Ancestral Rites

After the ancestral rites came the grand year-end feast for the family. Just as everyone was joyfully celebrating the New Year, Sanbao collapsed at the dining table.

Sanbao had fallen ill.

Inside the side chamber, Sanbao lay weakly on the bed.

"Father, I feel there is something seriously wrong with Third Brother's health. Why not invite a skilled physician to examine him? If nothing else, we could at least use spirit power to cleanse his meridians," asked the second son, Luo Kaiyu, who had always been unaware of Sanbao's true situation. Seeing Sanbao in such poor health, he asked with concern.

"We saw famous physicians long before we came to Deer Mountain. Sanbao suffers from a strange illness that prevents him from cultivating spirit power. It requires no treatment and will heal on its own in time. It should last about a year, and after that, he will be perfectly fine, so there is no need for anyone to worry..." In front of everyone, Old Luo had naturally prepared a set explanation.

"So that's why Third Uncle is always painting; it turns out he cannot cultivate spirit power. Poor Third Uncle," Caiguang realized with a start.

In this world where Spirit Cultivators reigned supreme, those unable to cultivate spirit power were destined to live like ants. Caiguang felt immense sympathy for this uncle who was only two years his senior.

"I'm afraid Sanbao won't be able to hold on for a year. Look at his body now..." The eldest son, Luo Kaifeng, knew Sanbao's true identity, but he was even more worried about Sanbao's physical state.

Although Old Luo did not say it aloud, his inner anxiety was the deepest of them all.

From the night Sanbao arrived at Deer Mountain, Old Luo had already begun to treat him as his own son. Over the past six months, Sanbao's conduct had completely won Old Luo over.

Old Luo even fantasized that one day, Sanbao might truly be able to lead the Luo Clan back to the pinnacle of the continent.

Spring arrived, and the flowers bloomed in competition.

It should have been the most beautiful time of the year, but for Sanbao, this spring was not easy.

As the days passed, Sanbao's body grew increasingly frail. His frame was gaunt, his face pale, and his eyes were deeply sunken; he had become nothing but skin and bones.

At first, Sanbao insisted on painting every day. Later, as his body failed him, he had to rest one day for every few days of work. Eventually, it became one day of rest for every day of work, and in these recent days, he often needed two days of rest for every day he went out.

"Third Master, let us go back~"

Watching Sanbao grow thinner by the day, Meimei felt deeply saddened, and a faint sense of foreboding grew in her heart.

"At this rate, Third Master might not make it to winter. And he doesn't cherish his own body, always gritting his teeth to go to the back mountain to carve and paint. What I can't understand most is the Clan Head and the others; Third Master is sick to this extent, yet they don't ask or inquire, and haven't even brought in a physician..."

Simple-minded Meimei could not know the many circumstances surrounding Sanbao, so she could only worry in secret for her frail master.

Thud.

Sanbao collapsed to the ground.

Meimei was quick-witted and agile; she gently scooped Sanbao up and hurried toward the backyard. As she looked at her master, who felt as light as a feather in her arms, her eyes turned red.

"Third Master, why must you suffer so?"

Days passed in hardship, and a year had already gone by. Just when Sanbao thought he would be reborn, his condition suddenly worsened. This time, not only was the Luo Clan in a panic, but Sanbao himself was panicked as well.

According to Thirteen's projections, the blood of the Crimson Flame Eagle within his body should have fully integrated by now, and his innate bloodline should have officially awakened. Now, it appeared this process had clearly exceeded Thirteen's expectations; a year was evidently not enough.

The only reason his body had held on until now was through the sheer force of his own will, but the reality had exceeded his calculations. This time, even Sanbao did not know if he could hold on until the end.

By now, Sanbao could no longer get out of bed. He was in a daze, conscious for only one or two hours a day, spending the rest of the time in a coma.

The Clan Head, Luo Dingyi, displayed the demeanor of a patriarch, guarding Sanbao's room every day and forbidding anyone from visiting. His only public explanation was that Sanbao's condition was improving, and once he recovered, he would undergo a complete transformation. He told everyone not to panic and to just wait and see.

"Sanbao, you must hold on. If something were to happen to you, how would I have the face to face the Saint Ancestor or Third Brother in the future..."

Whether it was some hidden power supporting Sanbao or if his soul had truly reached a certain height, no matter how weak his body was or how long he remained in a coma, Sanbao would always wake up for a brief moment when the sun rose.

This undoubtedly gave Old Luo, who was guarding him, infinite confidence. As long as Sanbao did not fall into an eternal sleep, he would return as a king sooner or later.

Winter arrived. In the blink of an eye, Sanbao had been lying in bed for six months. The time he spent awake each morning grew shorter and shorter, to the point where he would fall back into a coma almost immediately after waking. This gave Old Luo an extremely ominous premonition.

