Torrential rain fell from the sky. Mu Bai chose not to fly, but walked step by step down the mountain ridge toward its foot, planting each step of his life firmly and startling deer and mountain rats into scattering in every direction.
"It's still too slow. More than three years have passed since the calamity in the tribe, yet my cultivation has only risen by one realm."
Self-reproach welled up in Mu Bai's heart, touching its tenderest place.
Lifting his head into the water pouring from the nine heavens, Mu Bai roared, unleashing the longing within him. Yet he had nowhere to voice that longing; he could only shout it to heaven and earth.
"The tribe... Hai Chen, Ling’er, are you all still well...?"
When he thought of the tribe, it seemed like only yesterday. He had still been a young, stubborn child, with no hatred in his heart, no need for the utmost caution. All he wanted was their companionship, all he wished was for the tribe to be safe. After a night of rain, he had awakened to mountains of corpses and seas of blood. From then on, there had been only hatred and longing.
Though he laughed and joked with the others, that was merely to survive, to quietly grow stronger in humility. Yet the hatred in his heart had always been like breathing-every breath hurt!
By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, the downpour abruptly stopped. The eastern sky brightened to the white of a fish's belly. Trees and blades of grass were so green they seemed ready to drip, while crystalline droplets suddenly hid themselves away and vanished.
Mu Bai circulated his Soul Power, evaporating the night's rain from his clothes until they were dry. In the distance, he saw a village