In Tianwu City, Zhao Cheng wore a somewhat old but very clean set of clothes. Holding an umbrella, he hurried along.
Tianwu City was neither too large nor too small. It was roughly a three-hour drive from Xiangnan. Xiangnan was ultimately still too small. Though Tianwu was not particularly big either, once he had stepped out into the world, Zhao Cheng no longer wanted to go back.
Young people always had to go out and make their way in the world.
Zhao Cheng himself did not know where he would go in the future, but he knew that as long as he became strong enough, the future would surely be bright.
Again and again, he thought back on the past and realized that his pain, his regrets, all seemed to have stemmed from his own lack of ability.
If he had been strong enough, his life would surely have been different. There would have been no regrets, no remorse.
Though I have already climbed out of the lowest valley of my life, every now and then, in certain moments, thoughts like these still arise.
Unfortunately, time was like water flowing eastward—there was no chance to begin again.
Life was not a game. There was no option to restart.
From the moment they were born, everyone had only one choice: to keep moving forward.
In August, the light drizzle only made the air more stifling. Though Zhao Cheng had trained hard in swordsmanship over the past two years, he was still far from being impervious to heat and cold.
It was past seven, and there were quite a few cars and people coming and going on the road. Of course, there were more cars than people.
At 8:02, Zhao Cheng finally arrived at Hongyu Sword Dojo. There usually were not any