Jiang Ci was lost.
Ever since she curled up under that tree for the night and miraculously survived the freezing cold, she had been walking in the direction of the rising sun. She would walk east; after all, where the sun rose was east. Even if she couldn't find her way in the end, it didn't matter. It was still better than sitting there and waiting for death.
She didn't walk very fast, but she kept going without pause. Unlike others who would stop and rest, she simply buried her head and forged eastward with all her might. Blisters formed on the soles of her feet and popped, her blood seeping into her shoes and leaving a bloody footprint with every step. She didn't stop to look. There was no point in looking anyway; she had no medicine, no bandages, not even a sip of water. If it hurt, so be it. At least it wouldn't kill her.
In two days, she actually managed to walk out of Beizhou City's territory and reach the edge of Black Mountain Fort. In the past, flying on her sword would have taken no more than the time it took to burn a stick of incense. Now, she had spent two days traveling on her own two feet. She recalled the days of standing atop her sword, the wind howling past her ears while the mountains and rivers below unfurled like a painting behind her. Back then, she felt everything was fast—traveling was fast, cultivating was fast, even eating was fast. Now, nothing was fast anymore. Every step required effort, and every breath had to be forced.
During the day, she endured the hunger. Her stomach was completely empty, twisting as if wrung by a hand. She swallowed her saliva to suppress the gnawing hunger. When she was thirsty, she used her hands to scoop up a few mouthfuls of water from the puddles along the road. The water was cold and tasted of mud, sending a spasm through her stomach as it trickled down her throat, but she forced it down. At night, she would find a boulder, lean against it while hugging her sword, and rest for two or three hours. She didn't dare sleep deeply, fearing she would freeze to death or never wake up again. Yet she was simply too exhausted; every time she closed her eyes, it felt as if she were being dragged into the abyss, and by the time she opened them again, several hours had already passed.
Jiang Ci found it a bit strange. Why did the nights in the Northern Border feel warmer than the days? Over the past two days, whenever she woke up in the morning, she felt a warmth over her body, as if something were shielding her from the wind. She didn't think too much of it, assuming the boulder was blocking the draft.
She failed to notice that the jade plaque on her sword tassel was gradually losing its emerald hue. It faded from deep green to light green, and then from light green to an almost transparent white. It was like an oil lamp whose oil was about to run out.
On the third day, she walked into the mountains.
The mountain range before her wound and twisted, stretching as far as the eye could see. Standing at the foot of the mountains, she looked up for a moment. She remembered that when she used to fly over this area on her sword, she had never seen this forest. She remembered clearly that the ground below had been a barren wasteland with barely any trees. Yet now, this mountain range lay across her path like a wall, blocking her way completely. Perhaps her memory was playing tricks on her, or perhaps she had simply never paid attention to it before. She wasn't sure. There were too many things she wasn't sure of anymore.
Go around? She glanced at the seemingly endless mountain range and immediately crushed the thought. At her current pace, she would probably die on the road before she could even make it around. Her only choice was to climb over.
She plunged headfirst into the dense forest before her.
The forest was thick, with interlocking branches and leaves completely blocking out the sky. Unable to see the sun when she looked up, she could only move forward by feel. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, and tree roots protruding from the soil tripped her several times. She fell, climbed back up, brushed the dirt off her hands, and kept walking. Every so often, she would look up through a gap in the foliage to catch a glimpse of the sky. The sun is in the east, the sun is in the east... she repeated to herself, following the sun's path.
As she walked, the sun eventually reached its zenith directly overhead.
“East...” Jiang Ci stopped, her eyes vacant. “Am I walking east?”
She stood frozen in place again, dazed. The surrounding trees all looked the same—tall and short, dense and crowded, like countless pillars supporting a green roof. She couldn't tell one tree from another. Perhaps she had passed this tree before, or perhaps she hadn't. She didn't know. Forget it, just keep walking. I was heading east just now anyway. If all else fails, I'll wait until the sun sets. West is west, so walking in the opposite direction is east. It's that simple.
And so, Jiang Ci began to walk in circles through the forest. One lap, two laps, three laps. She stared at the crooked tree in front of her—she recognized this tree. She had passed it at least twice. She stopped, simply sat on the ground, and refused to move any further. She would wait for the sun to set. Sweat trickled down her temples, stinging as it seeped into her wounds. She clenched her teeth, not making a sound.
Unfortunately, her luck was quite poor. Instead of the sunset, she got rain.
Drip—
A drop of rain struck her face. Then came a second drop, a third, and then the heavens opened completely. The rain didn't just fall; it poured, as if someone were dumping a basin of cold water directly over her head, soaking her from head to toe.
The Northern Border was already freezing. She had just finished sweating, and her pores were wide open. Drenched by the torrential rain, the cold seeped through her skin and into her bones like countless fine needles stabbing her all at once. She shivered, her teeth chattering. Her inflamed wounds, soaked in the dirty water, began to fester again. Pus and blood mixed together, trickling down her arms. It was painful, but pain no longer meant much to her. Her entire body ached so much that she couldn't tell one wound from another.
