pjbooks Chapter 142 Keep Moving Forward
Chapter 142 Keep Moving Forward
The ninety-first floor.
Jiang Chen stood in a grayish-white void. This place was completely different from the darkness of the first to the ninetieth floors—the void here was grayish-white, as if someone had shattered the sky and the earth and mixed them together, or as some kind of transitional state between existence and nothingness.
There was a person standing in front of him.
Su Wanniang.
She wore coarse cloth clothes, her long hair casually tied back with a wooden hairpin, a few stray strands falling beside her ears. Her face wasn't stunning, but it possessed a gentle, jade-like softness. Her eyes were like autumn water, her eyebrows like distant mountains, and a faint smile played at the corners of her lips, as if she had been waiting for someone for a long time and finally heard familiar footsteps.
It was exactly the same as on the hundredth floor of the Twelfth Apostle's Hall.
But this time, Jiang Chen knew she was fake. Not a phantom dug out of his memories by Morgana's Soul Scream, but the deepest fear hidden in the cracks of his own Dao Heart, materialized by Kahn using the Law of the Watcher—not the fear that Su Wanniang would hurt him, but the fear that he would let her down.
"Achen," she spoke. Her voice was soft, yet it pierced through the entire gray-white void, penetrating Jiang Chen's Dao heart, honed over a thousand years.
Why didn't you take me with you?
Jiang Chen looked at her and remained silent for a long time. Then he spoke, his voice soft but exceptionally clear.
"Because I was too weak back then. So weak that I couldn't even protect myself, let alone you."
Su Wanniang's smile remained unchanged. But she took a step forward, and a ripple spread across the gray-white void beneath her feet. She walked up to Jiang Chen, raised her hand, and gently stroked his cheek.
"So you're strong now. Strong enough to protect anyone." Her fingers hovered three inches from his cheek, not touching him, her fingertips trembling slightly. "But can you bring me back to life?"
Jiang Chen looked into her eyes. His face was reflected in those eyes, as was the light blue hairband on his right wrist, and the pale gold sword at the cuff of his dark blue uniform. He knew she wasn't Su Wanniang, that she was just an illusion, and that every word she spoke was a manifestation of the deepest guilt hidden in the cracks of his own Dao heart.
But his eyes still reddened.
A thousand years have passed. He has lived in the world of cultivation for a thousand years, killing countless people, slaying countless demons, shattering the void, splitting the heavens, comprehending the three thousand Great Daos, and ascending to the pinnacle of the world. But he has never forgiven himself—forgive himself for not taking Su Wanniang away back then, forgive himself for making her wait a lifetime, forgive himself for returning to find her grave overgrown with weeds.
"No," he said, his voice hoarse, but each word seemed to be supported by a boulder, landing steadily in the void. "But I will remember you. I will remember you for the rest of my life. I will remember the little tune you hummed while weaving, the warmth of the rice grains you wiped from my mouth, and the pair of red, tear-filled eyes behind the gate on the day you saw me off at the courtyard gate."
Su Wanniang's phantom looked at him, at the tears that had been suppressed for a thousand years appearing for the first time in his eyes, which were like a deep pool for a thousand years, and remained silent for a long time. Then she smiled. That smile was exactly the same as it was a thousand years ago—the corners of her mouth turned up only slightly, the left side of the curve slightly higher than the right, as if she was not used to smiling, but could not help it.
"Ah Chen, you've grown up."
Her figure began to dissipate into grayish-white specks of light from the edge. First her feet, then her legs, then her torso, and finally her smiling face. Before the last wisp of light vanished, she uttered her final words.
"Your sword is still here. That's enough."
Jiang Chen stood there, watching the specks of light dissipate and the gray void return to silence. His right hand still gripped the Primordial Sword, the six stars on the hilt slowly rotating, casting interplay of light and shadow on his face.
He raised his left hand and wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. There were no tears, only a very faint, almost invisible watermark.
He strode forward, heading towards the ninety-second floor.
On the ninety-second floor stood Qingyunzi.
His master was still wearing that blue robe, with a dark jade belt around his waist, and his long, gray hair was tied back with a blue jade hairpin. His face was thin and sharp, but his eyes were still as gentle as jade. He stood in the gray-white void, his hands behind his back, his posture as composed as if he were admiring the moon in his own courtyard.
"Ah Chen," he spoke, his voice calm and gentle, "do you still have your sword?"
Jiang Chen looked at him and remained silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice very soft, but every word seemed to be an answer to a question he had prepared for a thousand years.
"Yes, Master. My sword is still here."
Qingyunzi's lips curled up slightly. The curve was extremely faint, yet it was more genuine than the smile he gave Jiang Chen every time he taught him swordsmanship in the bamboo forest behind the Qingyun Sect a thousand years ago.
"That's good."
He took a step forward. A ripple spread out in the gray-white void beneath his feet. The ripple spread very slowly, so slowly that Jiang Chen could clearly see each ripple spreading from the center to the edge.
"Ah Chen, do you know what your biggest weakness is? Your biggest weakness is that you are too sentimental."
Jiang Chen remained silent.
"You've lived in the cultivation world for a thousand years. A thousand years is enough for a person to grind all their emotions to ashes. But you didn't. You sealed all those emotions deep within your Dao heart, wrapping them layer by layer with the sword intent honed over a thousand years of battle, not letting anyone touch them." Qingyunzi walked up to him, stopped, and looked directly into Jiang Chen's pupils with his gentle, jade-like eyes. "But sealing them isn't letting them go. You sealed them because you were afraid. Afraid of losing them, afraid of letting them down, afraid that you weren't strong enough to protect the people you wanted to protect."
He raised his right hand and placed it on Jiang Chen's left shoulder. The hand was very light, as light as a bamboo leaf falling on the shoulder, yet Jiang Chen felt as if the entire weight of Mount Qingyun was pressing down on him.
"Achen, you don't need to seal them off. You just need to carry them and keep going."
Jiang Chen lowered his head, looking at the hand his master had placed on his left shoulder. That hand was covered in calluses from holding a sword, the knuckles were thick, and the skin on the palm and fingertips was as rough as tree bark. A thousand years ago, this hand held his hand, teaching him to write the character "sword" stroke by stroke; after he was bitten by a demonic beast, it gently pressed it on his forehead, using its true energy to heal him; after he failed to break through, it patted his shoulder and said, "It's alright, try again next time."
"Master." He raised his head, looking into Qingyunzi's gentle and refined eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "It's been a thousand years since we last met. Your disciple has missed you."
Qingyunzi's hand paused on his shoulder for a moment, then patted it gently.
"Silly boy."
His figure began to dissipate into grayish-white specks of light from the edge. First his feet, then his legs, then his torso, and finally his smiling face. Before the last speck of light vanished, he uttered one last sentence.
"You've never been stupid. But this time, you've been."
Jiang Chen stood there, watching the specks of light dissipate, still feeling the warmth of his master's hand on his left shoulder. He raised his right hand, holding the Primordial Sword horizontally in front of his chest. Gold, red, and blue light flowed along the blade, casting a play of light and shadow on his face.
He strode forward, heading towards the ninety-third floor.