Heat the pot over the fire, add a bit of cooking oil, and throw in the diced meat. The sizzling sound filled the air as the smell of the meat grew stronger and stronger. Fang Ming sat at the crossroads, watching the traffic go by, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "This is my business, and this is my life," he murmured to himself.

He had been practicing for a thousand years, but he wasn't like those ancient immortals who had left their shoes behind and were full of Taoist thoughts. He just wanted to earn some money and open a wine shop. He would go to the mountains to ask for alms, and if he was lucky, he would get a cauldron of immortal wine, which was very profitable.

"Sir, how old are you?" A young man asked him. Fang Ming chewed the bone, spitting out the meat, and said, "I'm over a thousand years old." "Over a thousand years old? Are you sure?" The young man asked, looking at him curiously. Fang Ming smiled and said, "I'm sure, why, don't you believe me?"