High fever, hunger, and hypothermia. The three combined felt like three mountains crushing her. Her vision darkened in waves, forcing her to lean against a tree every few steps. Her legs no longer felt like her own, nor did her feet. She was merely moving forward mechanically, one step, another step, and another. She had no idea how long she had been walking, nor did she know where she had ended up. By the time she snapped out of it, she had already emerged from the forest.
A temple. There was a temple ahead.
She rubbed her eyes. It wasn't an illusion. The temple was still there. It had gray walls and black tiles; the doors were gone, but the roof remained. She walked toward the temple, her legs so weak it felt like she was stepping on cotton. After a few paces, she collapsed to her knees. Lying flat on the ground, she crawled forward inch by inch. Her knees and palms were scraped raw, but she felt nothing. She simply dragged herself forward, toward the temple.
She crawled to the entrance of the temple. The threshold was high, and she couldn't climb over it. Propping herself against it, she rolled over and tumbled inside. There was no one inside. No fire. No food. Nothing at all.
Her heart sank to the absolute bottom.
She curled up in a corner, clutching her sword to her chest, shivering violently. Cold. It was so cold. She wanted to huddle tighter, but her body would no longer obey her commands. Burying her face in her knees, she listened to her own heartbeat. It was slow and weak, as if it might stop at any moment.
An hour later.
Lu Yan rushed into the temple, shielding his basket.
He was soaked to the skin, water dripping from the hem of his robes. His Water-Repelling Spell had long since dissolved, and he had climbed up the mountain while braving the torrential downpour. Ignoring his own state, he first reached out to feel the herbs inside his basket.
Then, his expression turned bitter.
They had still been soaked. The roots clung limply to the bottom of the basket, and the leaves were half-rotten, their edges blackened and crumbling at the slightest touch. As for the Meridian-Connecting Orchid—he crouched down, gently parting the rotten leaves with his fingers to feel the main root. Fortunately, the root was still intact. It could still be saved. He plucked away the rotten leaves one by one and pinched off the decayed parts of the roots. His movements were incredibly gentle, as if handling something fragile. Even so, at least seventy percent of its medicinal efficacy was lost. He crouched there, silent for a long moment, his lips twitching slightly, but he said nothing.
He let out a long sigh, set down the basket, and turned to face the memorial tablets in the temple, respectfully kowtowing three times. His forehead struck the cold stone floor, making a dull thud. He did not get up immediately, remaining on his knees as if he had much to say but could not utter a single word.
These memorial tablets were carved by his own hands, one by one.
On the day of the Formation Sect's great catastrophe, the elders, disciples, outer sect deacons, and servants who fell... he carved each of their names one by one. Some names he remembered, while others he didn't know, so he could only carve the words “Sixty-Third Generation Disciple of the Formation Sect” without a proper name. He didn't know who they were, but he remembered them. He remembered that day. He remembered the rift in the sky, the spiritual energy pouring out like a burst dam, and the protective sect formations exploding one after another. He remembered the old man turning to face the Ice Sovereign, opening his arms wide—
He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
He kowtowed three times.
Your unworthy grand-disciple, Lu Yan, has come to visit the ancestors of the Formation Sect.
When he first arrived, this temple had been dedicated to the elders who sacrificed their lives to defend the Great Wall of Formations. Ten years had passed, and with the demise of the Formation Sect, the offerings of incense had ceased. Cobwebs covered the entire rafters, and when he first stepped inside, he startled dozens of wild birds. Bird droppings littered the floor, and the dust made him cough repeatedly. He spent a long time cleaning the place by himself. He wiped the tablets clean one by one, cleared the cobwebs from the rafters, and shoveled away the bird droppings. Because there were too many tablets to fit in the main hall, he repaired two side halls before finally managing to settle all of them.
He placed Lu Buqi's memorial tablet on the very top row, right in the center. In life, the old man had been incredibly stingy, reluctant to eat well or dress well, hoarding even half a spirit stone. In death, however, he occupied the best spot. When Lu Yan carved that tablet, his hand had been perfectly steady. It wasn't because it didn't hurt—it was because when pain reached its absolute limit, the hand would no longer tremble. He traced the carved characters on the tablet, lingering for a long time.
He had just come to pay his respects a few days ago during the Qingming Festival. The offering fruits were still arranged on the altar; the freezing weather of the Northern Border kept them from spoiling. He reached out to touch them—the apples were still firm, and so were the pears. He originally thought his next visit wouldn't be until the Cold Clothing Festival. He kept track of the dates and came every year. This world had no Qingming, nor did it have the Cold Clothing Festival, but he remembered.
Lu Yan stood up and walked to the corner to look for a fire starter. He wanted to light the candles and burn some incense for the ancestors of the Formation Sect. Finding the fire starter, he pulled off the cap and blew on it twice. A few sparks flew out, stinging his finger, but he paid it no mind.
Holding the fire starter, he was about to turn and grab the incense—
...when his leg suddenly brushed against something.
It was soft, wet, and warm.
His mind instantly went blank with a loud buzz, robbing him of all ability to think. He crouched there, frozen in place. The wind howled through the broken window frames, blowing coldly against his back. His back was already drenched, though he couldn't tell if it was from the rain or cold sweat.
It was alive.
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