Jiang Youfei said nothing.
Li Qingxian rambled on in a flood of words, talking to himself.
"I was still young then, and I didn't feel many things very deeply. Later, when Father died, I was devastated, but it only left me confused. Not until Uncle Zhou died in battle did I suddenly feel pain unlike anything before. I suddenly hated my own weakness. If I had been strong—strong enough to sweep away the Devil Sect—I could have saved Uncle Zhou. That laid the foundation for my later bitter cultivation."
"After that, I went through many things and met many people. I even heard Xu Chuxin's voice with my own ears and visited the stretch of city wall he had crashed down. I truly couldn't understand it. How desperate did someone have to be to kill himself by crashing back into the city gate? Yet the gate collapsed without injuring a single person. Even in such utter despair, he had not hurt anyone. What could such a kind person possibly have encountered?"
"I could never figure it out. Later, I spoke with many people—my Fate Arts Master friends, Sect Master Zhou Xuanshan, Senior Sister Zhao Qingchuan, the people of Far-Reaching City, the generals of Taigu City. Many of us discussed similar questions."
"But in the end, our conclusion seemed to be only one: strive to do ourselves well, then leave it for later generations to solve."
"I don't like that conclusion of trusting in the wisdom of future generations. It is itself a way of covering up our own problems and shoving even greater disasters onto those who come after us. It is no different from a giant infant."
"Then how much can we accomplish? The answer is cruel: only a very limited amount. So I asked myself, since trusting in