Chapter 2457 A Tragic Background
The echo of that phrase, "I need a way to make it to tomorrow," still lingers.
The river breeze in the ink-wash landscape suddenly turned cold at the same moment, as if a harsh winter was approaching.
The river waves surged and rolled.
From the depths of the mist, a shadow slowly rose.
First, a wisp of disheveled white hair, damp and scattered on the river tide, like a remnant of snow in the wind; then, a hunched figure staggered out of the darkness—
He relied on the river for support, his steps like those of a withered branch about to break.
Finally, an old man, his body soaked in old blood and rust, stood on the waves of the river.
His Taoist robe was tattered, still bearing the patterns and stitches of that era, the entire garment torn by time like a tattered flag dragged back from an ancient battlefield.
The fabric was stiff and cracked, stained with dark bloodstains that were too old and too faded.
The bloodstains were so deep they seemed to have seeped into the Taoist robe, and even the river water couldn't wash them away.
His white hair was as messy as tangled weeds, each strand growing sideways and upright, as if he had no heart to tidy it up after countless battles.
He was barefoot, with broken chains wrapped around his ankles.
Every mark on the iron chain looks like it has been struck by lightning a million times.
Even more bizarrely, his eyes were so cloudy that he seemed about to forget who he was, and he was muttering to himself like a madman.
"How dare you be worthy of being immortals?!"
"All races and immortals have fallen, celestial history has collapsed, and scoundrels have risen to power!!"
"...Today...which front is it...who will send me into battle...?"
……
The old man's appearance was accompanied by countless mad, grand celestial sounds, and the riverbank and the surrounding world instantly became like a ghostly wind.
He's like a madman.
He is also the old madman in the eyes of all the beings in the Three Thousand Immortal Realms. Countless cultivators have never seen him, only heard of him, and only know that he is the only living old madman in the forbidden zone of life.
This is someone the world would only say upon seeing—
"An old madman who went astray in his pursuit of immortality and got lost on the river."
……
On the bamboo raft.
Wang Qicang was utterly shocked, his eyes trembling and his limbs shaking.
He felt as if he was seeing an old man, a deity, or a madman.
Instead, he was witnessing a living ancient era, a living history of war, approaching him. This intense sense of impact almost made him forget who he was and where he was.
The old man's cloudy eyes gradually began to focus.
Wang Qicang was startled, his eyes filled with fear and shock as he met that gaze.
Bang!
The mighty river surged with raging waves, countless tidal waves crashing against Wang Qicang, leaving him drenched and disheveled. The icy river water made him tremble uncontrollably.
Six years old.
Father lost.
Ten years old.
The ancestor was lost.
He prayed for his mother, who was severely weakened and whose eyes had lost their light.
Twelve years old.
Loss of mother.
Before she passed away, his mother didn't tell him that he must live well. She only felt extremely guilty, saying that she shouldn't have let him come into this world and that his father and mother had let him down.
There was no funeral.
Later, he lived with his cousins.
Fifteen.
The Wang family suffered a bloody disaster, and its remaining members lived a wretched existence.
The Wang family patriarch, severely wounded, brought hundreds of his disciples here, and then disappeared without a trace.
I wandered aimlessly for two years.
Seventeen.
He traveled alone in his wooden boat and arrived here.
The remaining members of the Wang family, filled with fear, sorrow, and panic, wandered away from this ancient forbidden land.
From childhood.
All he wanted was to survive until tomorrow, and for his family and clan to survive until tomorrow as well. He had no grand ambitions; simply surviving was enough to exhaust all his energy. The origins of the Wang family's disaster were not something he could truly understand.
"A descendant of the Longevity King family, with mixed spiritual roots of five elements, but a mortal body."
The old man's words remained weathered and cold, seemingly mocking and sarcastic, "However, your most ordinary spiritual root and physique in this immortal realm are enough for you to survive here, enough to last until tomorrow."
Click...
Wang Qicang's throat was burning, his lips were white, and the river water continued to pour over his body without stopping, as if it wanted to destroy his physical body, his will, and everything else.
"But it looks like we won't make it to tomorrow, so let us die here."
The old man gave a low, mocking laugh, chilling and terrifying, “...I will come to collect your corpse tomorrow.”
Just before leaving, he took one last, deep look at the surging river.
This river, this water.
Only those with a pure and clear mind, free from distracting thoughts, can be saved.
It was 'they' who allowed him to cross the river.
But what's the use...?
It's nothing important and won't change anything.
The river water was cold.
It was icy cold.
Wang Qicang's lips and skin had turned completely white, and it seemed that his blood was almost frozen. He wouldn't even last for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before the banquet was about to begin, and his consciousness also seemed to have been frozen solid.
He had little cultivation, barely reaching the Foundation Establishment stage.
The old man, a descendant of the Changsheng Wang family, possessed a mixed spiritual root of five elements and a mortal body. In just a few words, he had already recounted the rise and fall of the Changsheng Immortal Clan's Wang family throughout the ages.
The next day.
Wang Qicang's eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were blood red.
He was still alive, clinging to his last breath.
Wang Qicang only knew that if he could stay alive a little longer, he would have a better chance to become a disciple and seek enlightenment. In the future, he would also give his clansmen a better chance to live, so that they would not be as miserable and powerless as he was.
But today.
The mad old man broke his promise; he neither appeared nor came to collect his body.
The river water continued to lash his body relentlessly, drenching much of his skin and causing it to peel off.
Wang Qicang instinctively felt that he couldn't hold on any longer. He felt as if he was falling into an abyss with no end in sight. His thoughts suddenly raced, but he couldn't feel or touch his own body. So this was the cold feeling of death.
Is this the end...?
He is still falling.
suddenly!
A warm, gentle force enveloped his entire body, just like his mother's embrace back then.
Wang Qicang completely lost consciousness.
When he woke up again, he was still on the raft.
"what!!!"
Before he was fully awake, the Yangtze River surged through his body again, and he could only instinctively let out a pitiful scream.
……
one year later.
Because his physical body was repeatedly injured and rebuilt by the river water, he became much stronger than a year ago. However, his immortal veins were completely destroyed, his foundation was damaged, and his realm dropped. It was no longer possible for him to rebuild his cultivation under such turbulent river waters.
Ten years later.
Although he had been constantly swept away into a daze over the past ten years, he had never given up thinking. He wanted to regain his consciousness and he wanted to keep fighting against it. At this moment, his black hair was already reaching the ground.
hum!
Wang Qicang suddenly opened his eyes today. He had finally regained his consciousness after days and nights of suffering, but this consciousness was not divine sense. Instead, it was a strange feeling that he did not know.
But he felt it was even stronger than the divine sense of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, even under the scouring of the river's waves...
"what!!"
When consciousness returned, the absolute pain returned as well, instantly shattering his regained consciousness. It turned out that he hadn't been thinking in pain, but rather trying to climb out of that endless abyss, and by then, the pain had already numbed his body.
Spring passes and autumn comes.
Another decade.
He truly regained his consciousness amidst the utter agony. Washed by the waves, his bloodshot pupils, reflecting his calm contemplation, became visible, but his limbs remained too cold to move much.
This day.
The old man reappeared.
“...Senior…” Through the water curtain, Wang Qicang saw the blurry figure, his voice unusually hoarse.
"From this day forward, follow me in cultivating the Tao."
"...Yes...yes!"
