“Yang Cang…” Changpu’s voice faded away like rippling water.
Ding Qin had already looked into the karmic past.
This was on a main street. Dusk was approaching, and there were few people on the street, making it seem rather desolate. But this desolation wasn’t because the darkening sky meant people were preparing to close their stalls and go home—quite the opposite. This street hadn’t yet reached its opening hours, but soon it would be time for this street’s prosperity to begin. Already, some had opened their shop doors and hung up lanterns.
On such a street that seemed not yet awakened, such an angry roar rang out, as jarring as a drop of cold water splashing into boiling oil.
“Stop right there! Run again and I’ll beat you to death!” This was a man’s furious shout, disturbing many people who opened their windows to look outside.
Following the sound, one could see a man chasing a little girl. This man wasn’t from this street—one could tell just by looking at his clothing. Though his clothes weren’t particularly shabby, they weren’t good enough either, just the simple, practical coarse cloth worn by ordinary folk. This was too far removed from the people on this street and the customers who came here.
Someone stuck their head out from a window, unhappily shouting at the man. “What’s all this noise? You’re disturbing the young ladies’ sweet dreams for nothing!”
The man shrank back for a moment, and his chasing footsteps even slowed, but immediately after he quickened his pace again, just without cursing aloud anymore.
The little girl he was chasing appeared to be less than ten years old. Though there weren’t many people on the street and no obstacles either, she still ran stumbling and tripping, and soon fell.
She tried to get up, but the man behind had already caught up.
He grabbed the little girl’s arm and, suppressing his voice in humiliated fury, said, “Run! Go ahead and run! Where do you think a little blind girl like you can run to? See if I don’t beat you to death!”
The little girl instinctively raised her other arm to shield her head, her face blank and expressionless, except for a pair of very peculiar dark gray eyes. The pupils and irises of these eyes blended into one color, like extinguished ash, reflecting no light or shadow.
Even among the blind, it was rare to have such strange eyes.
The man raised his hand as if to strike, but then seemed to remember something. He lowered his arm without hitting her, and instead wiped the dirt from her face to make her look cleaner. His other hand still gripped the little blind girl’s wrist like a vise, dragging her back the way they came.
“Run again and I’ll beat you to death when we get back! You’re blind and can’t do anything. Isn’t it good here? You get food and drink, you don’t have to do any work and you get to wear pretty clothes. I’m telling you, don’t think about running. You can’t survive anywhere else. If you dare run home I’ll beat you. Just stay here obediently!”
As he spoke, he strode back forcefully, half-dragging the little blind girl, making her stumble along. He didn’t care whether the little blind girl walked comfortably or not, and naturally didn’t care about the expression on her face either. After all, this girl always seemed to have that blank face, a pair of gray eyes lifeless as death, looking terribly inauspicious.
But even blinded eyes can still express emotion—it’s just buried deeper, harder to discover.
The sky grew darker and darker, and more and more lanterns were hung on the street. They illuminated the darkening street anew. The little blind girl opened her pair of dark gray eyes. Her world was dim and lightless, her eyes reflecting lantern after lantern, the bright light turbid and decayed.
Those sleeves and hems that flashed by in doorways and windows were mostly exquisite and brilliant colors, every silk thread soaked in powder and perfume. Those passing figures all saw these two people on the street, but most just glanced once before losing interest.
Such things were all too common. This was the flower street—there was never a shortage of people selling girls, and never a shortage of those who wanted to run. It was just that this time, it happened to be a little blind girl.
The person waiting at the door was already impatient. If they hadn’t already agreed on a price beforehand, they might have decided not to want her. A blind little girl whose looks weren’t particularly outstanding—they’d only been interested because those dark gray eyes looked a bit special. The girl had seemed quiet, who would have thought she’d cause such a scene.
The man had already lost his fierce demeanor from when he was chasing her, now bowing and scraping to apologize to the buyer.
“Alright, you…” The person had just taken out money and was about to hand it over when their eye caught the corner of the little blind girl’s mouth. Suddenly their expression changed, and they pulled back the silver. “We can’t take this! Go on, get out of here! Don’t be an eyesore!”
The man’s eyes swept downward and only then saw blood gushing from the corner of the little blind girl’s mouth. His expression changed as he pried open the little blind girl’s mouth, only to see that half her tongue had been severed, lying pitifully in the welling blood.