If Sanbao's bloodline did not awaken soon, he might not even see Sanbao at this year's ancestral rites.

If that happened, how would he answer to Thirteen, and how would he answer to the ancestors of the Luo Clan?

That day finally arrived.

Sanbao had not woken up for three days, and his weak heartbeat and breathing had become so faint they were almost imperceptible, as if they could stop at any moment.

"It is only three days until New Year's Eve. Sanbao, can you really not hold on until that day?" Luo Dingyi, his eyes bloodshot, whispered to himself as he gently stroked the thin, small Sanbao.

At this moment, Sanbao was already hunched and withered beyond recognition. His limbs and torso had completely shriveled, and apart from his skeleton, his body had almost no weight left.

The fourth day.

The fifth day.

The sixth day. Three days passed in the blink of an eye, and Sanbao remained in a coma.

On the morning of the seventh day, the door to Sanbao's room was gently pushed open by the eldest son, Luo Kaifeng. Inside, Old Luo sat by the bed like a wooden statue, and Sanbao on the bed was devoid of all vitality, his breath no longer even detectable.

"Father, today is the day of the ancestral rites. What shall we do?" Luo Kaifeng asked softly.

"Sanbao, Uncle will take you to the ancestral rites together..." Old Luo's eye sockets were sunken and his face was pale as he gently cradled the motionless Sanbao to his chest...

"Father, is Sanbao still...?" Luo Kaifeng looked at Old Luo's appearance, wanting to speak but hesitating.

"Let's go. Last year we performed the rites together; this year, not a single person can be missing~" The father's reply left Luo Kaifeng trembling with shock. With his cultivation, he could naturally see Sanbao's condition at a glance—he had already stopped breathing.

Compared to last year, the ancestral hall this year felt exceptionally cold and desolate. Although everyone who should have been there was present and all the offerings were prepared, the mood of the crowd was one of dead silence.

Although Sanbao had not been with them for long, the blood of the Luo Clan flowed through his veins, and now they had to watch helplessly as that bloodline faded away. It was, without a doubt, a cruel thing.

"Ancestors of the Luo Clan, Dingyi has brought the family's descendants to pray before you. This year, this... this year..." Clan Head Luo Dingyi knelt on the ground, his words faltering as soon as he began.

"This year... all matters of the Luo Clan have proceeded smoothly, and the descendants of the Luo line have all made their own gains. It is only my poor nephew Sanbao who is plagued by severe illness, and I fear he will not be long for this world. If the ancestors have spirits, I beg you to protect him. If it is possible, I, Dingyi, am willing to trade twenty years of my life in exchange for my nephew's awakening..."

As he spoke, Luo Dingyi laid Sanbao flat against his chest, then reached out a large hand and pressed it gently against Sanbao's back.

Thirteen had specifically instructed before leaving that the activation of Sanbao's bloodline could only be achieved by himself; he could not rely on any external force. Once external spirit power entered his body, the best-case scenario was the complete loss of his bloodline, and the worst was the loss of his life. This was the fundamental reason why the Luo Clan had remained "indifferent" to Sanbao's condition—it was not that they would not act, but that they could not.

But the current situation was such that if no external force were used to help, Sanbao's death was almost unavoidable. After weighing the options repeatedly, Clan Head Luo Dingyi decided to try and assist Sanbao with his spirit power. If he could save Sanbao's life, then even if the bloodline were truly lost, it would be an unavoidable sacrifice; after all, if life itself were gone, nothing else would remain.

The two most important parts of the human body are the brain and the heart pulse. The brain is where the human soul resides, while the heart pulse is the support for the entire physical body, and the operation of the heart pulse is maintained by the essence, blood, and bone marrow within the body.

(The heart pulse refers to the entire thoracic cavity, including the five viscera and six bowels such as the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and stomach. For a Spirit Cultivator, the Sea of Qi—also known as the Dantian—located at the very center below the heart pulse, is the source of spirit power.) There was nothing wrong with Sanbao's soul; the biggest problem lay in the fact that after the Blood Fusion, his physical constitution had changed so drastically that his essence, blood, and bone marrow had undergone massive transformations. This directly affected the operation of his heart pulse, which was one of the primary reasons for Sanbao's coma.

Old Luo, who possessed profound cultivation, naturally understood this. He also knew that any external spirit power entering Sanbao's body, especially the heart pulse, could potentially lead to unpredictable results during this process of constitutional change. But at this moment, he had no other choice and was forced to take a desperate risk.

Under Old Luo's meticulous control, a trace of extremely faint spirit power slowly entered various parts of his body, following the Governor Vessel beneath Sanbao's neck.

"Huh?"

As the spirit power gradually entered, a very peculiar change appeared on Old Luo's face. The meridians within Sanbao's body were unexpectedly smooth, almost reaching the conditions required to become a Spirit Scholar.