Black Stones, White Stones

Black Stones, White Stones—What happened next?

Later, he encountered more people, more events.

The people he had saved turned around and sold him out for a few taels of loose silver.

The village he had protected ended up fighting with weapons over a single pill he had left behind, leaving casualties in their wake.

He had risked his life to slay a great demon, only for the local authorities to accuse him of destroying righteousness, blaspheming the gods, defying Heaven, and offending True Persons.

His thoughts drifted farther and farther away, yet the stones fell faster and faster.

Black and white stones landed in interlocking patterns, gradually taking shape.

The black stones had originally been scattered sparsely across the board, two or three at a time. Now, they had faintly connected into one mass, like wildfire spreading, baring fangs and brandishing claws, fierce and menacing.

The white stones, meanwhile, were hard-pressed on every side, their decline gradually showing. Though they struggled desperately, they were ultimately forced back step by step.

He began to doubt, to doubt what meaning there was in everything he had done.

Slaying demons and banishing devils, saving the suffering and rescuing the distressed—when all was said and done, it was nothing but empty air.

The people he saved would turn around and harm others.

The places he protected would become scorched earth in the blink of an eye.

This world was a pool of rotten mud to begin with. The harder you struggled, the deeper you sank.

So he found this mountain, built this thatched cottage, planted these vegetables, and tended these flowers.

He told himself that this would be the cultivation of the rest of his life.

He would not ask about worldly affairs, would not concern himself with the human realm. He would only