The man’s face looked terrible, his mouth half-open, not knowing whether he wanted to curse or say something else.
“Leave her to me.” A male voice suddenly came from beside them.
They looked toward the sound and saw a very tall man. They didn’t know when he had appeared there, but he clearly didn’t look like someone who belonged here. His clothes were simple, neither expensive nor shabby, just plainly clean and neat, but most importantly it was his aura—too peaceful, the kind of peace that shouldn’t appear on the flower street. So he seemed neither like someone from here nor like a pleasure-seeking customer. And his face was identical to Yang Cang in Changpu’s portrait.
The man choked for a moment, saying, “We’re trying to sell her for money!”
His words lacked conviction. She was already blind, and now even if she didn’t become mute, her speech would certainly be slurred in the future. Moreover, though biting one’s tongue doesn’t necessarily mean death, treating such an injury would cost quite a bit of money! And with all this blood right now… who would want to look at that!
But Yang Cang simply took out a small piece of broken silver from his sleeve, slightly larger than what the previous buyer had offered.
The man quickly took it, weighed it, then bit it with his teeth. As if afraid Yang Cang would change his mind, he pushed the little blind girl over and turned to leave.
Yang Cang thus took the little blind girl away.
“It’s very difficult to commit suicide by biting one’s tongue.” He led the little blind girl along, his steps very slow, very considerate of a blind person’s pace. At this speed, they might not leave the flower street even when the sky turned completely dark.
But somehow, after just a few steps, the scent of powder and perfume from the flower street had already disappeared. For someone blind, their other senses are often very acute. Not only had the powder scent faded, even the gradually livening sounds of the flower street had receded. The wind around them began to turn cool, indicating the sun had sunk lower and lower, but the scent in the wind… that coolness was the coolness of mountain forest plants, fresh and quiet.
The little blind girl was somewhat bewildered. Where was she now? But she suddenly noticed something else—following that person who had bought her speaking those words, her tongue no longer hurt.
Biting one’s tongue to commit suicide doesn’t necessarily succeed in death, but it truly is an extremely painful thing. She had mustered such great determination to bite down, but only got halfway before losing strength. It was truly too painful. At that time she still wanted to die, but her muscles no longer obeyed her commands, only trembling uncontrollably from the pain. The pain had been so overwhelming she hadn’t paid much attention to what happened afterward.
She carefully probed her tongue, and the gruesome wound she had bitten was gone. If not for the heavy taste of blood remaining in her mouth, she would almost think it had been an illusion.
“Rinse your mouth?” They had stopped, and a cup of water was handed to her.
She obediently took it and rinsed away the fishy saltiness of blood from her mouth. Though she couldn’t see, she felt this person beside her gave her a sense of peace.
“Don’t lightly seek death.” This was the third sentence Yang Cang said to her.
Then, she felt a hand cover her eyes. She instinctively closed her eyes, but… she saw a lamp.
No, it wasn’t seeing—it was sensing. She sensed a lamp, sensed the figure holding the lamp in one hand while covering her eyes with the other, sensed the surrounding mountain forest, sensed… the light and warmth of that lamp flame.
“Do you want to learn from me?”
In her dark gray eyes appeared the reflection of a clear lamp flame, breaking through the dark deathly aura. She nodded her head desperately.
That person seemed to smile warmly. “My name is Yang Cang. What’s your name?”
“Changpu.”
…..
The vision dispersed like rippling water, and Changpu’s voice gradually drew near again.
“…is my master.”
Ding Qin blinked once, her vision returning to normal, showing no sign that she had just witnessed a karmic event from the past.
“You got separated?” Bai Hong asked.
Changpu shook her head. “What I’m looking for isn’t his person, but news of him.”
“He has already… died.”
…..
Yang Cang’s death was the result of many factors coming together—such as that thing he absolutely had to do, such as that news he happened to learn, such as his personality of insisting on doing what he knew couldn’t be done.
But the most direct cause of his death here was that someone had betrayed him.
It was someone he had never expected.
There’s a strange principle in this world: people who have helped you are more likely to help you again than people you have helped.
