Happy times were always short. On the morning of the second day of the first lunar month, Wang Ping took his disciples and granddisciples to his master Daoist Yucheng's dojo. After paying respects to Daoist Yucheng's spirit tablet, everything returned to how it had been.
Over these past few days, Wang Ping's humanity had been soothed to the greatest extent. Everything he had gained and everything he enjoyed now was undoubtedly perfect. For one brief moment, he had even thought of simply leaving things at that.
But once everything settled down, he felt that such a thought was too narrow-minded. Heaven had given him a new life and, on top of that, an immense opportunity. How could he waste such uniquely blessed conditions?
Besides, he could not bear to see this cultivation of his turn to dust.
This was likely the obsession of every cultivator. Everyone understood the Saint philosophies written in books, and Wang Ping had gained insights from them as well, but he could not achieve that same carefree detachment.
"What are you overthinking again?"
Yulian's voice echoed by his ear.
Wang Ping stood at the edge of the Mountain Top Dojo, his Primordial Spirit Consciousness overlooking an area spanning thousands of kilometers. He watched ordinary people struggle in the Sea of Suffering, watched cultivators who seemed to have escaped it toil for their own fates. At Yulian's question, he turned his head.
Yulian rode the clouds behind Wang Ping. When he turned, she shrank and landed on his shoulder.
Wang Ping replied softly, "Just some random thoughts."
Yulian looked at Wang Ping and said, "The intelligence we are born with comes together with good, evil, and desire. Unless we cast aside some of our humanity, we can never break free of them. We need not feel ashamed