In the evening, Chixia City faded from a hazy glow into dimness, blending into true night.
Inside the room, the sunstone was close to going out. Qin Ming sat there motionless, his face obscured by the shadows, with only a glimmer of light remaining in his eyes.
He looked once again at his fourteen-year-old self. Back then, he had valued affection deeply and cared about those around him, unable to bear the agony of parting in life or death, unable to let go.
At that moment, the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming had trembled faintly. He had wanted to take one last look at his parents and younger brother, for he knew that in all likelihood, he was going to his death.
When he turned his head, he saw only the receding backs of his parents.
His eyes reddening, the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming had struggled to control himself and quickly turned back around, setting off into the unknown with the aged clan elders.
Unsurprisingly, they were intercepted. Though they fled the entire way, they were tracked down time and again.
This group of decrepit elders from the Cui clan, who had only a few years left to live, unleashed terrifying combat power. Coupled with their sheer fearlessness in the face of death, they struck terror into the Li clan for a time.
"Some of those old fogies are formidable figures from the Cui clan's main branch. The older they get, the fiercer they become. Wait, I see Cui Chonghe—he's very likely the standard-bearer of their next generation."
In the dark, several pairs of eyes from the Li clan's camp were fixed on the fleeing Cui clan group.
"Although Cui Chonghe hasn't embarked on the Newborn path, he must truly possess a special gift. He might approach the immortal realm in the future. Recent reliable information confirms that he was singled out at a very young age as exceptionally suited to walk the path of those beyond the mundane world."
A group of experts from the Li clan suspected that these formidable Cui clan elders had gone mad in an effort to help Cui Chonghe break through the encirclement and take him to the lands beyond the mundane world, where he would meet that legendary "senior master"—Cui Chonghe's future master.
Qin Ming saw mountains of blood and bone, belonging to both the Cui elders and the Li experts. In the end, they broke out and fled into the distance. In disguise, clad in tattered rags, they slipped into a village where the Cui clan had laid preparations for many years, lying low for the time being.
In truth, after several bloody battles, the Li clan seemed to have realized something, and their pursuit grew less frantic thereafter.
"The Li clan may have discovered our clan's members who escaped along the other route."
"There's also another possibility: the old ancestor who disappeared more than two hundred years ago has stepped out once again."
In the village, several Cui clan elders whispered among themselves. By now, they were all critically injured and dying, having lost the strength to fight another great battle.
A group of elders with little lifespan left had fought until few remained; most had fallen along the way.
It was precisely because they fought like madmen without fear of death that the Li clan had grown unnerved toward the end, shrinking from further bloodbaths and failing to realize that with just a bit more effort, they could have completely wiped out their opponents.
The fourteen-year-old Qin Ming remained silent, for even these elders had said themselves that they had contributed whatever remaining spark of life they had left.
One elder had white hair and bloodstained, deeply wrinkled skin. His smile in the dark was rather chilling as he looked at Qin Ming and sighed. "Your innate talent is extraordinary, exceptionally well-suited to walk the Newborn path. It's a pity you practiced the method on the silk book—that path is already a dead end."
Another elder looked at Qin Ming with a complicated expression. "Wait a little longer. Once Little Seven learns the news, he should rush here to save you."
In the inn, Qin Ming watched that scene intently.
Clearly, everyone in the Cui clan knew that Seventh Uncle Cui Hao treated him the best; even these elders had spoken those words.
"You are Seventh Uncle's... paternal grandfather?" the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming had asked. What he had seen and heard along the way made him realize something, and looking back on the past, he had felt profound despondency.
"Yes. Little Seven is my favorite grandson. He has one fatal flaw—he cares too much about emotional bonds. Come, sit beside me. Before I die, no one will lay a finger on you." The elder patted the spot beside him.
Was valuing emotion and loyalty truly a fatal flaw? After sitting down, the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming had thought to himself: *Am I not just such a person too?*
"You old codgers, stay away from me!" Seventh Uncle's grandfather looked up at the other blood-drenched elders, his tone none too pleasant.