Yang Cang had never heard of this principle, but he had enough experience and wisdom to understand that this was indeed how things usually worked in the world. And both the thing he had to do and the news he had received were not matters that people of ordinary cultivation could participate in. These were things that even put him in danger—if he entrusted this matter to someone whose cultivation was inferior to his, how would that be different from harming them?
Therefore, Yang Cang entrusted that news to his master.
That person who had taught him cultivation, brought him into the path, guided him to light his heart flame, told him of the Mingdeng Sect’s legacy…
How could he have imagined that one day, his master’s heart flame would be extinguished? How could he have imagined that his master would conceal the news he had entrusted to him, and turn around to take his life?
The Mingdeng Sect was truly too loose an organization—there was no so-called sect leader or deity to worship, nor any top-level cultivators who made decisions together. Each person of the Mingdeng Sect was scattered in different places throughout the world, living their own lives, with no fixed means of contact. Only when they met and saw each other’s heart flame could they recognize one another as fellow inheritors of the Mingdeng Sect. Or perhaps two or three masters, disciples, and friends might maintain regular contact, but such contact was limited to small circles.
This made the Mingdeng Sect more like a widely transmitted cultivation method rather than a particular force.
This naturally had its advantages—the Mingdeng Sect’s followers were spread everywhere, yet almost no one noticed that this had already become a very large power.
But if this power weren’t so scattered, if the Mingdeng Sect’s followers could communicate with each other, perhaps Yang Cang wouldn’t have fallen into today’s situation.
Yang Cang suddenly sighed. His entry into the Mingdeng Sect and stepping onto the cultivation path had been guided by his master. When teaching him the method to ignite the heart flame, his master had taught him the Mingdeng Sect’s oath.
He had always remembered that oath, but his master had forgotten it.
Yang Cang looked at the heart flame in his palm. He seemed to suddenly make a decision.
“I’ve figured out one thing,” he said. “Those who come to find me here probably have two types of purposes. Either they don’t want me to know that news and want to find my hiding place after death to kill me again, or they want to learn that news from me.”
“If it’s the former, after finding me they need only strike directly—there’s no need to wait. If it’s the latter, even if we have different positions, we both stand opposite to the former. What is there that I cannot say?”
He seemed to have decided to give that news which had caused his death to Li Chi.
However, before Yang Cang could speak, Li Chi spoke first. “You don’t trust me, so why do this?”
Yang Cang was about to say something more when he suddenly noticed Li Chi’s eyes. Those eyes had originally been so deep that even the lamplight filling the room couldn’t shine into them, but now they reflected two points of bright light. That was… the heart flame he held in his hands.
The light of the heart flame reflected into those eyes and then shone back onto him, illuminating all his thoughts completely.
“You cannot see through me, so you also cannot trust me,” Li Chi said.
Yes, he didn’t trust Li Chi. What he had just said was still a test, and his thoughts had already been seen through in the other’s eyes.
But how could he not test? He had just experienced a terrible betrayal. The thing he wanted to do had been extremely difficult even at his peak, and now he had fallen to rock bottom, his cultivation destroyed by more than half. How could he not be cautious?
He knew nothing about the other party, yet the other party seemed to already know everything about him. Though the Flame Lord had left the two words “no harm,” even the method to borrow the Flame Lord’s power had been taught by the other party. In such circumstances, what else could he do?
“You’ve forgotten something else,” Li Chi suddenly said.
“What?” Yang Cang asked.
“You remembered the oath you made, but forgot others’ promises to you.”
Yang Cang froze.
Things like oaths and promises—they’re easy to speak but not often fulfilled. Though the gods watch from above, they don’t really manage such things. There are so many people who make promises casually that if the gods recorded them all, they probably wouldn’t have time to cultivate. Only the naturally operating karmic cause and effect silently records everything.
But the consequences of not fulfilling oaths or promises don’t operate according to their content—otherwise, there would be countless more people in this world being struck by heavenly thunder.
So most people don’t take oaths and promises very seriously. Some people might be sincere when they speak them, but their later regret is also sincere. Some people perhaps never meant them from the start.
But in this world, there are also people who take every word they speak very seriously.
“I said I would find him,” Changpu said. “If you have news of him, please be sure to tell me.”
“When did you separate?” Bai Hong asked.
“Sixty-eight years ago,” Changpu said.
“When he saved me, I was only seven years old. My parents were both dead, my older brother sold me. I had nowhere to go, so Master kept me with him until the day I grew up enough to live on my own.”
