: Was this a deliberate display?

Old Gu Six swaggered past with unmissable pride, sparking envy. Maybe they should try felling big trees too?

Except they couldn’t lift them. Rally the whole family to carry one trunk?

Never mind. Sticks and scrubwood would suffice.

Ho again, they split logs, stacking so for the kang bed while storing the rest in Chang’an’s space.

With firewood and at secured, they debated shrimp harvesting. The vast ocean wasn’t so tiny creek—how to trawl?

Chang’an produced bamboo from her space, tasking Old Gu Six with weaving fish traps for shallow waters. Maybe they’d catch shrimp or crabs.

Thus began their daily beachcombing.

Thankfully, their small fishing boat remained un-stolen. They set traps sans bait—fishing for the willing.

The deserted beach yielded decent hauls.

One night, Old Gu Six crept out while Chang’an slept.

At the shore, he dipped his hand into the sea. Light flashed, and the beach suddenly sward with shrimp.

A wave of his hand stored them all in his companion space.

Tomorrow, he’d confess about the space to his daughter. Keeping secrets hindered his shrimp feasts.

She wouldn’t mind him mooching off her, right? Decision made.

This was all for the sake of shrimp-eating freedom. Ti to co clean.

After going back and forth three tis, Old Gu Six had collected quite a haul of shrimp and crabs into his space.

With his harvest complete and his heart content, he was ready to head back and sleep.

Just as he turned to leave, a massive turtle crawled onto the shore.

Wait, no—this was no ordinary turtle. It was enormous, easily large enough to carry soone across the sea.

They say a turtle lives for millennia, but this one must have been ten thousand years old.

Old Gu Six was puzzled. How was this creature still here? During the great cleansing of this world, all the ancient beings and mountain spirits had been relocated.

As for the flood dragon hiding in the South Sea, Old Gu Six pondered for a mont—it must have been tied to its destiny. Hadn't it now been reduced to a re little snake?

The mont the old turtle made it ashore, nine bolts of heavenly lightning struck down from the sky, leaving it smoking.

“Holy—!” Old Gu Six leaped back, glaring up at the sky and shouting, “Could you at least aim better?”