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墨書 Inktalez
Zuo Dao was not a kind person, but he did not want anyone to use what he taught to bring harm to the world. These three hundred individuals were the elite of the elite within Supreme Academy.
They might not be the strongest in terms of power within the Realm, but they were undoubtedly the best in character. After undergoing the trials of the Grief Array, their potential was magnified infinitely. It wouldn't take long before they became the top tier within Supreme Academy.
Compassionate One was one of them.
As he stepped into the Grief Array, it felt as if he had returned to his youth, with familiar figures flashing before his eyes. The distant blue smoke still lingered, and he wondered if that village on the outskirts still existed.
Upon leaving the city, he was greeted by a vibrant green that stretched into the distant mountains. The lush grass blended seamlessly with the blue sky, which had also been tinted with a layer of green.
Before entering, a young Cultivator whom they all looked up to had told them that only by relying on their own hearts could they escape this array; only those who emerged from it would be qualified to remain at Zuo Wang Peak.
If he hadn't kept this phrase firmly in mind, he would have lost his way as soon as he entered.
After breaking free from the constraints of time and space, no one knew what they would face next. Yet, Compassionate One held onto a dream in his heart: to live like an ordinary person.
This was the place where he was born and raised, and it was also where his life changed forever. Returning to his old haunts, he found himself wandering. A person's life is filled with many turning points, each representing a choice that leads to different outcomes.
Walking along the path outside the city, his fingers brushed against the waist-high grass, feeling a thread of vitality within it. The entire Great Formation felt too real, so real that Compassionate One found it somewhat surreal.
However, his heart had already flown towards that distant village shrouded in blue smoke; that was his root.
From there, he had taken step after step toward the seemingly unattainable Realm in the eyes of mortals, moving toward the sacred ground above Cultivators.
After cultivating for a thousand years, he had journeyed from being an ordinary mortal to becoming a Cultivator of Robbery Realm. Throughout this journey, Compassionate One had not taken any detours; yet deep down, he always felt something was missing. This rare opportunity presented by the Grief Array gave him a chance to fill that void.
As he drew closer, his heart began to race. How long had it been since he last saw them? How long since he last saw her?
The seven-foot man felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, and Compassionate One couldn't help but chuckle at himself.
"Look, it's Compassionate One returning."
As he was lost in thought, a familiar voice broke through his reverie.
"It's Aunt Guo!” Seeing the middle-aged woman before him, now with White-Haired, Compassionate One tucked away his thoughts and smiled.
"Welcome back! You've been gone for years, and your parents have missed you terribly. Hurry home," Aunt Guo said with a smile as she looked at the grown-up Compassionate One. "Come by my place tonight; your uncle hunted a deer, and you can take some home."
"Thank you, Aunt." After a long period of Cultivation, he felt as though the last remnants of his humanity were nearly worn away. Hearing such a warm voice made his heart swell.
How many Cultivators had fallen at the crossroads of humanity on the Void Path? Was it truly necessary to be heartless to achieve the supreme Great Dao? Compassionate One had asked himself this question more than once.
His qualifications for entering the Supreme Academy were certainly not lacking, and in that moment, he realized the true purpose of this assessment: self-reflection.
But what did "sadness" truly mean? Did it really mean to be sad for Compassionate One?
Though he had been away for a long time, this village had changed little; it was almost as if he had never left. Compassionate One constantly reminded himself that this place was merely an illusion.
Gazing at the somewhat dilapidated door before him, he felt a pang of sorrow. Just as he was about to reach out and push open the wooden door he had opened countless times before, his hand halted midway.
With a creak, the door opened.
"Mother."
As the old woman stepped out, holding a worn wooden basin filled with several washed white garments, she heard a gentle call.
"Compassionate One," came the soft voice.
At the sound, the woman trembled all over. The basin slipped from her grasp, and she raised her head, her white hair framing her face. Her murky eyes met the presence of the Compassionate One.
The once smooth face that lingered in the Compassionate One's memory was now etched with the lines of time, a few strands of white hair hanging down. Yet, those eyes were brimming with tears.
"Min'er," the woman called softly, as if unable to believe this was real. Her weathered hands rubbed her eyes repeatedly.
"Mother, it's really me. Min'er has come back."
No matter that he was revered as the Robber Monk by thousands; at this moment, he was just a child, a mortal's son.
He gently embraced the woman, his movements so tender as if afraid to hurt her.
Years of unshed tears and feelings long forgotten surged within the Compassionate One's heart. The woman finally realized this was not a dream; a cry filled with suppressed emotions and longing echoed above the village.
"Xi Yun, what has happened to you?" A deep male voice emerged from within the house upon hearing the cries. The Compassionate One knew without looking that it was his father, but there was a lifelessness in his tone that startled him.
"Father, it's me. The Compassionate One has returned."
"What?" The man inside responded to the Compassionate One's voice, followed by a flurry of sounds.
Quickly releasing his mother from his embrace, the Compassionate One rushed into the house.
The arrangement was the same as before, simple decorations adorned the space. An old wooden table with a chipped corner gleamed with oil, accompanied by three stools missing legs, set aside. On the table lay dishes that had been reheated so many times that their original appearance was unrecognizable.
What troubled him most was the broken bed by the window, where a middle-aged man lay, missing a leg.
“Father, how could this happen?”
The Compassionate One found himself at a loss for words; his heart, cultivated over many years, had already been stirred. This was the man who had taken him up the mountain to play, the one who had let him ride on his back, the one he could lie against when tired.
Without waiting for the man to rise, he swiftly moved to the bedside, determined to use his formidable power to heal his father, who was already gravely ill. He could tell that if he had arrived even a moment later, he would never see this man again.
As one of the few specializing in Wood-based Cultivation Methods at the Supreme Academy, he realized too late that the spiritual energy within him felt stagnant as still water; no matter how hard he tried to circulate it, it remained utterly unmoving.
In his excessive effort, he even forced a breath out of himself but managed to swallow back the blood that had risen to his lips in front of his two elders.
Why? Why is this happening?
The Compassionate One roared within himself, why give him hope only to plunge him into despair?
What sorrow must the Compassionate One endure?
Since there is no respect for others, why should I bow down?
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