No Matter the Pain, Responsibility, or Karma, I Will Accept It All and Move Forward!

"It should be."

Jiang Zhuo squatted down and touched his left eye, which had been cut off, with his fingers, stroking it for a while.

My whole body trembled when my fingertips touched the scar.

He led his team to cross many mountains and searched for many years for this scar.

We've finally found it.

He stood up, turned to his wife beside him, his voice trembling:

"This one is the one that ate Yang'er."

Jiang Yang.

The boy's name.

Since then, Jiang Zhuo has never mentioned that name in front of his wife; he cries whenever he does.

Aunt Jiang stood there, stunned, her lips trembling, but she didn't utter a sound.

She turned and went back into the house, where she pulled a broken knife from the deepest part of the cabinet. There were dried, blackened bloodstains on the blade.

That was Jiang Yang's knife; the man was gone, only this piece of iron remained.

Aunt Jiang came out and tried pressing the broken knife against the scab on the tiger's eye.

Just right.

Perfectly fitted.

It's as if God deliberately left this opening, just waiting for today.

She stared at the tiger's head for a long time, then suddenly smiled.

Tears welled up and streamed down his cheeks, each drop landing on the tiger's head.

"My son... do you see it? It's it, it's that beast!"

Jiang Zhuo stood still, neither stepping forward nor speaking.

He just watched his wife curse, his eyes reddening and his lips pressed into a thin line.

The messenger stood to one side, at a loss, unsure whether to leave or stay.

After a long while, he remembered his business and spoke in a low voice:

"Eldest Brother Jiang."

"The Master is gone."

Jiang Zhuo was taken aback. "When did this happen?"

Just now.

He sighed, thinking to himself, "So it really happened."

It's quite remarkable that Master's body has lasted this long.

"You go ahead first, I'll put on some clothes and come right away." Jiang Zhuo paused, "What about Wangchuan? Did you tell him?"

"If not, I'll come over there."

"Qin Wangchuan... he's already with the Master."

When Qin Zhaoer arrived at the Master's courtyard, a large crowd had already gathered in front of the gate.

I pushed through the crowd and was about to go inside when I suddenly stopped.

The courtyard was filled with people, but her gaze swept over everyone and landed on that one person in an instant.

It is Qin Wangchuan.

He leaned against the courtyard wall, dressed in plain clothes, looking no different from anyone else, yet he was different in every way.

His upright posture, melancholy expression, and inexplicable aura emanated from him.

Such eye-catching beauty cannot be ignored.

Qin Wangchuan did not step forward, his gaze fixed on the direction of the Master's room, his expression forlorn.

That was a look she had never seen before, and it was heartbreaking to see.

Qin Zhaoer silently walked over and stood beside him.

They still hoe the earth with their feet.

After hesitating for a long time, he finally uttered a sentence:

Don't be sad.

"Sad?"

Qin Wangchuan sighed softly.

The sigh was as thin as twilight, dissolving as it fell into the night.

Back in the Immortal Court, he was highly talented and had a high starting point, so he didn't have to put in much effort and could accomplish things easily.

But now I'm doing everything I can—not to make the Master live forever, but simply because I don't want him to leave this world suffering from illness.

They can't even do that.

The only time I gave it my all, I still failed to do well.

The Master was very popular during his lifetime, and people came to pay their respects in an endless stream.

Qin Wangchuan was just one of the students; he had no need to get involved in the funeral arrangements.

People came and went, and he stood at the back of the crowd, looking at the teacher's lifeless face from afar.

After a short while, he couldn't stand it anymore and turned to leave.

Zhou Heng spotted this scene in the crowd.

He hesitated for a moment, then lifted his foot to follow.

A hand reached out from the side and grabbed his arm.

Turning around, I saw it was Jiang Zhuo.

Jiang Zhuo shook her head and gently tilted her chin in another direction.

He followed his gaze.

Qin Zhaoer had already quietly followed them.

Zhou Heng withdrew his foot and didn't move again.