“That day he said he had to leave…”
Sixty-eight years ago, clouds covered the sky in white. The sun’s light penetrated the cloud layer to illuminate the earth, making the daylight seem somewhat cold and dark, as if covered by an invisible fog.
Changpu had grown up and had some cultivation, able to live independently. Yang Cang planned to leave.
“Master, can I go with you?” Changpu asked.
“No, I have to do something very dangerous, and I can’t bring you along,” Yang Cang said.
“How dangerous? I grow quickly. When I’ve grown enough to face this matter, can I come find you?” Changpu asked again.
“Dangerous enough that perhaps one day, I’ll die abandoned in the wilderness.” Yang Cang didn’t directly say no, but his words already revealed the answer.
If Changpu wanted to participate, she would at least need to grow to Yang Cang’s level of cultivation at that time. But that was a very distant, very difficult thing.
Changpu pressed her lips together.
“No, you won’t,” she said. “If there truly is such a day, I will definitely find you. I won’t let you die abandoned in the wilderness.”
Yang Cang smiled and patted her head, leaving her a thread of lamp flame. From that day on, they had no meetings and no news for forty-five years.
“Twenty-three years ago, the thread of lamp flame he left with me was extinguished. I knew then that he had died, so I came to find him,” Changpu said.
She spoke very calmly and frankly, as if searching for someone she hadn’t seen in forty-five years and continuing that search for twenty-three years was a very ordinary thing.
“If you have news of him, please be sure to tell me. Changpu has no great talents, but whatever I’m capable of, I will not decline.” She took out a portrait—the same as the one in Liu Chuanyu’s hands—showing a tall man without any particularly distinctive features.
Ding Qin suddenly felt the divine seal on her forehead move. She looked at Changpu and said abruptly, “May I see your heart flame?”
Changpu had no questions, only saying, “Alright.”
She cupped her hands before her chest, and in her palms appeared a small pool of clear, illusory lamp oil. In the center of the oil, a small lamp flame burned bright and warm. The lamplight exactly filled the room it illuminated—within its reach, there were no shadows.
In that temple, Li Chi suddenly spoke. “What you’ve been waiting for has arrived.”
He raised his hand and moved it, and karmic fate stirred mysteriously. The heart flame in Yang Cang’s palm suddenly brightened, and beneath the illusory lamp oil appeared the reflection of a slightly smaller lamp flame.
Across mountains and rivers, Changpu suddenly lowered her head toward her palm, and in her gray eyes appeared the reflection of two lamp flames, one large and one small. “I… found him…”
“…Changpu?” Yang Cang’s voice transmitted from the slightly larger lamp flame reflected in Changpu’s palm into Changpu’s ears. Soft ripples spread through the lamp oil.
Changpu couldn’t help but close her eyes as two tears slid down, striking the heart flame and making that small fire grow a bit larger.
Heart flames can guide each other across any distance.
Yang Cang immediately understood—this was what he should wait for in the Heavenly Maiden Wuyou’s guidance. He had waited for it—the person he could trust, the person to whom he could entrust things.
Li Chi closed his eyes, not disturbing the communication between this master and disciple who had been separated for sixty-eight years.
When Yang Cang withdrew the heart flame from his palm and opened his eyes again, he saw those deep, calm eyes across from him. Yang Cang had waited for what he’d been waiting twenty-three years for, yet he didn’t look relaxed.
If not for this accident, he hadn’t wanted to entrust this matter to Changpu. But given his current situation, he could no longer continue. This wasn’t because of his death—even though his cultivation in life had been destroyed by more than half, he could still cultivate in his ghost form. But his situation had been exposed; he was being watched. The one behind the scenes wanted him silenced, naturally knowing that when a person dies, their lamp doesn’t necessarily go out—his ghost form after death could still speak. In that life-ending disaster twenty-three years ago, he had fought desperately to escape with a severely wounded spirit soul.
Because of his severe injuries, later he could only rely on an ordinary person’s power to reach this remote, broken temple. The one behind the scenes was certainly searching for him, but this was a place pointed out by the Heavenly Maiden Wuyou. He had hidden here for twenty-three years without being discovered. But if he left here and went back to participate in what he had been doing before, he would probably be found immediately before accomplishing anything. Because the one who betrayed him was none other than the master who understood him best.
