Everything in the world lay within karma.
Ten years, life and death.
Inside and outside a lonely grave.
Loving you three thousand times, yet still turning to leave.
A kindred spirit in lofty mountains and flowing waters; an old friend gathering a corpse at the city gates.
One word from you, and I would travel a thousand miles to kill for you.
You need not speak; even against ten million, I would cut a path through the sea of people for you.
All of these were karma.
There was no need to speak of the rolling mortal dust surging like a river, nor of three lives and three worlds, of tossing and turning upon a pillow, of food losing its flavor, of inexplicably wasting away.
A flower stood in the mountains, receiving sunlight, rain, and dew, alone for many years. If you happened to pass and glance at it, that was your karma with it.
You left the mountains, and no one ever glanced at it again. That was still your karma with it.
Only when someone else came, glanced at it, built a thatched hut beside it, and stayed, tending and watering it diligently every day, would it become another bond of karma.
Each bond of a person's karma was a straight line leading from here to there; countless bonds made countless lines. Those lines would always meet at some point, which also meant they pointed toward that point.
And that point was you yourself.
Who am I?
I am Jingyang.
Then who is Jingyang?
Many, many years ago, someone came from Chaoge City to Green Mountain. He began cultivating and went into seclusion on Shangde Peak, only occasionally joining his senior brother, Liu Ci, and Yuan Qijing for a few meals of hotpot.
In the years