Jin Se

Chapter 58

When Shi Wuduan once again woke up, the light of that damned place's day was already gone. He heard the crackle of a fire not far from him. Shi Wuduan came to full wakefulness as fast as possible. The memory of what'd happened before brought a scowl to his face.

Even though with the fire, the cave was still very dark. Shi Wuduan was only barely able to scan his surroundings and confirm that there weren't any signs of another's presence. He then blankly craned his head and looked at the ceiling of the cave; strangely enough, it was red too. A moment later, he heaved a sigh and thought, what the fuck even is this?

There was some strange plant-like thing blanketed on him, its texture was soft as silk. Shi Wuduan slowly examined himself and found that he was quite bruised. Although, the injured and swollen places seemed to have been treated already. The pain was well within his tolerance limit; far easier to endure than an arrow to the chest at any rate.

But there was still an uncomfortable soreness seeping from his bones, and his temples throbbed like they were being squeezed by pincers. He was cold too, and couldn't help curling in on himself. Shi Wuduan felt like his body temperature had been dropping constantly ever since he'd come to this miserable place.

He was facing away from the cave entrance and the fire, staring at the flickering shadow cast on the red cave wall. Shi Wuduan almost thought the fever had burned him silly. He was dizzy and his vision was blurred. His eyes were open, but he could hardly see. Suddenly, he had the faint feeling that life was but a dream.

Why did it come to this? He didn't have the strength to be angry or even muster up any kind of intense emotion anymore. All he could do was vacantly and exhaustedly wonder - why did it come to this?

Unconsciously, he began to sink into a long memory. His shifu's blurry face, and loose cultivator Jiang Hua, who he didn't even have the chance to see one last time....

In truth, Shi Wuduan was a precocious child. He could clearly remember things that'd happened when he was only two or three years old. He just didn't think about them very often, as if he was too afraid to believe he'd ever had such a carefree, rambunctious life.

It only would distract him and make him soft.

For example, when he reminisced about Cangyun Valley, he'd be too reluctant to act against Bai Li; he almost couldn't bear to hate him.

When he remembered Master Kuruo, remembered how that old lady, for the sake of saving her disciples and for the sake of protecting him, consigned herself to be forever imprisoned on Jiulu Mountain, he couldn't harden his heart enough to go against her wishes; he wouldn't be able to kill the Qingcu and all those Xuan Sect disciples.

When he thought of senior Jiang Hua, he'd remember everything he'd taught him about karma and fate, and he'd helplessly feel a sense of acceptance.

However, remorse, fondness, and even forgiveness would only make him weak. If he gave in to even the slightest bit of weakness, he would suffer.

The seven mountain lanterns had given seventy years of lifespan to the country. Even if, in those seventy years, the people were tormented by draughts and floods, unable to make a living, or even if disasters happened relentlessly, the winds and rains inconstant, as long as the mountain lanterns weren't extinguished, then of "the right time," "the right place," or "the right people," they'd always have one on their side.