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墨書 Inktalez
I have seen many onlookers, genuinely discussing the misfortunes of others, only to conclude that it ultimately has nothing to do with them. Yet they waste their time, words, and sincere feelings on the trivial matters of others, as if their kindness, capability, and life values are somehow validated and elevated by such concern.
But I am certain that my senior sister is absolutely not one of those people.
Listening to her cold tone, I momentarily lost my focus and couldn't help but ask, "Why?"
Her voice grew even colder, a barely perceptible mockery curling at the corners of her mouth—only those familiar with her would notice it. Yet her gaze was more resolute than ever: "Because he lost to his will. The Bible—he grasped it completely."
"But in such circumstances, losing one's will is only human," I replied.
She let out a cold laugh and did not counter my argument again, but her expression clearly showed disdain for the missionary we had just discussed.
Willpower... Suddenly, I remembered that my senior sister also relied on willpower in her craft. Her skills were so extraordinary; could it be that she had endured similar, if not harsher, trials while learning the Illusionary Technique?
My senior sister is Zhen Si, the disciple of Poison King Yue Chongyao. She knows what kind of person Master Yue is better than anyone; I am a close second. He is definitely someone who stops at nothing to achieve his goals—harsh on himself and even harsher on his disciples. The more he cherishes a disciple, the stricter his demands and training methods become. My own five years of training provide a glimpse into this.
Looking back now, if it weren't for such rigor, I wouldn't have been able to establish such a solid foundation in just five short years (and during those years when I was still naive). It’s no exaggeration to say that when it comes to crafting poisons and using them, aside from Master Yue himself, no one else would dare claim the title of second best.
At that time, my senior sister and I were still focused on building our fundamentals. Our daily training was quite similar; we often practiced our stances—horse stance, kicking legs, tearing legs apart, high knees, and Master Yue's unique whirlwind sweeping kick. The most grueling part was standing in a horse stance while balancing a large Ceramic Jar filled with water on our heads. In summer, we stood under the scorching sun until all the water evaporated; in winter, we stood outside until the water froze solid before we could finish our horse stance training.
As for the toxicity involved in our training—which I have mentioned before—it can be summed up simply: we were treated as if we were not human at all. Everything we ate, drank, used, or even toilet paper for personal hygiene was made from the "deadly poisons" specially concocted by Master Yue for us; there was no escaping any of it.
The thing I feared the most was the jars. Master Yue had a secret room filled with various types of Ceramic Jars. Whenever I misbehaved or either pleased or displeased him, I would be assigned to spend the night in one of those Ceramic Jars. Unsurprisingly, Master Yue would always add some "seasoning" to the jar—poisonous insects, toxic herbs, poisonous concoctions… you name it.
I often thought about how my sister and I had managed to grow up so well, with all our limbs intact and our minds sharp. It truly wasn't easy. Therefore, I felt we should cherish our lives even more, considering how many poisonous creatures and substances we had faced—one life for a hundred deaths.
As I continued to reflect, I realized I was getting off track. In any case, Master Yue's methods of training were not something an ordinary person could compare to or endure. Fortunately, I escaped his clutches after turning five, but my sister wasn't so lucky; she grew up by his side and honed her Illusionary Technique through experiences that would be unbearable for most.
The fate of that Old Missionary seemed to me the limit of what a human could endure, yet my sister scoffed at his experiences. This made me shiver; what had she been through all these years?
My sister was strong-willed and would never confide in me about her hardships. Moreover, in her eyes, everything endured to master the finest Illusionary Technique might not even count as "hardship."
I understood her nature well enough not to ask her directly; instead, I needed to approach the topic indirectly. However, she was too clever and knew me too well. I couldn't show even a hint of sympathy or concern; curiosity would be more acceptable.
These thoughts formed a lengthy contemplation in my mind, but at that moment, they flashed like lightning. Realizing my sister had no intention of continuing the previous topic, I quickly said, “By the way, how did you come to steal from the Foreigners' Grave?”
As soon as I casually mentioned "steal," my sister shot me a fierce glare. I stuck out my tongue playfully and quickly corrected myself: “...I meant open the coffin, open the coffin.”
She took a deep breath, her earlier gloom completely vanished. With a light step downwards, she replied, “What else could it be? People die for wealth; birds die for food. If the employer offers a satisfactory price and we get paid, we naturally help them avert disaster.”
I thought about it; Master had even conducted funerals before. In our line of work, we essentially lived by eight words—taking people's money and averting their disasters. Once we accepted a job, we had to complete it no matter how dangerous it was—even if it involved disturbing a grave.
However, when it came to moral boundaries, we certainly wouldn't engage in murder or deceit. As for other matters, it depended on one's conscience.
But conscience isn't something that can be quantified; it varies from person to person. I once read a saying: as long as what you do can be reported legally without causing you unease and you can tell your mother without making her feel ashamed, then you have satisfied your conscience.
I dare to place my hand on my chest and affirm that everything I, Qian Yi, have done so far has been upright and aboveboard, without any shame before my conscience. This will continue to be the case in the future.
Today is the first day of the new year, January 1st. I am not sure if it is because I am moved by the fact that I am still alive in this world, albeit in this manner, or if it is because I am currently writing about matters related to my senior sister that my thoughts are flowing freely... In any case, various reasons have led to a moment of excitement akin to that of an ordinary human being, and as I write, I find myself digressing.
Since I've strayed, let me take this opportunity to wish everyone a Happy New Year and a long life.
In the past, nearly everyone has wished me "long life," and somehow, I have managed to survive until now. There is a strange phenomenon in China where if enough people say something, it seems to become true.
Alright, enough of the idle chatter; let’s return to the main topic.
After we turned another corner, this hellish staircase finally came to an end. What followed was a place I never could have imagined: "…Senior Sister, is this hell?" (To be continued.)
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