The Departed and the Living

"Master..."

Jia Ruo snapped back to reality, roused from his mixed emotions of grief and rage.

Tears slid from the corners of his eyes, carving two tear tracks through the bloodstains on his face.

"They, they're all dead. The villagers are all dead too."

Jia Ruo tightly embraced Yi.

Yi didn't mind Jia Ruo's blood-soaked body. He simply patted his disciple's back gently.

His young disciple had witnessed the atrocities committed by invaders for the first time, and had killed for the first time. He was still immature, and his heart must have been filled with anger and sorrow.

Yi could feel his trembling, and his thoughts.

"May you one day use the sword in your hand to protect those you cherish. There have been too many tragedies already."

Yi wiped away Jia Ruo's tears. "Let's bury the villagers."

"Mhm."

Jia Ruo nodded, choking back sobs and unable to speak clearly.

Yi found a hoe and shovel from one of the houses.

He didn't leave the village. In the central clearing, he began to dig.

No one would use it to dry grain anymore. Let it be a resting place for the villagers.

As he shoveled the earth, Yi briefly recounted the events to Neeko.

Meanwhile, Neeko was bandaging the wound on Jia Ruo's shoulder after he had washed up.

Fortunately, it was just a large bruise and a few cuts from the spikes on the clubs. No bones were injured.

By the time Neeko finished bandaging Jia Ruo, Yi had also finished explaining everything.

"Then, then Neeko will help too."

Neeko felt great sympathy for the dead villagers.

Jia Ruo, having changed into clean clothes, picked up the hoe without a word.

When the sun reached its zenith, they had already dug nearly a hundred neat grave sites.

"Neeko, you should rest for a bit. Jia Ruo, come with me to carry the bodies."

Yi put down the shovel.

Though he had prepared himself mentally, when Jia Ruo personally carried each corpse out of the houses, his heart was still thrown into turmoil.

From toddlers of three or five to elders nearing seventy, all had their throats slit.

The pale faces on the bodies were frozen in their final moments of despair.

Jia Ruo slowly closed the eyes of the corpses—he dared not look into those vacant gazes again.

Although Jia Ruo was the one who avenged them, he instead felt a deep sense of guilt.

Why couldn't he have arrived sooner? Perhaps then, the tragedy could have been rewritten.

Yi and Jia Ruo carried the bodies of men, women, old, and young into the burial pit.

Neeko silently filled the earth back in.

Finally, as the heavy night gradually enveloped the silent village, all the villagers were buried.

The pirates' corpses were also thrown into a large pit—to prevent an epidemic, and as a matter of basic humanity.

"Rest in peace, everyone."

Jia Ruo clasped his hands together in the newly made graveyard and murmured a prayer.

Yi looked at Jia Ruo in the graveyard. He realized how much his disciple resembled him.

Once, Yi had stood in a graveyard just like this.

At the time, he thought tears could bring back the departed.

Only after his tears ran dry did he understand a truth.

Slaughter and revenge bring nothing but more graves for the departed, deeper scars to the hearts of the living, and nothing else.

Now, he could only hope his second disciple would mature quickly and become capable of handling things on his own.

Yi walked forward, patted Jia Ruo's shoulder, and said softly, "Get some rest early. We have to set off early tomorrow."

"Yes, Master."

Today, Jia Ruo had finally done something that could be called righteous.

But it was completely different from the heroic deeds he dreamed of, carried out in the name of swordsmanship, becoming legends in poems and songs.

From that day on, Jia Ruo's cultivation became even more diligent and arduous.