One of the elders said, "All of us will die here, and there are no regrets. After all, we've already killed so many of the Li clan. The Li clan wanted to rise, wanting to clash with our Cui clan to display strength, gain prestige, and elevate themselves into a millennial clan. But they will have to pay a grievous price. This time, they are destined to bleed heavily. Regardless of whether the Li clan was pushed forward by someone else, they will not be the ultimate winners."
"This child is still young. He still has regrets. He shouldn't die here. You fellows go sit over there," Seventh Uncle's grandfather said.
The other elders stood and moved away, putting distance between them.
In the inn, Qin Ming reflected, his gaze lingering on those other elders.
Seventh Uncle's grandfather led Qin Ming into a dilapidated house in the village and said, "Given Little Seven's temperament, he will come to save you once he knows, but he will most likely be stopped. The clan won't allow anything to happen to him—after all, his talent resembles mine the most, making him one of the Cui clan's future pillar combat forces. I don't think Little Seven will let the matter rest, so someone will dispatch matching experts to rescue you. I only hope they arrive early enough and don't miss the chance. Don't worry, the Li clan isn't stupid. By now, they've figured out what's going on, and their top experts are no longer paying attention to this place. Besides..."
At this point, he began to cough violently, blood welling constantly from his mouth. Qin Ming rushed forward, at a loss for how to help him.
The elder waved his hand and said, "My body can't hold out. Continuing where I left off: I believe our old ancestor has already appeared. Both sides have probably begun to pull back by now, and there won't be any major clashes. You might actually survive."
The elder glanced outside the room and spoke via a secret technique, his voice resounding only in Qin Ming's ears: "I am about to die. Do not leave this room. Tell them I am nursing my wounds, and don't let them disturb me."
Tears in his eyes, the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming nodded, watching as the elder closed his eyes and ceased to move.
In the inn, the sunstone went completely out. Qin Ming sat there and murmured softly, "Before losing my memories, the me back then... actually already knew quite a lot."
In that dilapidated room, the fourteen-year-old Qin Ming had written only a single word—"abandoned"—and thereafter had no desire to speak, keeping entirely silent.
Because his memories had returned, the present Qin Ming relived the emotions of that moment once more. That sensation was unbearable—more painful than having his skull shattered later on, more excruciating than having his heart and lungs slowly carved open with a blade. Sitting there at the time, the agony had been suffocating.
In the inn, Qin Ming shook his head violently, finally shaking off that emotion. Examining the past once more, he seemed to converse with himself from more than two years ago, telling his past self: "From what you saw and heard along the way, looking back on the past, did you think you had uncovered the so-called truth? In reality, even that was merely a curtain."
The slightly yellowed book of memory turned another page, dusted clean. Qin Ming looked back upon that year, seeing once more the feather-robed youth, Li Qingxu, walking over ethereal and transcendent, attacking him without hesitation.
Cui Hao's grandfather had not been wrong: the Li clan had not dispatched large forces of top experts to continue pursuing them. However, a small handful of experts leading followers rallied from nearby cities was still enough to obliterate this village.
In the inn, Qin Ming did not skip past this memory. He relived once more the agony of broken arms and a fractured skull, quietly reviewing every past detail, for he wanted to tear away completely the curtain woven from the so-called truth.
Uncle Seven Cui Hao had been unable to appear, just as the old man had predicted. The long-armed man Cui Hong and a woman with a red mole on her right eyebrow arrived, whisking him away into the night. They bypassed Luoyue City without entering, opting to travel far.
"Where we went didn't matter, so long as it was a remote place." In the inn, Qin Ming muttered to himself. Watching Cui Hong and the woman in her early thirties, he knew the reason they had brought him to Black-White Mountain.
More than two years ago, heavenly light from beyond the mundane world had pierced the night veil, flying across the realms. One of the beams had fallen upon Black-White Mountain. The two of them had already intended to investigate it, and since it also fit the requirement of a "remote place," Qin Ming had ultimately ended up stranded in that region.
