She sat upon the Mysterious Maiden Immortal Platform, while the two below the steps stood quietly, like subjects reporting to their sovereign.
As Jiang Yang listened to Qing He, embarrassment crept into his expression. Yet he could hardly tell her that he had feared being ambushed by fellow cultivators, murdered for his treasures.
Besides, he had been a fledgling back then, with little knowledge and scarcely able to protect himself. Even if fellow disciples invited him, how could he dare venture out at will? Naturally, he had politely declined.
Just then, Qing He counted on her fingers and said:
"Since the Broadwood fruit position emerged from obscurity and shone again, a full twelve hundred years have passed. I called for help forty-nine times!"
"What?!"
Jiang Yang froze completely. Those words contained far too much information. Countless clues tangled together like a snarled skein, leaving him murmuring:
"But I clearly..."
He had been about to say there had clearly only been one call, but the words stopped at his lips. If a full twelve hundred years had passed since Broadwood reappeared in the world, who had Qing He called to for help the previous forty-eight times?
Thinking of the missing piece of his memory, he felt a shadow settle over his heart.
Qing He, however, seemed to find this entirely ordinary and merely said softly:
"There is no need to worry. As the saying goes, 'A spark of golden nature falls into mortal dust, passes through tribulations and lifetimes, then returns anew.' So long as the fruit position opens its eyes, no matter how many rises and falls you experience in the mortal world, you will always be you..."
Jiang Yang's heart tightened at her words. Peach Branch, Dao Fruit, reincarnation, transmigration—the thoughts wove back and forth, but aloud he asked: