The Place of Sitting and Dying

"Straightforward, boy." He looked at Chu Ming, admiration appearing in his eyes. "What this old man wants is very simple."

He enunciated each word:

"Help this old man find release."

Chu Ming's brow lifted slightly.

"Release?" Chu Ming asked.

Cang Xuan lowered his head and looked at his hands, folded over his knees.

Those hands were trembling faintly, as though something suppressed for far too long was finally coming loose.

"This old man was gravely wounded back then, yet did not die." His voice lowered as he began recounting a story from a distant past. "I used a secret art to seal myself away, barely clinging to life until—" He raised his head and looked into the distance.

There was nothing there but storm and darkness, yet he seemed to be looking at something else.

"But the price of that secret art... was that I could never actively seek death."

Chu Ming fell silent.

Cang Xuan continued, "For thirty thousand years, this old man watched the people around me die one after another.

"Master, fellow disciples, disciples, old friends... one by one, all of them died.

"Some died in that battle, some in the years that followed, and some... died here."

He raised a hand and pointed at the mountain beneath their feet.

"This mountain was this old man's dojo. Back in that battle, this old man was grievously wounded by the Abyss Great Lord and fell here.

"This mountain was cleaved apart by this old man's sword intent. Half remained in the Source Sea, while the other half fell into the abyss."

He withdrew his hand and looked at his palm.

"Thirty thousand years. This old man watched this mountain weather away day by day, watched those rocks crack apart day by day, watched those stone walls once covered