Watching Mortals, Reflecting on Oneself

That night, an oil lamp was lit in the room.

Qin Wangchuan spread out several sketches, beginning to learn formations on his own.

A figure stood outside the door, remaining motionless for a long time.

The raised hand hovered in front of the door, falling and then rising again, but in the end, it didn't dare to knock.

White Dew, who had been lying in the front yard, got up and opened the door.

Zhou Heng was caught off guard by this and stood frozen at the doorway for a long while before stepping inside.

We made our way inside the house.

"You're here."

Qin Wangchuan did not turn around, nor did he stop writing, as if he had expected him to come.

Zhou Heng hummed in agreement and sat down to the side.

The room fell silent, with only the soft sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper.

He opened his mouth several times, but the words got stuck in his throat and he swallowed them back, over and over again, as if he was weighing in his mind where to begin.

A long time.

"War is terrible."

Qin Wangchuan didn't reply, but simply put down his pen, turned to the side, and listened quietly.

"No..." Zhou Heng shook his head to himself, "What's scary isn't war."

"It's death."

He lowered his eyes, his knuckles unconsciously digging into his knees.

"I watched one person after another die in front of me. One moment they were talking to me, the next they were dead."

"That feeling..."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Zhou Heng suddenly remembered something and abruptly raised his head to look at Qin Wangchuan.

"Qin Wangchuan, have you ever killed anyone?"

"Killed."

The answer was too quick and too bland, so bland it didn't sound like someone talking about murder.

Zhou Heng was startled, his eyes widening suddenly.

"Killed?!"

"Um."

"How does it feel?"

"I don't feel anything."

"How could I not feel anything!" Zhou Heng blurted out, his voice rising several decibels.

He had hoped to hear something from the other person that resonated with him.

Hesitation, struggle, and that unease that lingers in the middle of the night.

But the words "I didn't feel anything" shut down all his expectations.

Qin Wangchuan put down his pen, slowly turned around, and his gaze fell on his face.

He didn't rush to explain, but simply observed her quietly for a moment.

Only then did he speak.

What you fear is neither war nor death.

"It's for revenge."

"I'm afraid that one day when I need to settle accounts with those bandits, I won't be able to bring myself to do it."

A few words, and they hit the nail on the head.

Zhou Heng's breathing faltered, and the color drained from his face.

He never expected that something he had kept bottled up inside for so many days, something he couldn't even figure out himself, would be laid bare in front of him with just a few words.

"Right..."

"Revenge must be avenged! I will never forget the revenge for my father."

"Just watching others die terrifies me. I can't even imagine what it would feel like to stab someone with my own hands on that day."

"I'm afraid I'll be afraid."

"You're afraid of me... but not anymore."

In the end, he was completely deflated, as if all the bones in his body had been removed.

Qin Wangchuan listened quietly, without a trace of mockery.

He simply spoke:

"You see death as something."

"You saw it as a flood, as a ferocious beast, as a calamity you couldn't stop or avoid."

So you're afraid.

Zhou Heng looked up, but didn't understand.

What met his gaze was Qin Wangchuan's pair of golden eyes, calm and undisturbed.

He couldn't understand what was hidden inside, nor should he have that kind of understanding at his age.

"I'm asking you."

Are you going to kill innocent people?

"How could that be!" Zhou Heng retorted almost instinctively without even thinking. "The one I want to kill is that beast who harmed my father!"

"That's fine then."

Four words: concise and efficient.

Qin Wangchuan's voice wasn't loud, but it seemed to fall from an extremely high and distant place, steadily suppressing the last bit of tremor in his heart.

"Revenge for revenge, blood for blood."

"It's only natural."

"What's there to be afraid of?"

Zhou Heng stood there, stunned, and remained silent for a long time.

The knot that had been tangling in his heart for days was gently untied at that moment.

Yes.

There's nothing wrong with seeking revenge.

It is only natural to avenge a wrong and repay a debt with blood.

The tension that had been building for days finally eased, and the melancholy in his eyes faded considerably.

Zhou Heng was about to speak when his gaze met Qin Wangchuan's. He paused for a moment, then remembered something else, his face flushed, and he lowered his head sheepishly.

"I'm sorry about what happened before."

The voice was muffled.

Qin Wangchuan had said that he would take care of the revenge.

The words were spoken very softly, as if casually mentioned, yet there was not a trace of wavering in that certainty.

Looking at himself, he kept saying he wanted to personally kill that band of bandits and even cut off their heads.

In the end, he only went to the battlefield once, and didn't even really go up there. He just took care of a few wounded soldiers in the back, and his awareness became like this.

Looking back now, it was incredibly stupid.

Qin Wangchuan accepted his apology.

The two chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about trivial everyday matters.

Zhou Heng arrived burdened with worries, but left much lighter.

Qin Wangchuan got up and escorted him to the courtyard gate, watching the figure gradually disappear into the distance, turning the corner of the alley and vanishing from sight.

"So inexperienced."

Suddenly, a head popped out from over the wall.

Qin Zhaoer leaned against the wall, watching the direction Zhou Heng had left with great interest. It was clear at a glance that she had overheard quite a bit of what they had just said.

"Yes." Qin Wangchuan nodded.

What he didn't say was that he saw another version of himself in that young, innocent boy.

A version of myself born into this Mortal World.

Let's not even mention the stupid system.

If one did not have a background like that of the Immortal Court, nor such a family history or starting point.

Will he grow up to look like Zhou Heng?

Losing their souls in a battle, feeling ashamed and uneasy over a moment of wavering, clutching a heart full of hatred that dares not turn back, they stumble and struggle forward amidst blood and death.

The answer is almost unnecessary to think about.

Yes.

That's why he understands better than anyone how precious everything he has right now is.

Having made up his mind, Qin Wangchuan withdrew his gaze and said calmly:

"The Mortal Tribulation are not about experiencing life with mortals, but about meeting mortals."

"You should also observe and think more."

Qin Zhaoer pouted, rolled her eyes dramatically, and looked impatient, as if she was about to lecture someone again.

"Cut--"

After that dismissive hum, she didn't retort as she usually did.

I climbed back onto the wall, quietly.

It was as if he had quietly tucked those two sentences into his heart.

Life returned to normal.

He forged iron, read books, and studied alchemy, Draw Talismans, and formations.

Occasionally, Qin Zhaoer would drag him along to try some of her newly concocted dishes.

After the sword in the backyard disappeared, other items were placed on the workbench.

The Jujube Tree grows taller day by day, its branches laden with green fruit, but the ripest ones only fall when they are about to turn red.

The rooster crows at dawn, smoke rises from cooking fires in the afternoon, and people return home in the evening.

Day after day, the peace was almost monotonous.

Until this day.

Fan Yuan is here again.

He came more often than usual this time, but his face didn't show the seriousness of official duties. Instead, he had an unconcealable joy on his face, and he smiled as soon as he entered the courtyard.

"Gentlemen."

He bowed respectfully, his words carrying a rare hint of joy.

"I have some good news to report."