[Qin Wangchuan]

Several people huddled together, their heads close together, their voices hushed, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Someone sighed, "This child will have no one to look after him in the future."

"That's right. She lost her mother at three and her father at seventeen. How is she going to live from now on?"

"I heard he's doing well in school, should we let him continue his studies?"

"What are you chanting for? He's the only one left in the family. Who will support him?"

"That's true... These days, education is something ordinary families can't afford."

Everyone remained silent for a moment.

"How he chooses to go on his own is up to him."

"We're outsiders, so we'll lend a hand if we can."

"Help me with what!"

Uncle Zhao's voice squeezed in from behind the crowd, cold and harsh.

"It's all Qin Rang's own fault."

"You didn't spend time with your perfectly healthy child, but instead sent him to the front lines, and now look what happened, he's dead."

Several people turned and glared at him.

"Go away, get out of here and stop making sarcastic remarks. Don't let Qin Chuan hear you later."

Uncle Zhao opened his mouth, but then actually shut it up.

He stood outside the crowd; the lantern light couldn't reach his face, making it impossible to see his expression.

As they talked, they began to pool their money.

As he spoke, Butcher Zhang was the first to take out his money.

He pulled out a handful of copper coins he had prepared beforehand from his sleeve and placed them in Old Yang's hand. "Back then, those unscrupulous merchants were in power. If it weren't for Qin Rang, I'd still be a pimp for someone else."

"Now that he's gone, there's nothing I can do but give this little money to the children."

Manager Li also took out his money, sighed, and said, "I've pestered him so many times, trying to get him to come and help me, but he just wouldn't budge."

"If they had come, things wouldn't have come to this..."

The others also contributed some money, more or less.

At this moment, Uncle Zhao, who was standing at the back, squeezed through.

He stiffened his neck, refusing to look anyone in the eye, and asked in a harsh voice, "How much are you going to contribute?"

"We're giving fifty or one hundred each, it's all from the heart."

"Then I'll chip in too."

As he spoke, he tossed three strings of coins to Old Yang.

One string costs one hundred coins.

A full three hundred coins.

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

Someone turned to look at him with a strange expression. "What, have you changed your mind?"

"Screw you!"

Uncle Zhao glared at the man, then his voice suddenly lowered, so low it seemed he could only hear it himself, "If I don't contribute more, what will happen to the little kid all alone...?"

No one spoke.

Qin Wangchuan stood in the shadows, the lantern light unable to illuminate his face.

He listened to the hushed voices and the clinking of coins.

It turns out that these people got together because they were worried he wouldn't be able to make ends meet and wanted to pool their money for him.

Somewhat surprisingly...

Uncle Zhao next door, who had been arguing with his father for years, contributed more than anyone else.

This is his second lesson in this world.

Affection.

This village is small, but the people here are big.

Even enemies with whom you've previously argued, quarreled, or almost come to blows.

At this point, I'm willing to lend a hand.

Wen's father stood behind him.

Wen's mother also came out at some point, clutching a dishcloth in her hand.

She glanced at Qin Wangchuan's back, then at the group of people, gave Wen's father a reproachful look, and gestured with the corner of her mouth towards Qin Wangchuan.

Wen's father immediately understood, took half a step forward, patted Qin Wangchuan on the shoulder, and whispered:

Go ahead.

Before Qin Wangchuan could react, he coughed in that direction.

Old Yang heard the noise and turned around.

He paused for a moment when he saw Qin Wangchuan standing in the shadows.

He strode over, grabbed Qin Wangchuan's wrist, and pulled him aside.

"Qin Chuan."

He took out the bag of copper coins wrapped in cloth from his pocket, stuffed it into Qin Wangchuan's hand, and then covered it with his own palm, as if afraid that Qin Wangchuan would push it back.

"There are too many people at the funeral during the day, so it's not convenient to say some things."

"We've scraped together some money, not much, but it's a small token of our appreciation. Please don't refuse, just accept it."

"With money, everything you do will go more smoothly in the future."

He said a lot, pouring out everything he hadn't said during the day.