If there was enough time, he could re-enter the cycle of reincarnation, using reincarnation’s power to wash away the traces of this life, waiting for a trusted person to guide him to relight his heart flame. His heart flame was strong enough to break through the confusion of reincarnation and make him remember his past life. Originally, he had only planned to have Changpu receive his next life. But after communicating with Changpu and learning about the outside situation, he realized there was no longer enough time.
“Liang Kingdom is no longer the Xu clan’s Liang Kingdom,” Yang Cang said.
Xu was Liang Kingdom’s royal surname. The current ruler of Liang Kingdom was named Xu Chang. Though not young, his body was still robust, and his heir was also in the prime of youth. The Xu clan seemed to have nothing to worry about, yet Yang Cang, someone who had been shut away for twenty-three years, spoke with complete certainty.
“Twenty-three years ago, I heard of something and wanted to go to the Liang capital to stop it, but I died on the road. Twenty-three years later, that thing has succeeded. No matter what Liang Kingdom looks like now, it’s no longer the Xu clan’s Liang Kingdom, no longer the Liang Kingdom of its people. It has become the Xuanqing Sect’s Liang Kingdom. The Xuanqing Sect’s scheme in Liang Kingdom has succeeded. Next will be Sui.”
“The Xuanqing Sect seeks to usurp nations.”
What Yang Cang spoke wasn’t everything, nor did he request help. He only felt that the person across from him seemed to already know everything he was saying, and what he said wouldn’t change the other’s decision.
Plotting against various nations was only part of the Xuanqing Sect’s plan. What he wanted to do wasn’t just stop the Xuanqing Sect from usurping nations, but this had become the current point of entry for both sides.
They couldn’t let Sui Kingdom fall into the Xuanqing Sect’s hands like this, but Sui Kingdom’s matter could only be entrusted to Changpu—otherwise it would be too late. And if he still wanted to participate in this affair, he had no choice but to go through one reincarnation before he could re-enter the game.
“Reincarnation is not a good choice,” Li Chi suddenly said.
Yang Cang was silent for a moment. He didn’t know whether to be surprised that Li Chi could know about this before he even mentioned it, or to skip that question and directly ask why reincarnation wasn’t recommended.
He didn’t struggle long and chose the latter.
“The great tribulation has already begun. You’ve already wasted twenty-three years in this place. If you enter reincarnation, how much more time will be consumed?”
Yang Cang was speechless. He wasn’t unaware of this problem. But if he didn’t go through reincarnation, with his master’s methods, as soon as he participated again, he would probably be caught before accomplishing anything.
“The Mingdeng Sect is a force. You can prevent your disciple from encountering what you experienced,” Li Chi said.
“You mean integrating the Mingdeng Sect’s power?” Yang Cang quickly understood Li Chi’s meaning.
If he only acted from the sidelines, quietly integrating the Mingdeng Sect’s power without directly confronting the current Xuanqing Sect… he might indeed be able to avoid that terrible targeting. And if a force like the Mingdeng Sect could be integrated, it could also prevent Changpu from being as isolated and helpless as he once was when facing difficulties. Furthermore, he wasn’t clear how many people like his master who could disguise the Mingdeng Sect’s heart flame there were, or how long this technique had been circulating. But if he could integrate the Mingdeng Sect’s power and borrow the Flame Lord’s power, he could expose all these disguises.
Yang Cang suddenly pulled back his wandering thoughts and instead formally thanked Li Chi. “Thank you for your guidance.”
“Then let me give you one more bit of guidance.” Li Chi said, and in his eyes suddenly appeared Yang Cang’s ghost form.
Tall in stature, seemingly no different from an ordinary person, except his shoulders were somewhat thicker and more solid than normal people. If looking at it according to a living person’s body structure, this abnormal yet harmonious broadness came from shoulder blades larger and thicker than normal people. This was an innate anomaly, yet in Changpu’s portrait, Yang Cang’s shoulders didn’t appear abnormal at all.
Li Chi said leisurely, “A ghost’s form is mostly the form they cling to. Those who die unjustly, with fear and terror hard to forget, manifest the fierce appearance of their death. When their resentment and malevolence dissolve, they appear as they were in life. What is the reason for your current appearance?”
Yang Cang was stunned.