Qin Wangchuan did not go home, but went straight out of town.

There is a stream in front of Willow Creek Town that runs through three surrounding towns, hence the town's name.

He had only heard of it, but had never been there.

The night was deep, and the stream shimmered with tiny silver lights under the moonlight, flowing gently as if it had come from a very far place, or perhaps it was flowing to a very far place.

I found a rock by the stream and sat down.

One leg was casually stretched out, the other bent, his chin rested on his knee, and he stared at the water without saying a word.

White Dew slowly emerged from behind and softly called out, "Sir."

"White Dew," Qin Wangchuan replied.

A hand reaches into the water, slowly scooping up a handful, watching the water slip through the fingers, drop by drop falling back onto the stream, splashing up shimmering moonlight.

When the water was all gone, he looked up at the moon in the sky and gently exhaled.

"It's so sad."

White Dew looked into Qin Wangchuan's eyes.

Those eyes seemed veiled in mist; when moonlight shone through them, they didn't brighten, but rather appeared very dark.

It was as dark as a late autumn dusk; nothing could be seen clearly.

White Dew doesn't understand sadness, nor does she have any feelings for that teacher.

But the thought that my husband will one day leave, leave forever, is unbearable.

At that moment, it understood.

He lowered his head and softly replied, "Yes."

"It's so sad."

Footsteps sounded behind me again, unhurried, each step landing on the moonlight.

A beautiful figure emerged from the shadows.

It's Qin Zhaoer.

She stood with her hands behind her back, chest out, head held high, looked at Qin Wangchuan, then at the gurgling stream, and finally fixed her gaze on the lonely moon hanging in the sky.

"Sadness," she said, her voice soft, as if talking to herself, "But that's just human nature."

As she spoke, Qin Zhaoer walked over to Qin Wangchuan and sat down casually, her shoulder touching his.

After a moment of silence, she reached out and gently wrapped her arms around him.

Like a real older sister holding her younger brother.

"It doesn't matter."

"It's alright." Qin Zhaoer gently wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on the top of his head, her voice as soft as if coaxing a child. "Everything here is fake."

"As long as we return to the Immortal Court, everything will return to normal."

Before he could finish speaking, Qin Wangchuan's voice came from his arms.

"You're wrong, Eighth Sister."

Everything here is real.

"It is true that the Master died. It is also true that I died in agony because of my incompetence."

She paused, then lowered her head.

Those eyes, held in someone's arms, had changed somehow.

Deep within the dark pupils, a point of golden light shone, then quickly spread.

Like a wildfire spreading, it dyed his eyes gold, shining brightly in the night.

There was neither anger nor sadness.

Those golden eyes looked over, not glaring, but like the soft light of an autumn afternoon, illuminating everything gently.

Qin Wangchuan pulled away from her embrace and looked into her eyes.

His eyes were full of tenderness.

Are you worried about me?

The voice from my arms was very soft, as soft as the wind rustling through the leaves; you could hardly hear it unless you listened carefully.

Qin Zhaoer was taken aback.

She wanted to say yes, her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Qin Wangchuan gently pulled her hand away, his movements slow and deliberate, revealing his tenderness.

He then stood up, dusted off his clothes, and took one last look at the stream that was still flowing quietly under the moonlight.

Those golden eyes were calm, without sadness or reluctance, just genuine calm.

It was as calm as the surface of a lake on a late autumn afternoon, not even stirred by the wind.

"It's nothing serious."

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the town.

The moonlight fell on my shoulders, casting a long shadow on my back.

Qin Zhaoer squatted down, watching that figure walk further and further away, and suddenly realized that there was something different about this younger brother in front of her.

My nose stung with tears, and I abruptly stood up and took two steps forward.

I wanted to hug him from behind.

He reached out his hand, but just before touching her, he pulled it back.

I dare not.

She lowered her head and silently followed behind him, keeping a distance of two or three steps.

Clenching his fists, he cursed inwardly.

Damn old man!

Damn trial!

Everything, everything deserves to die!