Only this time of my practice can be considered as a complete success. So I restrained my evil spirit, pretended to be a mortal and spent decades with him, watching helplessly as he went from having black hair on his head to turning gray on his temples. As a result, I waited until the flowers withered, but he refused to die. Ordinary mortals can only live for a hundred years, but he is lucky. At the age of eighty, he can still chopping firewood with his bare hands. At the age of ninety, he can still drive wild boars all over the mountains.
