Others could leap from ten-thousand-foot cliffs and escape death, or meet a famous master, or obtain peerless manuals.
But what about him? Damn it, though the world had changed beyond recognition, he wasn't a headless fly. Following his memories, he had secretly investigated all the way here, only to find absolutely nothing—not even a single hair.
Utterly disappointed, he no longer placed his hopes in these so-called ruins and fortuitous encounters. In the end, everything depended on himself.
Were cultivation manuals not also created by people? If ten years weren't enough, then twenty. Thirty... or even a lifetime.
If others could do it, why couldn't he? Why did he have to place his hopes in something else?
Having figured it out, Gu Hui immediately felt refreshed. Looking up, he felt that the sky seemed bluer than ever, while his gaze became clearer and more resolute.
His body swayed, and his figure leaped continuously through the mountains and forests. Before long, he had left Kunlun Valley.
"Hmm?"
He suddenly spotted a collapsed thatched hut. Not far from it lay a wooden board on the ground. It looked like the sort of marker used as a tombstone, yet there was no grave mound where it stood. Perhaps the passage of time had altered the terrain.
Thinking of something, he cautiously began digging around the wooden board.
It was not buried very deep. Before him appeared something wrapped in oil paper.
Although oil paper offered some protection against decay, the years had been too long. After decades, perhaps nearly a century, of rainwater erosion underground, the outermost layers crumbled apart the moment he touched them.
Fortunately, the books within had remained intact under the oil paper's protection.
There were six volumes in total. Four bore the words Nine Yang Manual, while the other