Destroying What Is Loathed

"...Who are you?"

An Jing, who had been somewhat immersed in memories of the past, reacted quickly. He did not answer the question, but instead asked in return: "Why do you ask?"

[What is it that you desire?] The voice continued to ask softly, ignoring An Jing's inquiry.

An Jing narrowed his eyes, and suddenly, he began to laugh: "So that's how it is. This is the ritual?"

He teased: "Lord Fuxie, is this the Heavenly Demon you beheaded? How is it that he isn't dead yet?"

[Hmph, a defeated foe, just a wisp of a remnant soul hiding away,] the Sword Spirit said, finally showing some emotion. He sneered, then earnestly instructed An Jing: [You continue the ritual. I must focus all my attention on searching for the location of my fragments; I cannot help you for the time being.]

"Understood." At this moment, An Jing could clearly sense that the other eight people connected to his spirit were all sinking into various desires.

For instance, Gu Yeqi, who viewed him as an older brother, was thinking of returning to the Northern Frontier, bringing enough food back to her father, finding her missing mother, and having a wonderful, filling meal as a family. For some reason, his own shadow even appeared in her dream.

Take the short one, Qin Yunye, for example. She trained the most diligently, all for the sake of growing a little taller and becoming a little stronger. That way, in the future, she could protect her parents and loved ones, and kill those wicked people, instead of just being hidden under pine needles, watching helplessly as her parents were killed and eaten by bandits.

Or take Cang Linzu. He loved martial arts, and all he wanted was a peaceful place to train, with enough opponents to hone and improve himself. Life in Xuanming Manor was exactly what he wanted most: every day spent exercising, practicing, sparring, eating, and sleeping. If he could, he would live like this for his entire life, never complaining.

If he could... Cang Linzu also wanted to challenge himself. He didn't think he would win, but he wanted to earn his own approval.

Seeing this, An Jing couldn't help but shake his head slightly. He had long since approved of his companions, but perhaps to hide his true trump cards, he had acted somewhat cold.

There were others, too—other familiar people.

Having led the team for over three months, An Jing couldn't say he knew these 'little companions' inside and out, but he at least knew their pasts in great detail.

These desires, pursuits, and hatreds now leaped into his eyes like words on a page.

As these team members gradually sank into their illusions, strands of pitch-black Devilish Qi surged into their minds, dragging them down into deeper places.

That was the Devilish Qi contained within the 'Demon Meat'.

Without Devilish Qi as a lure, the Heavenly Demon could not bewitch them. Therefore, from the very beginning, those too easily influenced by the Devilish Qi would be eliminated. But this was not a 'waste', because the Devilish Qi would also cause a person's Fate Grid to react spontaneously, manifesting miraculous traits, and thus becoming raw material for 'Great Yao'.

At the same time, even for those with constitutions capable of resisting the Devilish Qi, consuming Demon Meat year after year would lead to an excessive accumulation of Devilish Qi in their bodies, making their minds extremely susceptible to being seized by the Heavenly Demon.

The result of that would inevitably be death—a death that even An Jing could not save them from, a fate already sealed.

Fortunately, ever since An Jing learned the truth about the Demon Meat, he had been secretly teaching his team members to practice quiet meditation to dissolve the devilish thoughts in their hearts.

Because they didn't have to accompany An Jing in extra training and could have rare, quiet time for meditation, everyone practiced very seriously. Thus, there wasn't much Devilish Qi within the first group—at least, it wasn't a guaranteed death sentence.

Not to mention, they were connected by the chains of the ritual, allowing them to pull on each other and slow the speed of their fall—everyone's intellect could help others walk out of mazes they couldn't escape on their own; this was the meaning of 'teammates'.

However, the role of teammates had its limits. Unless their own souls bloomed with radiance, An Jing could confirm that as the ritual progressed, at least one person in his group would be completely eroded by the Devilish Qi.

On the contrary, he himself remained clear-headed, his soul bright and completely unaffected by the ritual.

[What is it that you desire?] The voice asked again, and countless illusions surged out of the darkness.

In some, An Jing had returned to the Northern Frontier, where there was no Frost Calamity, no barbarian army, and he and his parents lived peacefully in their hometown, becoming a famous merchant family known far and wide.

In others, An Jing had mastered his family's martial arts manual, his Internal Breath had reached perfection, and he decided to travel the world to seek his own Fate Grid, with his parents bidding him farewell.

In still others, An Jing had mastered the Eight Classics and Thirteen Scriptures, embarked on the path of the imperial examinations, and then rose to become a scholar, a provincial graduate, and a metropolitan graduate, before entering Shenjing, receiving the Dharma Register, meeting the Sage, and attaining immortality.

There were many, many more An Jings, their clothing, builds, ages, and temperaments all different, yet with slight similarities, like derivatives in infinite parallel universes, branching out endlessly.

But An Jing's gaze remained bright, unmoved.

Because he knew very well that none of these were him, nor were they choices he would make.

Because he was not an ordinary Northern Frontier youth; he was someone with the wisdom of a past life, the wisdom of another world.

What's more, he had the Sword Spirit's approval and could travel to another world.

The choices he would make and the path he would tread could never be so ordinary.

[What is it that you hate?] The voice seemed to have sensed this and changed the question.

This time, specific figures and objects emerged: broccoli, carrots, the vagrant who tricked him out of his candied hawthorn as a child, the horse that was a picky eater and spat saliva... These shadows were very illusory, all fleeting and blurry memories.

An Jing just frowned, then smiled with relief: "So, whether it's me or a horse, neither of us likes eating carrots or broccoli."

But then, the people or objects that manifested became more substantial, causing the smile on An Jing's face, which had been relaxed, to gradually fade, his expression turning solemn.

He saw them.

Bandits setting fire to the county town and looting supplies.

--The blood-stained blade.

Starving people trading lives and cooking flesh.

--Gnawing on white bones.

Guards standing high above, refusing passage.

--The people kneeling below.

Gentry bribing soldiers to drive away disaster victims.

--That look of disdain and disgust.

And... most importantly.

Those dead children, the medicine vat in the rainy night, that dungeon, the tragic scenes in his dreams.

Those lives that perished and were forgotten without anyone ever knowing, those faces that remained lost and wandering until their very last breath.

Individual figures, objects that were either blurred or distinct. They were abstract, concrete, a simple gaze, or a living person.

Screams, white bones. Wails, flesh and blood. Blades, corpses. Gazes, oblivion.

Jackals, tigers, leopards, and natural disasters are not as cruel as a tightly shut city gate.

Slaughter by blades, the great calamity of life and death, are not as cruel as the slow fading of memory.

At this moment, An Jing could not bring himself to smile.

Faced with destiny, he was completely indifferent, for he did not believe in an illusory future, only in the path beneath his own feet.

Faced with desire, he did not care, for what he truly wanted was far better than what this darkness manifested.

But... faced with these people and things he loathed, those arrogant and condescending gazes, that reality which made him angry and heartbroken, sorrowful and unwilling, powerless to change yet unable to close his eyes...

He could not ignore it, nor could he be indifferent.

He could not let it go.