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墨書 Inktalez
"Old man, may I have a sip of water?"
After what felt like an eternity, Gu Ping and Yang Yan finally spotted signs of life. They stood at the edge of the village, watching an elderly farmer diligently swing his sickle in the autumn harvest.
Upon hearing Gu Ping's voice, the old man set down his sickle and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
"Good lad, wife, quickly bring some water for our visitors!"
"Here comes the water! Hahaha!"
The old woman's hearty laughter echoed in the courtyard, reaching Gu Ping's ears like sweet nectar.
Wearing a headscarf, the wife emerged from the house carrying a bucket of water, which contained two clean ladles. The old man welcomed Gu Ping and Yang Yan into the yard.
"You two must be heading south as well. That's good! Young folks like you will surely achieve great things in the future."
"I don't deny it," came the reply from the north.
Hearing those last three words, the wife was taken aback. Water splashed from the ladle as she nearly dropped it but managed to fill another ladle and handed it to Gu Ping.
"Did you not hear that things are quite unsettled up north? There's chaos everywhere. Even us common folk have heard about it—something about a Two Realms War and monsters emerging from underground to seize territory. It's not safe to go there."
"I'm sorry for making you laugh," said the wife. "Back when I went north, you two must have been cultivators as well, right?"
As she spoke, the old man took a hearty drink from a ladle of clear water and gestured for Gu Ping and Yang Yan to sit down. In the shade of a tree in the courtyard, several wooden stumps were arranged for seating. It seemed that many people had once gathered in this yard; now, he wondered where they had all gone.
Indeed, thinking about going to the Northern Region to lend a hand, he hoped that there would be more people like the old man who could endure another day of stability.
"Young man, listen to the old man's advice and don't go north anymore. The soldiers returning from the north are all like madmen, it's truly terrifying," the old man warned.
"Is it really that bad?" the young man asked, curiosity piqued.
"Yes, they say there are those who specialize in slaying demons and monsters," the old man replied, his tone shifting slightly.
"Oh, so they are cultivators? We need more young people like them to keep those monsters in check," he continued, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"But how can we stay here? Even if we want to leave, we can't just abandon our lives," the old woman interjected, her voice filled with concern.
"What if those demons come here? The old man has never seen one in his life, but if he did, he would surely swing his hoe at them without hesitation."
"That's right! A single swing of the hoe could send them running," the young man agreed, feeling a surge of confidence.
"In the past, when something happened, cultivators like that would stand at the forefront. No matter what occurred, us common folks could just farm our land, marry our wives, and conduct our business. But now it's different; when the sky falls and we can't bear it any longer, we can only pick up our tools and hope for the best."
The old man's words struck a chord with Gu Ping. He felt a mix of emotions swirling within him. He knew that what the old man said was true; those cultivators in the mountains were indeed overwhelmed by disasters—both natural and man-made.
Cultivators often spoke of heaven and earth being indifferent, treating all beings as mere pawns. But is it really true that heaven and earth lack compassion? Time has eroded the humanity of those who once stood high above others.
Having experienced one event left Coco feeling deeply reflective. After two events, she felt melancholic. After three experiences, she began to ponder. What if she faced ten or even a hundred such events?
If endless waves of emotion can drown a person, then how could repeated shocks to the soul not numb one's heart? The reason immortals maintain an unwavering sense of fairness amidst worldly chaos is perhaps because they have long since become desensitized to such matters.
Long years have granted immortals insights into fate but have stripped away their fervor for life. The desire for power gradually transforms into an obsession.
Who would care about the death of an insignificant ant when gazing up at the vastness of the sky?
Gu Ping felt as if he had grasped some key insight, but like a fleeting spark of inspiration, the key lay before him, yet he could not find the lock to fit it.
With them around, when would the old man ever see any demons or monsters? They would have to crawl over from those cultivators' bodies first.
That was something that couldn't be said. We are young; we can't just die like that.
Don't worry, the Kid is quite capable.
After saying this, Gu Ping bowed to the old man and hurried off with Yang Yan towards the other side of the village. The caravan was waiting for them. Yan Dong had left the caravan, and Gu Ping suggested they seek shelter in the village while the caravan's guards prepared water supplies for their journey.
The old man stood at the entrance of his yard, watching the two depart, muttering to himself about whether the Kid should avoid joining the army and instead marry a beautiful wife now.
There were hardly any people left in the village. The small village in the Southeast was surrounded by endless desert. It used to rely on merchants passing through on their way to the Northern Region. The villagers barely managed to survive; Ru Ming's people had all left, leaving only a few elderly folks like the old man at the village head, remaining motionless.
Who are we? How come he has never seen us?
As they turned the corner, a scruffy little beggar suddenly appeared before them, hands on his hips, pointing at Gu Ping and asking.
I wonder who they are? Gu Ping asked casually.
They must be celestial beings from Tian Zai. Isn't that right? The village children say only celestial beings from Tian Zai would dress as beautifully as we do. Aren't they impressive?
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