"The me of more than two years ago was actually very sharp and had already sensed things. It was all because I valued emotional bonds too deeply. Is that truly a weakness? Perhaps it is," Qin Ming said very softly.
He murmured, "Back then, I was still too young after all, and I didn't know as much of the truth as I do now."
The most important point among them was that Qin Ming had succeeded in practicing the silk book through his own efforts. Using it as a foundation, his body had undergone comprehensive Newborn transformation, tentatively blazing a trail down this path and revealing a corner of the past truth to him.
The silk book was miraculous. Ever since his Newborn transformation, it had made his subconscious exceptionally active, allowing him to see himself during his earliest, hazy childhood while in a half-dreaming state. At that time, he must have been only about three years old—and those were not memories lost from having his skull shattered by the feather-robed youth!
Those were childhood memories that had naturally faded with the passage of time; ordinary people could rarely remember things from before the age of three once they grew up.
"Oh, silk book... It was not in vain that I practiced you from early childhood. At the critical moment, you allowed me to see my earliest self. Or perhaps it was precisely because I persevered in practicing you for over a decade that my life was saved in the end."
Qin Ming suspected that practicing the silk book had never been ineffective; perhaps it had been accumulating something all along. Back then, when his skull had been shattered in three places by the feather-robed youth Li Qingxu, he should have been considered dead—under normal circumstances, no one could have survived.
"In my early childhood, I didn't have an easy life. I wore little patched clothes, and my little shoes had holes in them—perhaps worse off than children from ordinary families. And the old man who taught me to read and showed me the silk book was just an ordinary person, with rough, large hands, dressed just as poorly as I was."
Yet in the Cui clan, Fifth Master and Seventh Master had claimed that the grandfather in Qin Ming's memories had "severed all attachments" to tread his own path, having already traveled far to the imperial capital of the Yu Nation.
The old man who had shared a life of mutual reliance with Qin Ming was clearly just an ordinary person, yet they had lied to him, saying he was a great master. If he were so extraordinary, why would the grandfather and grandson have lived in such squalor and hardship?
Qin Ming felt a pang of sorrow for his past self. Looking through the yellowed book of memory, his gaze turned to those years, reliving the emotions of that time.
During his time in the Cui clan, as Qin Ming slowly grew older, his early childhood memories naturally faded away. Yet he still held a faint impression, feeling that there should have been a very dear grandfather.
"I miss him. I miss that grandfather." Those were the exact words from his past memory. Back then, his eyes had reddened, wanting to take back the volume of the silk book that belonged to him.
However, several elders of the Cui clan refused, saying the silk book was an ancient artifact that damaged easily, telling him to master the Newborn method on the earlier pages before reading the subsequent techniques.
From then on, come rain or shine, the young Qin Ming practiced for many years without ever stopping.
It was all because he wanted to get the silk book back, because he missed that grandfather in his memories—that was the emotion buried deepest in his heart.
Even though his memory of that grandfather completely faded over time, until he had forgotten it altogether, practicing the silk book had become an instinct. An obsession born of reasons he could no longer recall sustained him, urging him to persevere.
Clearly, during his earliest days in the Cui clan, he had been deliberately guided: if he wanted to see the grandfather in his memories, he had to practice this silk book!
Looking back now, Qin Ming found traces of design everywhere.
Had Second Master truly leaked secrets while drunk? Had Fifth Master's perfectly timed hints pushed too hard? There were simply too many details.
"Scheming like that against a mere child—how could he possibly contend with you? You really crossed a line."
Qin Ming murmured to himself in the dim room. Reflecting carefully, there were still many inconsistencies that defied common sense and reason.
"Throughout every event, the entire process—if there were just one more person involved, everything would align and make sense." He pushed open the window and gazed into the pitch-black night. If that were indeed the case, then he truly was somewhat pitiable and tragic.
Chapter 76