Qin Wangchuan listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

Qin Rang actually left behind a considerable amount of money after his death—after all, few people are willing to do work that involves risking their lives.

But he still accepted the money.

This isn't about money.

It was a token of his affection, and also the first gift he received after coming into this world.

Old Yang breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he had accepted the money, patted the back of his hand, and then turned around to tell everyone to disperse.

The lantern light gradually faded into the distance, and the footsteps and whispers also gradually disappeared.

Qin Wangchuan stood at the doorway, glancing around at the lights still on in the few houses nearby— the Wen Household's, the Zhao Clan's.

One by one, warm yellow light shone through the paper windows, like the village's heart still shining in the night.

Then look at your own house, it's all dark and gloomy.

No one waited for him to return, no one paced around the house, and no one sat under the lamp.

Qin Wangchuan shook his head, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, which could be considered a smile.

To be reborn.

Perhaps the loneliness I feel now is what I was meant to be from the beginning.

He is neither a celestial being nor Divine Son.

He was just a seventeen-year-old boy, standing in front of an empty, dark room, his mind churning.

Suddenly I felt--

It's so dark.

The darkness was serene, the darkness was empty.

"Next time, let's put a lamp in the yard."

He muttered something to himself.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness.

He found the tinderbox on the table, blew on it twice, and lit the oil lamp.

The flames flickered, illuminating the main room, the square table and benches, the wooden cabinet in the corner that couldn't be closed properly, and the two wooden plaques standing side by side on the memorial tablet.

The light was dim, but it was enough.

Qin Wangchuan sat down at the table and placed the bag of money that Old Yang had given him on the table.

The cloth bag was small and light, filled with copper coins and loose silver, which jingled and clanged.

He didn't count; he just stared at it.

I watched it all night.

That night, someone in the Wen Household next door also couldn't sleep.

Wen Zhaoer lay on the bed, tossing and turning, her mind filled with thoughts of the person next door.

I want to go and be with him.

But that's not enough. This isn't the Immortal Court; it's not that free.

It wouldn't sound good if word got out that a young woman like her was going to visit a young man living alone in the middle of the night.

He rolled over, pulled the blanket over his face, and muttered something under his breath.

"It doesn't matter."

He pulled the blanket down again and looked at the yellowed mosquito net above his head.

Many people say that we are a perfect match, both talented and beautiful.

Thinking of this, Wen Zhaoer's lips curved slightly.

"This time, no one will try to cut in."

Early the next morning.

Qin Wangchuan immediately went to find Master Chen to discuss the matter of changing his name.

"Change name?"

Master Chen was somewhat surprised and looked him up and down.

But considering that the child had just lost a loved one, I could understand.

The Book of Book of Rites says, "Mourning should not exceed three years, so as to show the people that there is an end to mourning." But in this world, some people are so deeply mired in grief that they cannot get out, while others can rise from the ashes.

He stroked his beard, a hint of meaning in his eyes. "I think you are the latter."

Yesterday I saw you, and you were still a child; today you seem like a completely different person.

"It's good that it's changed. What do you want to change it to?"

Qin Wangchuan looked up at him. "Qin Wangchuan."

"Qin Wangchuan..."

Master Chen read it aloud once, then nodded, "The Wangchuan, the Wangchuan. Forget the past, and you will find new life. A good name."

Qin Wangchuan currently has no identity; he is just an ordinary civilian.

Changing your name doesn't require complicated procedures; you just need to go to the County Government Office with Master Chen to register.

As he walked out of the County Government Office gate, the sunlight fell directly on him.

Qin Wangchuan suddenly felt a sense of relief.

It's not that my cultivation level has returned, nor that any shackles have been removed; it's just very simple—

That's right.

Qin Chuan and Qin Wangchuan are not two different people.

I am the Divine Son, and I am also a mortal.

After changing the name, my stomach growled.

He looked down at his abdomen, then looked up at the sun.

My next goal is to go to a martial arts school and become an apprentice blacksmith, but I'm not in a hurry.

Get the Gathering Spirit Talisman ready first, since strength is the foundation of everything.

Also, I'm hungry.

Let's eat first.