Chapter Forty-Three: A Decade of Change

When Li Ruoyu returned once more to the small courtyard of the Hengjiu Sect, he found it overrun with weeds. Compared to before, the place bore a certain air of neglect, and Li Ruoyu couldn't help but feel a touch of melancholy. Pushing open the door to the little house, a wave of dust greeted him. As he gazed at the dust-laden interior, he felt as if he had crossed into another world; he waved his hand to clear the air and moved further inside, his eyes moist as he looked around at the place where everything had begun.

Li Ruoyu thought of his mother, Shen Lan, and his father, Li Zhiheng. He missed them dearly. After turning eleven, he had not seen his parents again. A youth who should have grown up joyfully under his parents' wings instead survived amid slaughter, experienced the world's deceit and intrigue, and tasted the bitterness and sweetness of the path of cultivation. Like a cup of wine that burns as it passes the throat.

He took out a garment to use as a rag and slowly wiped the dust from the house with his hands, employing no power of a cultivator. Just as he once helped his mother with housework, he cleaned quietly and patiently.

Before long, Wang Bo arrived at the courtyard where Li Ruoyu lived. Ten years had changed more than just Li Ruoyu; Wang Bo, too, was transformed. The once chubby boy was now a stout man, his face still bearing a trace of the simple-minded charm of his youth, but the weathered wrinkles around his brow lent him a touch of gravity.

“Catch!” Li Ruoyu took out a gourd and tossed it to Wang Bo.

Wang Bo caught the gourd, opened it, and took a sip. Tears slid unbidden down his cheeks. “This is wine from home. When did you bring it?”

“When I returned to the village, Uncle Wang gave it to me, saying that if I ever felt homesick, I should have a drink.” Li Ruoyu took the gourd back and drank a large mouthful.

He coughed, having drunk too hastily, and learned his lesson, sipping in small gulps thereafter. It was his first time tasting wine, but, influenced by Li Zhiheng, he soon discerned its flavor. Uncle Wang’s wine had its own secrets—it was good wine. It was faintly sweet upon entering the mouth, carried the aroma of rice, mellow in the throat, and, as it passed through the lungs, began to burn.

Li Ruoyu handled his drink well, likely inherited from Li Zhiheng, but even so, being his first time, he couldn’t withstand much. The gourd fell to the ground beside his feet; Li Ruoyu leaned against a pillar, with Wang Bo on the other side, both seated on the floor. Li Ruoyu had drunk more than half the gourd, but in the end, he couldn’t resist the potency of this homebrew.

Two blushes bloomed on Li Ruoyu’s cheeks—he was clearly drunk. “Fatty, let’s go back together tomorrow and have a look!” His words carried a note of nostalgia and anticipation.

“Alright.”

Li Ruoyu sank into a deep sleep, his relaxed face serene. Wang Bo watched his expression and meditated quietly in the room. Sometimes, faith in another person needs no words. Li Ruoyu trusted Wang Bo; it was a trust that transcended life and death. I trust you, simply because I do—no questions, only silent understanding. In a lifetime, how many people can one truly entrust? One is fortune, two is happiness. Li Ruoyu trusted Wang Bo not merely because they grew up together, but because it was a trust one could stake life and death upon. Just as Wang Bo had unhesitatingly shielded Li Ruoyu from harm, Li Ruoyu had never spoken much, but kept it all in his heart. Even knowing the risk of perishing, Li Ruoyu was determined to take a piece out of the enemy Shattering Sky.

Besides his parents, only Wang Bo could make Li Ruoyu truly drink himself into oblivion.

“You’re awake?” After a day and night had passed, Li Ruoyu awoke to Wang Bo’s voice. The wine alone was not enough to keep him asleep for so long, but the memories from ten years spent in the Demonic Abyss, once all vigilance was dropped, caused Li Ruoyu’s nerves, taut for a decade, to finally snap. Thus, exhaustion and fatigue surged through him, and he slept for a full day and night.

“I’m awake. Let’s go back together and have a look!” Li Ruoyu replied, his eyes filled with emotion.

Whenever someone returned from the Demonic Abyss, the sect granted a month for visiting family. Li Ruoyu and Wang Bo, after reporting to the sect, set off toward the small town.

Seven days later, they arrived at the familiar town. At the border between town and outside world, Li Ruoyu watched the laughter and joy within and stood outside, feeling as though he had journeyed across lifetimes. His understanding of the “Transcendent Fist” deepened.

Stepping back into the town, the first thing he saw was Granny Sun, who had often cared for him and given him sweets as a child. She was now tottering toward the market to sell vegetables. Li Ruoyu hurried over to support her. Granny Sun’s brow was etched with wrinkles typical of her age, but when she saw Li Ruoyu, her joyful smile broke through the traces of time. That heartfelt smile was like the warmth of spring’s sun, radiating a sense of genuine affection.

“Little Fish, you’re back! You’ve grown taller and stronger.” Granny Sun had given Li Ruoyu the nickname “Little Fish.” She once had a son, lost in an accident, and after her husband passed, she lived out her days in the town, gentle and kind, especially caring toward the children.

Li Ruoyu looked at Granny Sun, gently touched her time-worn cheek, and recalled how she used to hand him sweets wherever he went. Her hair, once streaked with dark strands, was now pure white like snow. Though she remained spirited, her steps revealed that she was gradually weakening, as brilliant yet inevitable as the sun setting in the evening.

“There are two realms: mortal and immortal, and the path divides yin and yang.” This was something Ling Jiuyue had once said before Li Ruoyu’s talent was tested. He had not understood it then. Now, watching the elderly woman’s faltering steps, Li Ruoyu finally grasped its meaning. To enter the cultivation world, one must have talent; without it, one ends as nothing but a handful of dust.

Li Ruoyu struggled to imagine whether, a hundred years later, the laughter and joy of this town would be nothing but ruins recounting its past. And a thousand years later, would there be only dust, perhaps a desert, or a forest, erasing all traces of familiarity? He found it even harder to imagine his parents, Uncle Wang, the old town blacksmith—one by one, living out their lives, leaving only his own desolation.

After escorting Granny Sun home, Li Ruoyu and Wang Bo parted ways to return to their respective families.

Li Ruoyu returned to the most familiar place. His father, Li Zhiheng, was still carving objects with his knife. His mother, Shen Lan, was still preparing delicious meals. Everything seemed unchanged from ten years ago. As Li Ruoyu stepped in, a wave of emotion swelled in his chest; he wanted to speak, but could not find the words. His father's once dark hair now bore a few white strands—still few, but to Li Ruoyu, already striking.